"I told her at seven forty-five," Theo confirmed. "I was very excited."
"This town is a surveillance state with better pie."
"It's a loving town," Bev said. "With excellent communication."
I put my reading glasses on and opened my laptop. The universal signal forthis conversation is finished.
Theo retreated. Bev stayed. She straightened a stack of papers on my desk that didn't need straightening. Then, quiet enough that only I could hear: "The Brooke thing was nothing, by the way. Ancient history. She's been trying to claim Clay Blackwood since high school. He's never been interested. Not once."
I looked up. "How do you know about Brooke?"
"Honey." She gave me a look. "Copper Creek."
She held my gaze for a beat. Then, softer: "It's okay to let good things in, Callie. Not everything costs what you think it costs."
She walked back to her desk. I stared at my screen and didn't see a single word on it for a long time.
Getting Maisie to bed had always been the hardest part of the day. She was in her pajamas, teeth brushed, horse deployed. I sat on the edge of her bed and opened the book — the one about the girl who rides a horse through a magical forest, because every book in this house now involved horses and I'd stopped fighting it. "Mommy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Is Clay going to keep Starlight forever?"
"I think so. She's part of the ranch now."
"Can we go back next weekend? He said I could help brush her. Brushing is how horses know you love them."
"We'll see."
She accepted this with less fight than usual. Tired. Which meant the real thing was coming.
"Mommy?"
"Hmm?"
"Did I have fun at Daddy's?"
The question landed sideways. NotI had funorI didn't have fun.Did I? Like she was asking me to tell her what she felt, because she wasn't sure anymore.
"What do you think, baby? Did you have fun?"
She picked at the edge of her blanket. Small fingers working the stitching.
"Daddy had a lady there. She had red hair. She talked a lot, and she smelled like flowers, and she called me sweetie, but she didn't know my name."
I kept my face neutral. The mask. Years of practice.
"I'm sure she was nice."
"She was okay." Pause. Then, almost to herself: "Daddy doesn't listen like Clay does."
I didn't move.
"Clay asks me questions," she said. "Real ones. And then he listens to the answer. Even when I talk a lot." She looked at her blanket. "Daddy looks at his phone."
I read the story. All of it. Every page, every word, my voice steady and warm and not cracking. I kissed her forehead. Told her I loved her more than all the stars. Closed the door.
Then I stood in the hallway and pressed my hand over my mouth.
