“You’d have to know tonight?”
He nodded and looked at his watch again. “We’re talking about it at the meeting.”
“I can’t stay. They’re waiting for me.”
“Okay.” He said it so simply, so without care, it aggravated her.
She exhaled and pushed her hands through her hair. “Why are you just telling me about this now?”
“I didn’t find out about the spot until late this afternoon. I figured I’d see what frame of mind you were in before I told you. That’s the thing—it’s not a blanket offer to the whole group. A mentor has to make the case for one of the current artists. Why he or she should be asked to stay, how it will benefit them, how they’ve grown, how much further they have to go.”
“And you think I’m a good fit?”
“Wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t. I convinced the others to hold off on offering the spot to anyone until I talked to you.”
He turned his face toward the creek as if to give her a moment of privacy while she deliberated. She studied his profile in the moonlight, her mind swimming.
Could she? Was it possible? She’d just found her footing here, and leaving before she really even got started would be disappointing.
He turned back to her. “Keep in mind that if you stay, I’d expect you to work hard. I’ll help you put together a solid portfolio. You already have a decent head start, but we need to flesh it out. Show what you can do. And I may have some contacts I can share with you. Help you get your foot in the door at a few places.”
She clasped her hands together across her middle to keep them from shaking. “Why are you doing this for me? There must be other artists here who’d jump at the chance to extend their stay. Why me?”
He held up his hands, then let them drop. “Maybe it’s because I see a little bit of myself in you. Whether that’s a good thing or not is anyone’s guess.” He took a breath and leaned against the rail of the bridge. “Max couldn’t have known it, but he did me a favor when he asked me to keep an eye on you. The way you see things—your perspective—it challenges me to be better. To work harder. Maybe we can help each other.” He looked at her. “I think you’re a worthy artist. I think you need more time here. I want to give you that chance.”
Finally, he pushed off the railing. “Come on. I’ll tell them you need the night to decide. Just let me know in the morning.”
twenty
Betsy
Betsy stood over the kitchen sink Magic Erasing mud off the girls’ shoes so they could wear them to church. Whenever Jenna arrived, Betsy was sure it would at least be after the eleven o’clock service let out.
Jenna hadn’t given her a firm time, but Sunday was the day she was supposed to return, the day that had glowed red in Betsy’s mind for two weeks, since the minute she’d opened the gates she’d thought were shut tight. Having the girls in the house had required a delicate dance of exposure and protection. Life spilled on the rugs and countertops, laughter echoing off the walls, small dirty footprints on her kitchen floor. Some of it had felt natural, like slipping into a perfectly shaped second skin. But other parts had been almost unbearable, and she fought the urge to pull her gates closed again, lock them, and hide the key.
While Betsy scrubbed, Addie and Walsh zoomed around the house like they had wheels for feet. Their excitement was catching. As if something bigger than just Jenna’s return was imminent.
“Do you think she bought me something? Something big?” Addie asked on one of her passes through the kitchen.
“Well, I don’t know,” Betsy said. “What if it’s something tiny?” She bent down with her hands on her knees, face-to-face with Addie. “What if it’s small enough to hold in your hand?”
Addie’s eyes grew wide and she peeled off behind Walsh. “Walsh, what if Mommy brings us a fairy?”
Ty finished the morning milking by ten thirty, which left him only a few minutes to shower before Betsy piled them all into her car—Ty’s truck didn’t have space for the girls’ car seats—and sped down the highway to Elinore United Methodist Church. The parking lot was full of pickups and other sturdy, practical vehicles, most flecked with mud. Betsy parked under a tree at the side of the oyster-shell parking lot so the car wouldn’t be so hot after church.
They unloaded the girls and headed for the front doors with Ty carrying Walsh and Addie’s small hand firmly locked around Betsy’s. Betsy smiled hello to families in the parking lot while Ty shook a few hands and made the usual comments about the weather. Hot, getting hotter. Tropical Depression 5 had just been given a name—Dawn—which added extra pep to their small talk.
As folks poured out of the double doors from the nine-thirty service, Betsy saw Anna Beth standing to the side in a bright-pink pantsuit and struggling to button her son Jackson’s collar. He kept batting her hand away as only a thirteen-year-old boy could. When she spotted Betsy, she dropped her arms, gave him a hard stare, and marched toward Betsy.
“That boy.” She blew a lock of hair out of her face. “First he wanted to wear shorts to church—shorts! I talked him into long pants, but he refuses to button that top button.” She shook her head.
“I’ll let you two ladies chat.” Ty let go of Betsy’s hand and joined Anna Beth’s husband, Tom, by the wall, uncomfortable in his Sunday best. Ty still carried Walsh in his arms, as natural as if he were carrying a newborn calf. Addie clung to Betsy, creating a pocket of heat between their hands.
Behind Anna Beth, Jackson yanked on his collar, then noticed Betsy watching him. She smiled.
“It is about 90 percent humidity out here,” she said. “It has to get hot under those tight collars.”
“It’s church!” Anna Beth said. “It’s not about comfort—it’s about reverence. Oh, there’s my new boss.” She smiled and waved at Duncan Burgess, the new principal at Elinore Elementary. “Better go make nice.”
As Anna Beth worked her way toward Mr. Burgess, Betsy and Addie waited for the rest of the congregation to file out of the church. When the crowd cleared, Ty waved at her and she and Addie joined him at the front doors.
They took bulletins from the ushers and made their way to their regular seats—left side, five rows from the front. The girls began to fidget as soon as they sat down, turning around and staring at people in the row behind them, bouncing up and down on the cushioned pews.
“I’ll be right back,” Myrtle Davis, who sat at the end of their row, said. She appeared a moment later with children’s coloring sheets and crayons. “You won’t make it through the service without these.” She winked. Betsy thanked her, embarrassed for not thinking to get them herself.
The organist started and Betsy opened her bulletin. Being in church usually calmed her, took her outside her own head and into another place, somewhere higher than her usual day-to-day frustrations. But today she was antsy. She crossed her legs and her foot bounced up and down, quick and hard. Ty rested his hand on her knee and she stopped. Took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.
During the pastor’s prayer, she bowed her head like everyone else, but she kept her eyes open. She always did that. Something about closing her eyes while praying made her feel too loose, like she might float away if she wasn’t anchored by the sight of the wooden pew, the red hymnals, Ty’s leg next to hers. Instead of Ty’s leg, it was Addie’s knee and a fistful of crayons, but it helped.
After another hymn, the pastor began the sermon. Next to them, the girls’ crayons quietly scratched across the paper. Walsh asked Ty to draw a unicorn and he took on the task with his usual focused attention. He was adding a flowing mane and pointed unicorn horn when Betsy saw a glow from the side pocket of her purse on the floor. She glanced at Ty, then leaned down to check the screen, although she already knew who it was.
She pulled the phone out of her purse, covering the glowing screen with her hand, then ducked her head and walked quickly down the center aisle. By the time she exited the double doors into the breezeway, she’d missed Jenna’s call,
of course. She tried to call her right back, but it went straight to voice mail. She typed out a quick text.
Sorry, in church. Call back.
She paced the breezeway while she waited. The only other person outside was a young mother holding a fussy baby. The mother rocked on her feet, gently bouncing the baby in her arms. When Betsy passed her, she heard the woman singing “You Are My Sunshine.” She tried not to stare, but the baby’s cheeks were so pink, her eyelashes so long. Her dimpled chin so perfect.
She turned so the woman wouldn’t think she was crazy and stared at the phone instead, willing it to ring. Instead of ringing, she got a ding that meant Jenna had left a message. She walked to the edge of the breezeway, sensing the need for privacy, and held the phone to her ear.
“Hey, Bets.” Jenna paused, then sighed. Betsy could almost see her sister, her fingers fiddling with something, her hair a mess of curls, her blue eyes big and round. “I really don’t want to leave this in a voice mail, but I’m afraid I might not get cell service again for a while. Something’s come up. My mentor here gave me the option of extending my retreat and I . . .” She took a deep breath. “I took it.”
Betsy closed her eyes.
“It sounds crazy, I know. It’s just that I’ve only now had a sort of breakthrough to where I can . . . I don’t know, see straight, I guess. I’ve finally gotten to the place where things are clicking. The first two weeks barely scratched the surface.” She paused. Betsy crossed her free arm across her stomach, holding herself tight. “I know this is so last minute and I’m being irresponsible, but, Betsy, I just can’t . . . I’m so sorry to ask this of you. I can’t leave now, and I don’t know how else to explain it.” Jenna exhaled and so did Betsy. “I know the girls are having a blast. I hope they’re not too much trouble and . . . I hope you can understand this. Please understand. I’ll call again as soon as I can. And tell . . . please tell them I love them.”
Betsy pulled the phone away from her ear and tried to call back, but no answer. She closed her eyes again and touched the phone to her forehead. Behind her, someone stopped. “Are you okay?”
It was the mother with the baby. Betsy nodded. “Thanks.”
“Just checkin’.” The woman swayed to keep the baby asleep on her shoulder. “You looked a little faint. Thought I might have to find a chair or something for you.”
Betsy took a breath and pulled open the door. From the back of the sanctuary, she could see between other heads and shoulders to where Ty, Addie, and Walsh sat, their heads bowed, all probably still working on their crayon masterpieces. Next to them was the empty space reserved for her. Fingers of emotion squeezed her heart and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.
She strode back to their pew. When she sat, Ty looked over at her and raised his eyebrows. Jenna? he mouthed.
Betsy nodded and turned her gaze to the front of the church where the pastor was wrapping up his sermon. Ty reached across the back of the pew and laid his big warm hand on her shoulder.
twenty-one
Ty
Tropical Storm Dawn has made a sharp curve to the north, heading north/northeast at 40 mph. It is expected to continue on this track over the next 2–3 days. Residents of the central Gulf Coast should take proper precautions in the event Dawn gains speed.
The radio spit out Dawn’s coordinates as Ty opened the gate for the remaining forty cows to exit the barn. When the last one trailed out, swishing her tail as if waving good-bye, he grabbed the water hose. Aiming it at the floor of the milking parlor, he turned the faucet on full blast.
To his right, fifteen curious faces pressed up against the wide window of the observation room. A group of YMCA summer campers had come early today to watch the milking. They were the second field trip this week, which was probably a good thing. Something to distract Addie and Walsh from the fact that their mom did not, in fact, show up as she was supposed to with their promised treats and a ride back home to Nashville.
As soon as Betsy sat back down in church on Sunday after receiving the phone call, he knew something was wrong. She filled him in as they made the girls’ lunches after church. Ty took a deep breath to keep his anger in check.
“Did you ask her when she’s coming back?”
“I couldn’t ask her. It was a voice mail.”
“Did you try calling her back?”
“Of course I did. She didn’t answer. Or it didn’t go through. Or something.”
Ty laughed low. “Of course she calls you while you’re in church. Where else would you be at eleven thirty on a Sunday morning? Leaving a quick message is much easier than explaining yourself.” He dragged his hand through his hair.
“I don’t think she purposely called while we were in church.”
He gave her a look and rolled his eyes.
“You’re not getting mad at me, are you? This is not my fault.”
Their whispers had grown harsh—not what he intended, but he couldn’t help himself. With one call to the Betsy Franklin Rescue Service, Jenna was off the hook. Again.
“I know it’s not your fault. I just don’t like the way she uses us. Uses you.”
“I’m her sister, Ty. I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do. You do have a choice, though it looks like you’re dead set against using it.” He stood from his kitchen stool. “Let’s go talk to them then.” They had to tell the girls something. Well, mainly Addie. Walsh seemed happy as a clam no matter what she was doing, but Addie was sensitive. Aware. Betsy had wanted to make it sound simple, like Jenna’s car broke down or she had to make an extra stop before coming back, but Ty pushed for the truth.
“I can’t tell them I don’t know when she’s coming back,” Betsy said.
Ty nodded at Addie, whose face was pressed up against the window in the living room, watching the driveway. “Twenty bucks says she’ll know you’re lying.”
Finally, Betsy told them Jenna just needed some more time. It was a version of the truth, at least.
Since their “discussion” in the kitchen, they’d danced around the subject of Jenna. They didn’t bring her up, but her presence—the lack of it—filled up their house anyway.
“Whatcha think about the weather report?” Carlos wrenched Ty from his thoughts, bringing him back to the barn. “It’s headed for the sweet spot.”
Ty looked up just in time to see Betsy smile from the window in the observation room, the kids in a swarm all around her. Ty lifted his chin in response, then remembered she hated the “cool guy nod,” as she called it, and held up a hand instead. Addie and Walsh were mixed in with the other kids—two innocent, wide-eyed faces in the sea of middle schoolers, all equally as enthralled as the girls.
Ty turned back to Carlos. “Too early for the sweet spot. And she’s still just a tropical storm.” He directed the stream of water to the remaining hay and sawdust on the floor.
The “sweet spot” was a very nonscientific method Ty used to predict which storms would affect them—either by a direct hit or by putting coastal Alabama on the east side of the eye, pounding them with the worst of the wind and rain. When storms hit a certain path in the Gulf of Mexico, they often seemed to get caught in a current that funneled them north toward the Mississippi-Alabama border. No meteorologist worth his suspenders would put stock in Ty’s “sweet spot” method, but he’d been right so many times, he’d lost count.
Carlos grabbed the wide broom and pushed the standing water out of the barn. “Here’s hoping you’re right. I’m taking Gloria to Panama City next weekend. Donna—”
“Dawn.”
“Whatever. She better not mess up my plans.”
Ty turned off the faucet, then curled the hose around the hook. “I was supposed to take Betsy somewhere like that soon. A vacation.” A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead into his eye as he wound the hose. He swiped his face with the back of his hand.
“And? What’s stopping you? I can take care of things here.”
Ty nodded to the window.
Betsy had directed the kids’ attention to the old black-and-white photos lining the walls of the observation room, but Addie and Walsh remained pressed against the glass. They both grinned when he looked their way.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Didn’t want to pry. How long are they staying?”
Ty chuckled. “The million-dollar question.”
Behind the glass, the kids trailed out of the observation room toward the door. Betsy led them over to the side yard where a cow had wandered over to the fence, likely suspecting small hands full of sweet treats. Without even seeing the characteristic diamond-shaped spot on her nose, Ty knew it was Rosie. She was the most affectionate of the whole herd. She pressed her cheek against the wooden posts, and the kids reached through the fence to pet her face and back.
Ty kept four bulls on the farm, and the Grantleys up in Stapleton had a herd of fifteen. When Ty’s four hadn’t had success with Rosie, they tried several of the bulls from the Grantley farm. Ty had done all he could do for her—all he could stomach. Rosie couldn’t seem to get pregnant and the vet had no answers for them. But the girl was maternal and nurturing to everything she saw, whether cow, person, or barn cat. She licked, she nuzzled, she even cleaned other cows’ calves.
After a moment, Rosie walked away from the kids’ curious hands and fingers to visit another heifer, number 046. Forty-six was easy to spot because she was all white except for the black on her tail and her legs below the knees. A year younger than Rosie, 046 had been successfully impregnated three months ago. From the looks of it, they’d have a Christmas calf. Rosie sidled up to 046 and rubbed her cheek against the other cow’s neck.
That evening after a quick and chaotic dinner with Betsy and the girls, Ty retreated to the barn to put away the extra bags of feed and hay he’d bought that afternoon. Some might think that after being in the barn all day, a farmer would relish closing the door behind him at the end of the workday and leaving it behind. The truth was, nighttime was Ty’s favorite time in the barn. While the sky outside grew dark, the barn was lit with warm light. The cows were well fed and content, moths fluttered in the lights, and industrial fans on either end of the barn swirled lazily, taking the edge off the heat. The aroma of the cedar beams and rafters filled the air.
Hurricane Season Page 17
