Friends were scattered throughout the yard. Carlos and Gloria stood by the picnic table loaded with bowls and trays of food; Linda and Roger Daily watched their grandkids on the swing with Anna Beth’s Lucy; Anna Beth and Tom and a sullen Jackson, who probably would rather have been anywhere but an adult’s birthday party, stood near the cooler. A few friends from church and neighboring farms completed the gathering.
Ty leaned against the fence near her garden wearing a wide smile. He pushed off the fence and made his way toward her. As he passed a metal tub, he stuck his hand in and pulled out a bottle of Blue Moon, uncapping it as he walked.
“Happy birthday, Aunt Betsy!” Addie and Walsh yelled, running across the yard. “We made the sign ourselves!” Addie said. “Uncle Ty helped with the words, but we did all the drawings.”
She leaned down and rubbed their backs. “I love it.” The girls beamed.
Ty handed her the bottle and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
Behind them, Carlos whistled. “Get a room, kids,” he called. Gloria slapped at him and let loose with a string of rapid-fire Spanish. “Sorry, sorry,” he said.
Betsy laughed. “I can’t believe all this.”
“Come on,” Ty said. “Get yourself a plate. Anna Beth and Tom brought barbecue.”
She let Addie pull her toward the food table and point out all the offerings. Mounds of barbecue, macaroni and cheese with bread-crumb topping, potato salad that looked very familiar—“Ty gave me your recipe and asked me to make it,” Anna Beth said. “My lips are sealed, I promise”—fluffy biscuits, broccoli salad, and enough desserts to feed double the crowd. A tres leches cake courtesy of Gloria, banana pudding, chocolate brownies, and a pecan pie that was missing a few pecans along the edge. Linda and Roger’s grandson stood nearby licking his fingers.
Friends milled around in various stages of eating and relaxing. Ty had packed the metal tub full of beer and a few bottles of wine—juice boxes for the kids—and music flowed from the back porch. The combination, plus the early-evening air that still held that bare hint of coolness, was just enough to loosen laughter and hips. Betsy caught a glimpse of Linda doing a little shimmy under the oak tree, her lips moving to the Eagles’ “Take It Easy.”
“This is too much,” Betsy said, adding a scoop of macaroni and cheese to her plate.
“Not enough, I’d say.” Ty reached across the table and grabbed one more bite of barbecue.
“I don’t mean the food. Everything. It’s perfect.” She sat on one end of the bench and balanced her plate on her knees. Ty sat next to her and leaned back against the table behind them.
Before he could speak, Roger appeared before them, a plate of banana pudding in one hand, a fork in the other. “Ty, we need to talk about the storm,” he said around a bite of pudding.
“Right now?” Ty’s arms were stretched out on the edge of the table, a picture of ease. “I hate to talk shop after hours.”
“You know as good as I do farmers don’t have ‘after hours.’”
Ty grinned. “I know, I know. You’re right.” He sat up straight and tipped back the bill of his cap so he could see Roger clearly. “What’s up?”
“It’s already changed directions from the two o’clock report.”
Ty’s face clouded. “West?”
“North-northwest. Warnings up for Cuba now.” He finally swallowed his last bite. “Blasted thing just keeps getting bigger.”
“Do they have any idea where it’ll make landfall here?” Betsy asked.
Roger shook his head. “Right now, much of the northern Gulf Coast has a target on its back.”
Ty’s knee bounced up and down, shaking the entire bench.
“Y’all go talk,” Betsy said. “I’m fine here with my food.”
He shook his head. “No, this is your party. I can check all that later.”
“It’s fine. Go check it out and I’ll see you in a bit.”
He set Betsy’s drink down on the table behind him, kissed her on the cheek, and stood. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Roger and Ty headed toward a cluster of men on the other side of the yard, one of them holding an iPad. Just a few feet away from them, the kids ran and tumbled in a scrambled version of hide-and-seek. A moment later something bumped her leg. Betsy looked down to see Lucy peeking out from under the picnic table. Lucy held her finger up to her lips.
As Betsy surveyed the crowd and worked on her plate of food, Linda slid onto the bench next to her. “I saw your garden. It’s looking good.”
“Thanks.”
“A few things you could have done different. For example, I never would have planted carrots next to cucumbers. My experience is they mix well in a salad, not in the ground. But it’s your garden. Who knows? Maybe it’ll work out for you.”
Betsy hid her smile. She knew Linda well enough to know the woman would burst if she wasn’t allowed to share her opinions. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else next time.”
Linda nodded. “They’ve got shallow roots, all of them, since you just planted. If this storm comes our way, you may end up having to replant some of them. But that can be done.”
“You worried about the storm too?” Betsy asked.
Linda shrugged. “I try not to get too worried until the thing’s knocking on our door. I’ve been around long enough to see ’em change directions at the last minute, and I’m left with a pantry full of canned beans and D batteries doing nothing but taking up space. Roger, on the other hand, probably needs anxiety medication at the start of every hurricane season. It’s all I can do to get him to turn off the Weather Channel.
“As far as your garden, sometimes storms can be helpful,” she continued. “All that wind and rain shows you which plants are the strongest. Those are the ones you keep, plant more of
