The gardening seminar lasted an hour and a half. Betsy planned to stay for only a little while, just long enough to ask about aphids on her cucumber plants, but the speaker, a spry woman of about seventy, was so enthusiastic and knowledgeable, Betsy didn’t have the heart to duck out early. She took Ty’s advice and let herself relax, enjoy the absence of Goldfish crackers and myriad questions, and the company of other adults, even if those adults were all at least three decades older than she was.
During the talk, the woman in the seat next to Betsy leaned over and whispered, “Have you heard the talk about the storm? It’s still way out in the water, but it’s coming.”
Betsy nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I just—”
“It makes me nervous as a June bug. Sylvia’s up there talking a blue streak about the beauty of our native azaleas and pitcher plants, and all I can think about is that darn storm coming and ruining everything.”
When the seminar was over, Betsy gathered her things and picked her way to the door, dodging tight knots of folks discussing both Sylvia’s talk and the meteorologists’ gloomy forecasts. Betsy was on her way to the exit when she heard laughter and an animated voice coming from the children’s department. She paused, then backtracked and peeked her head in.
In one corner of the room, a young woman in pigtails danced across a small stage, acting out scenes from Goldilocks. A group of moms sat on the floor in front of her with children in their laps. The kids laughed when the woman jumped out of a too-small chair. The moms smiled at each other—knowing smiles, tired smiles. We’re-in-this-together smiles. Afternoon story time. The camaraderie of parents, members of the mom-club. Betsy felt something twist in her chest.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” A librarian reshelving books paused and looked up at Betsy.
“Oh, uh . . . maybe something about flowers?”
“Sure.” She stood and motioned for Betsy to follow her to a shelf across the room. “This is our nonfiction section. Books about flowers and plants are right down here.”
Betsy stooped and ran her fingers across the spines. Titles jumped out at her. A Seed Is Sleepy. Planting a Rainbow. The Curious Garden. Nothing like her vintage Henderson’s Book of Fanciful Flowers, but she grabbed a handful anyway. She smiled thinking of Addie and Walsh curled up in bed with these books.
Out in her car Betsy tapped on the steering wheel, trying to decide what to do next. Manicures weren’t her thing, but she didn’t want to disappoint Ty by coming back too soon, making him think she didn’t trust him to take care of the girls on his own for just a few hours. The truth was, this summer had shown her what she always suspected but just hadn’t seen in action—he would make an amazing dad. In acting as a stand-in father to Addie and Walsh, he was everything she knew he’d be. Gentle and caring, firm when he needed to be, a good partner, a strong guidepost.
She clenched and unclenched her hands around the wheel. She knew Jenna was trying her best. Her sister was always full of good intentions. With their mom no longer around—not that she was ever very present even when she was alive—Betsy saw Jenna as mostly her responsibility. If that extended to her children, then so be it. But she’d been as accommodating to Jenna as she could. She backed out of her parking place and turned onto the road, trying not to think about where she was going, what she was doing.
The sign for Elinore Elementary School, painted in bright red-and-blue stripes, beckoned from the side of the road. The long red-brick building was shaded by overhanging oaks and Spanish moss, and its U-shape welcomed like outstretched arms. A handful of cars sat in the parking lot. She got out and dashed through the light rain, hurrying so she wouldn’t lose her nerve.
Just inside the front door, the secretary sat behind a computer, her phone pressed between her chin and shoulder. She held up a finger to Betsy. “That’s right,” she said into the phone. “Teachers come back on the 15th and students begin on the 20th . . . Okay, you just let me know. Bye now.”
After replacing the phone, the woman looked up at Betsy. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m looking for Mr. Burgess?”
“I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment. If you leave your name, I’ll let him know—”
“Betsy?”
The woman and Betsy both looked down the hall. Duncan Burgess walked toward them, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face. “Did I forget a meeting?”
“No, no. I just stopped by on the chance that you might be here.”
“Well, you found me. I came in to go through some student files. Just trying to get things squared away before the chaos starts.”
Betsy smiled. The woman at the desk cleared her throat. “Mr. Burgess, I’ve been holding your calls like you asked. I have several messages.” She held up a handful of small pink slips of paper.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kline. I’ll take those.” He held out his hand and Mrs. Kline passed him the messages. “Mrs. Franklin and I will be down in my office if you need anything.”
Mrs. Kline cocked an eyebrow in Betsy’s direction. “Yes, sir, Mr. Burgess.”
Betsy followed him to a small office overlooking the playground at the back of the building. “It’s good to see you again.” He cleared off a stack of manila envelopes from the chair across from his desk. “Sorry it’s such a mess in here. Sit, please.” He sat in his desk chair and motioned for her to sit as well.
A
