“She loved you,” I say firmly. “Same way Luke loved this land. Same way they both thought one hard choice could fix everything.”
Abilene wipes at her cheek, then lets out a breath that sounds like something easing loose.
She studies me for a long moment. The bees hum. The wind shifts. Somewhere, a horse nickers.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I tip my hat, habit and truth all wrapped together. “Anytime.”
She folds the letters and tucks them back into her pocket, then glances at the hives again. “I think… I think I want to understand it. Not chase it. Just understand.”
“That’s a good place to start.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Abilene
Friday
The house always knows before I do.
It creaks differently. The air feels thinner, like it’s already started letting go. Even the light coming through the kitchen window looks less settled, slipping across the table instead of resting there.
Mara’s suitcase sits by the door, scuffed and practical and far too final.
She’s moving around the kitchen with ease. Rinsing her mug, wiping the counter, folding the dish towel the way Grandma always did.
Careful. Efficient. Familiar.
It makes my chest ache.
“You don’t have to rush,” I say, leaning against the counter. “You’ve still got time.”
She glances at me, one eyebrow lifting. “I’m not rushing. I’m… avoiding the part where I get emotional.”
I manage a small smile. “Right. Because that would be very out of character.”
She snorts, but her smile doesn’t quite settle. “Don’t spread that rumor.”
The kettle clicks softly as it cools.
“I talked to Evelyn,” I say, because if I don’t say it now, I might not say it at all.
Mara stills, just for a second. But I see it.
I’ve been seeing pauses a lot lately.
“She told me things,” I continue. “About Mom. About the fire. About… everything.”
Mara exhales slowly, like she’s been holding that breath since the moment she walked back into my life. “That makes sense. If anyone was going to tell you, it’d be her.”
I swallow. “Why didn’tyou?”
She looks at the window instead of me. At the hives. At the place where my mother used to stand with honey on her fingers and a song stuck in her head.
“I didn’t know how.”
I don’t argue. I just nod.
