The second quarter ended with Moose Creek up 14 to 7. People stood and stretched and shouted to each other from across the bleachers as “Callin’ Baton Rouge” played through the speakers.

“Garth Brooks.” Dad bobbed his head to the music. “The best.”

“Garth Brooks?” Jeremy asked.

Bea turned to stare at him. Sure, he was raised in the city and everything, but how could he not know Garth Brooks? The bestselling country artist of all time?

“Garth is Dad’s third favorite.”

Jeremy winced a little. “Dare I ask who his first two favorites are?”

Dad’s face took on a solemn look. This was a serious subject for him. “Randy Travis is number one, of course. Then Miranda Lambert.”

Jeremy gulped. “Of course.”

Bea laughed. “Dad loves him some Miranda.”

“She’s got spunk.” Dad held up the fingers of one hand. “Then Alan Jackson and Taylor Swift round out the top five. If you must know.”

Jeremy gaped. “Uh . . . Taylor Swift?”

“Oh, here we go.” Bea rolled her eyes.

“Taylor Swift’s not a country singer.”

Dad glared. “You don’t know what you’re saying, son.”

“Dad, please.” Bea looked up at him, surprised at how easily she took on the role her mother used to play in this familiar discussion. “You’ve got to let her go. She moved on. It wasn’t personal.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “She was born to be a country artist. She’s going to come back.”

“Taylor Swift is too gifted to be confined to any one genre, Dad. She has to be able to spread her wings.”

“I didn’t realize she was ever a country singer,” Jeremy said.

Dad ignored him and gave Bea a meaningful look. “She’ll be back. You wait and see.”

“Okay, okay.” Bea held up her hands. “If you say so.”

Dad stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together. “I’m going to The Shack to warm up and get some popcorn. Want anything?”

“Ooh, popcorn.” Bea smiled. “Get me one, too.”

“You got it, B.B.”

Jeremy watched him walk down the stairs with a guarded look on his face. “I thought you didn’t like that name.”

She chewed the inside of her lower lip. B.B. wasn’t who she was anymore. B.B. was a kid with dreams and plans and a mother who was there for her no matter what. “I don’t.”

“Then why don’t you say so?”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it.” She looked down to where he’d gone. “It’s just a habit.”

“Well, I don’t—”

“Beatrice, I’ve been looking all over for you.” A young woman holding a baby in one arm dropped into the seat Dad had left empty and threw her other arm around Bea’s neck. “I heard you were back. I tried to text, but the number was out of service.”