Ty swiped at the Off button, leaned forward, and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. The radio wasn’t the problem, and neither was Bernard. A tropical storm this early in the season wasn’t anything to get worked up about, especially one that would no doubt curve back out into the Atlantic. He’d been tracking storms long enough to know when to worry. But the alarming predictions about this year’s hurricane season—not to mention its similarities to another season years ago—had him on edge.
The summer he turned fifteen was predicted to bring an especially severe hurricane season. Ty had spent every summer since he was nine working on the farm with his grandfather—along with any weekends he wasn’t busy playing baseball—and this one was no different. By August, his grandfather’s old radio had sent out so many alarms and beeps, cautions and warnings that it had become background noise. So far, none of the storms had affected the farm directly—just fallen limbs and debris and a few short power outages. As a result, Ty paid little attention to the reports about Hurricane Louis that came through the radio, and even brushed off his grandfather’s concerns and extra efforts to secure the farm.
Louis roared through Baldwin County a few days later, damaging everything in its path and chastening Ty for having the nerve to doubt his grandfather’s ability to sense coming danger. Ty had always known his grandfather was a good man, but waiting up with Granddaddy as the storm blew through, seeing how worried he was about the farm, the land, and the house, changed his view of him forever.
“Hurricanes have come and gone every season since my father built this place,” Granddaddy said by candlelight after the power had blinked off. Wind rushed and moaned outside, and lightning forked through the eerie gray-green sky. His grandfather was on edge, waiting for the winds to die down so he could get outside and survey his property. “Lord willing, the farm will be here for many seasons to come. And one day it can be yours. It’s a big responsibility. Are you up for it?”
Ty nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s what I want.”
“I know you do, son. Your daddy didn’t want the farming life, but I see it in you. So be it. Franklin Dairy will pass on to you.”
Later, after the worst of the storm had passed, Granddaddy pulled on his boots and opened the back door. He turned to Ty. “You comin’?”
Together, they stepped through the debris in the yard and dodged tree branches still swaying in the wind. Everything looked okay until they passed the barn.
“Oh no. No, no.” Granddaddy took off running to the fence that was supposed to have kept the cows safe in the field during the storm. Instead, one large section had fallen, the old wooden boards snarled and splintered at the ends. Thirty-two of Granddaddy’s 150 cows had escaped through the gash in the fence. Even at his young age, Ty knew the rules of the game: a loss of cows meant a loss of milk, which meant a loss of money. It was a hard hit for the farm.
Ty might have started the summer still a boy, but he took an important step toward manhood the night of that storm. Now, more than fifteen years later, he still remembered what it felt like to know Franklin Dairy would one day be his. It was an intimidating but welcome weight of responsibility. A weight that had only increased over the years.
He heard a knock at the door and glanced up. Carlos leaned against the doorframe, beating dust from his blue jeans with his faded Crimson Tide ball cap.
“What’s up, man?” Carlos asked, not really looking for an answer, just someone to shoot the breeze with for a minute.
Ty leaned back in his chair, springs and metal squeaking. “Checking numbers. The usual.” He nodded to the hat in Carlos’s hand. “I’ll help you with the stalls if you leave that cap off.”
“Nuh-uh.” Carlos set it firmly back on his head. “Hat stays with me.”
While the men forked fresh bedding into each of the cow stalls, Ty relished the peace that came with doing a job well and quietly. With the herd in the fields and the music off, the only sound came from industrial fans on either end of the barn and the swishing of their pitchforks into bags of sawdust. Ty’s mind was free to roam, although today, his mind wasn’t going anywhere easy. It shifted from memories of his grandfather to the broken pump he and Carlos would have to fix later to the phone call that came this morning.
Jenna. He didn’t even have to see her to feel the thorn digging into his flesh.
Carlos could only stand to work in silence for so long, and after a few minutes, he broke it. “Something under your skin? You’re shoving that pitchfork mighty hard there. Remind me not to get in the way.”
“I’m good. Just . . . distracted.”
“What did Dr. Evans say about 186?”
They’d lost a cow yesterday, a female soon to have a baby. Ty hadn’t been sure what it was, but the thought of infection—something that could spread to the rest of the herd—had worried him.
“Undetected heart condition, no infection. He couldn’t say specifically what it was, but he offered to do an autopsy to be sure.” Ty patted down the last layer of sawdust and moved the bag down to the next stall.
“For a pretty penny, I bet.”
“Bingo.”
“Good there’s no infection. Nothing that’ll affect the rest of them,” Carlos said. “So if it’s not the cow, what is it? Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I’ll just ask you again later.” He grinned.
Ty shoved a fork-load into the stall. Patted it down. Lather, rinse, repeat.
“It’s nothing, man. Just heard a weather report earlier is all. Tropical storm down in the Caribbean.”
“Yeah, I heard it too. Staying out in open water, don’t you think?”
“Probably. Can’t let our guard down though.
