During the talk, the woman in the seat next to Betsy leaned over and whispered, “Have you heard the talk about the storm? It’s still way out in the water, but it’s coming.”
Betsy nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I just—”
“It makes me nervous as a June bug. Sylvia’s up there talking a blue streak about the beauty of our native azaleas and pitcher plants, and all I can think about is that darn storm coming and ruining everything.”
When the seminar was over, Betsy gathered her things and picked her way to the door, dodging tight knots of folks discussing both Sylvia’s talk and the meteorologists’ gloomy forecasts. Betsy was on her way to the exit when she heard laughter and an animated voice coming from the children’s department. She paused, then backtracked and peeked her head in.
In one corner of the room, a young woman in pigtails danced across a small stage, acting out scenes from Goldilocks. A group of moms sat on the floor in front of her with children in their laps. The kids laughed when the woman jumped out of a too-small chair. The moms smiled at each other—knowing smiles, tired smiles. We’re-in-this-together smiles. Afternoon story time. The camaraderie of parents, members of the mom-club. Betsy felt something twist in her chest.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” A librarian reshelving books paused and looked up at Betsy.
“Oh, uh . . . maybe something about flowers?”
“Sure.” She stood and motioned for Betsy to follow her to a shelf across the room. “This is our nonfiction section. Books about flowers and plants are right down here.”
Betsy stooped and ran her fingers across the spines. Titles jumped out at her. A Seed Is Sleepy. Planting a Rainbow. The Curious Garden. Nothing like her vintage Henderson’s Book of Fanciful Flowers, but she grabbed a handful anyway. She smiled thinking of Addie and Walsh curled up in bed with these books.
Out in her car Betsy tapped on the steering wheel, trying to decide what to do next. Manicures weren’t her thing, but she didn’t want to disappoint Ty by coming back too soon, making him think she didn’t trust him to take care of the girls on his own for just a few hours. The truth was, this summer had shown her what she always suspected but just hadn’t seen in action—he would make an amazing dad. In acting as a stand-in father to Addie and Walsh, he was everything she knew he’d be. Gentle and caring, firm when he needed to be, a good partner, a strong guidepost.
She clenched and unclenched her hands around the wheel. She knew Jenna was trying her best. Her sister was always full of good intentions. With their mom no longer around—not that she was ever very present even when she was alive—Betsy saw Jenna as mostly her responsibility. If that extended to her children, then so be it. But she’d been as accommodating to Jenna as she could. She backed out of her parking place and turned onto the road, trying not to think about where she was going, what she was doing.
The sign for Elinore Elementary School, painted in bright red-and-blue stripes, beckoned from the side of the road. The long red-brick building was shaded by overhanging oaks and Spanish moss, and its U-shape welcomed like outstretched arms. A handful of cars sat in the parking lot. She got out and dashed through the light rain, hurrying so she wouldn’t lose her nerve.
Just inside the front door, the secretary sat behind a computer, her phone pressed between her chin and shoulder. She held up a finger to Betsy. “That’s right,” she said into the phone. “Teachers come back on the 15th and students begin on the 20th . . . Okay, you just let me know. Bye now.”
After replacing the phone, the woman looked up at Betsy. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m looking for Mr. Burgess?”
“I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment. If you leave your name, I’ll let him know—”
“Betsy?”
The woman and Betsy both looked down the hall. Duncan Burgess walked toward them, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face. “Did I forget a meeting?”
“No, no. I just stopped by on the chance that you might be here.”
“Well, you found me. I came in to go through some student files. Just trying to get things squared away before the chaos starts.”
Betsy smiled. The woman at the desk cleared her throat. “Mr. Burgess, I’ve been holding your calls like you asked. I have several messages.” She held up a handful of small pink slips of paper.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kline. I’ll take those.” He held out his hand and Mrs. Kline passed him the messages. “Mrs. Franklin and I will be down in my office if you need anything.”
Mrs. Kline cocked an eyebrow in Betsy’s direction. “Yes, sir, Mr. Burgess.”
Betsy followed him to a small office overlooking the playground at the back of the building. “It’s good to see you again.” He cleared off a stack of manila envelopes from the chair across from his desk. “Sorry it’s such a mess in here. Sit, please.” He sat in his desk chair and motioned for her to sit as well.
A coffee mug on his desk held ballpoint pens and one red pencil with an eraser shaped like Mickey Mouse ears. The mug read World’s Best Grandpa. Betsy shifted in her seat.
“Is there something I can help you with? Or did you come to talk about the field trips? You know, I thought about talking to the kindergarten and first-grade teachers to see if we can link the trips to the farm with a lesson on health—you know, nutrition and where food comes from. That’s a little different than they’ve done it in years past, but I think it would be interesting. What do you think?”
Betsy nodded, her head fuzzy. “Sure, that . . . that sounds great. I do have one other thing I wanted to talk to you about. It’s not about the field trips though.”
“Okay.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. “I’m all ears.”
She took a deep breath. “Would it be possible for me to enroll a child in the school when she’s not technically mine?”
There it was. The urge she couldn’t even explain to herself, much less to her husband. She tried the other night in the kitchen, but when she voiced the idea, it didn’t sound the same as it had in her mind. Ty thought it was crazy. And it was crazy—the idea of the girls staying, settling—but it kept dancing through her mind at inopportune times. In and out, here and there, but she kept forcing it away. Then it went and burrowed its way into her brain and hung on tight. It didn’t make sense, it was impossible, but it was out now.
“By ‘not technically yours,’ you mean . . . ?”
“It’s my niece. The older one. You saw them when we ran into you in Target.”
He gave a slow nod. “I remember.” He exhaled and sat back in his chair. “Is that . . . Are they going to be staying with you and your husband? Permanently?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” She kept herself from wincing at the lie. But she’d heard Mrs. Kline. School started in mere weeks. It was likely the same for the girls’ school in Nashville, and Betsy still didn’t know exactly when Jenna would be back. She shut off the competing voices in her head. “If they do end up staying with us—for the school year—what would I need to do to enroll Addie in kindergarten?”
“Well, timing isn’t the big issue. You can enroll a child anytime during the year. The real issue would be showing that you’re her legal guardian, and that may take a while. You’d have to fill out paperwork to file for guardianship.” He ticked items off on his fingers. “You have to get a letter of consent from the child’s parents, interviews with the court, usually a home visit to establish living conditions. It’s a lot to tackle, especially before the August 20 start date.”
He paused, straightened a notebook on his desk. “I was under the impression that you were just keeping the kids for a little while. Babysitting.” He looked up at her. “I guess plans have changed?”
“Something like that,” Betsy said, unable to explain further. Her head felt like it was underwater.
“My suggestion would be to talk to your sister. If she agrees the kids should start school here, then get the paperwork started. I’ll take care of enrollme
nt.”
Betsy rubbed her hands up and down the top of her thighs, then picked up her bag from the floor. “Thank you. I’m not sure about everything, but I’ll let you know if we decide something firm.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
She was halfway down the hall when Mr. Burgess called her. He met her in the hall, glancing behind her toward Mrs. Kline’s office, then spoke quietly. “I have to tell you, these things often don’t work out well. If you have both parents’ consent, then fine. The process should be pretty smooth. But if not, then you have to prove abandonment, and if the parents don’t agree, going against their wishes is hard. I’ve seen families ruined over this.”
Betsy swallowed hard. Nodded.
“Just make sure this is really what you want to do.”
In the privacy of her car, Betsy threw her bag down on the passenger seat and let out a shaky breath. What had she just done? She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. Not really, anyway. Yet she’d let her guard down for a minute and they’d come. But then Mr. Burgess’s last words—abandonment. Ruined families. An intrusive whisper in her mind told her she’d gone too far, but on the other hand, life had to go on for these girls, right? If that meant getting them in school when everyone else started, how could that be a bad thing?
Rainwater dripped off trees onto the windshield and pulled her from her thoughts. The rain had finally let up but the clouds were still thick, making it feel later than it was—only five o’clock. Betsy’s stomach rumbled in protest of her skipped lunch. She rolled down her windows on the way home and savored the breeze on her cheeks that almost felt cool—nothing like the usual stifling humidity after a summer rainstorm. She let the wind carry away her thoughts and quiet the noise in her mind.
thirty-two
Betsy
She saw the lights before she pulled into the driveway—hundreds of tiny white orbs set against the blurred gray sky. A handful of extra trucks lined the edge of the driveway, and stretched between the back door and the oak tree was a huge banner. Happy Birthday Betsy spread across the top in big, blocky letters, the rest decorated with Magic Marker polka dots and squiggles.
Betsy let out a laugh, then ran her hands through her hair and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course he did.”
She took a moment to gather her bag and books, her stomach fluttery with nerves, then thought better of it and left the books in the car. As she climbed out she took a deep breath and pushed the last hour from her mind.
Friends were scattered throughout the yard. Carlos and Gloria stood by the picnic table loaded with bowls and trays of food; Linda and Roger Daily watched their grandkids on the swing with Anna Beth’s Lucy; Anna Beth and Tom and a sullen Jackson, who probably would rather have been anywhere but an adult’s birthday party, stood near the cooler. A few friends from church and neighboring farms completed the gathering.
Ty leaned against the fence near her garden wearing a wide smile. He pushed off the fence and made his way toward her. As he passed a metal tub, he stuck his hand in and pulled out a bottle of Blue Moon, uncapping it as he walked.
“Happy birthday, Aunt Betsy!” Addie and Walsh yelled, running across the yard. “We made the sign ourselves!” Addie said. “Uncle Ty helped with the words, but we did all the drawings.”
She leaned down and rubbed their backs. “I love it.” The girls beamed.
Ty handed her the bottle and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
Behind them, Carlos whistled. “Get a room, kids,” he called. Gloria slapped at him and let loose with a string of rapid-fire Spanish. “Sorry, sorry,” he said.
Betsy laughed. “I can’t believe all this.”
“Come on,” Ty said. “Get yourself a plate. Anna Beth and Tom brought barbecue.”
She let Addie pull her toward the food table and point out all the offerings. Mounds of barbecue, macaroni and cheese with bread-crumb topping, potato salad that looked very familiar—“Ty gave me your recipe and asked me to make it,” Anna Beth said. “My lips are sealed, I promise”—fluffy biscuits, broccoli salad, and enough desserts to feed double the crowd. A tres leches cake courtesy of Gloria, banana pudding, chocolate brownies, and a pecan pie that was missing a few pecans along the edge. Linda and Roger’s grandson stood nearby licking his fingers.
Friends milled around in various stages of eating and relaxing. Ty had packed the metal tub full of beer and a few bottles of wine—juice boxes for the kids—and music flowed from the back porch. The combination, plus the early-evening air that still held that bare hint of coolness, was just enough to loosen laughter and hips. Betsy caught a glimpse of Linda doing a little shimmy under the oak tree, her lips moving to the Eagles’ “Take It Easy.”
“This is too much,” Betsy said, adding a scoop of macaroni and cheese to her plate.
“Not enough, I’d say.” Ty reached across the table and grabbed one more bite of barbecue.
“I don’t mean the food. Everything. It’s perfect.” She sat on one end of the bench and balanced her plate on her knees. Ty sat next to her and leaned back against the table behind them.
Before he could speak, Roger appeared before them, a plate of banana pudding in one hand, a fork in the other. “Ty, we need to talk about the storm,” he said around a bite of pudding.
“Right now?” Ty’s arms were stretched out on the edge of the table, a picture of ease. “I hate to talk shop after hours.”
“You know as good as I do farmers don’t have ‘after hours.’”
Ty grinned. “I know, I know. You’re right.” He sat up straight and tipped back the bill of his cap so he could see Roger clearly. “What’s up?”
“It’s already changed directions from the two o’clock report.”
Ty’s face clouded. “West?”
“North-northwest. Warnings up for Cuba now.” He finally swallowed his last bite. “Blasted thing just keeps getting bigger.”
“Do they have any idea where it’ll make landfall here?” Betsy asked.
Roger shook his head. “Right now, much of the northern Gulf Coast has a target on its back.”
Ty’s knee bounced up and down, shaking the entire bench.
“Y’all go talk,” Betsy said. “I’m fine here with my food.”
He shook his head. “No, this is your party. I can check all that later.”
“It’s fine. Go check it out and I’ll see you in a bit.”
He set Betsy’s drink down on the table behind him, kissed her on the cheek, and stood. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Roger and Ty headed toward a cluster of men on the other side of the yard, one of them holding an iPad. Just a few feet away from them, the kids ran and tumbled in a scrambled version of hide-and-seek. A moment later something bumped her leg. Betsy looked down to see Lucy peeking out from under the picnic table. Lucy held her finger up to her lips.
As Betsy surveyed the crowd and worked on her plate of food, Linda slid onto the bench next to her. “I saw your garden. It’s looking good.”
“Thanks.”
“A few things you could have done different. For example, I never would have planted carrots next to cucumbers. My experience is they mix well in a salad, not in the ground. But it’s your garden. Who knows? Maybe it’ll work out for you.”
Betsy hid her smile. She knew Linda well enough to know the woman would burst if she wasn’t allowed to share her opinions. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else next time.”
Linda nodded. “They’ve got shallow roots, all of them, since you just planted. If this storm comes our way, you may end up having to replant some of them. But that can be done.”
“You worried about the storm too?” Betsy asked.
Linda shrugged. “I try not to get too worried until the thing’s knocking on our door. I’ve been around long enough to see ’em change directions at the last minute, and I’m left with a pantry full of canned beans an
d D batteries doing nothing but taking up space. Roger, on the other hand, probably needs anxiety medication at the start of every hurricane season. It’s all I can do to get him to turn off the Weather Channel.
“As far as your garden, sometimes storms can be helpful,” she continued. “All that wind and rain shows you which plants are the strongest. Those are the ones you keep, plant more of next season. But the ones that break under the force of the storm—well, you just toss those and pretend they never set foot in your garden in the first place. Eventually you learn to choose strong ones from the get-go. You know how it is around here. Everything needs to be strong. Plants and people.” She patted Betsy’s knee, then made her way to the dessert table.
As Betsy watched her go, she imagined the roots beneath her new plants growing and spreading, holding the delicate new blooms and fledgling plants firm in the soil, preparing them for the storms to come.
When the men finished their huddle, Ty and Carlos took the Gator out into the fields with a pile of kids on the back. Afterward, Ty closed and latched the gate, then grabbed Betsy’s hand. It wasn’t completely dark yet—a line of bright orange still illuminated the western horizon behind the pines in the distance—but stars had already popped out in the indigo sky.
“Do you hear it?” He nodded toward the music flowing from the porch.
She smiled and nodded. Van Morrison’s “Moondance” always reminded them of a particular chilly October night in Auburn. They’d danced under the stars on the outskirts of town, music from his truck pouring into the cool night air. They’d only known each other a few weeks.
Tonight he led her to a spot away from everyone else in the backyard and wrapped his arms around her. She nestled her head under his chin, and his shoulders relaxed. Together, they swayed to the music, neither of them bothered by the side glances and broad smiles of their friends. Betsy had the sense they were alone on an island of calm, but the words from the principal—“guardianship, abandonment”—cascaded through her mind and told her the moment wouldn’t last. Real life was calm and chaos, fights and forgiveness, that delicate dance of marriage.
Hurricane Season Page 27
