“Do you think she bought me something? Something big?” Addie asked on one of her passes through the kitchen.
“Well, I don’t know,” Betsy said. “What if it’s something tiny?” She bent down with her hands on her knees, face-to-face with Addie. “What if it’s small enough to hold in your hand?”
Addie’s eyes grew wide and she peeled off behind Walsh. “Walsh, what if Mommy brings us a fairy?”
Ty finished the morning milking by ten thirty, which left him only a few minutes to shower before Betsy piled them all into her car—Ty’s truck didn’t have space for the girls’ car seats—and sped down the highway to Elinore United Methodist Church. The parking lot was full of pickups and other sturdy, practical vehicles, most flecked with mud. Betsy parked under a tree at the side of the oyster-shell parking lot so the car wouldn’t be so hot after church.
They unloaded the girls and headed for the front doors with Ty carrying Walsh and Addie’s small hand firmly locked around Betsy’s. Betsy smiled hello to families in the parking lot while Ty shook a few hands and made the usual comments about the weather. Hot, getting hotter. Tropical Depression 5 had just been given a name—Dawn—which added extra pep to their small talk.
As folks poured out of the double doors from the nine-thirty service, Betsy saw Anna Beth standing to the side in a bright-pink pantsuit and struggling to button her son Jackson’s collar. He kept batting her hand away as only a thirteen-year-old boy could. When she spotted Betsy, she dropped her arms, gave him a hard stare, and marched toward Betsy.
“That boy.” She blew a lock of hair out of her face. “First he wanted to wear shorts to church—shorts! I talked him into long pants, but he refuses to button that top button.” She shook her head.
“I’ll let you two ladies chat.” Ty let go of Betsy’s hand and joined Anna Beth’s husband, Tom, by the wall, uncomfortable in his Sunday best. Ty still carried Walsh in his arms, as natural as if he were carrying a newborn calf. Addie clung to Betsy, creating a pocket of heat between their hands.
Behind Anna Beth, Jackson yanked on his collar, then noticed Betsy watching him. She smiled.
“It is about 90 percent humidity out here,” she said. “It has to get hot under those tight collars.”
“It’s church!” Anna Beth said. “It’s not about comfort—it’s about reverence. Oh, there’s my new boss.” She smiled and waved at Duncan Burgess, the new principal at Elinore Elementary. “Better go make nice.”
As Anna Beth worked her way toward Mr. Burgess, Betsy and Addie waited for the rest of the congregation to file out of the church. When the crowd cleared, Ty waved at her and she and Addie joined him at the front doors.
They took bulletins from the ushers and made their way to their regular seats—left side, five rows from the front. The girls began to fidget as soon as they sat down, turning around and staring at people in the row behind them, bouncing up and down on the cushioned pews.
“I’ll be right back,” Myrtle Davis, who sat at the end of their row, said. She appeared a moment later with children’s coloring sheets and crayons. “You won’t make it through the service without these.” She winked. Betsy thanked her, embarrassed for not thinking to get them herself.
The organist started and Betsy opened her bulletin. Being in church usually calmed her, took her outside her own head and into another place, somewhere higher than her usual day-to-day frustrations. But today she was antsy. She crossed her legs and her foot bounced up and down, quick and hard. Ty rested his hand on her knee and she stopped. Took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.
During the pastor’s prayer, she bowed her head like everyone else, but she kept her eyes open. She always did that. Something about closing her eyes while praying made her feel too loose, like she might float away if she wasn’t anchored by the sight of the wooden pew, the red hymnals, Ty’s leg next to hers. Instead of Ty’s leg, it was Addie’s knee and a fistful of crayons, but it helped.
After another hymn, the pastor began the sermon. Next to them, the girls’ crayons quietly scratched across the paper. Walsh asked Ty to draw a unicorn and he took on the task with his usual focused attention. He was adding a flowing mane and pointed unicorn horn when Betsy saw a glow from the side pocket of her purse on the floor. She glanced at Ty, then leaned down to check the screen, although she already knew who it was.
She pulled the phone out of her purse, covering the glowing screen with her hand, then ducked her head and walked quickly down the center aisle. By the time she exited the double doors into the breezeway, she’d missed Jenna’s call, of course. She tried to call her right back, but it went straight to voice mail. She typed out a quick text.
Sorry, in church. Call back.
She paced the breezeway while she waited. The only other person outside was a young mother holding a fussy baby. The mother rocked on her feet, gently bouncing the baby in her arms. When Betsy passed her, she heard the woman singing “You Are My Sunshine.” She tried not to stare, but the baby’s cheeks were so pink, her eyelashes so long. Her dimpled chin so perfect.
She turned so the woman wouldn’t think she was crazy and stared at the phone instead, willing it to ring. Instead of ringing, she got a ding that meant Jenna had left a message. She walked to the edge of the breezeway, sensing the need for privacy, and held the phone to her ear.
“Hey, Bets.” Jenna paused, then sighed. Betsy could almost see her sister, her fingers fiddling with something, her hair a mess
