Hurricane Season

by Lauren K. Denton

  A few minutes later, Ty led the girls back into the kitchen. They smelled of outside—evening heat, thick grass, fresh straw from the henhouse. A mixture of nature and childhood. Not her childhood, but someone else’s.

  “Go ahead and show her,” Ty whispered to the girls. He patted them on the back, then turned to Betsy. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ll start their bathwater for you.” He headed up the staircase, peeling off his T-shirt as he went.

  Addie and Walsh stood in front of Betsy, their hands behind their backs. She dried her hands on a dish towel, then bent down to their level. “You didn’t find anything interesting out there, did you?”

  They beamed. “We did!” They pulled their arms from behind their backs and presented their treasures. Both of them held a single egg in careful hands.

  “Can we save them so they’ll turn into chicks?” Addie asked. “We can keep them safe until it’s time for them to hatch.”

  “I’m sure you would keep them very safe, but these eggs won’t turn into chicks. They’re for eating, not for babies.”

  Walsh peered at her egg, shook it, and held it up to her ear. “No baby chicks?”

  “Nope. No babies. Just food. But that’s an important job. Our hens help feed us.”

  “I guess so,” Addie said. “Baby chicks would’ve been more fun though.”

  They handed her the eggs before bounding up the steps. Betsy placed them in empty spaces in the egg carton in the fridge.

  Commercials on TV always made bath time with kids look like the highlight of any parent’s day. Bubbles and giggles. Sweet smiles. Soapy hairdos. Maybe Betsy just wasn’t doing it right. The laughter and bubbles lasted for a few minutes, then things usually devolved into warfare.

  “She splashed me!”

  “That’s my cup!”

  “I had the soap first!”

  Tonight Betsy had one hand on Walsh’s shoulder and one on Addie’s to stop a splashing war when her phone rang behind her, high on a shelf so it wouldn’t get wet. “Okay, you two, freeze!”

  The girls stared at each other, then dissolved into laughter. Crisis averted for the moment.

  She swiped a damp lock of hair from her forehead and grabbed her phone. Jenna.

  Not now.

  The tension headache that had begun when she realized Walsh was nowhere to be found now throbbed in her temples, dull and persistent. She sat on the closed toilet and shut her eyes for a second. “What’s up?”

  Addie looked up sharply from the tub where she’d been pouring water back and forth between two cups. Betsy smiled at her.

  “Not much,” Jenna said. “I drove into town to pick up a few things at the drugstore. I’m on my way back for dinner now.”

  “And things are okay?” She forced brightness into her voice.

  “Yeah, yeah. Things are good. Really good, actually. I’m working hard and sending résumés out left and right.”

  “Résumés. Wow.” Betsy realized then that a part of her hadn’t expected Jenna to follow through with her plan to change things up in her life. She thought this would be a good experience for Jenna but that she’d return to Nashville with the girls and pick right back up where she left off. “So you’re really doing this?”

  “Trying to. Gregory has connections all over the country—and some are with big names in the industry. I just . . . I’m excited, Betsy. I mean, not much has happened yet, but the potential is there. Who knows where this could take me?”

  “You? You mean you and the girls.”

  “Of course. The three of us.”

  “Because this isn’t all about you.” Betsy turned away from the girls so they couldn’t hear her words. As if they could hear over their own squealing anyway. “This trip of yours involves other people. Four of us, actually.”

  “I know that. I—”

  But Walsh and Addie began to kick their legs like mermaids, drowning out Jenna’s voice. Water splashed everywhere—the walls, the floor, Betsy.

  “Girls. Please.” She grabbed a towel and wiped her arms and the front of the cabinet. “Give it a rest for just a second.”

  “Oh, they’re in the bath?” Jenna asked. “Walsh gets so wired at bath time. You’ll have to make sure she’s calmed down before you put her to bed.”

  “Thanks. I’ll make a note.” She struggled to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “I’m sorry. You’ve probably already figured that out. You’ve probably figured it all out by now.”

  “Not really. I’m just winging it here. And I can’t . . . Look, I do want to talk to you and hear more about these plans . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper, although with the girls busy playing yet another loud, splashy game, the whisper was unnecessary. “But this just isn’t the best time. It’s been a long day and they’re wet and riled up. I don’t want them to know—”

  “It’s fine, I get it.”

  “Unless you want to talk to them. They’d love that,” Betsy said as she wiped water off the wall with the damp towel. “I can hand them—”

  “You know what? Let’s try it another night. Or tomorrow. They’re having fun and your phone will get wet . . .”

  “Well, if you don’t . . . I mean, I can . . .” She exhaled hard, frustrated by feeling like she needed to convince her sister to talk to her own kids. She stuck her head out the door into the hallway. “Ty, could you come in here for a minute?”

  Back in the bathroom, Addie’s eyes were focused on her.

  “So is that it?” Betsy stayed by the door, her back partially turned but her eyes on the girls. “I mean, I’m glad to hear things are going well, but I kind of have my hands full here.”

  “Is that Mommy?” Addie asked.

  “It’s . . .” Betsy froze. “What do you want me to say?” she whispered.

  Ty tapped on the door to the bathroom. “Whatcha need?” His hair still dripped with water from the shower.

  “It’s . . .” She pointed to the phone. Jenna, she mouthed.

  “Betsy, I’ll just let you go,” Jenna broke in. “I’m sorry for calling at a bad time.”

  “No, wait—”

  “I’ll call again soon. I promise.”

  When the line went quiet, she set her phone on the counter. It hit a puddle of water and slid right to the floor. She pressed her forehead to the wall a moment, then leaned down and turned the phone over. The cracked screen looked like a spiderweb.

  Ty knelt next to her and took the phone from her. “What’d she say?”

  “Oh, not much, except that she’s trying to find a new job and who knows, maybe it’ll be across the country. That and I shouldn’t be bathing them so close to bedtime.” She laughed, even though it wasn’t funny.

  “Why don’t you take a breather? I can . . . I’ll do something in here while they play.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Betsy turned back to the bathtub and grabbed a washcloth. “Who wants to get clean first?”

  “Was that Mommy on the phone?” Addie asked again.

  Betsy nodded. Pumped Aveeno baby wash onto the washcloth. “It sure was. She said she’d call again soon so you can talk to her.”

  “Why didn’t she want to talk to us now?”

  “I don’t know, honey. I guess she was busy.” Betsy squeezed the washcloth to get it soapy, then rubbed it on Addie’s arms, the back of her neck.

  “Wait!” Addie screeched. “Mommy always washes our hair first. Then she does the soap. Not soap first!”

  “We’ll just do it like this tonight.”

  “No! This isn’t how she does it.”

  “Well, Mommy isn’t here right now, is she?”

  She caught the decibel, the hard edge to her voice a second too late. Addie dropped the cup she’d been holding and Walsh’s bottom lip quivered.

  Behind her, Ty cleared his throat. “Why don’t you take a second, babe,” he said, one hand on her shoulder. “I can take over here.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “I got it. You nee
d a break,” he whispered.

  She dropped the washcloth into the water. On her way out the door, Ty grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. She pulled away and left the steamy bathroom. Down the stairs, one foot in front of the other, she finally made it out the back door into the yard. The air around her wasn’t exactly refreshing—the night was warm and still, without even the slightest breeze rustling the leaves—but the openness felt like coming up from a pool of water after being under for too long. She inhaled deeply, big gulps of air that helped relieve the suffocating helplessness she’d felt in the bathroom.

  All she wanted was to not hurt. Before Jenna showed up with the girls, she’d been so close to getting past it all. She reached up and pulled her hair down from the knot at the back of her head. She ran her hands through her waves, untangling snarls with her fingers, and smoothed it back into a bun.

  From the bottom porch step, she surveyed the land that stretched beyond the backyard. The barn was dark, its edges sharp against the navy sky. Faint lowing from the cows, sleepy within their stalls, trickled across the grass.

  The fence that separated the backyard from the pasture beyond had stood strong for nearly a century. Ty, and his grandfather before him, had mended it from time to time, replacing rotted or cracked wood when necessary, but on the whole, it was the same fence Ty’s great-grandfather had built in the 1920s. It was the same with the house and parts of the barn.

  When Betsy thought of the longevity of those wood boards, the bricks and mortar and rafters that held their physical life in place here, she felt so small. A farmer’s wife. Just one woman in a line of them, their joys and sadness, hopes and hurts mixing together and settling within the cracks and folds. Ty’s grandmother had suffered two late-stage miscarriages before giving birth to Ty’s father—her only child. His great-grandmother had lost her first husband to tuberculosis. Betsy’s hurts and losses were nothing in comparison. Insignificant pains in the face of such tragedies.

  And yet her hurt remained. Maybe it always would. Her one constant dream for herself—that of giving and nurturing life, of spending herself for the sake of her own—had yet to be realized. According to Dr. Fields, future prospects didn’t look hopeful, but a tiny ember of hope deep in her heart refused to die away.

  Upstairs, Addie’s and Walsh’s voices seeped out through the window Betsy had left open a crack. A moment later, Ty’s voice—growling like a bear—drowned them out, sending shrieks and laughter into the dark night.

  Betsy stood, one foot on the ground, one on the porch step, caught between two worlds. One of old hurts and pain that she desperately longed to escape and one of laughter and lightness, promise and new dreams. She yearned for that one with an impatient heart.

  The girls were wrapped in fluffy white towels, their wet hair clinging to their cheeks and shoulders. Ty was stooped over next to Walsh, holding her footed pajamas up next to her, visibly confused about which end to start from.

  “I’ll take over,” she said from the doorway. Both girls looked up and Ty exhaled, dropping the pajamas on the bed.

  “Thank the Lord. I’m out of my league here. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  “Thanks,” she said as he passed by. “I needed that.”

  “I know. You okay?” He paused and leaned against the wall just outside the doorway.

  She shrugged. “Better.” She offered a small smile.

  “Aunt Betsy, I need you!” Walsh called.

  Betsy took a deep breath and ran her hand across her forehead. Ty leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. “You’re a good woman, Betsy Franklin.”

  He headed downstairs and she paused before entering the girls’ room. Jenna’s words ran through her head. “Connections all over the country. Potential. Who knows where this will take me?”

  She knocked softly and sat on the bed. The girls were on the floor, their towels drooping as they worked to get dressed.

  “Can you help me?” Walsh fumbled with the feet of her pajamas. Betsy leaned over and gathered the material so Walsh could fit her feet inside. Once her legs were in place, Walsh grabbed the pajamas and pulled them up. “I can do it myself.” She pulled the zipper over her pale belly and up to her neck.

  Next to her, Addie yanked her shirt over her head, then jabbed her fist around trying to find the armhole, her face pink and determined. “There,” she said when her hand slipped through.

  After brushing their hair, Betsy folded back the sheets on the bed and helped the girls climb in. When they settled, she looked at them, right in their eyes. “I owe you both an apology.”

  Walsh held a Beatrix Potter book in her hands, flipping the pages back and forth, but Addie stared back at Betsy. “For what?”

  “I lost my temper earlier in the bathroom and I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.” Addie lowered her eyes and fiddled with the edge of the knitted blanket.

  “What are you sorry for?” Betsy asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m sorry about the soap.”

  Betsy smiled and cupped her hand on Addie’s cheek. “The soap doesn’t matter at all. Next time I’ll wash you however you want, in whatever order you want. Deal?”

  Addie grinned. “Deal.”

  “Will you read us this book?” Walsh held out The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck.

  “Sure.” Betsy leaned back against the pillows and opened the book. Before she could read a word, the girls rearranged themselves, the weight of their heads resting against her chest, their legs warm next to hers. Finally, they settled and were still. “We’re ready,” Addie said.

  As their breath came and went, their chests rising and falling, something in Betsy shifted, like tectonic plates bumping and sliding into each other, forever changing the landscape above. Instead of moving them off her, instead of pushing away both the pleasure and the pain, Betsy let herself relax. Rested. Pretended, for one selfish moment, that they were hers.

  twenty-five

  Ty

  A few days later, in the stillness of a hot afternoon, Addie and Walsh appeared in the barn. By now, Ty knew the girls’ schedule well enough to know they should have been napping. Instead, Walsh tromped around the barn, saying hi to the cows and trying to feed them anything she found on the floor, while Addie just stood and watched.

  Holding Walsh back from feeding a handful of straw to number 051, he glanced up to the house where Betsy stood on the porch steps. He pointed to the girls and held his hands palms up.

  Okay? she mouthed, then gave a thumbs-up sign.

  Before he could call back that they weren’t exactly okay, that the girls would just be a distraction—to both him and the cows—she waved and retreated into the house.

  Ty took off his cap, brushed his hand through his hair, and settled it back on his head. “Okay, I guess y’all are with me. Stay where I can see you. Got it?”

  The girls nodded.

  “And you know if you’re out here during milking time, I’m going to put you to work.”

  Walsh’s eyes lit up, but Addie looked unsure. “Work how?” She watched Carlos hook a cow up to the milking machine. “Does that hurt them?”

  “Nope. It’s very gentle. Almost the same as milking them by hand.”

  He walked the girls to the end of the line where the last ten cows were waiting for their second milking of the day. He handed Walsh a brush and showed her how to brush along the length of the cow’s side and avoid the tail. She got to work, taking her job seriously.

  “Where’s my brush?” Addie asked.

  “You’re not brushing. You’re milking.” Addie’s blue eyes grew wide and Ty laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not hard.” He grabbed two buckets off a set of hooks on the wall, turned one over next to number 073, and set the other one underneath the cow. He patted the overturned bucket and Addie sat down.

  He’d chosen this particular cow because her milk supply was low. If it was high, the cow would be too uncomfortable to put up with the slow release of hand m
ilking.

  “Watch my hands.” He grasped an udder and used his thumb and forefinger to pull down, drawing the milk out. It sprayed into the bucket, startling Addie. She jumped back. “It’s okay, that’s how it comes out. You try.”

  “I don’t know.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Sure you can. Just try.”

  She took a deep breath and gingerly pulled on the udder, but nothing happened. Ty rearranged her hand and fingers and she tried again. This time a steady white stream shot into the bucket and Addie gasped. “I did it!”

  While Walsh brushed and Addie milked, Ty went along the line and hooked the rest of the cows up to the machines. When he finished, he sat on a bench along the wall just behind Addie and took it all in: the old barn that had been worked by men before him—better men, stronger men. The cows that put food on his table, a roof over his home with Betsy. Carlos and Walker at the other end of the barn, waiting by the door to the pasture, ready to herd the cows out at the right time. And Addie and Walsh, happily absorbed in their own “work.”

  He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been aware that he’d be the next Franklin man to work the farm. His grandfather had made it official when Ty was fifteen, but he’d known long before then that his future would be tied to Franklin Dairy. His father had chosen accounting over the family farm and had hoped his only son would make a similar choice. To not link his livelihood to cows, milk, and land. But Ty had been determined, going against his father’s wishes and instead following his dream down the same path his grandfather had walked. After college Ty returned to the farm, worked the land hard, coaxed it into obedience, tended to the cows until they trusted him. He and Betsy had built a solid life here.

  Addie and Walsh’s presence reminded him there was only one thing left that they hadn’t done. One dream they’d yet to fulfill.

  Number 073 had grown tired of Addie’s tugging, so Ty stood and patted Addie on the back. “Let’s give her a rest, okay?” Addie backed away while Ty hooked the cow up to the machine to finish the job. Walsh was still brushing, so Ty looked around for another brush to give to Addie.