Jenna shook her head and laughed. “You lost Walsh?”
“She was out in the pasture trying to drive the tractor. And I thought she was in the yard playing with Addie. She’s a sneaky little thing.”
“Yes, she is.”
“My point is you think you’ve done a poor job with these kids, but you haven’t. You’ve established routines for them. Order and structure. They’re happy and kind and compassionate. They’re good. And so are you.”
Jenna squeezed her eyes closed, her sister’s words like a comfort, a cure, and a release all at once.
Overhead, a lone cicada chirped in the dark tree branches as the rain fell harder. Jenna stood and followed Betsy back into the house, then closed the door softly behind them. While they were outside, Ty had moved to the floor next to the girls’ mattress. He had one hand on the mattress holding Walsh’s hand, the other hand under his head as a pillow.
Betsy grabbed the sleeping bags and pillows from the end of the couch and Jenna spread a blanket on the floor on the other side of the girls’ mattress. They unrolled the bags and set their pillows side by side. Jenna lay on her stomach, her chin on her hands. Betsy did the same and they peered at each other in the dark.
“We need chocolate pudding,” Jenna whispered. Betsy laughed softly. When Addie stirred, Betsy leaned up and pulled her blanket a little higher. Jenna’s heart ached for her sister. Betsy had always been her rock. An oasis—a safe place to find rest. She’d make the best kind of mother.
“Betsy,” Jenna whispered. “I didn’t know about you and Ty. About the doctors. Ty told me on the phone a few weeks ago.”
Betsy lay her head down on her arms, her face to Jenna.
“I just . . . I’m really sorry. I probably shouldn’t have asked you to keep the girls. I shouldn’t have just expected you to take that on for me.”
Betsy shook her head. “It’s okay. This time with them has been good for me. For me and Ty.”
“You’re an amazing woman, you know that, right? When I grow up, I want to be just like you.” Jenna scooted over and laid her head on Betsy’s pillow.
“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Betsy laid her head next to Jenna’s, their faces close together.
Jenna smiled. “I do know that.”
forty
Betsy
Hurricane advisory 39. Ingrid is moving north/northeast across northwest Florida as it weakens to a tropical storm. All watches and warnings west of the MS/AL border have been canceled. Storm is moving at 14 mph with gradual decrease in wind speed expected during the next 24 hours. Skies are clearing behind the storm.
When Betsy’s eyes opened, she wasn’t sure what had woken her up. A voice? A knocking? Her alarm clock? She sat up when she heard a rustle and a groan. On the other side of the girls’ mattress, Ty sat up too, rubbing his eyes and rolling kinks out of his neck.
Addie was still asleep on the mattress near Ty, one leg flopped over the edge. Next to Betsy, Jenna lay on her side curled around Walsh, who must have crawled in her mother’s sleeping bag during the night. Her head fit right underneath Jenna’s chin.
Betsy and Ty looked at each other over the mattress. At this early hour, before trucks began rumbling down the highway and the whine of chain saws filled the air, everything was quiet. The only sounds were Walsh’s light snoring and the whir of the ceiling fan in the den. At least the power had come back on while they slept.
“I’ll make coffee,” she whispered.
While they waited for the coffee to brew, the heady scent curling through the kitchen like incense, Ty wrapped his arms around Betsy and she leaned into him, inhaling deep. With the shutters closed, it was impossible to tell what damage Ingrid had left for them to discover. After a moment, he pulled away. “It’s not going to get any better the longer we wait. Might as well go check the damage.”
Ty opened the back door and they descended the steps with trepidation. Betsy counted at least four trees down, a kayak that didn’t belong to them lying on its side in the driveway, and strips of roof shingles dotting the yard. Though tree limbs and branches covered the grass like carpet, the big oak in the center of the yard appeared to have survived the onslaught with minimal harm. Only the swing was missing, its ropes frayed at the ends where the wood had ripped away in the wind.
From where they stood in the yard, the barn looked structurally okay, but she knew Ty would inspect every inch of it when he got there. “I need to get out to the pasture.” He turned to her. “Tell Jenna she can’t leave yet. Not until we find out what the roads are like.”
“I already thought of that. I’ll tell her.”
“I’ll be back in when I can, but it may be a while. What are you going to do?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’m not going to sit around drinking coffee while you work.”
“Okay, I . . . I just figured you might want to take it easy today . . .”
She smiled. He was fumbling, trying to say the right things and avoid the wrong ones, the hidden emotional mines that might set her off.
“Put me to work, Boss. I’m ready.”
“You got it.” He held his hand out to her and together they headed toward the barn to assess the damage, their boots making wet squelches as they stepped through the debris.
The next day Betsy followed Jenna’s little blue car up Highway 59 toward the interstate. They’d said their good-byes at the farm, each trying to get in as many hugs and last words as possible. Betsy had fished two heart-shaped rocks out of her Mason jar full of bittersweet summer memories. She painted them gold and, once dry, pressed them into the girls’ hands. “You can use them
