Jenna checked her phone again for that single service bar, but it was gone.
That evening, when she knocked on Gregory’s door, he opened it dressed only in blue jeans.
“Sorry, I just hopped out of the shower. Let me . . .” He ducked into what she assumed was his bedroom. “I figured you weren’t coming,” he called, his voice muffled. When he came back, he wore a wrinkled plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair stuck up in damp spikes, like he’d just run a towel over his head. She remained on the porch, her feet rooted to the hard floor.
“Do you want to come in?” he asked slowly.
She nodded and he held the door open for her. All around the room sat open boxes. On the floor, a chair. Through the bedroom door, she spied an open suitcase on the bed. “You’re packing.”
“Yeah, I got a call that they want me out there sooner than I thought. This storm is causing a mess at the airports already, so I’m heading out tomorrow. I have to pick up a few things at home before I go.”
“What about the artists here now? What about Micah?” The poor kid needed a mentor.
“Casey called another photographer, a guy from Birmingham who’s worked here a few sessions. He’ll take my place this last week.”
“They didn’t take long to replace you.”
“I think they knew I’d take off eventually. They’ve probably had a replacement lined up since I got here.”
Jenna walked through the cabin—larger than hers, but still simple and rustic—and peered into one of the boxes filled with books.
“Jenna.” His voice behind her was close, then she felt his hand on her shoulder.
She moved away from his touch and sat on the couch with her back against the arm. He sat facing her and waited. With the front window open, the room was warm, and she was glad for the ceiling fan sending down a cooling breeze.
“I thought Max was kidding the first time he mentioned this place to me. I laughed when he suggested I apply for it.”
“Why’d you laugh?”
“Because it sounded so ridiculous. Managing the time off, figuring out what to do with my kids. And the idea of being on my own for two weeks with my camera . . . I never thought it’d work.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Here I am. Little longer than I planned to stay though.”
He nodded. His jeans had a hole in one knee and he pulled at a fuzzy string. “Are you glad you stayed?”
She hesitated. Everything racing through her mind made it hard to think straight. “I think so. But . . .”
He propped his elbow on the back of the couch. His hand hung down and grazed the top of her knee.
“I don’t know how to put these two parts of my life together. I love my children, but I also don’t want to give up all this . . . this . . .”
“You. You don’t want to give up on yourself.”
“I guess that’s it. It’s like I’ve rediscovered this fundamental part of my life that’s been missing and I don’t want to lose it again.”
“Then don’t lose it. Don’t give it up.” He took her hands in his and squeezed. “Come to California with me. You can have the creative life you want and nothing will get in the way of it.”
“But I have the girls. I can’t uproot them too. I can’t do that to them.”
“You’ve done it once already. They’ve been at your sister’s for what—going on two months now, right? And you’ve said it yourself—they’re happy there. What if . . . ?” He paused, closed his eyes, then took a breath. “You made the choice to give up a life in the arts when you had your children. And that was a good choice for you at the time. But now you have a chance to make another choice. You can choose not to leave that life behind.”
“That’s crazy,” she murmured. But as she sat next to him, staring at their hands together, she let herself imagine what it could look like—another life, the life she’d once wanted so badly. A new but not unfamiliar sensation pulsed from their hands, up her arms, through her body.
He shook his head. “It’s not that crazy.” He looked down a moment, then back at her. “I’ve worked with a bunch of photographers over the years. Most of them were good. A couple were really good. But you’re different. You have the skills—you know composition and balance and lighting. You’ve learned patience and waiting for the right shot. But you also have an eye most people don’t have. You’re able to see worth and goodness where others just see something broken and ugly.”
He chuckled and his vulnerability surprised her. “I don’t usually have trouble moving on, but I don’t want to leave you behind. We can make a life in California, however you want that to look. Travel, work, art.” He leaned in close, brought his face close to hers. “Come with me,” he whispered.
When he brought his lips to hers, she didn’t pull away. For a minute—just a little slip of time—she let herself get lost in his hands and his touch, the scent of his skin, the way his muscles moved under her fingers. It was easy, natural, and she remembered what it used to be like. What she used to be like.
Don’t do this again, Jenna. The voice in her head was insistent. Then Gregory’s words came back. “A life in California. However you want.”
“No. Stop.” This time she spoke the words out loud.
She put her hands on his shoulders and forced herself to sit back. When she did, she heard the crinkle of paper in the front pocket of her bag and remembered Addie and Walsh’s drawing she’d tucked inside. She’d memorized every scribble and line on the pink sheet of construction paper. It was the three of them—their family—sitting around a table. Addie had drawn their hands linked with so many fingers wrapped together, it was hard to tell where one hand stopped and another one began. All three of them had hearts for eyes. “Hearts are for love, and we love each other,” Addie always said. At the top of the paper, Addie had written, in her large, exaggerated print, When are you coming home?
Jenna squeezed her hands together and imagined holding their hands, their fingers pressed against hers. She breathed in deep and for a moment forgot Gregory was sitting there in front of her.
She had plenty of jagged places inside her, but Addie and Walsh were smooth. Soft, tumbled edges, like sea glass. They were her light. She’d made a choice for them once because she had to—she chose them over the life she thought she’d live. But she was in control of her own life now. If she wanted to go to California with Gregory, she could do it. Maybe that’s all she needed—just to know she could make that choice if she wanted to. She didn’t doubt that she’d made the right decision all those years ago—to love her babies, to put down her camera and take on motherhood and all its beauty and limitations. And she’d do it again. But this time, she’d keep her camera with her.
All of a sudden, going home sounded like the simplest thing in the world. Her girls. Home. Nothing else mattered. Not California, not Gregory, not even her own fears. With the decision made, extricating herself from this temporary life was just a matter of leaving. She was good at that—leaving one place when her time there ran out—but this time was different. Instead of leaving, she was returning.
Gregory still looked at her, studying her.
“I can’t do this.” Jenna stood, pulling her bag onto her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s not you. It’s just . . . I have to go home.”
“At least let me walk you back.” He rose to stand next to her.
“It’s okay.” She moved to the door and opened it. “I know my way.”
She left him standing on the porch, moths fluttering around the bare bulb hanging over the door.
“Jenna?”
“I’m sorry,” she called, her feet quick on the trail back through the trees. “I just have to go.”
And then she ran. Heat lightning flashed in the distance but she kept running. Finally the glow of her porch light appeared through the trees. Instead of going straight to her cabin though, she stopped at the spot
by the lake where she usually could find a whisper of cell service. Her phone screen lit up the dark, attracting two moths that danced in the light. She brushed them away and held up her phone. When the one service bar appeared at the top of her screen, she typed out a text to Betsy. Just a few words to explain, then she’d call tomorrow.
I’m finished here. Will be there tomorrow. I miss you and the girls so much.
In the cabin she flung her bag onto the tiny kitchen table and pulled the girls’ drawing out, scanning it with her eyes, taking in the hearts and hands. The love they poured onto the page. She’d been gone for almost two months, yet there they were, still thinking of the three of them together. Upstairs in her bedroom, she tucked the note under her pillow, and she imagined seeing them, holding them. She’d never wanted anything more.
thirty-five
Betsy
Back at the farm, the girls ran inside and emptied their buckets on the kitchen table, sand and bits of shell going everywhere. They talked over each other, telling Betsy everything about each shell as if she hadn’t been there all day with them.
“Where’s Uncle Ty?” Addie asked. “We have to show him all this.”
Betsy dumped the pile of wet towels in the laundry room, then noticed the remains of Ty’s dinner—or maybe a late lunch—in the sink. The TV was on in the living room, tuned to the Weather Channel. Ty didn’t usually trust “the big boys,” as he called them, much preferring the local meteorologists. She peered out the window toward the barn. All the lights were blazing, Carlos’s and Roger’s trucks parked in the grassy lot by the barn.
When she opened the fridge to find some dinner, she saw his note pinned to the door with a smiling cow magnet.
Working on the back fence. I’ll be in as soon as I can. Please wait up.
“I think he’s still going to be a while,” Betsy said.
While she pulled together a quick meal for the girls, they organized their shells into piles—big ones and small ones, pale and bright, smooth and bumpy. They instructed her to leave the piles on the table so Ty could see them when he came in. “Don’t even move them an inch,” Addie directed. “They might break.”
“You got it,” Betsy said. “But you’ll have to help me move them tomorrow. We’ll need our table back.”
“Yeah, before the storm comes for sure. I’ll need to put them somewhere really safe then.”
Betsy nodded, surprised. She didn’t know the tension brought on by the approaching Ingrid had trickled down to Addie and Walsh. What else had they picked up on when the adults around them thought they didn’t understand?
After dinner and a quick bath, she put the girls to bed. Fatigue from the full day in the sun hit her as she closed their bedroom door behind her. A shower perked her up enough to head back downstairs and grab the laundry basket full of the girls’ clean clothes. She paused by the kitchen window, straining her eyes to see whether the guys’ trucks were still parked in the dark driveway. It was hard to tell, but she assumed they were still hard at work preparing the fences and property. Regardless of where on the coast Ingrid made landfall, they were all in for high winds and heavy rain at the very least.
On her way out of the kitchen, she spied a bottle of wine left over from her birthday party. She wasn’t afraid to choose a bottle of wine for its label, and this one featured a shoreline, a setting sun, and a set of footprints in the sand. She smiled, poured herself a glass, and took it upstairs with the laundry basket.
She’d just set the basket down on the floor when her phone lying on the dresser buzzed with a text. Thinking it’d be Ty giving her an update on when he’d be finished, she grabbed it and opened up her messages. She froze, wineglass halfway to her lips. Jenna.
Just a few words and her world shifted beneath her like sand.
Half an hour later, the porch door opened downstairs. She heard Ty drop his boots by the back door, then climb the stairs. He pushed open the bedroom door and stopped in the doorway, taking in the small stacks of folded clothes, the girls’ duffel bag on the floor, partially filled.
Confusion crossed his face. “What are you doing?”
“Jenna’s coming back,” she said quietly.
He exhaled and pushed the door closed behind him. Crossing the room toward her, he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Are you okay?”
She set down a stack of shirts and turned to face him. “I’m good.”
He stared hard, not speaking.
“Really. I’m good. It’s okay, it’s time.” Then with no request made or permission given, the tears came. She covered her face with her hands and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m sorry for going behind your back and talking to the school. I went too far.” With her face buried in his chest, her voice came out muffled, but she knew he heard because his arms around her tightened. “My head has been turned around for so long, and I know I haven’t treated you very well. I’m the one who pulled away, not you. You’ve been standing in the same place, waiting for me to come back. And I’ve missed you so much.”
Fresh tears fell as he ran his hand down her hair, rested his cheek against hers. “I’ve missed you too,” he whispered.
She pulled back and looked in his face. “You are such a good man. You’re more than enough for me, more than I could ever deserve.”
He shrugged. “Well, you have me. Can’t do much about that.” A corner of his mouth pulled up and she brushed her thumb over that little half smile. “I’m sorry too. Not for being mad, but I overreacted. It was childish of me not to come back and talk to you about it after the party. I just . . . I didn’t have the words. I didn’t know what to say.”
“I know. I don’t blame you. Not about anything. Let’s just . . . Can we start over? Start from right here, tonight?”
When she kissed him, his response was immediate. His lips on her face, his hands on her back, his body melding to hers was all she knew. Together, the two of them were more than enough.
Afterward, they lay next to each other, still and quiet, her cheek against the soft place just below his shoulder, their legs intertwined. Outside the window, a barn owl hooted somewhere in the darkness. After a moment, a second call answered it. Back and forth the calls went, a mysterious language she would never understand. She found Ty’s hand on his chest and covered it with hers. He lifted his fingers and curled them around hers, wrapping her hand tight.
thirty-six
Jenna
Halcyon was whisper quiet the next morning as Jenna loaded her suitcase, binder of prints, and camera bag into her car. Even the cicadas and tree frogs were silent. Down at the lake, streaks of dark purple in the sky reflected on the calm water.
On her way out of the preserve, she made two stops. At the main studio she tucked two envelopes in the edge of the doorway. One held her cabin key and a note to Casey apologizing for her quick departure. The other envelope contained a note for Micah. She smiled as she thought of the words she’d written to him, basically repeating the instructions Gregory had given her when they’d first met: Find your creative eye. Keep your skin thick.
Her last stop was Gregory’s cabin. She knew it was a risk to come—he could already be awake. Could be on the front porch waiting. But he wasn’t. His cabin was dark, the curtains inside pulled tight against the strong morning sun that would soon hit them.
She set her last envelope on the chair by the door. In it, she’d tried as best she could to capture her feelings on paper. Her gratitude. Her appreciation. What twisted and turned in her heart. Despite her rambling words—she was never very good with those—somehow she felt he’d understand.
It was 6:30 a.m. when she pulled down the preserve’s long, winding driveway through the trees. Moss and vines hanging from tree branches looked ghostly in the glow of her headlights. As she turned north and headed for the interstate—no slow two-lane highways this time—the barest tinges of fuchsia and violet swept the sky.
It was too early to call Betsy, but Full Cup w
ould already be open.
“It’s a beautiful day at Full Cup Coffee. How may I help you this lovely Tennessee morning?”
Jenna smiled. Mario answered the phone with a different jingle every day. “It’s Jenna.”
He whooped. “Girl, it’s about time. Please tell me you’re coming back.”
“I will if there’s a job for me.”
“Hallelujah. The imbecile they hired to replace you threw his apron down yesterday and quit. It was that Rich woman. You’re the only one who knows how to handle her.”
“What about Melissa? She was doing well before I left.”
“Oh no, she quit too. Couldn’t handle the pressure. Things fall apart when you’re not here. Oh, and your boyfriend still comes in every day. He’s a sad little puppy.”
“He’s not my—”
“Yeah, yeah. So when are you coming back?”
“I have a stop to make on the way, then I’m coming home.”
thirty-seven
Ty
Hurricane advisory 33. Winds from Hurricane Ingrid continue to increase. A gradual turn to the north is expected today. Ingrid is expected to make landfall within 24 hours as a dangerous hurricane with winds of at least 150 mph.
Ty awoke to news that the world had changed. Well, not the whole world, just their little corner of it. While they were sleeping, Hurricane Ingrid had charged ahead like a freight train toward the northern Gulf Coast.
When he reached the barn at four forty-five, his radio was already on, tuned to the local weather. For all of the previous day, the cone of uncertainty had shifted between the Louisiana-Mississippi coast and the Mississippi-Alabama coast. Now it appeared it was zeroing on extreme western Alabama, putting Elinore squarely on the stronger east side of the storm. Basically the worst place to be.
Carlos sat in Ty’s office, his hat in his hands. Ty leaned against the desk and sucked in a mouthful of hot coffee. As it scalded the back of his throat, eliminating any remnants of sleep, the phone in his pants pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and checked the screen.
Hurricane Season Page 30
