She opened her eyes when Addie spoke. “Careful, Walsh. It’ll break.” Addie lowered her hands so her sister could peek inside, their heads close. “No touching. We’re going to give it to Mommy. She’s going to love it.”
Addie and Walsh were Jenna’s, no doubt—they both looked like her in different ways—yet something in Betsy’s blood ran in those two girls too, linking all four of them together despite time or distance. But life had already laid down its blueprint, already mapped out the roads and detours, disappointments and accidents that had brought them this far.
Betsy breathed in deeply, then out, like a rushing tide. It was time to get them home.
After shoving their sandy towels, plastic shovels, and buckets into the bags, Betsy picked it all up and they started back toward the boardwalk. They rinsed their feet at a water hose propped up on the railing, then slipped their feet into their flip-flops. Walsh turned around as they walked, waving behind her. Betsy turned, but nothing was there but the water and sand.
Just before they made it back to their car, a Perdido Key State Park worker waved to them. “Hope y’all had a good time!” she called. “You’re seeing the calm before the storm.” She was coiling a long rope in a loop around her hand and elbow.
Addie held up her bucket. “We found shells!”
“Ooh, that’s my favorite thing to do at the beach.” She crossed the walkway toward them. Her cheeks were pink. and she’d tucked her gray hair under a bright-yellow baseball cap with PK emblazoned in blue letters. Honey was embroidered on the pocket of her shirt. “What’d you find?”
Addie pulled out the sand dollar.
“Well, looky there. You found yourself a dollar. Not everyone’s that lucky. Whatcha gonna spend it on?”
Her brow wrinkled, Addie looked at Betsy.
Honey laughed. “I’m just kidding with you.” She turned to Betsy. “And did Mom find anything good?”
Betsy held out the tan-and-white spiraled shell still clutched in her hand like a talisman. “The girls found most of the good stuff. I just have this.”
“Hmm,” Honey muttered, stepping forward to take a closer look. “That there’s a paper fig. Kind of a funny name for a shell, but see how thin it is?” She ran her finger along the shell’s fragile edge. “Most of the time they break apart in the waves. Somehow this one made it through in one piece.”
Honey slung the coil of rope up on her shoulder and brushed her hands on the sides of her canvas shorts. “Glad you enjoyed your day.” She stared at the water a moment, then turned to her pickup idling in the shell lot a few spaces away from Betsy’s. “Couple more days, no telling what the beach will look like. We’re planning for the worst, but hoping for the best. It’s all we can do.” She climbed in the truck and stuck her arm out the window in a wave. Addie and Walsh waved back.
They crossed the white shells to their car. After loading the bags and empty cooler in the trunk, Betsy strapped the girls into their car seats, then laid a towel over their laps so they could spread out their shells on the ride home. Addie still held the fragile sand dollar in her hand, her fingers clamped around it.
“You know, it might be safer if you put it down. It could break by accident with you holding on to it so tight.”
Addie shook her head. “I can take care of it.”
“Okay.” Betsy tucked a strand of hair behind Addie’s ear.
She climbed in and buckled her seat belt, the lowered windows ushering in a gentle breeze and easing the heat in the car. Before she put the car in drive, she turned around to the girls. “I had fun with you today.”
Walsh nodded, leaned her head back against the headrest of her car seat. Addie cleared the rest of her shells off the towel and made space for the sand dollar. She placed it in the center, then looked up at Betsy. Betsy nodded once and winked. Addie smiled, her cheeks like two round, pink crab apples.
Betsy set her own shell in the cup holder next to her, then held her arm out the window. As she pulled out onto the road, she stretched her fingers in the wind. Ahead of them, the pink and orange sky beckoned.
thirty-four
Jenna
“What am I supposed to do with no cell service?” Micah asked. “No one told me it would be this bad.”
Jenna bit her lip to hide her smile. Micah was part of a group of artists from UT Austin here for the last week of the retreat. With Gregory gone on a quick trip to St. Augustine for his Lost Florida project, Jenna was helping Micah, the lone photographer in the group, get settled. They’d just finished breakfast and were waiting for the welcome meeting.
“You’ll get used to it. It’s hard at first, but if you just accept that you’re going to be a little out of touch for your time here—”
“A little? I’m totally cut off. I can’t get any news, no sports, nothing.” He scrolled his thumbs across the surface of his phone, his distress increasing by the second.
She laughed, then reached over and took it from him. “Trust me. Just leave it alone and focus on what you came here to do.” When Casey stood in the center of the group to get everyone’s attention, Jenna leaned toward Micah and whispered, “There’s a spot by the lake where you can get a little service if you stand in the right place. I’ll show it to you in a little bit.” He smiled.
Jenna looked around the room as Casey began the meeting. The group was mostly seniors about to embark on their last year of college. Fresh, eager, ready to dive into their work. She was both happy for them and a little
