“I’m here. I just need a few minutes to shower, then we can head out.”
Betsy turned to him, but he’d already entered their bedroom and pushed the door closed behind him. She bit her lip, then knocked on the girls’ door. They both looked up.
“Is it time to get ready for the festival?” Addie asked.
“Yep. Let’s get you dressed.”
When they were dressed and ready, she told them to wait there. “Let me check on Uncle Ty and I’ll be back in just a few minutes to get you. Okay?”
Across the hall, she opened their bedroom door just as Ty slid the shower curtain open. Steam billowed out of their bathroom. Betsy made the bed and picked up a stack of folded clothes from the bench at the end of the bed. She sat and waited.
A moment later he walked into their room, a white towel wrapped around his waist, his blond hair wet and dripping on his shoulders. He pulled on boxers and a pair of clean blue jeans and sat on the bench next to her. “Are the girls ready?” he asked, his voice end-of-the-day tired.
“They’ve been ready since last night.”
“Did you make the potato salad?”
“Of course.” She smiled.
“Good.” He rubbed the towel across his head, his face, then tossed it onto the bed. “Wouldn’t want to get on Ms. Elsie’s bad side.” He pulled on his shoes, then sat up and stretched his back. He stood and crossed the room to the chest of drawers and pulled out a collared shirt. His hair made small damp dots on the back of the shirt.
It was just her husband getting dressed after a shower—his cheeks still red from working out in the heat, his muscles stretching and pulling under his shirt, his strength coupled with his visible fatigue. All of it chipped at Betsy’s heart and she ached with tenderness. Desire and regret.
She walked to him, reached her arms around him, and pressed her cheek to his back. He froze. She thought he was going to pull away, but then he covered her arms with his own, turned to face her, and pressed his forehead to hers.
“What’s all this?” he whispered.
“Aunt Betsy!” Addie called from the other room. “Is it time to go yet?”
Ty closed his eyes. Betsy stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips softly. “Later,” she whispered back.
Ty drove to the picnic with his hand on the gearshift, as he always did. At the beginning of their marriage, as soon as Betsy would slide into her seat next to him, she’d cover his hand with her own, and his fingers would lift and curl over hers. It became habit, their hands finding each other like two puzzle pieces. It had been a while since she’d done that, so she did it now.
It felt good, memory meeting reality. Ty looked over at her and she didn’t look away. Without a word he lifted his fingers and curled them around hers. Behind them, the girls chattered and giggled. A warm breeze and the sharp, fresh scent of grassy fields entered the car through the lowered windows, filling the air like a promise.
The community park was abloom with banners, balloons, and tables of food stretching across the grass. The high school jazz band had set up under a small pavilion, and folks were splayed out on blankets and folding chairs. Elsie Roberts hurried around to each group warning of the coming rain and urging them to eat first, talk later. No one listened, this being the only time in the whole year everyone in town came together. When it began to sprinkle a half hour into the picnic, no one cared but Elsie.
Addie and Walsh ran nonstop with dozens of other kids whose combined feet made a giant mud pit on one side of the damp field. After a few minutes of keeping her eyes on the girls, Betsy relaxed, eating and chatting with other farm owners and neighbors. When Walsh crossed the field toward their blanket—crying, tears dripping off her chin—Ty jumped up and ran to her, dodging paper plates and cups on his way.
When he reached her, he knelt low and put his head close to hers. She pointed to her knee and cried fresh tears at the sight of whatever scrape was there, real or imagined. Ty blew on her knee, then whispered something to her that made her laugh.
Linda Daily, sitting next to them, tapped Ty on the shoulder and held out a Band-Aid she’d fished from her purse. Ty smiled his thanks and spread the bandage on Walsh’s knee. Walsh responded with a teary smile, then bounded off to rejoin the other kids.
Back at their blanket, Ty sat down and exhaled.
“You’re good at that,” Betsy said.
“What? Putting on Band-Aids? Same as putting it on me or you.”
“Not that. Calming her. Making her feel better.”
Ty shrugged. “She’s a kid. Just needed a little attention. Someone to tell her she’d be okay.”
It never rained hard, but the steady sprinkle ensured no blanket, plate, or article of clothing stayed dry or clean. By the time the band packed up their horns and drums and Betsy tossed their empty plates and cups, everything was mud streaked, especially Addie and Walsh. Betsy and Ty herded them toward their car.
“Do we have to go?” Addie squirmed in Ty’s arms.
“Yep, we do,” he said. “You two are splattered head to toe with mud, and Walsh has potato chips in her hair. It’s time to take this party home.”
The girls had been wound tight right up until Betsy buckled them into their car seats, but as soon as they were secured, their energy leaked out, leaving wet noodles behind. During the silent drive back home, Betsy glanced behind her. Walsh was already asleep, and Addie’s eyes were at half-mast.
The heavy rain they’d been looking for all evening finally began as they pulled down the driveway. Ty
