He nodded again. “I heard what I needed to.”
“Care to add anything?”
He took a deep breath. “Actually, I do have one more thing. I didn’t hear anyone talk about why we call this place Halcyon. If you don’t mind . . .”
Casey held out her hands. “Be my guest.” She stepped out of the center of the group and sat on the floor.
Gregory stayed where he was, leaning against the rail with ease. “The name halcyon comes from the ancient Greeks. It was their name for a small, brightly colored bird called a kingfisher. Legend tells us that these birds built floating nests on the sea. There on the water, their nests tossed around by winds and waves, the females realized they needed calmer waters for their eggs to have any hope of hatching.”
His words were slow and deliberate, as if to make sure everything soaked in. Jenna was lulled by his voice, his presence. The glow from the lamps caught the strong edge of his jawline, making him appear chiseled out of something hard. But his eyes were bright as he looked around the room. Even though she knew the story from her father, she hung on every word.
“So these tiny birds”—he held his thumb and forefinger up a few inches apart—“they charmed the god of the winds, who allowed a period of temporary calm while the babies in the eggs grew and developed. This physical peace and calm, which we now call halcyon, surrounded the nests until the eggs hatched and the babies flew away, able to live and thrive on their own.
“Here at Halcyon, our gift to you is this calm—separation from your life and its chaos and responsibilities—so you can grow and develop as an artist. Your gift to the world is who you become while you’re here.”
He paused a moment, looked around at the faces peering at him, then crossed the room and pulled open the door into the darkened dining hall.
“That’s it, folks,” Casey said. “You’re on your own. Breakfast is at seven in the morning.”
The artists stood and stretched, resuming conversations from earlier and collecting their belongings. Along with their mentors, they all left the porch, several smiling in Jenna’s direction as they passed, but most absorbed in conversation about the work they’d begin tomorrow. Already she felt herself removed from the group, set apart. But she wasn’t concerned. She kind of liked it that way.
Alone on the porch, she pushed back with her foot, sending the glider into gentle movement. The cry of a bird, the sound foreign and strange, echoed above the other nighttime noises. She twisted the pipe-cleaner bracelet around her wrist again in soothing circles, the fuzz tickling the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. Off in the distance, thunder rumbled.
She’d called Betsy earlier before coming to the dining hall. With no reception on her cell, she’d placed a long-distance call on the landline in her cabin.
“They’re having a blast,” Betsy said when Jenna asked about the girls, partly expecting Betsy to tell her to get in the car and drive back to Elinore. “They spent the day exploring every corner of the house and yard. Maybe tomorrow we can get them into the barn.”
“Are you sure y’all are going to be okay?” She hated to think that she’d shoved her kids off on her sister just so she could be alone with her camera. “Maybe if I—”
“Jenna,” Betsy broke in. “We’re fine. Really. Try to enjoy yourself.”
Before they got off the phone, Jenna gave Betsy the address of the retreat and the official phone number. There was a front desk with a landline in the main studio. Surely someone would be around to answer the phone in case of an emergency.
She dug her hand into the pocket of her rain jacket and pulled out her cell to check the time. Eight thirty. With any luck Betsy would already have the girls in bed. Jenna could check in quickly to make sure the evening had gone well. She didn’t want to call so much that Betsy would think Jenna didn’t trust her, but she was dying to hear whether the girls missed her, whether they’d been scared going to sleep. If Betsy had remembered Addie’s stuffed elephant.
But when she swiped her thumb across the screen and scrolled to find Betsy’s name, she noticed her phone still wasn’t getting any service. She held it up a little higher in the air—the very thing she always made fun of other people for doing—keeping an eye on the screen to see when things kicked back into gear. Nothing.
“Great,” she muttered.
Behind her, the door from the dining hall creaked, humidity making it stick as someone on the other side tried to open it. When it finally released, Gregory walked through the doorway, a small bowl of something dark in his hand, and pulled the door closed behind him. He didn’t see her.
“Hey,” she said.
He turned, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I thought everyone was gone,” he said, his face hard.
“I was just trying to make a phone call.”
“Don’t bother. This metal roof is like a force field. Nothing gets through.” He pointed to the ceiling with his fork.
Jenna glanced up. “Is it any better outside?”
He shook his head as he took a bite. “Service is terrible everywhere around here. You can try, but we usually have to drive outside the preserve if we need to make any important calls. For some reason, texts seem to work better. Sometimes.”
Jenna watched as he took another bite.
“It’s chocolate bread pudding. The good stuff comes out late.” He raised his fork in a small wave and headed for the porch door. She smelled cigarette smoke and rich chocolate as he passed her. She surprised herself by speaking, not wanting him to walk out into the
