“Mornin’, Roger.”
“Just making sure you’d heard the news. It’s headed this way.”
“Sounds like it. But we’ve suspected it for a while.”
“Yeah, well, this is the one we hoped wouldn’t come.”
When he finished with Roger, assuring him he’d take all the necessary precautions, he turned to Carlos.
“Well?” Carlos said.
Ty shrugged. “We get to work. Cows have to be milked, hurricane or no hurricane. We’ll adjust the last milking time to make it as late as we can, then put the herd in the open pasture. Glad we got those fences fixed already. We’ll move the tractors and equipment out there too.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “We need to check water pumps and the ID tags on the cows.”
“Pray,” Carlos said.
Ty nodded. “Already a step ahead of you.” He nudged Carlos’s foot with his boot. “Go ahead and refill your coffee. It’s gonna be a long one.”
While Carlos and Walker double-checked the generators and fuel supply, Ty walked through the field, taking stock of the herd. He didn’t know if it was some acute sense of smell or hearing, but the cows always seemed to know when bad weather was coming. They’d skitter around, startling easily and generally acting like nervous old women. Today was no exception.
He ran his hands down their backs and murmured soft words to them the way his grandfather had taught him all those years ago. He scratched their ears while he made sure their ID tags were in place and legible. Nevertheless, they remained nervous and jumpy, not calming at his touch as they usually did.
The sky was cloudy from stem to stern, no differentiation in any direction, so the casual bystander with no knowledge of hurricanes might think it was just another cloudy day with impending rain. But Ty sensed the coming storm as his cows did—tasted it, smelled it. He could almost feel it, like his skin was extra sensitive to the barometric pressure and electricity in the air. A strong wind already whipped through the trees.
By noon he was tired. The humidity made the air feel heavy, pressing on his shoulders, weighing him down. He worried for his herd, but more than that, he worried for the three girls waiting up in the house. And the fourth—Jenna—who was on her way.
After receiving the news last night that Jenna’s return was imminent, Ty wasn’t sure what Betsy’s state of mind would be this morning. Last night she’d fallen into what appeared to be a peaceful sleep. She got up once during the night to check on one of the girls who was having a bad dream, and when she crawled back into bed, she wrapped her arm around Ty’s middle, a band of warmth seeping down deep. He’d slid out of bed at four thirty, kissed her on the forehead, and tiptoed out of the bedroom.
Early afternoon he made the trek across the windswept yard to the house for a quick bite to eat. He was surprised to find Betsy alone in the house making peanut butter sandwiches. The girls were upstairs playing.
“She’s not here yet?”
Betsy shook her head. “She just texted from Pensacola though, so she won’t be long. Says the roads are packed.” She gestured to the sandwiches on paper plates in front of her. “Want one?”
“Sure. Thanks.” He washed his hands at the sink, then opened the fridge for something cold to drink.
“Everything going okay out there?”
“As well as it can. Ingrid’s wobbled a little farther east. Now they’re saying somewhere near Bayou La Batre.”
Betsy set down her peanut butter–covered knife and faced him, her hip pressed up against the counter. “That’s bad for us.”
He took a long swig of lemonade. “It could be. Then again, it could keep moving east. They have all these predictions, but I’d rather watch the storm and see what it’s doing. Once it hit the Gulf, it’s been pretty steady north-northeast. If it stays that way, it could skirt past us and hit Florida.” He set his glass down and rubbed his eyes. A few dozen miles could make a big difference in destruction to this town or another one. “I’d rather it not be us, but . . .”
“I know.” Betsy picked up the knife again and spread jelly on the other slices. “You don’t want it to hit anyone.”
“That’d be my preference, yes. It’s gonna be bad somewhere.”
They ate lunch in bursts, interrupted by phone calls and texts from friends and neighbors checking on each other. Before heading back to the barn, Ty found the girls in the den playing with Etta.
“You know what?” he asked.
Addie glanced at him as she rubbed the cat’s back. “What?”
“I think you two are my favorite little people in the whole world.”
Addie grinned but Walsh jumped up to her feet. “I’m not little. I’m strong.” She held her arms up in a muscleman pose.
He kissed them both on top of their heads.
A band of light rain and rumbling thunder was moving through as he descended the back steps. “Let me know when she gets here,” he called back to Betsy, who stood on the porch with one arm holding the screen door open.
She nodded, then glanced up at the rolling sky. With her hair loose around her shoulders and her hand on her hip, she reminded him of a woman carved onto the bow of a ship charging through open waters. Solid, firm, sure. A fixed point.
thirty-eight
Betsy
Hurricane advisory 36. Hurricane Ingrid continues northward toward the Gulf Coast. A warning is in effect from Grand Isle, Louisiana, to Apalachicola, Florida. Conditions will deteriorate rapidly within the next 24 hours. Fluctuations in intensity are possible prior to landfall.
Two months ago, Betsy had sat on her front steps unsure of what the arrival of her sister would bring. She’d been nervous, waffling between her desire to love and her fear of withholding love at the same time.
Today was different. Today she knew what Jenna’s arrival would mean.
Anna Beth had come over that morning to sit with the girls for a bit while Betsy helped Ty secure a tarp over the henhouse.
“If I ever meet your sister, I’m going to give her a good talking-to,” Anna Beth said on her way out the door.
“Oh yeah?” Betsy smiled. “And what would you say?”
“Just a good woman-to-woman talk. I could say things you can’t because she’s not my blood. Anyway, you rarely say what you mean and I always do.”
Betsy laughed. “You’re right about that. But I’m trying.”
Anna Beth hugged Betsy and kissed her cheek. “I know you are.”
She walked toward her car in the driveway with a plan to head home and bake cookies. “It’s what I do when these storms come in. I bake till the power goes off, then I eat. It keeps me calm. And fifteen pounds over my goal, but calories consumed during acts of God don’t count. I’ll bring some by if we’re all still here after this thing blows over.” She pulled open her car door and a strong gust of wind blew it closed again. “I still can’t believe your sister is driving here today of all days. She has some timing.”
The air was always the same in the hours before a hurricane hit—strange and swirly, the sky a creepy combination of yellow and gray, the clouds zipping past each other in their constant counterclockwise motion. Bands of wind and rain kicked up, then tapered off, driving up the dense humidity.
Ingrid was still hours away, but late that afternoon, the farm was like a beehive. Carlos and Walker and a few of the other guys helped Ty move vehicles and equipment out of the barn and sheds and to the open fields. Betsy knew they were waiting until the last possible moment to milk the herd before the other men headed out in high winds to their own homes.
Just as a clap of thunder sent the girls running through the drizzle to the cover of the porch, the gravel at the end of the driveway crunched and Jenna’s car finally appeared around the curve. Behind Betsy, the girls gasped and darted back down the steps.
“Hold on.” Betsy put a hand on their shoulders. “Wait until the car stops.”
Jenna opened her car door and stood, then eased it closed behind her. The soft r
aindrops made dark spots on her blue tank top. Betsy scanned her little sister top to bottom, trying to detect something—a hint of doubt, a whisper of uncertainty. Any second thoughts. But Jenna seemed resolute. Stable. Sure. She gave Betsy a small smile, then turned to the girls, her eyes damp and bright.
Betsy’s heart brimmed with emotion—a desire to both hug her sister and chastise her. Love her and punish her. But then Walsh flew down the steps with Addie close behind. Jenna bent down and held her arms out. The girls wrapped themselves around her, arms and legs like the sweet potato vine that grew up and over the garden fence.
Jenna laughed and kissed their cheeks, their foreheads, their noses. The girls talked nonstop, over and around each other so their words formed an unintelligible noise. While Jenna tried to take it all in, Betsy turned and walked to the end of the porch. She turned her eyes to the sky as if studying the clouds, but really she wanted to give them—their little three-person family—a moment of privacy. Or maybe it was she who needed the privacy.
After a moment, Jenna straightened. “Let me talk to Aunt Betsy for a minute, then I want y’all to show me everything.”
Jenna approached Betsy, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. When she reached the top step, Betsy hugged her. It felt better than she expected, both of them letting their shoulders relax and drop.
“You have impeccable timing, you know, driving here the day of a hurricane.” Betsy sat on the swing at the end of the porch, and Jenna sat next to her. The girls climbed onto Jenna’s lap and she pulled them close. The fast-moving rain band had already passed, though the winds were still strong and steady.
“I thought I’d get here hours ago, but so many people were on the roads. I knew the storm was out there, but Halcyon is pretty cut off. No TV, no newspapers. Terrible phone service, as you know. I just didn’t know it was so big or so close.” She pushed her curls out of her eyes. “Florida was okay, but the closer I got to Alabama, the crazier things got. I stopped to fill up and the first place had already run out of gas. I had to sit in line at the next station for twenty minutes.”
“I’m not surprised. The thing keeps moving around, so everyone from New Orleans to Florida is on edge. They’re thinking Mississippi now, but lots of folks have left already, just in case. You were probably the only person driving toward the storm.”
Jenna nodded and readjusted Walsh on her lap. “Highway Patrol stopped me as I was exiting I-10 to come here. They asked me where I was going and why, then strongly suggested I reconsider my destination. I promised them I would.”
Betsy gave a small laugh. “And they just let you go?”
“I told them I had two little girls waiting for me.” She turned to Betsy. “And my sister. I told them I understood the risks, but I was willing to take the chance.”
The next few hours were chaotic. Ty finished the last milking and blew in the back door as the winds intensified. “The cows are in the pasture and the men have all headed home. Nothing to do now but wait.”
Betsy helped Ty close and latch the shutters on the sides and back of the house while the girls flitted from one toy to the next, one lap to the next. Having woken up early and skipped their afternoon naps, they were keyed up on hyper energy and lack of sleep.
Jenna waffled between the weather reports on TV and trying to play every game the girls came up with—I Spy, hide-and-go-seek, and hopscotch. They brought her coloring books, crayons, and puzzles. It was as if they were trying to fit two months’ worth of playing into one frantic afternoon. Betsy and Ty stayed glued to the TV and the front windows as the rain bands lengthened and strengthened.
When the third NWS bulletin flashed at the bottom of the screen, issuing a piercing alarm and stern words, Ty stood and motioned for Betsy to follow him to the stairwell. He put his head close to hers. “Either we’re all sleeping on the floor, or we’ll have to bring mattresses downstairs. I don’t feel comfortable with us spending the night upstairs. Not with these old trees in the wind.”
Jenna took the girls upstairs to get ready for bed, and Ty and Betsy pulled a mattress and a few sleeping bags into the living room. They tucked the mattress against the wall below the stairwell, and Betsy piled it with blankets and pillows, hoping to make it look like a fun way for the kids to sleep and not a safety precaution.
As she tossed down the last pillow, Ty came up behind her. “How are you?” His hand was warm on her back.
“I’m good, I think. The flashlights are ready and we have plenty of extra batteries. We have candles too, if we need them.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “While you were in the barn, I did as much as I could for the garden. And we’ll just have to hope for the best with the hens. I wish I’d been able to—”
Ty put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Bets, we’ve done all we can. I meant how are you?” His words were slow, deliberate.
She took a shaky breath and let it out. “I’ll be fine. I just want to get past tonight, then we’ll be able to see a little clearer. This all makes me nervous.” She waved her hands around, as if to encompass the storm, the house, and the people in it.
He kissed her forehead as hard rain pelted the windows. “I know. I’m anxious to see what tomorrow will bring.” He pulled her close and rested his chin on her head. “And whatever it is, you and I will be okay.”
She turned her face up to him. “I know.”
Through the evening hours, Betsy watched Jenna. She saw how gentle she was with Addie and Walsh, how she laughed with ease, touched them often. Her body was relaxed, her tough, defensive exterior gone. Then again, maybe it had been gone for a while. Betsy had expected Jenna to be the same girl she’d been years ago, the last time they’d spent any substantial time together, but maybe she’d changed over time without Betsy realizing it. Or maybe the summer had changed her.
In fits and starts around the activity in the house, Jenna told Betsy about Halcyon—her cabin, the lake, some of her photos. Betsy told Jenna about the girls’ explorations of the farm, their obsession with Rosie, their rides on the Gator. But Betsy knew they were both leaving out parts—likely the most important parts—of the last seven weeks.
The unsaid words and misunderstandings sat between them like a living, breathing thing. She had no doubt some of it would remain unspoken, settling quietly into each woman’s heart, but she feared if they didn’t find a way to put at least some of those thoughts and feelings into words—and do it now, tonight—something would slip between the cracks and they’d lose their chance.
When the girls were hungry, Jenna asked if she could make them some dinner. “Just sandwiches or something easy.”
“I can do it.” Betsy pulled open the fridge door.
“No, let me. Please.”
Betsy backed away. The girls climbed up on the stools and watched as Jenna pulled out bread, turkey, apple slices, and carrot sticks.
Occasionally Jenna’s phone rang or buzzed with a text. She’d check the screen but then go back to whatever she was doing, undisturbed by whomever was trying to get in touch. When the girls finally began to tire, exhausted from their excitement over the storm and their mom’s return, Jenna settled them on the mattress near the stairs. She kissed their faces and whispered in their ears until they were calm and still.
Despite the increasing strength of the storm outside, Jenna seemed at peace.
Ty was still awake at eleven o’clock, pacing through the house and watching the red spiral symbol on the weather map moving steadily onward. Outside, the winds had begun to howl, whipping through the trees and sending small limbs and branches to the ground. At one point, Betsy heard a meteorologist say that while the storm’s track continued to wobble, it seemed to be tilting farther to the east, causing them to readjust their landfall predictions.
About this time, Ty’s eyes closed, then jerked awake. Betsy laid a hand on the side of his face. “Why don’t you go ahead and lie down? I’ll wake you up if we need you.”
“You know I ca
n’t sleep on nights like this.”
“At least get some rest then. You need it for whatever tomorrow brings.”
He swung his legs up on the couch. “Are you going to try to sleep?”
She turned and looked back at Jenna, who sat on a stool in the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hands, her gaze on Addie and Walsh across the room. “Maybe later. I’ll keep an eye on things for now.”
The windows that looked out over the porch were the only ones not covered by shutters. Betsy stood next to them, peering into the dark to try to make sense of the swirling chaos outside. Bright staccato bursts of lightning illuminated the blue plastic tarp over the henhouse, one corner of it flapping in the wind. She could only hope the hens were tucked in their nests inside the main structure of the house. If the rest of the tarp held, it was possible they’d make it out just fine. She didn’t even want to think about the cows, their livelihood, huddled together in the back pasture. But the herd had made it through hurricanes before.
The red spiral on the TV weather map was still offshore, but judging by the relentless winds pushing against the house and making it creak and moan, Ingrid seemed to be just next door. And angry. But there was nothing any of them could do now. They were safe inside while the storm raged and cast its ominous gray-green light over the farm.
Despite the rushing noise from the wind, the girls slept. Ty remained awake on the couch for a while, but he finally nodded off, his head slumped sideways on the couch cushion. When the power went off, only Betsy and Jenna noticed.
thirty-nine
Jenna
With the house dark, the pounding wind outside sounded even louder than before, louder than any storms Jenna had been through in Nashville. Betsy gathered a few candles from the counter and set them in the middle of the table along with a box of matches. With the scrape of the match and the accompanying glow of burning candles, Jenna sensed the barriers between them slipping away.
Hurricane Season Page 31
