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“Are we staying in here?” She set a bowl of ice cream and cobbler on the table in front of him.
“No,” Trey said, getting up. “Let’s go outside.” Maybe then he’d know how to explain what was in his head. He carried his bowl and steadied Daddy as he went up the steps to the second half of their back porch.
He took a bite of sweet ice cream and tart peaches. “Mm, Momma, you’re a genius.”
She laughed and continued to help Daddy get settled, tucking a blanket around his legs. Trey wore his jacket too, as autumn had definitely arrived in Kentucky.
“You said something about Beth Dixon,” Daddy said, and Trey caught the sharpness in his mother’s eyes.
“Yes,” Trey said. “I’ve been helping her around her farm the past little bit.” He shifted a little bit, because that wasn’t entirely true. It was true, but that wasn’t entirely altruistic. “Her son’s been hangin’ around the ranch, and I take him home. Then Beth hurt her hand a few weeks ago, and we’ve been helping.”
“We know about that,” Mom said. “Blaine’s told us.”
“Yeah.” Trey took another bite of his treat. “Well, I like her. I asked her to dinner, and she said her father could watch TJ.” He cleared his throat. “We haven’t done it yet or anything.”
“Well, why not?” Mom asked.
“Things are busy, Mom,” Trey said, a touch of darkness in his tone. “The yearlings sale is in two weeks.” November first was barely beyond that, and Trey’s throat closed.
“I know,” Mom said. “Sorry. Go on.”
Trey didn’t know how to go on. “I don’t want you to get upset.”
“Why would I get upset?” Mom asked.
“Julie, let the man talk,” Daddy said.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Trey took another bite of cobbler. The breeze blew past the white fences and through the pastures beyond. “She’s been in a…tough place since her husband died, and she wants to enter one of her horses into a race.”
“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 bemarriedand 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.”
