Hurricane Season

by Lauren K. Denton

  “I know you do, son. Your daddy didn’t want the farming life, but I see it in you. So be it. Franklin Dairy will pass on to you.”

  Later, after the worst of the storm had passed, Granddaddy pulled on his boots and opened the back door. He turned to Ty. “You comin’?”

  Together, they stepped through the debris in the yard and dodged tree branches still swaying in the wind. Everything looked okay until they passed the barn.

  “Oh no. No, no.” Granddaddy took off running to the fence that was supposed to have kept the cows safe in the field during the storm. Instead, one large section had fallen, the old wooden boards snarled and splintered at the ends. Thirty-two of Granddaddy’s 150 cows had escaped through the gash in the fence. Even at his young age, Ty knew the rules of the game: a loss of cows meant a loss of milk, which meant a loss of money. It was a hard hit for the farm.

  Ty might have started the summer still a boy, but he took an important step toward manhood the night of that storm. Now, more than fifteen years later, he still remembered what it felt like to know Franklin Dairy would one day be his. It was an intimidating but welcome weight of responsibility. A weight that had only increased over the years.

  He heard a knock at the door and glanced up. Carlos leaned against the doorframe, beating dust from his blue jeans with his faded Crimson Tide ball cap.

  “What’s up, man?” Carlos asked, not really looking for an answer, just someone to shoot the breeze with for a minute.

  Ty leaned back in his chair, springs and metal squeaking. “Checking numbers. The usual.” He nodded to the hat in Carlos’s hand. “I’ll help you with the stalls if you leave that cap off.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Carlos set it firmly back on his head. “Hat stays with me.”

  While the men forked fresh bedding into each of the cow stalls, Ty relished the peace that came with doing a job well and quietly. With the herd in the fields and the music off, the only sound came from industrial fans on either end of the barn and the swishing of their pitchforks into bags of sawdust. Ty’s mind was free to roam, although today, his mind wasn’t going anywhere easy. It shifted from memories of his grandfather to the broken pump he and Carlos would have to fix later to the phone call that came this morning.

  Jenna. He didn’t even have to see her to feel the thorn digging into his flesh.

  Carlos could only stand to work in silence for so long, and after a few minutes, he broke it. “Something under your skin? You’re shoving that pitchfork mighty hard there. Remind me not to get in the way.”

  “I’m good. Just . . . distracted.”

  “What did Dr. Evans say about 186?”

  They’d lost a cow yesterday, a female soon to have a baby. Ty hadn’t been sure what it was, but the thought of infection—something that could spread to the rest of the herd—had worried him.

  “Undetected heart condition, no infection. He couldn’t say specifically what it was, but he offered to do an autopsy to be sure.” Ty patted down the last layer of sawdust and moved the bag down to the next stall.

  “For a pretty penny, I bet.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Good there’s no infection. Nothing that’ll affect the rest of them,” Carlos said. “So if it’s not the cow, what is it? Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I’ll just ask you again later.” He grinned.

  Ty shoved a fork-load into the stall. Patted it down. Lather, rinse, repeat.

  “It’s nothing, man. Just heard a weather report earlier is all. Tropical storm down in the Caribbean.”

  “Yeah, I heard it too. Staying out in open water, don’t you think?”

  “Probably. Can’t let our guard down though. That’s the same as begging the thing to come and unleash destruction. We have some boards left over from last summer. I’ll see about getting more. May have time later today to make a run to the Feed and Equipment.”

  “You like to be prepared for everything, don’tcha, Boss?”

  “I can’t prepare for everything. But this farm’s been here a heck of a lot longer than I have. It’s not going to be blown to bits on my watch.”

  Ty paused and ran his free hand over his head, then picked the fork back up again. Maybe he was being too hard on Jenna. Betsy tried to take care of her. He should probably try to do the same. But her calling meant she needed something, and Ty wasn’t sure Betsy had anything to give. Not money, not energy, certainly not another chunk of her heart. Last summer was the last time, as far as Ty was concerned.

  Betsy had been so confident that first procedure would work. He’d hoped it would too, of course, but he knew it was usually better to expect the worst. Not as hard of a fall that way. Betsy, on the other hand, had expected the best, even planned for it—she’d use the weekend in Nashville to give the good news to Jenna. It didn’t pan out that way though.

  After they got the call that the test was negative, Ty had expected Betsy to bail on the trip, but she didn’t. Putting five hundred miles between her and the double glass doors of South Alabama Fertility Specialists would feel good, she’d said. Give her something else to focus on. And anyway, Jenna had asked her to come, and Betsy would do whatever she could for her sister.

  He still kicked himself for letting Betsy go, but at the time, he didn’t have the heart to say no. When she pulled up the driveway at the end of the weekend, both she and the truck were on their last legs. She hadn’t gotten the rest and peace she’d gone to Nashville to seek. Jenna had been a sour taste in his mouth ever since.

  So the phone call? It was the same as the leaves swirling in the wind, the animals all jittery in their pens, the weathermen loosening their top buttons and rolling up their shirtsleeves. Everyone knew something was coming.

  eight

  Betsy

  It was a long day, as Ty had predicted. Betsy didn’t see him before the afternoon milking, which took him through the early evening. He blew in the back door as lightning bugs floated around the backyard and cicadas in the trees chirped out their scratchy melodies. He wolfed down a bowl of spaghetti, then ducked back out the door.

  “Sorry, babe,” he said. “Broken pump. Carlos and I have to fix it before tomorrow.”

  It was well after ten before she heard the back door open and his footsteps, heavy with fatigue, on the stairs. She was propped up in bed reading.

  “Everything okay?” she asked when he trudged into their bedroom.

  He shrugged, unbuckling his blue jeans and stepping out of them. He pointed to the bathroom. “Shower.”

  Ten minutes later, he entered the bedroom, smelling of musky soap. She’d planned to tell him about Jenna and the girls as soon as he came out of the steamy bathroom, but then he collapsed onto the bed next to her, flung his arm over his eyes, and groaned.

  “That bad?”

  “It’s working again, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold up. It’s the second time we’ve had to rig it. Wish I could have called Chuck.”

  For years Ty had used Chuck Panter anytime a piece of equipment broke or malfunctioned, but with the closing of several dairy farms in south Alabama, there wasn’t enough broken machinery to keep him in business. At one time there had been twelve dairy farms in his territory. Now there were three, and Franklin Dairy was the biggest by far.

  After a moment, Betsy reached over and turned off the lamp. In the semidarkness she had the nerve to ask, “What about us? How are we doing?” She knew the numbers, but numbers only told half the story. Many times their numbers had been down but Ty said not to worry, that the next season would bring them well into the black, and it always happened.

  But he didn’t immediately dismiss her concerns, which made her concerns feel that much more real.

  “I was thinking about calling the principal at the elementary school,” she said. “See if he’d be interested in setting up some more field trips for next school year. And I talked to the head of the summer program at the Y. They’re adding us into their weekly camp schedule this summer.”

  �
�That’s great, Bets.”

  She turned her face toward him. He stared up at the ceiling, one arm behind his head.

  “The field trips help,” he finally said. “They really do. The renovation set us back, but it’ll pay off. We’ll be okay.” He reached over and pulled her toward him. She scooted close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, slid one leg between his, and nestled her head under his chin.

  He sighed. “We always make it work, don’t we? When something doesn’t go our way, we try something else.”

  “What are we trying this time?”

  “We’ll be creative, how about that?” He pulled his head back and smiled at her. His face, weathered from spending hours of every day of the year outside in the elements—heat, cold, rain, wind—bore straight white lines between his eyes and temples. He said he couldn’t be outside in the sunshine without his sunglasses on or his light-blue eyes would scald right off his face. She reached up and traced the line to his ear.

  “Maybe it’s time for that vacation you’ve been talking about,” he said. “A long weekend. What about Destin? Or New Orleans? You could take me to that antique shop you like on Magazine Street. Walker and Carlos could keep an eye on things here for a few days.”

  “How can we do that when we can’t pay to fix a broken pump?”

  “We can pay to fix it; I’m just choosing to fix it for free.”

  “Hmm.” She pressed her cheek into his chest. His heartbeat was as steady and insistent as the metronome that used to sit on top of her parents’ Steinway. “That would be nice.” A vacation would be good for them. Help them reconnect, away from the responsibilities of the farm, from the distraction of the milking schedules. The veterinarian visits and field trips.

  He rolled onto his back again, keeping one arm tight around her. “So what’s up with Jenna?”

  “Things are good. She’s getting ready to go on a two-week art retreat. It’s a big deal, I think. Something she didn’t want to turn down. It’s in Florida.”

  “Two weeks at the beach? Sounds right up her alley.”

  “It’s . . . I don’t think it’s actually on the beach. And maybe it’ll be good for her. She’s wanting to get back into her photography, and this will give her a chance to get away and focus on it. She used to be really good.”

  “What about Addie and Walsh?”

  Betsy paused a moment too long. Ty turned to her with wide eyes. “Betsy?”

  “I told her I’d run it by you, but I said I thought we might be able to keep them here.”

  “And when is this retreat?”

  She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “It starts tomorrow.”

  Ty lifted his shoulders and peered down at her. “Tomorrow? As in twelve hours, tomorrow?”

  Betsy nodded.

  He sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “It’s two weeks. Nothing at all. It’ll be mostly me taking care of them anyway. I know you’ll be busy. And I should have asked you earlier.”

  He laughed, almost a grunt. “You think?”

  She put a hand on his back. “I’m sorry. Really. I just . . .” How could she explain the deep-down kernel of need inside her—the need to protect, defend, shelter her sister? Even when Jenna made rash, spur-of-the-moment decisions, even when she infuriated Betsy like no one else could.

  Betsy closed her eyes. Jenna had once begged her parents to let her attend some kind of photography program the summer after her freshman year at Alabama. Betsy made it clear she thought her parents should let Jenna go, but they said no. They hadn’t even considered it.

  “Jenna was always happiest when she was behind a camera. If this is her shot at trying photography again, I want to give it to her. And I can’t shake the feeling that something else is going on with her too, but I don’t know what it is.”

  Ty turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “I don’t know if you believe all that or if you’re just saying it to make things sound better.” He sighed and lay back against the pillows. “I love you for taking care of your sister. I don’t love the situation, but it’ll . . . It’s fine. You’re right though—I won’t have much time for visiting. Or helping you with the girls.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to change anything. I’ll take care of it all.”

  Ty exhaled through pursed lips and rubbed the top of his head. “I wish she’d given us a little more of a heads-up before we become babysitters.”

  “I know.” Betsy’s chest squeezed at the thought of little feet pounding up and down the stairs of the old farmhouse. Laughter in the hallways. She hoped she hadn’t made a big mistake in saying yes.

  Outside, the faint sound of lowing cows, content in the barn, crossed the expanse of grass and yard and crept inside the house. The sound was strangely comforting.

  Ty’s arm around her tightened. “You looking forward to seeing Addie and Walsh?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I am. It’s been over a year. Walsh was still a baby last summer.”

  “I remember last summer.”

  Betsy squeezed her eyes closed, shutting out the memory. She swallowed. “Things are different now, you know that. We’ve moved on. It’ll be easier.”

  Ty was quiet. After a moment, Betsy propped herself up on one elbow to peer down at him. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Because I’d rather them not come at all if it’s going to be hard for you.”

  Betsy leaned down and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you for worrying about me. But I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

  He pulled her to him again, his arm tight around her back. He nuzzled her cheek with his nose and kissed her, soft but pressing, urgent. She gave in for a moment, the familiar and pleasant ache rising in her belly, but when his hand slipped down to the waistband of her thin cotton pajama bottoms, she inhaled and pulled her lips away, just a fraction of an inch, so small she almost hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  But he dropped his head back against his pillow. She put her hand on his chest and lay her head on the pillow next to his, her forehead pressed into his cheek. “Another night?” she whispered.

  She felt him nod. In minutes he was asleep.

  Long after Ty nodded off, Betsy lay awake. The half-full moon shining through a hazy film of cloud made a soft glow on the bedroom walls. The clock on her nightstand glowed red numbers—1:24.

  Nashville last summer had been hard. At first she’d expected it to be a chance to celebrate good news of a positive pregnancy with her sister. Then after the nurse had called with the results, she hoped it’d be a chance to rest, lick her wounds, and get her feet back underneath her. It wasn’t until she dropped her bags in Jenna’s cozy little house that she learned Jenna had been offered the chance to pick up extra shifts at Full Cup and would be working for much of the weekend, starting with the late shift that night.

  All Betsy had said to Jenna about the doctor visits was that she was “having some tests done,” making sure things were running normally. Nothing to indicate any real problem. Still, Betsy had hoped that Jenna would have somehow read between the lines. Used some sisterly wavelength and instinctively known Betsy needed her. Not walk out the door the minute Betsy arrived.

  “You don’t mind hanging with the girls, do you? I know they’d love to spend some time with Aunt Betsy without boring old Mom around,” Jenna said.

  “I don’t know, Jenna, I kind of thought . . .”

  “Please? This is good money for me. And I’ll be in and out. I’ll have a break between shifts around lunch tomorrow, then you and I can catch up on Sunday.”

  “I have to leave Sunday. I have a field trip lined up for Monday morning.”

  “Oh. Well . . .”

  Betsy exhaled. Thoughts of bonding, reconnecting, evaporated. “It’s fine.” What else could she do? “The girls and I will have a great time.” She imagined a protective layer, like bubble wrap, creeping up the walls of her heart.

  Betsy spent the weekend building
sheet tents in the cramped living room, making pizzas with the meager offerings in Jenna’s kitchen, and making up fairy tales about mermaids and seahorse princes. When Jenna arrived home after her Sunday-morning shift, Betsy pulled her suitcase, now stuffed with crayon drawings and a pink feather boa Addie insisted Betsy take with her, out to the truck. She turned to say good-bye to the girls.

  “I wish you could stay longer.” Tears slid down Addie’s cheeks.

  Betsy’s heart filled with a potent mixture of longing and anger she’d never felt. She bent down so she could talk to Addie at her eye level. “How about this?” she whispered. “What if we make plans to see each other again real soon? Maybe you can even come to the farm and get to know the cows.”

  “Can I ride one?” Addie asked, her bottom lip still trembling.

  Betsy laughed. “We don’t usually ride the cows, but I don’t think Uncle Ty will mind. He’ll pick out the perfect one for you to ride.”

  That perked Addie up enough for Betsy to leave without dissolving into tears herself. Before she climbed into the truck, she cupped Walsh’s plump cheek in her hand, then turned to Jenna.

  “Thank you.” Jenna’s arms were tight around Betsy’s neck. “This has been a huge help. And I’m sorry we didn’t really get a chance to catch up.”

  It was now mid-June and that bright July morning last summer was the last time Betsy had seen Jenna or the girls. She FaceTimed with Addie and Walsh often, but whenever Jenna got on the phone, she kept the conversation light and easy—what the girls were learning, funny things they’d said recently. Anytime Betsy asked about anything more personal—whether Jenna was satisfied with her job, if she’d met anyone nice, if she was happy living in Nashville— Jenna would change the subject.

  Maybe the act of keeping the girls here for a little while would somehow bring her and Jenna closer. There were so many conversations Betsy wanted to have with Jenna, about so many things, but there always seemed to be some sort of dividing wall between them. Betsy didn’t even know how it got there. Things used to be so different with them.

  She wished Jenna could stay even just one night at the farm. She imagined the two of them sitting up late on the porch, talking and laughing as they did when they were much younger, before real-world problems invaded their make-believe universe.