She tied the shirt around her waist as they stepped across the hot sand toward the road. She couldn’t even think about fall.
When she opened her door and climbed in, she noticed her phone sitting on the seat. She hadn’t meant to leave it behind. She scooped it up and checked the screen for any missed messages or calls. One voice mail. As Gregory cranked the engine and pulled away from the beach, Addie’s voice trailed out of the phone.
“Mommy! Walsh caught a fish! Uncle Ty took us fishing in the creek behind their house. I didn’t catch anything. We threw Walsh’s fish back so it could go back to its family . . . What? . . . Aunt Betsy wants to talk to you.”
After a moment of muffled voices, Betsy came on the line. “Walsh is quite a good fisherman. She pinched off a piece of hot dog, stuck it on the hook, and dropped the line in the water like she’d been fishing her whole life.” She let out a small laugh. “Anyway, hope things are going well. Give us a call when you can.”
Jenna dropped her phone back into her bag. She propped her elbows on her knees and leaned her head into her hands, then turned her face to him. “My kids are having a lot of fun. They sound happier than ever.”
“That’s a good thing, right? You can concentrate on you.”
She nodded, then sat back in her seat. The wind whipped through her hair and fluttered her shirt against her skin.
“Ever been to California?” he asked.
twenty-four
Betsy
“Aunt Betsy?”
Walsh’s voice was a whisper at the edge of Betsy’s consciousness. She had her laptop open and papers—a calendar, QuickBooks printouts, notes from three dairy association meetings, and a YMCA summer camp flyer—spread all over the heart-pine kitchen table. It was only ten o’clock, but with the girls up before six, the morning had been a long one.
“Aunt Betsy?”
Five minutes ago, when Walsh had called her name multiple times, Betsy had jumped up and walked to where Walsh sat in the window seat only to find that Walsh’s big toe itched and could Betsy please scratch it?
Fool me once, Betsy thought with a tight smile. This time she tuned out Walsh’s calls and kept her eyes on her laptop. She’d been going back and forth with the director of Forsythe Ranch, a horse farm a couple miles away that hosted children’s camps throughout the summer. The director was hoping to find a regular field trip slot for the rest of the summer. A set group coming each week would be a chunk of extra money for the farm.
“Aunt . . . Bet . . . sy.”
“Hang on just a sec,” Betsy mumbled as she clicked to open the latest e-mail from the director.
“Aunt Betsy, I have to go potty!” Walsh’s voice rang out, her voice louder with each word. She stood right next to Betsy, her dark hair a messy halo around her head, her face twisted in frustration.
Betsy sighed, then smiled and snapped her laptop shut. “Okay. Let’s go.” She shuttled Walsh down the hall to the bathroom.
While Walsh sat on the toilet and sang, Betsy perched on the edge of the tub, her chin in her hand. As someone who liked things to be on time and in order, having two kids in the house with no concept of or desire for a schedule was difficult. Plans and routines helped keep Betsy’s mind from wandering to painful places, and while she tried valiantly to stick to those routines, the girls were just as eager to mess them up. They didn’t do it on purpose, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier.
Once Walsh finished her business and Betsy helped her wash her hands, they found Addie on her stomach in the den, rolling a pink bouncy ball to Etta, whose whole body was under the couch. Only the cat’s arms stuck out, batting at the ball. Walsh joined in and Betsy crossed through the room toward the kitchen. On the way, she caught a glimpse of Ty outside. With a large bale of hay in his arms, he walked around the side of the barn and disappeared in the back.
Betsy filled a glass with water and took a sip, then grabbed a damp rag and wiped at a sticky spot on the counter. Behind her in the den, Addie and Walsh whispered, their voices growing louder as they disagreed on something, then settled down. Then footsteps crossed the hardwood floor into the kitchen.
“We’re playing house,” Addie announced. “I’m the big sister and she’s the baby sister. You can be the mommy.”
“Girls, I need to finish up some work on the computer. I’m sorry. Can you be the mom and let Walsh be the sister?”
“But I’m not big enough. We need someone big.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do it right now. You’ll have to figure it out on your own.”
Addie’s lip stuck out, and a swift wave of irritation mixed with Betsy’s guilt, creating a stifling blend of unfamiliar emotion.
“Mommy always plays the mommy for us.”
“That’s because she is your mommy.” Betsy’s voice was testy as she tossed the damp rag into the sink.
Addie paused for a moment and Betsy braced herself. But then Addie turned to Walsh. “I’ll be the fancy lady and you be my puppy.”
Walsh promptly dropped to her hands and knees, barked, and crawled off to the den. Addie followed behind holding an imaginary leash.
Just as Betsy sat back down at the computer, she heard the back door open and two sets of feet scurrying outside. She took a deep breath. Maybe she could finish her work now. It was so peaceful, twenty minutes passed before she thought to check on the girls. She glanced toward the backyard, then reluctantly closed her laptop.
Outside, she found Addie sitting on the grass next to the henhouse, making quiet clucking noises to Parsley, a sweet Speckled Sussex hen pecking near the fence.
“Addie? Is Walsh with
