Both girls loved to run through the fields, darting between the silent cows chewing grass and clover. When they tired of running and dodging steaming patties, Carlos or one of the other guys would hoist them up onto a tractor and take them for a short ride. Addie laughed every time she caught sight of the honey wagon out in the fields. Ty had painted a huge bee on its side in white and black paint, leading Addie to think the long, tube-shaped container was full of honey.
Addie stopped laughing when she realized what it actually carried, even more so when she learned that what was inside the honey wagon went straight back into the fields, helping to grow the grass and grain that fed the cows. Ty tried to explain the importance of the cycle of nutrition, but she wrinkled her nose and gave the honey wagon a wide berth.
Jenna finally called again on Wednesday, just as Betsy was wiping the girls’ faces with a damp washcloth and getting them into pajamas. Betsy gave the phone to Addie so she could say good night, but the call dropped just after Addie said hello.
“Mommy, I’m here, I’m here,” Addie repeated, pressing the phone tighter to her ear and shouting.
Betsy pried the phone out of her hands and tried calling Jenna back. It went straight to voice mail. Addie stormed off and threw herself onto the bed, a rare flash of anger. Walsh’s eyes grew big and her bottom lip trembled. Jenna texted later and said cell service was spotty and that she’d try again when she could. Betsy tried to explain about phone coverage and dropped calls, but both girls went to bed with tears in their eyes.
The next night Jenna called again, but it was after nine o’clock. The girls had been in bed for almost two hours.
“Sorry to call so late,” Jenna said. “I’ve had no service bars on my phone all day. This is the first time the call has gone through.”
“It’s okay. I wish you’d been able to call earlier though. The girls are dying to talk to you. I’d get them up, but . . .”
“No, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call again soon. They’re doing okay?”
“They miss you, of course, but they seem to be pretty happy. What about you? Have you been able to take a lot of pictures?”
Jenna paused before speaking. “Yeah, I have. I’m out all day with my camera, and there’s plenty of time for whatever I want to do. The schedule is super loose. And it’s beautiful here. Palm trees, Spanish moss, ponds with tree frogs and geckos. Everything is lush and overgrown.”
“That sounds beautiful.” Betsy pulled back the quilt on her bed and climbed in. Ty was still downstairs catching the last few minutes of a Braves game.
“Yeah . . . ,” she began. Then she was quiet for a moment.
“Everything okay?”
“I’ve just been thinking about Mom a little. Do you remember when we used to drag our blankets under your bed and hide?”
Betsy smiled. “Sure. That’s where we kept our stash of chocolate pudding cups.”
“That’s right. Mom never understood why they disappeared so fast. I guess she never noticed the empty containers in your garbage can. You used to tell me stories of what it would be like to be a grown-up, all the jobs we could have. Whatever we wanted to be. You were going to work at Prescott Branding. Do you remember that? All those summer internships practically guaranteed you a job there.”
Betsy stretched her legs under the sheet. “Oh, I remember.” Her onetime goal of being an account exec at Birmingham’s top ad agency seemed like a lifetime ago. “You always wanted to be an actress and a vet and a photographer.”
“And you told me I could do it if that’s what I wanted.”
“Yep. It’s probably the same thing you tell Addie and Walsh. That they can be whatever they want to be.”
“That’s what we tell them, but . . . we can’t just be anything, you know? Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. I mean, look at you. You were supposed to be cranking out genius ad campaigns for big companies, but instead you married a farmer and live with a bunch of cows. No offense, it’s just not what you planned way back when.” Jenna took a breath. “All that time, we thought we really could just go and do and be and things would fall into place, but it doesn’t always happen that way.”
Betsy stilled her legs. She could have said a million things about what had and hadn’t worked out in her own life, but she focused on her sister instead. “What’s going on with you, Jenna?”
“Nothing. Just that . . . we can’t always get what we want.” She paused. “Sorry, that’s stupid. And I’ve always hated that song.”
“What do you want that you’re not getting?” Even as she said the words, she imagined a long, winding list of things Jenna probably wanted. Or maybe Betsy was just thinking of her own list, the one that swirled around her head, out the window, and up into the still night air.
“I just . . . I wonder if maybe coming here was a bad idea. I’ve already given up my photography. Why try to force it to work again?” She paused, then her next words were soft. “What do you think Mom would say about me being here?”
Betsy closed her eyes and spoke carefully. “I think she would be glad you’re pursuing something you feel passionate about.”
“Really? That’s what I was trying to do with Wyoming. And even before that with the program in Seattle. What makes you think she’d feel any different this time?” Jenna laughed, small and tired. “She said I’d either end up on drugs or pregnant. She always did have such high hopes for me.”
“Oh, Jenna,
