As he cleaned her and hooked her up, he thought back to his junior year at Auburn when he first saw Betsy. She jogged by the ag field every day in her little running shorts and tank tops, her hair bouncing. Even from the barn, he could hear her friend’s constant chatter, but Betsy was usually quiet, her eyes glued to him. He could feel her gaze without even turning his head. It sank into his shoulders, the back of his neck.
When they started to see each other officially—no longer separated by a wood and metal cattle fence—he discovered that different was good. While she wasn’t the exact opposite of his old girlfriend Summer—she wasn’t gloomy or irritable or depressed—she wasn’t a spoonful of sugar either. When she’d get worked up about something, she’d occasionally vent to him about it. She’d rant and rave and he’d watch, pleased to see a real woman let herself feel her anger. But most times she’d clam up, and he had to use superhuman powers to decipher her mood.
That generous dose of mystery, the unknown depths, made him feel like a man. Like it was his job to spend his days plumbing those depths, deciphering her particular brand of hieroglyphics.
He’d still choose her now. Of course he would. Even if he suspected that, as with Carlos’s wife, there were volumes of words Betsy was leaving unsaid.
thirteen
Jenna
Though Halcyon focused on freedom and a lack of structure, Jenna slipped into a routine in her first couple of days. Breakfast, camera, woods. No yoga. Then the same thing after lunch. And she did it all alone. Some of the other artists teamed up and worked together—painting, drawing, building—but the thought of forced politeness, of awkward camaraderie, of other people asking her opinion and waiting for her deep, philosophical answers made her squirm with discomfort. No thanks.
She did, however, wish she had a little more mentor input. Other artists meandered around the preserve with their mentors deep in conversation or with their heads together, looking over the day’s work. With her mentor mostly MIA, she couldn’t help feeling left out.
It was late afternoon on the third day. She’d called Betsy that morning from the cabin so she wouldn’t have to worry about the call dropping. When she’d again apologized for the retreat, for the kids, for her and Ty’s messed-up plans, Betsy had come close to scolding her.
“Jenna, you’re there. You made the decision and you need to stick with it. It’ll all be wasted if you don’t actually do something while you’re there.” Funny that she echoed the exact words running through Jenna’s mind. “Let it go. We are fine. The girls are completely fine. Don’t worry about us. Just . . . go do your thing. We’ll all be here when you finish up.”
Jenna had exhaled, long and deep. Betsy was right. She’d made the decision, and she needed to trust her sister—and her own choices. Right or wrong, she needed to stick by them. She thought of Delores’s words about airplane oxygen masks the night she found out she’d gotten into Halcyon: “Sometimes you have to take care of yourself so you can take care of your kids.”
Buck up. Do what you came to do.
With the reassurance that her children were well taken care of, she longed to sink back into her creativity, to find it waiting for her, ready for her eye and fingers and steady breathing, but every single photo she’d managed to take was worthless. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was off in all of them. There was no focus, no purpose.
Before kids, her photography focus had usually been people. Bodies at rest, bodies in motion. When she picked up her camera after having Addie and Walsh—on her excursions with Max to the Botanical Gardens or Centennial Park, or just playing with the kids in the front yard—she tried to broaden her focus into the natural world, but her favorite subjects were always people and their expressions. Desires and fears splashed across their faces.
At Halcyon, alone for the first time in she didn’t know how long, she had no idea where to start. Trees, moss, sand. Murky ponds, skittery birds, strange animals—was that what she was supposed to be capturing? That’s all there was out in this “pristine and protected” nature preserve, as the flyer had said. That and heat.
Her phone, tucked into her camera bag, had buzzed with a text message earlier in the day. She’d brought it with her in case of an emergency—either hers or Betsy’s—but the service on it had been next to nothing every time she checked it. The buzz—the first non-nature sound she’d heard since leaving the dining hall after breakfast—startled her. She unzipped the bag and checked her phone, thinking of everyone it might be—Betsy, Max, maybe even Delores checking in on her. But she didn’t recognize the number.
Missed you this morning. The guy behind the counter—the really chatty one—told me you’d skipped off to the beach. Lucky girl. He gave me your cell number. Hope it’s okay I used it. Also hope you’re having fun and relaxing. You deserve it. Sam
She thought of Sam arriving that morning at Full Cup, searching the line for her as he always did. The tall black coffee he probably ordered for her before Mario gave him the news that she wouldn’t be joining him for their nondate.
It wasn’t like she’d had any way to let him know she hadn’t just “skipped off to the beach,” as Mario put it. They hadn’t exchanged phone numbers, their only contact being the ten minutes a day when she could partially let her guard down. Even with Sam though, she never could let it down all the way. She hadn’t wanted
