He was starting to think he’d miss them a little when they were gone.
“I know you heard the reports from the weather center.” Roger slapped his cap back on his head and squinted into the sun. “There’s already one storm out there. Only June and they’re lining up like dominoes.”
Ty laughed. “You always so gloom and doom, Roger? You and I both know those things come and go as they please. Active season doesn’t always mean it’ll be active around here.”
“That’s true. But we’re nothing if not prepared, right?”
“You’re right about that. I already got your plywood on my upper windows.”
“Farmers help each other out. Your grandfather would have been the first to say that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think I’ll go check out the placement of those boards, if you don’t mind. I’d hate for water to seep in somewhere, ruin your hard work.”
“I don’t think I missed any holes, but you’re welcome to check for me.”
“I do it for your grandfather. He’d want me to keep an eye out for you.”
Ty smiled. “I appreciate that.” He didn’t need the help, but Roger and Ty’s grandfather had been close, and if the man wanted to take care of him, it was best to just let him.
Down in the yard, most of the kids were horsing around on the grass under the big tree, but Addie stood a few yards away, near the house. Hide-and-go-seek, maybe.
Betsy and Linda stood next to what used to be Betsy’s garden. Now it was barely more than a briar patch. The soil was hard and untilled, and any vegetables still buried in the earth must have been hard rocks by now. It was a shame, really. Betsy had enjoyed that garden when they first moved to the farm. She worked it every day, coaxing everything from potatoes and carrots to marigolds and roses to grow just a little bit higher, a little bit fuller.
It had been a long time since he’d seen her out in the garden. A year, maybe two? She stood next to it now, one hand shading her eyes, her other hand on her hip. Linda tugged on a limp stalk that leaned sideways against a fence post. Betsy shrugged and Linda shook her head. When Linda pointed at something else in the garden, Betsy patted her on the arm and motioned for her to follow. Away from the garden, away from her forgotten mission.
Linda waved to Ty and followed her husband out to the barn. Together, they walked around its perimeter, pointing at who-knows-what and nodding like they knew exactly what Ty was doing wrong on his grandfather’s farm, making a list of what he needed to do to fix it.
Betsy crossed the yard, dodging running children, and climbed up on the fence rail next to where Ty stood, hooking her toes under the board below her. She tilted her face up and closed her eyes. Late-afternoon sunshine filtered through the big oak and cast long shadows on the grass.
Ty reached up and propped his elbow on her knees. “What insightful wisdom did Linda share with you?”
“That I’m a miserable gardener.”
Ty laughed. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm. No gardener worth her salt would start something like that and then just let it all go. She offered to come over and help me whip it back into shape.”
“What’d you tell her?”
Betsy sighed and stretched her arms out in front of her. “I told her I’d let her know if I needed help.”
Ty nodded. “Think you’ll ever get back out there? It seemed like something you enjoyed.”
“Oh, I did enjoy it. I just . . . It got out of hand, and the longer I stayed away, the worse it got. Maybe one day.”
Down in the yard, Roger’s grandkids—ages seven, nine, and eleven—had circled around Walsh, who was happy to be the center of attention. While the older kids watched, she performed trick after trick—sloppy headstands, rolls on the grass, jumps, leaps. The kids cheered and hugged her. Walsh beamed.
“Where’s Addie?” Ty looked to the corner of the house where he’d last seen her.
Just then, the screen door to the back porch opened and Addie tiptoed down the steps. As Walsh’s laughter rang out and her antics became even more animated, Addie took careful steps toward the group in the grass. At the last minute she darted off toward the henhouse, where she paused in the shade along one side of it, her eyes still on the other kids.
“What is she doing?” Ty asked.
“I think she’s nervous around the bigger kids. She wants to play, but she’s scared to join in.”
“Why? Look at Walsh out there. No fear.”
“Come get me,” Walsh called to the kids, and she darted off to the side of the yard. Addie took a few steps out of the shadows, but not enough to join in the game.
“Jenna was like that when we were little,” Betsy said. “I was more like Addie. I used to be jealous of how Jenna was so brave and daring.”
“Daring. Yep, I’d say that’s a good description of Jenna.”
“But it was more than just that. She’d jump in the middle of a group of kids and start playing with them like it was no big thing. I was always too scared. I’d wait until someone asked me to play. I was Addie, tiptoeing around the edge, wanting to be a part of things. Jenna never tiptoed.”
Betsy shifted on the fence, straightened out her legs, then tucked them back under the rung. “I remember I had a slumber party once. I think it was for a birthday. My twelfth or thirteenth, I don’t remember. It was the same thing. They were my friends, but Jenna was the center of attention. She had bought some nail polish with her allowance money. It must have been the one time she actually did enough chores to get her money for the week. She
