I forgot for a moment that other people were present. But when I drew back to look at her, I caught sight of Arthur and his aunt continuing on in the direction of the inn. He glanced back before turning out of sight and sent me a reassuring smile, which I appreciated.

My lips folded in and I pressed them hard. I wanted to call him back as some sort of reinforcement. I didn’t. I sniffed and wiped my face instead.

Grandma Jo and Dad remained.

Mom kept her arms around me. She smelled like vanilla and sandalwood and looked exactly like she always did. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Pretty. Her hair was cut differently, though. Shorter and with a bit more edge. For as long as I could remember, she went to Nelda Hodge’s house for her cut and color, her natural blonde hair having faded into an undeniable brown at the end of her twenties. But now her shoulder-length style had been reshaped to something trendy, with layers and bangs and it was kinda . . . sexy? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. My voice was thick with emotion. And exhaustion. It had been another long day and I had already been tired when we left for the lights festival. Now I was wiped, yet also buzzing on an adrenaline hit that too soon would fade.

I glanced between her and Dad, whom I noticed was no longer animated as he watched us.

Grandma Jo nodded to Mom. “Good to see you, Dana,” she said, her tone measured, but not cold. I was pretty sure there was a thread of relief mixed in there.

Mom must have heard it, too, because her nod to my grandmother wasn’t perfunctory or stiff, which had been known to happen between them.

Despite being in each other’s lives as family members for at least seventeen years—since before I was born—Mom and Grandma Jo were never going to be great friends. They weren’t enemies, either. They were two people whose lives would likely never have intermingled in any meaningful way had they not intermingled in the one of the most meaningful ways possible.

Me.

“Hi, Jo,” Mom said, her hand unconsciously rubbing small circles in between my shoulder blades.

“Finley and I are just returning from Chickasha,” my grandmother continued, as if merely relaying mundane information, as if my mother had been gone only for the day instead of for the past few weeks. “We were at the lights festival.”

Mom smiled. “That sounds like fun.”

Grandma Jo nodded. “It was.”