“That was different. It was—”
“Girls.” Their father was known for his silence and calm demeanor, so when he spoke, and with force as he did this time, they listened. “That’s enough. Your mother has given her answer.” He turned to Jenna. “If you want to pursue your photography on your own, that’s fine. Anything in the arts is a worthy endeavor, as far as I’m concerned. But you spending a summer across the country with no supervision is out of the question.”
Jenna’s cheeks flamed. His voice had been steady, but she heard the emphasis on you anyway. It was as clear to her as the roof over her head or the hard chair she sat on—if it had been the other sister asking, the answer would have been different. But she was Jenna, ever dependable if solely as the disappointment. She’d proven that with lackluster grades, unsuitable boyfriends, and questionable after-school activities. Disappearing behind the camera was the only thing she was good at.
She left the dining room but paused unseen in the kitchen when she heard their conversation pick back up.
“I get that I don’t have any sway here,” Betsy said. “I just think you could give her a shot. She never asks to do anything and this one thing, you won’t let her do.”
“Jenna asks to do plenty, it’s just not often for very smart reasons. We’re thinking of her future, Betsy,” her dad said. “She needs to concentrate on her grades, not some summer getaway with a bunch of friends in Seattle.”
“Dad, I think it’s more—”
“Her grades are already hanging by a thin thread,” her mom broke in, “and that’s without the distraction of this summer fling. She needs to focus, maybe even take some summer classes—on campus, real courses—and think about what she wants to do with her life.” Jenna peeked around the edge of the door just in time to see her mom smooth her hair and brush imaginary crumbs off the front of her blouse. “Anyway, no telling what kind of trouble she’d get into in Seattle, of all places. Isn’t that where those grunge people are? She’d probably end up on drugs. Or pregnant.”
Jenna pulled back to avoid being seen, her stomach clenched as if her mother’s words had been a physical blow.
“Jenna’s a little wild, but she’s not like that.” Jenna heard the exasperation in Betsy’s voice. “Why can’t this be a way for her to figure out what she wants to do in the future? You let me do it, and it’s not even like someone would hire me just because I worked at a marketing firm in England for a semester.”
“Maybe not, but it shows that you challenged yourself, that you’re determined to succeed, that you value hard work and dedication.”
“Really? I think it shows I found the one semester-abroad program that let me combine my major with quaint English pubs and British guys with cute accents.”
Dad scoffed. “That’s not why you went and you know it.”
“Why do you always think it’s Jenna who does things for the wrong reason? Why do you automatically expect me to do the right thing? The good thing?”
“That’s just the way you are, Betsy.” Their mother’s voice was maddeningly calm. “It’s what you do. Jenna, on the other hand . . .” She cleared her throat.
I what? Jenna screamed in her mind. What am I?
Betsy stood, her chair scraping against the floor. “I think you’re making a big mistake by not letting her go.”
Alone now in her car, driving toward a mysterious destination that promised similar space and time to pursue her art and sharpen her skills, Jenna wondered at the prophetic nature of Betsy’s comment. It was sort of true, wasn’t it? Her parents’ refusal to allow her to go to Seattle almost ten years ago had been the beginning of a downward spiral that dumped her out with two kids, a job filling recycled cardboard cups with fancy coffee, and a handful of abandoned dreams. Part of her wanted to blame it all on her parents, but she was old enough to know that was a weak excuse. She’d made her own choices.
Instead of the interstate, she stayed on small highways and two-lanes. Signs with happy names like Seaside, Rosemary Beach, and Sunnyside slid past her windows. Panama City, Port St. Joe, and Apalachicola, then national forests and wildlife management areas. Everything green and lush, full of life. As she drove she twisted the bracelet on her wrist until her skin grew sore. The bracelet—purple and blue pipe cleaners twisted together—was a gift from Addie the night before.
“Here, Mommy,” Addie had said. “You can wear this on your trip.”
Jenna slipped it over her hand and onto her wrist. “I’ll keep it on the whole time.”
“To remind you of me?”
“I don’t need something like this to make me think of you. You’re in here.” She tapped her chest, over her heart.
Addie beamed, then frowned. “Wait. How am I in there if I’m right here?”
Jenna rolled down the windows and inhaled the warm, salty air. When she felt the magnitude of what she was attempting—going fourteen days without seeing her kids, resurrecting a long-dormant passion—she pushed the anxiety back and focused on the road. In her little blue car hurtling east, then south, she smiled as the air through the windows whipped her curls. She rolled up the window and cranked the AC. Freedom, light and elusive, won out over the panic and set her fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
The woman Jenna had spoken to on the phone warned her not to use GPS to get to Halcyon. Those instructions would send her to Chopper’s Alligator Farm, the owner of which would not be amused by another misguided artist showing up at his front gate and asking for directions. So when Jenna saw
