Trace and I exchange a quick glance.
“Do you want me to call them?” I ask. “We can tell them again, Mama.”
She shakes her head and sets the phone down on the counter like it’s fragile. “I don’t want to go, Delta. I went last year without him, I can’t do that to myself again, not this year.”
I swallow around the tightness in my throat. “Then we won’t go. It’s okay. It’s just a gala.”
She turns then, and really looks at us, eyes moving from my face to Trace’s and back again. Something shifts in her expression, like a light coming on behind her eyes. I know that look. I’ve seen it my entire life. It’s the look she gets right before she decides somebody needs help they didn’t ask for.
“Tickets can’t be refunded,” she says slowly. “But they can be transferred, it would be a shame to waste them.”
“Do you know anyone who wants them?” I ask, even though I already know where she’s going.
“Yes,” she says simply. “I do.”
Trace sets his fork down, already bracing. “Miss Evie…”
She holds up a hand. “Hush. Let me finish. Your daddy loved that gala. He loved the music and the excuse to put on a suit. If he knew those tickets were sitting there unused while my child and a good man with a good heart were right here under my roof, he would come back and haunt me himself.”
“Mama,” I say, warning in my voice.
She ignores it. “I want you two to go in our place. For me. For your daddy.”
There is a long stretch of silence. I look at Trace. He looks at me. I see the same flash of panic and curiosity in his eyes that is running wild in my chest.
“I don’t know, Mama,” I start. “I have the Cheyenne trip coming up, and things are hectic at the ranch, and…”
“It’s one evening,” she says. “You leave next week. The gala is this weekend, you can spare a few hours to dress up, listen to some beautiful music, and remember that life is not only livestock, fence lines, and paperwork.”
Trace clears his throat. “Miss Evie, I don’t want to take something that belonged to Mr. Whitmore.”
She softens at his use of the name. “Harlan is gone, baby. He no longer needs the seats. What he would want is to know that his girls are still living, not just surviving, but living.” The way she says girls and glances at him on the last word makes my cheeks heat.
“Mama,” I repeat.
She steps closer, drying her hands on her apron. “Delta Nicole, look at me.”
I look up because I always have when she uses my middle name.
“I am not ready to go,” she says quietly. “Maybe I will be next year, maybe not, but I know I can’t do it this time. You and Trace can go instead.”
The room feels very small for a second. I can feel Trace watching me, waiting to see what I’ll say. I sigh, already hearing my own surrender in it. “You really want this?”
She nods. “I really do, baby.”
I look at Trace again. His jaw is tight, like he’s trying not to show how unsure he is, but there’s something else there, too. Something that looks dangerously like hope.
“Well,” I say, feeling the decision click into place before I even finish the sentence, “I guess we can’t have Daddy haunting you over some unused tickets.”
A slow smile tugs at his mouth. “Guess not.”
“So that is a yes?” Mama asks, even though she already knows.
I nod. “Yes, Mama. We’ll go.”
Trace gives a small nod of his own. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll go.”
Mama’s whole face lights up, grief and joy braided together. “Good. I’ll forward you the tickets. And Delta, you still have those dresses in the garment bags in your closet. You don’t need to buy anything new.”
