I stiffen, then fold into her because I can’t help it.
She smells like road coffee, hairspray, and home I did not know I had until she dragged me away from another one.
“You did the hardest part,” she says near my ear.
“What part?”
“You moved before the men finished deciding.”
A sob catches in my throat.
She pulls back and cups my face with both hands.
Her crown tattoo peeks from behind her ear when the wind lifts her hair.
“Straighten up,” she says softly. “He’ll either come correct or Hot Mama will feed him his own boots.”
I laugh through tears.
“There she is,” Lottie says.
Then she lets me go.
I stand by the fire and watch her walk to the SUV.
Holler should be mad.
Derby will be mad.
Legend will be mad.
Every man in Kentucky may be mad, for all I know.
Lottie gets in anyway.
She honks once as she drives toward the gate.
August looks up and waves with both arms.
“Bye, Miss Lottie!”
She sticks one hand out the window.
Hot Mama calls after her, “Ride safe, Julip.”
Lottie lifts two fingers without turning around. “Don’t get sentimental, old woman.”
“Don’t make me come to Kentucky and embarrass your husband.”
“Holler embarrasses himself just fine.”
The Queens laugh, and I realize Lottie is leaving as someone larger than the woman who drove me here.
Julip.
A crown that travels.
Then she is gone under the Queens sign, back down the road, taking the last piece of familiar Kentucky with her.