Hurricane Season
Page 7
nine
Betsy
Betsy was waiting on the front porch when a car turned off Highway 35 onto the gravel driveway. It was a moment before Jenna’s small blue Honda appeared from the tunnel of trees that lined the drive. Betsy smiled when the driver’s side door opened and Jenna’s blonde curls popped out.
“Hey there,” Betsy called on her way down the steps. “Welcome to the farm.” She enveloped her sister in her arms and squeezed, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. After a moment, she pulled back, her hands still on Jenna’s shoulders. “Your hair is shorter.”
Jenna put her hand to her head. “It’s easier this way. I still can’t control it, but at least it’s out of my face.”
“It looks great.” Whenever she thought of Jenna, it was usually as the wild, defiant teenager she once was. But here she was, an adult. A mother. The reality always caught her off guard. “It’s really good to see you. I wish you could stay.”
“I know. I have to be there tonight though. They do this big welcome thing, I don’t know.” She looked past Betsy to the house. “This place is gorgeous, as always. Addie’s been talking about the cows since we crossed into Alabama. Did you tell her she could ride one?”
Betsy was about to explain when a knocking came from the backseat, loud and insistent. They both turned to see Addie’s face pressed up against the glass.
“Let me get them out,” Jenna said with a laugh. She ducked her head into the backseat. Addie had already unbuckled her seat belt and clamored around Jenna to hop out of the car. Jenna pulled a sleeping Walsh from her seat, then stood.
Addie took a few cautious steps toward Betsy, then stopped and turned back to Jenna.
“It’s okay.” Jenna ran her hand down Addie’s hair.
Addie moved toward Betsy, then ran the last few steps, knocking into her knees and burying her face in her legs. “Aunt Betsy!” she said, her voice muffled by Betsy’s shorts.
Betsy closed her eyes for the briefest moment, then smiled big. “Well, hello to you.” She pulled Addie’s face up so she could look at her. “You’ve grown about a foot since I saw you last. And your hair—it’s so long!” Addie’s blonde curls reminded Betsy of Jenna as a child, her curls almost taking on a life of their own, especially in the summer.
“And here’s my baby.” Jenna switched Walsh to her other hip. Betsy knew mothers often called their youngest child their “baby,” but there was nothing baby about Walsh. Not anymore. Her dark hair hung to her shoulders in gentle waves, her small upturned nose was flecked with tiny freckles, and her rosebud lips were a deep magenta.
Betsy’s heart ached as if Walsh were her own child and she’d missed her growing up. She reached over to Walsh clinging to Jenna’s shoulder. Walsh tucked her chin and hid her face in Jenna’s neck. Betsy tickled Walsh’s cheek with the tip her fingernail, just enough to see the girl’s cheeks stretch into a grin.
“There it is,” Betsy said. “I knew a smile was in there somewhere.” Walsh giggled and Betsy turned to Jenna. “Y’all come on in.”
Addie ran ahead of them into the house. Inside, her eyes darted here and there to take it all in. “Wow,” she breathed.
Addie’s reaction was similar to how Betsy felt when Ty brought her to the farm when they were dating. The house wasn’t grand or huge, but it was comfortable. Broken in. Even with his grandmother’s collection of ancient weaver’s looms standing in the corners and orange-and-yellow afghans covering every piece of furniture, it had felt like a place of welcome.
Now, deep slipcovered couches had replaced the looms, and fabrics in a mix of ticking stripes and faded flowers had replaced the afghans, but it still felt like a haven, a place for rest.
Walsh squirmed and Jenna set her down. “Be careful.” Jenna ruffled Walsh’s hair. “Don’t mess anything up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Betsy said. “We don’t have anything they can mess up. If they could, Ty would have already dropped something on it or broken it.”
The girls scrambled into the window seat and stared out at the fields and the faded red barn in the distance.
Jenna breathed in deep. “It’s so peaceful.” She stretched her fingers out, then squeezed them closed. Was Jenna itching for her camera? There’d been a time—years ago in high school—when Jenna rarely went anywhere without it. She’d had a talent, somehow always able to capture just the right angle or shadow to make the viewer see her subject—whether a child at play or a leafless tree in winter—in a different light. She’d even carried that talent for artistry to Wyoming where she took photos and served as a yoga instructor at a remote artists’ colony. Thankfully, that was before Addie and Walsh.
Betsy took two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with ice. “I’m excited about your retreat.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Just an extension of the truth.
Jenna sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. “Thanks. I am too. I think.”
“What do you mean?” Betsy poured iced tea into the glasses and passed one to Jenna.
“I don’t know. It was all so quick. Two days ago, I was making the schedule for work, penciling myself in for a full week, and now I’m leaving the girls with you and headed to who-knows-what.”
Betsy nodded. Two days ago, she was planning a month of field trips, some marketing for the farm, and a meeting with a farmer’s market in Foley. Now she was wondering what she’d do with two young kids for half a month.
“But impulsive decisions are my trademark, right?” Jenna smiled, but it was halfhearted.
Betsy tightened her hands around her glass. “Do you think if you’d taken more time to think about it, you would’ve decided not to go?”
Jenna shrugged. “I probably would’ve talked myself out of it, but . . .”
“But what?”
Jenna kept her eyes down and swirled her tea in her glass. “Things like this don’t come my way very often. Or ever. If I’d said no, who knows when I’d have a chance to get away and do something like this again?”
Etta zipped through the kitchen then, the girls following just behind her.
Betsy finished her tea, then set the glass in the sink. “Hey, you two,” she called. “How about those cows? Want to go see them?” She looked at Jenna. “Is that okay?”
“Of course. They’ll love it. As long as Ty’s okay with it.” She bent down to help the girls with their shoes.
“He’s in the middle of the second milking, but we can see the cows already out in the pasture.” She turned to Addie and Walsh. “Maybe later on he’ll let you try milking one of them.”
Addie’s eyes widened. “Does it hurt them?”
Betsy laughed. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but no, it doesn’t hurt them. It’ll hurt them if we don’t milk them.” She ushered them out onto the back porch and down the steps. The openness of the yard was too much to contain Walsh’s excitement. She wriggled out of Jenna’s arms and burst into a run. Addie ran a couple of steps, then stopped and looked back at Jenna.
“I’ll stay with you, Mommy.”
“It’s okay, baby. Go ahead and run.”
Addie waited another second, then took off. “Walsh,” she hollered. When they reached the wooden fence, they peered through the slats and pointed at the cows in the distance.
“That’s some love,” Betsy said as she and Jenna picked their way across the prickly grass that had grown inches since Ty last cut it.
“Sometimes I don’t even know how it happened. I look at them and think, Where did you little girls come from? I know that sounds crazy.”
“Not too crazy. But they seem happy. Look at them.”
Addie held Walsh around the middle from behind, Walsh’s legs kicking and reaching for the bottom rung of the fence. As soon as her feet connected with the rung, she grabbed onto the top of the fence to get a better view of the cows beyond. Addie supported her little sister from behind.
“You must be doing something right,” Betsy said.
Addie and Walsh’s chatter grew quiet, and Betsy turned to see Ty walking toward them from the barn.
“Hey there,” she called to Ty. “They’re here.”
“I see that.” He unlocked the fence and pushed it open wide, then knelt in front of the girls. “Hello,” he said formally.
“Hi,” Addie said. “I like your cows.”
“Thank you. I like them too.” He tousled Walsh’s hair, then stood up. “Hey, Jenna. It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Ty.” Her voice was hesitant, but she relaxed when Ty held out an arm and gave her a quick hug.
“Sorry to run, but I need to get back out there.” He rubbed the creases on his forehead. “I just wanted to say hey. I’ll be back up as soon as I can.” He looked at Betsy and she nodded, then he was gone, headed toward the barn. His mind, Betsy knew, was wrapped around pumps, quotas, and the two weeks ahead.
Jenna raised her eyebrows. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. Just busy.”
Back inside, Betsy pulled out crackers and strawberries for Addie and Walsh, then cut two thick slices of buttery pound cake. “Milk, right?”
“Of course,” Jenna said.
Betsy placed the slices of cake on blue-and-white transferware plates and handed one to Jenna.
“Are these Nana’s plates?”
Betsy nodded, her mouth full of pound cake.
“I wish I’d had the sense to say I wanted some of her things when she died. I was too wrapped up in my own teenage dramas to care.” She ran her thumb along the edge of the plate. “The girls would love to eat off their great-grandmother’s china.”
“I have twelve of these,” Betsy said. “I can wrap up half of them and send them home with you.”
“No, I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean that. I just . . . You’ve had your head on straight for a long time. I wish I was more like that.”
While the two women ate, the girls took a couple bites, then darted off to one part of the house or another, exploring and chasing the cat. Betsy pulled out a pad of paper and a pen to jot down the girls’ schedules, but Jenna laughed.
“I just want to make sure I know what to do. Remember, I have no experience with this.”
“If I figured it out, you can too, and probably better than me. That reminds me . . .” She fished an envelope from her purse and held it out to Betsy.
“What’s this?”
“Just a little money. I wanted you to have some extra on hand to cover the girls’ food and incidentals while I’m gone.”
“You know you don’t have to do this. We can take care of it.”
“I know, but it’ll make me feel better. Just take it.”
Betsy hesitated, then took the envelope from Jenna’s hand.
When they finished going over everything about the girls’ routines and particular challenges, Betsy cleaned up the kitchen, wiping spills and dribbles that didn’t usually appear in her kitchen. Jenna walked through the house, picking up framed photos, books, and other knickknacks, then absently placing them down again. She was so lost in thought, Betsy just let her roam. When Jenna’s phone rang in her bag, she checked the screen, then moved toward the back porch.
“I need to take this, but I’ll just be a minute.” She opened the door as wind blew against the house, pulling the screen door on the porch wide open, then slamming it shut.
Betsy peered out the window above the kitchen sink. Dark purple spread across the sunlit sky. “Guess that storm decided to come on in.” Thunder cracked and a bolt of lightning skittered across the sky. A flock of doves took flight from the side pasture and zipped to the east. I’ll check on the girls for you, she mouthed to Jenna.
She found Addie and Walsh in the empty room, lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling and talking. Betsy stopped in the doorway and knocked on the jamb. “Mind if I come in?”
“Sure.” Addie sat up. Walsh rolled over onto her stomach.
“What are you girls chatting about? Still playing a game?”
“We’re looking for clues.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of clues?”
“Just clues about the house. What kind of place it is.”
Betsy raised her eyebrows. “Well, what did you find out?”
Addie looked around her. “We like the house. A lot. And the cows. And Uncle Ty. I think we could stay here for a while. Maybeeee . . . about four years.”
Betsy laughed. “Four years, huh? That’s a long time. I think you’d miss your own home by then.”
“Yeah,” Addie said. “Probably.” She pulled down Walsh’s pant leg where it had stuck up above her knee. “But this house just feels good. And we packed my favorite princess dress and Walsh’s blanket, so we can stay as long as we want!”
She jumped off the bed and ran to their small pile of bags in the corner. She reached her hand into an old University of Alabama duffel bag, then tossed a well-loved blanket to Walsh and laid out the dress for Betsy to see.
“Very pretty,” Betsy said.
Walsh pulled the blanket over her face and folded her knees up under her belly. “Find me!” she yelled to Addie.
Addie giggled. “I can still see you, silly.”
As the girls began a game of hide-and-seek, Betsy stepped out. Rain was falling hard now, splattering the windows and turning the world outside steamy and blurred.
Jenna stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with her phone to her ear. She was smiling and chewing on her bottom lip. “Okay. Max told me it was a single cabin. It’s just me, so that’s fine.” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Yes, I can make it by then, but don’t worry about saving any dinner for me. I’ll grab something on the way.”
Betsy tiptoed back up the stairs. Jenna called her just as she reached the empty room. She sat on the bed and tried to look like she hadn’t been eavesdropping. Addie and Walsh stood by the window peering at a honey bee buzzing on the other side of the glass.
Jenna tapped on the door. “Hey, you two.”
“Mommy, there’s a huge bee in the window. Come see,” Addie said. Walsh’s face was pressed to the glass.
“Hmm, wow.” She leaned down and looked over their shoulders. “That’s a big one. Come sit with me a minute.” She pulled the girls to her.
As Jenna talked to them, giving them a list of dos and don’ts while staying at the farm, Betsy stepped out of the room to give them privacy. In the hallway she leaned back against the wall. Photos of the farm, left over from Ty’s grandparents, clattered behind her.
“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” Betsy had said to Jenna on the phone the day before.
“No, it’s not like that. I’m asking you before I tell them anything. But I have to give them an answer soon. Like . . . today. This is . . . Oh, Betsy, please say yes.”
Betsy walked out into the backyard and breathed in the warm morning air as the two weeks swirled in her mind.
“Look, I understand if it’s not going to work,” Jenna said. “I’m sure I can figure something else out.”
Betsy exhaled. “Of course they can stay here. That’s not the problem. I’m just . . . I’m trying to understand you. It’s a quick decision, dropping the girls off with barely a heads-up. Have you thought this through—your job, money, bills while you’re gone? What about—?”
“Betsy, I’ve thought about it from every angle. Trust me. You don’t have to worry about me. Or the girls. I know I used to be . . . irresponsible, but I’m not now. I can’t afford to be—not with two kids who are stuck with me as their mom.”
“They’re not stuck with you.”
“You know what I mean. They only have me. I have to do things right. And that’s part of the reason why I want to do this retreat. To let them see me pursuing something that matters to me. To see me working toward a goal. I appreciate your concern, but this is something I
need to do on my own. Can you let me do that? You’re my sister, my friend. We’re partners, right? Isn’t that what we always said?”
Betsy nodded. “Yeah. We did.”
“It’s not like I’m leaving them with strangers. And as far as kids go, they’re a breeze. They sleep late in the morning, they love Curious George, and they can drink their weight in apple juice.”
Betsy smiled, in spite of her frustration.
“Oh, and Addie has to sleep with her stuffed elephant or she stays awake all night. Don’t forget that.”
Betsy gave a small laugh. “I think we can handle it.”
“It’ll be great. They’ll probably want to stay forever.”
Twenty minutes later, Betsy stood by Jenna’s car, already cranked with the AC blasting. The storm had pushed through quickly, leaving behind a blanket of thick humidity. Kneeling, Jenna hugged the girls tight. “Listen to Aunt Betsy, okay? I want her to tell me how well you’re behaving when I check in later.”
“Will you miss us?” Addie asked.
“Oh yes,” Jenna said. “I will miss you tons. But I’ll take some pretty pictures and when I get back, I’ll need you to tell me if they’re any good. I’ll need your help too.” She poked Walsh gently in the stomach.
Jenna stood and wrapped her arms around Betsy. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And sorry again for the late notice. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Just be safe. Let us know when you get there.”
“I will.” She climbed into the car. “Love you girls,” she called as she ducked her head.
Betsy thought she saw tears in Jenna’s eyes, and her arms ached to hold her little sister one more time. She stepped closer to the car, but when Jenna rolled down her window and turned her face to them, her eyes were dry. A little red, but no tears.
Wet gravel crunched under the tires as Jenna pulled away. Betsy and the girls waved until the car disappeared around the curve of the driveway. Then she put her hands on their backs and guided them up the steps. The afternoon sun was just beginning to peek out from behind the dark clouds.