Farmers weren’t her thing—the only ones she knew of in Birmingham were at the Pepper Place Farmer’s Market on Saturday mornings—but then she saw him, his arm outstretched, feeding an enormous bull from the palm of his hand. The skin on the back of his neck was tan and soft-looking. As her friend babbled about her date the night before, Betsy had to fight the urge to hop the fence and lay her cheek against that soft skin.
They passed the field, but she turned around for one last look. His calm, confident stance, the way his hat sat on his blond hair, the way his jeans sat on his hips. She imagined a life with him before they’d even said hello. They married a year and a half later, the summer after they graduated, and spent the next two years working hard on the farm.
The days were long, sweaty, and demanding—getting the fields ready for their first full harvest in two years, organizing the cattle, meeting the farmhands who’d worked for his grandfather, and deciding who else they needed to bring on. Betsy put her marketing degree to work and got Franklin Dairy on social media, joined various dairy associations in the Southeast, and began talks with stores and markets across the area. She quickly fell in love with the farm and the ways they could contribute to the life of the community and the region as a whole.
But the physical work was unending—hammering, hoeing, seeding, herding, feeding. She worked as hard as Ty did and used muscles she didn’t know she had. Occasionally she wondered what in the world she’d gotten herself into, but then he’d cross the barn to kiss her, his lips salty and sweet. He’d catch her eye from across the room and her legs would melt. He’d find her hand under the table at a dairy association meeting and she’d remember why she chose him and this life. Their life.
At the end of each day, they collapsed in bed, exhausted but happy. Happy with the farm, with each other, with the years that lay ahead and all the life that would fill those years. Back then, she wouldn’t have been so shocked by what Ty had suggested in the barn. The thought of making love there, especially with the other guys so close at hand, made her cheeks burn now, but back then, she might have been the one to suggest it.
Betsy tiptoed up the back steps and eased open the door, but her stealth was unnecessary. Addie was sleeping hard, her mouth open slightly, her cheeks pink in the afternoon heat. Betsy reached up and pulled the chain to turn on the ceiling fan. When the breeze lifted strands of Addie’s hair, Betsy slipped into the house, pressing the door almost closed behind her. Upstairs, Walsh was still asleep as well. Betsy had no idea how long they were supposed to nap. Just one of the many things she hadn’t thought to ask Jenna before she left.
She entered the coolness of her own bedroom, the fan still spinning, the bed still unmade. Instead of tidying up as she normally would have, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, arms and legs starfished out to the sides. Then she reached up and pulled Ty’s pillow to her, hugged it close.
Would things ever go back to how they used to be, back when she had no problem letting go? Ty would tighten his grip on her hips, his mouth an inch away from her own, and her legs would turn to water, bone and sinew dissolving to nothingness. The air between them crackled with anticipation and desire. It used to be so easy to let herself go—like drifting into the Gulf, the warm, languid water covering her skin and holding her tight.
But that was before—before the poking and prodding, before all that captivating mystery and spontaneity and optimism was reduced to circled numbers on a calendar and biweekly dates with a nurse practitioner in pink polka-dot scrubs. Back when things between them were fun and easy, fresh and new.
Somehow Ty had been able to move past it all, compartmentalizing the facets of his life into neat pockets with clearly defined boundaries. Betsy, however, was stuck somewhere in the in-between, twisted and twirled into a messy, tangled knot she didn’t quite recognize. A close match, but not the real thing. And if this Betsy didn’t work the way God and nature intended, how was she supposed to offer herself up for pure pleasure or even accept the offer? It seemed too bold. Too easy after such an upheaval.
Dr. Fields, however, seemed to think that part wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, be an issue.
“Spontaneous pregnancy can happen,” he’d said. “So you two need to keep at it. Try to enjoy yourselves.”
Those were his parting words, tossed out like a consolation prize as they stood to leave his office. Just before that, they had listened as he rattled off all the things that could be wrong since he’d yet to find a single thing that was definitely wrong. The usual course of action—intrauterine insemination, two words Ty could barely make his mouth say—hadn’t worked for them, even though they’d tried the relatively easy process three times. The doctor had suggested four, but three negatives seemed like enough.
“So there’s . . . Is there anything else we can try?” Ty had asked.
Betsy lifted her eyes. Ty hadn’t been eager about visiting the fertility specialist in the first place, so she was surprised he’d ask about more treatment.
“Oh, there’s always something,” the doctor said. “I think IVF would be an appropriate course of action
