Just like that, my defenses drop.
She reaches over, pushes my hands away so she can see my face. “You think I can’t tell when my child is finally happy again?”
I swallow because that lands.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit, voice low.
She smiles, not teasing this time. “Nobody knows what they’re doing when it matters.”
She pats my cheek once, warm and loving. “And for the record, that man is in love with you too.”
“Mama…”
“Hush. I’m old, not blind.”
I groan, but I’m smiling. “First of all you are not old.” I breathe out through my nose, slow. “What if I get hurt again?”
She squeezes my hand. “Don’t run from something good because you’re scared it might hurt later. Love is not punishment, it’s a blessing, let yourself have some.”
My eyes burn before I can stop them.
She pulls my head to her shoulder, the way she did when I was little. “You deserve joy, Delta Whitmore. Right now, not someday.”
I take a breath, my voice barely there. “Mama, he has trauma.”
Mama pulls back enough to look me in the face. “Your daddy wasn’t wrapped all that tight either, actually. That’s one of the things that attracted me to him.” She wiggles her eyebrows and I look horrified. “Girl, you deal with it; we all got some shit with us, some more than others, the question you have to ask is, ‘is he worth it?’ and if he is, then you work with him. Marriage can bea truly beautiful thing; not like what your first marriage ended being, but it does take conscious intentional, thoughtful work with someone willing to give as much as you. And from the looks of it he is willing to put in work if you know what I mean.”
“Mama!” I yell, covering my ears, closing my eyes, and shaking my head as she laughs. And somehow, sitting there in that kitchen with party notes everywhere and her perfume mingling with coffee and biscuits… I believe her.
Trace
Wind hits fast and the tarp on the fence snaps loud. Ranger jumps hard to the side and the jolt goes straight through my body before I can think. Panic comes quick. It always does. My chest tightens and my pulse spikes.
This time, I loosen the reins instead of pulling. I don’t grip tighter instead I give him space. My heart is out of rhythm but I force my voice to stay steady.
“It’s alright, I heard it too, we’re fine.”
Ranger circles, blowing hard, waiting to see what I’m going to do, leave him or fight him, I do neither. I stay with him while the fear moves through both of us.
He settles slowly, both of our breathing evens out. Finally his head lowers.
Paige stands at the gate with Taryn next to her. They don’t step in because I handled it before they had to do anything. Once Ranger is calm, they walk toward me.
Taryn speaks first. “That was regulation breathing. You grounded yourself and him, that is what we work on, not getting rid of fear, being able to stay steady while it happens.” She folds her arms, more teacher than therapist.
“Most people think trauma work means never getting scared again. That is not what we do here. We teach the body that fear can happen without shutting down. Without exploding. Without abandoning yourself or the horse.”
Paige nods once. “That was real progress.”
My palms sting from gripping the reigns too long, but not nearly as long as before. “It still scared me.”
“Good,” Taryn answers. “Healing means you can be scared and stay present anyway.”
I don’t have anything to say after that. Ranger bumps my boot with his nose and I rub his neck steadying both of us. Taryn takes the lead rope and Paige gives me a small nod. I step away from the arena and walk toward the fence, catching my breath for a moment. I don’t show it, but inside, something is shifting.
I came here to pull myself together for me and get stable enough to not be a problem, that was the plan, work, therapy, routine, improvement, nothing more. Now there is something else in the picture, someone else… Delta.
I don’t say her name out loud, it is the first time I’ve wanted to be better for anything beyond survival. The first time there is a future I want instead of a future I merely survive. Ranger nudges my shoulder again before Paige leads him out, a small gesture. “See you later buddy.” I tell him.
