As Betsy watched her go, she imagined the roots beneath her new plants growing and spreading, holding the delicate new blooms and fledgling plants firm in the soil, preparing them for the storms to come.
When the men finished their huddle, Ty and Carlos took the Gator out into the fields with a pile of kids on the back. Afterward, Ty closed and latched the gate, then grabbed Betsy’s hand. It wasn’t completely dark yet—a line of bright orange still illuminated the western horizon behind the pines in the distance—but stars had already popped out in the indigo sky.
“Do you hear it?” He nodded toward the music flowing from the porch.
She smiled and nodded. Van Morrison’s “Moondance” always reminded them of a particular chilly October night in Auburn. They’d danced under the stars on the outskirts of town, music from his truck pouring into the cool night air. They’d only known each other a few weeks.
Tonight he led her to a spot away from everyone else in the backyard and wrapped his arms around her. She nestled her head under his chin, and his shoulders relaxed. Together, they swayed to the music, neither of them bothered by the side glances and broad smiles of their friends. Betsy had the sense they were alone on an island of calm, but the words from the principal—“guardianship, abandonment”—cascaded through her mind and told her the moment wouldn’t last. Real life was calm and chaos, fights and forgiveness, that delicate dance of marriage.
But for right now, the moment was enough.
“It’s a good night,” she said.
“It is.”
She looked up at him. “I can’t believe you kept all this such a secret.”
“Carlos almost blew it this morning. I thought you’d suspect something was up.”
She shook her head. “How’d you keep the girls quiet?”
He laughed. “I didn’t tell them. I knew they wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut. I waited till you left this afternoon. Anna Beth and Tom came early to help set up, and everyone else came a little before five. I’m glad you stayed away long enough. We cut it close as it was.”
He pulled away and took her hand, spinning her slowly before reaching for her again. His arms settled around her hips, his hands on her lower back. Their friends still mingled under the twinkle lights and stars, the sky now clear after the day of clouds and rain. “Where’d you go today? Did you get your nails done?”
She smiled, swatted him on the rear. “I told you I wasn’t going to do that. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” Ty leaned down and put his mouth close to her ear. “I’m kind of glad you’re not,” he whispered. “So you didn’t pamper yourself, you didn’t go shopping—what’d you do all afternoon?”
Her stomach clenched with nerves. “I went to that gardening meeting I told you about. At the library. And I stopped in the children’s department and got some books for the girls. I think they’ll like them.”
“That’s great.”
She took a deep breath. A little voice in her head told her to stop, but she ignored it. “I also stopped by the school.”
With her arms around his shoulders, she felt his muscles shift and tighten. “Why?”
“I was just curious. What it would take to enroll the girls there. I mean, if we decided to do it.”
He pulled away from her and dropped his arms. “If we decide to do what?” he asked, his voice hard.
“To—I don’t know. If Jenna doesn’t come back and we—”
“Betsy, they’re not puppies. We can’t just take them in.”
“But isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“This is temporary. They already have a mom.”
She inhaled, sharp and involuntary. “I know that.”
“Then why? You can’t go around making choices for our life without talking to me about it.”
She held her hand up. “I’m not making any choices. I was just getting information.”
“But even going to the school . . .” He raked his hand through his hair and released a long, tired breath. “Who’d you talk to? Some secretary who’s going to blab to everyone in town that we’re taking in your sister’s kids?”
“No, the principal. He won’t say anything.” She reached for his hand, but he didn’t move. “I just needed some answers and figured he’d be a good person to talk to.”
“You’re taking this too far.” He shook his head, took one step back, then another.
“Wait a minute. Ty, please.”
He shook his head again. “No. I need a minute.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned back to her, his hands out at his sides. “I’m never going to be enough for you, am I?” Then he turned and crossed through the grass toward the barn.
Across the yard, Roger stood and circled his hand around his mouth. “Ty?” he called. “You going to check the weather?”
“No,” Ty yelled, before softening his voice. “I just need to grab something. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Betsy reached up and lifted her hair off her neck. She pulled an elastic band from around her wrist and tied her hair back. Ty’s words buzzed in her ears. “Never enough.”
The kids had started to slow down, their jubilant voices a notch quieter, their games less frenzied. Parents began rounding them up, shushing their protests and carrying the ones too tired to walk all the way to the driveway. Betsy said her good-byes and thank-yous on autopilot, apologizing for Ty not being there to offer his thanks. Out in the barn, the lamp in his office lit up a small rectangle of light on the grass. Soon, everyone was gone except Roger, Linda, and
