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“Mm hm,” Mom said.
“There’s a catch,” Trey said, watching his parents out of the corner of his eye. “It’s the Sweetheart Classic.”
Daddy didn’t understand, if his perplexed look was any indication. Mom got it though, because her eyes widened. She sucked in a breath, but to her everlasting credit, she didn’t say anything.
“The deadline to enter is November first,” Trey said, driving home the immediacy of the situation.
“Trey Travis Chappell,” Mom said, not moving when Daddy put his hand on her leg. “Did you marry Beth Dixon?”
“Marry Beth Dixon?” Daddy asked at the same time Trey scoffed and said, “No, Mom. Come on now.”
“The Sweetheart Classic requires the entrants to be married and own the horse together,” Mom said, looking at Daddy. “By November first.”
Daddy’s eyes widened too.
“What should I do?” Trey asked.
Mom opened her mouth and promptly closed it. She looked at Daddy, but there was no help there. Trey had a feeling there wasn’t help for this situation anywhere.
Unhappiness pulled through him, and he finished his dessert and set the bowl on the ground beside him.
“Well, honey,” Mom finally said. “You have to do what you think is right.”
“How do you know what that is?”
“Just be honest with yourself and with her. Pray and ask for help. You’ll know what to do.”
“Mom,” Trey said with a sigh.
“I know, I know,” she said. “You don’t think praying will help.”
“No, Mom, I don’t.”
“Have you tried it?”
“No, ma’am,” he said quietly. He’d prayed plenty of times for the solution to his problems, and he’d never gotten an adequate answer. God didn’t seem to hear him, and if he did, he just didn’t care enough about Trey to respond.
“Just an idea,” Mom said. “Trey, we love you no matter what. You’re a good man, and I believe you’ll make the right choice for you and for Beth.”
Trey looked at his father. “Dad?”
“I like what your mother said,” he said. “Be honest with yourself and with her. Pray about it. Do what you think is right.”
“That can’t be the answer,” Trey said, beyond frustrated. Be honest? Pray about it?
No, he wanted asolution. He wantedan answer.
“Why not?” Daddy asked.
“It’s too easy. Be honest. Pray. Do what’s right?” He scoffed. “I’m not a six-year-old. I don’t need the cookie cutter answers.”
“Trey,” his mother started, but she cut off when Daddy put his hand on her arm. They exchanged a look with one another, and she returned her attention to him. “You do what you think is right.”
Trey wanted to roll his eyes. Instead, he got up and collected all the dishes. “Thanks for dinner and dessert, Mother.” He gave her a kiss. “I’m gonna head out.”
“Take some cobbler,” Mom called after him, and Trey said he would.
He did dish himself some cobbler, and he took it back to the homestead. “Cobbler,” he called to whoever might be in the house, but it was likely just Cayden. No one answered him, so he put the container on the counter and went out onto the back deck.
