I lead Remy out of the barn. The horses’ hooves are muffled in the dirt as Olivia follows behind and chatters excitedly to Max. “Lulu found a Russian passport inside an old journal her Gram wrote as a little girl living in”—Olivia stops and lowers her voice dramatically—“Russia.”

I take a deep breath like Mom does when she’s trying to stop a panic attack. Remy tosses his head and nearly knocks me over. All of a sudden, I want to be as far away as possible. I long for the feeling I get when I’m riding and the wind hits my face. I forget everything when I ride. It’s just me and Remy and the soft whisper of wind cleaning out my mixed-up brain.

“Have you tried googling her?” Olivia asks right before she swings herself up onto Brandy.

Max squints against the sun as he reaches forward to steady Remy while I mount up. “I’m pretty good at computers. I can look if you want.”

My chest burns as I look down at him. “My gram isn’t a spy.”

“So you keep saying. Then why’re you so mad?” He steps back when I urge Remy forward.

I head out of the paddock without answering. My brain shuffles through the massive amounts of information I’ve compiled the last week, about memory and diseases that can affect it. I’m no closer to finding a way to fix Gram than when I began. I urge Remy into a gallop, my body naturally falling into the rhythmic pattern of his gait. Seagull squawks mix with the low huffs of Remy’s breath, and I feel my breathing slow.

“Wait up, Lulu!” Olivia giggles when she catches up. “I don’t think anyone’s ever left Max in their dust like that before. You should have seen his face. But seriously, you should let him see what he can find. It can’t hurt, right?”

“Let’s just ride, okay? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, but you know what they say about people who don’t face their fears?”

It’s times like this that I hate the rule Dad has for me about not riding alone. But I know Olivia, and she’s not going to let any of this go. “No. What?”

“I’m not sure. I just like how it sounds.” She shrugs and giggles again. “Race you to the fence!”

I hurry to follow, and for the first time since the parking lot, I forget about everything. I laugh as Remy picks up speed; the power of his muscles lengthens his strides until we’re flying, soaring above the golden grass and compact earth, above the barn and trees.

“You always win,” Olivia says with a good-natured smile. “Remy should have been a racehorse.”