Betty’s voice trembled. Her hand moved in warm circles over Amy’s back, slowing as the spasms subsided and resting between her shoulder blades.
“Now, what is it you’re afraid of?”
“Everything,” Amy whispered. “Leaving. Staying.” She clamped her trembling lips together. “Myself. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Betty smoothed her fingers through Amy’s hair, tucking a long wave behind her shoulder. Amy leaned into her, craving the soothing touch as much as she had when she was a child.
“Maybe that’s because you’re trying to be someone you’re not,” Betty murmured, gesturing toward Amy’s necklace. “When did you take that ring off your finger and string it around your neck?”
Amy bit her lip. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.” Betty squeezed her hand. “I know losing Sara was difficult. I knew you needed to heal and I thought leaving here for a change of pace was the best thing for you at the time.” She shook her head. “But you carried it with you.”
Amy licked her lips, the taste of salt lingering on her tongue.
Betty grabbed a cloth napkin from the table and dabbed at Amy’s cheeks. “I think you’ve been so determined to get some distance from the bad that you forgot about the good.”
“What good?” A scornful laugh burst past Amy’s lips. “Not one single thing I did was good. I lied. I hurt Logan. Not to mention Sara—” Her voice broke. She stilled Betty’s hand, taking the napkin and wiping her eyes. “But I’ve been trying to be someone good. Someone better. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Betty whispered. “So long as you remember that no one can be perfect no matter how hard they try. We’re, none of us, saints or angels. We all make mistakes.” She tugged Amy’s hands to her lap and eyed her. “If you don’t mind my asking, who is it you’re really doing all this changing for?”
Amy ducked her head and picked at the hem of her shirt. “Logan, I suppose.”
Betty sighed. “I know I should be objective right now. Tell you how proud I am of you for being so repentant and selfless.” She slid closer, smile tight. “But I won’t. You’re my girl, Amy, and I’m proud of you. Always have been. I’d hate to see you change the things I love most about you to impress a man. Even if he is a good one.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Is there?” Betty asked. “You used to like who you were and were proud of it. You were so brave and headstrong.” She smiled. “I remember watching you fall off a horse more times than I could count. Was scared to death you’d hurt yourself. But you’d get right back up, brush yourself off and try again. Every time. And you kept on trying until you got it right.”
“Or got it wrong,” Amy choked out. “I kept right after Logan, too, and look how that ended up.”
Betty took Amy’s hands in hers and squeezed. “You’ve always lived hard and you love just as hard. Your heart was in the right place no matter how wrong you went about it. Your daddy was the same way and you remind me so much of him. That’s why it’s so hard for me to let you go.” Her eyes watered. “I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t want you to move so far away. But I do want you to be happy. If that means moving to Michigan then I’ll support you. Traci and I will visit you just as we’ve been doing.” Her features firmed. “But no matter what you decide, I won’t help you hide yourself away. I love you too much to support you in that.” She tapped a finger against the ring at Amy’s neck. “That one mistake has been weighing you down long enough. It’s past time to set it down, forgive yourself and live again.”
The tension in Amy’s muscles eased, the tightness seeping away and leaving a soothing stillness in its place. She hugged Betty, absorbing her strength.
“Now.” Betty squeezed Amy close. “How ’bout I sneak us a few sugar cookies and we pile on the couch and watch a late movie together like we used to?”
Amy sniffed and smiled. “I’d like that.”
They stayed up and watched the last hour of one of their favorite holiday comedies, nibbling on cookies and sharing laughs. Betty’s eyes grew heavy and Amy kissed her cheek, suggesting it was time to turn in.
Betty paused at the door and smiled. “You’re loved, Amy. No matter where you are or what you do. I wasn’t the only one that loved the girl you used to be. Logan did, too. And would again if you’d give him half a chance.”
Standing motionless in the living room, Amy watched her mother leave. The house was quiet. All the guests had turned in for the night and Logan would be coming in soon. A steady ticking from the clock on the wall marked the time, bringing the future closer in small moments that weighed on her shoulders.
Amy glanced down at her boots. They were as banged up and muddied as they’d been when she’d run reckless as a teen. They felt as comforting now as they did back then. As if she could bound effortlessly across the ground with every step.
She wondered if the girl she’d been then was still inside her, the good and the bad in equal measure. She continued to ponder this long after she’d crawled into bed.
Logan joined her soon after, wrapping his arms around her and falling asleep. The gentle rhythm of his breathing offered comfort but sleep escaped her. She eventually gave up and slipped out of his arms, dressing and leaving the room quietly.
It was dark save for the light of the stars as she made her way to the stables. The path seemed to stretch farther than ever in the chill of the night air. She stopped more than once, almost turning back, but continued to put one boot in front of the other until she reached Thunder’s stall and placed her palm to the bars.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Thunder’s dark bulk shifted. He stomped a time or two and tossed his head.
“Not getting any sleep, either, huh?” Amy smiled. “Want to come with me? Take a night stroll like we used to and stretch your legs?”
He kicked, hooves striking the stall door. The sharp crack of wood split her ears. Amy held her ground, keeping her hand flat against the bars.
Thunder kicked again then paced, growing calmer and slowly approaching her hand. His nose drew closer, nostrils moving rapidly with strong pulls of air.
“Remember me?” Her throat closed and her vision blurred. “Because I think I need you to.”
He nudged closer, his wet nose and swift breaths tickling her skin. She reached with slow movements for the lead rope hanging on the wall.
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” she whispered. “Until we trust each other again. That okay with you?”
Thunder tossed his head and pawed the ground but she managed to get the lead on him and move him to the round pen. She slipped the rope off him once they made it inside the enclosure. He took off, bucking and kicking at the fence.
Her heart pounded against her ribs but she pushed on and walked him back several times, moving through the familiar routine and feeling the strength return to her trembling legs.
“Easy,” she murmured, lifting her arms.
The glow from the starlit sky pooled over him. His dark mane ruffled with each push of the wind. He tossed his head up, crying and stomping the ground, eyes flaring with fear.
Amy’s arms grew heavy but she kept them up, palms out. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Right here. Whenever you’re ready.”
Thunder pinned his ears and ducked his head.
“I’m right here,” she repeated.
Her body quaked. She closed her eyes, the lump in her throat