Going into the Kentucky Derby, Maximus ranks second with one hundred and four points. He trails the horse I would’ve trained at Armstrong’s by sixteen points. None of which will matter when the gates close on the first Saturday of May.
Tugging on the lead rope, I gently pull Maximus out of the trailer. He follows behind, and playfully taps my shoulder with his muzzle. He wants a treat, which he often gets when we arrive places, also which I left in my truck.
We walk into the stables where the overhead lights are dim and perfect. The last thing any trainer wants is for the horses to get confused with the time. It’s mostly quiet with the low murmur of voices—trainers talking to their horses or other staff. Elijah, the stable manager, and long-time employee greets Maximus and me. He’s been here for as long as I can remember and has always taken care of the horses that live on the property.
“Good to see you,” he says as he leads us to our stall. I pause and look at the plaque with Maximus’s name on it. “You’ve done well.”
“Thanks, Elijah.”
News of my defection and later disownment from my family spread like wildfire. Butch Armstrong did everything he could to blacklist me from ever training another horse. Lord knows I’m thankful for people like Elijah for stepping up and putting a good word in for me with Baker Kelly. I supposed it helped I was coming from his competitor.
“I’m sure you can’t wait to go to the fancy hotel they have you put up in.”
I shake my head slowly as I unhook the lead rope and drape it over my shoulder. “I’m staying with Max.”
“Mr. Colby, surely you know I would never let anything happen to any of the horses here.”
I hate that his mind went straight to violence, but I get it. In every business, when it comes to money and prestige, people are ruthless and will do whatever they can to win.
“Elijah, I have never doubted your ability to keep the horses safe. If I stay here, I can avoid certain people and the media melee.”
Elijah slaps his hand on my shoulder and laughs. “Mr. Colby, you are nothing like your father. It’s refreshing.”
He’s right. My father and I are polar opposites. I care about the horse’s well-being, his readiness for the race. My dad, he loves the limelight, the bragging that comes with having trained a Derby winner before. I was five when he won his first, eleven when he nabbed his second. Since it’s been every three years or so, if it’s not the Derby, it’s the Preakness or the Belmont. I asked him once when winning became a priority. He told me, “You’ll know when the blanket of roses is laid over your horse and jockey.” I’d like to think I won’t be like my dad, but the only way to find out is to win.
“Thanks, Elijah.” I step out of Maximus’s stable, shutting the door tightly, and follow Elijah through the stable. When we come to the entrance, he pauses and points toward the other end. “Your father is down there. I didn’t want him close to you. Just in case.” He looks at me with his vibrant, soulful brown eyes and smiles. He follows me to my truck and helps gather my things, something not on his list of job duties, but out of the goodness of his heart.
“Follow me,” he says when we enter the stable. We head up a flight of stairs and enter the space above the horses. There are stalls, but each one has a door. “Back in the day, the ranch hands used to live up here, but times have changed, and they all have families, or they live in their campers. I don’t show many people this area, at least not anymore.” He walks down the path and comes to the space above Maximus’s stall. He opens the door. Inside, there is a small cot and a nightstand, nothing else. “It’s yours if you want it.”
I smile and pat him on the shoulder. “I want it very much. Thanks, Elijah.”
He nods and leaves me to set up my room. The room has one outlet which I plug my charger into, along with my portable fan. I lay my sleeping bag out on the cot, throw my pillow toward the head of the bed, and pull the book I’ve been reading out of my bag and set it on the nightstand.
After I head back to my truck to get the rest of Maximus’s stuff, I’m in his stall and running a brush over his mane. Each morning, he’ll go out with his exercise rider until it’s time for his jockey, Kendrick Murphy, to take over and work with him. Kendrick is a descendent of Isaac Murphy, who is widely known as the crown prince among African American riders. He won the Derby three times before passing away five years after his last victory. It was my choice to hire Kendrick as Maximus’s rider. Once I saw them together, the grace in which Kendrick rode the colt, everything fell into place. I know history will be made with the first black rider in over a hundred years, but that’s not why Kendrick is here. He’s here because he’s the best.