“That’s crazy,” she murmured. But as she sat next to him, staring at their hands together, she let herself imagine what it could look like—another life, the life she’d once wanted so badly. A new but not unfamiliar sensation pulsed from their hands, up her arms, through her body.
He shook his head. “It’s not that crazy.” He looked down a moment, then back at her. “I’ve worked with a bunch of photographers over the years. Most of them were good. A couple were really good. But you’re different. You have the skills—you know composition and balance and lighting. You’ve learned patience and waiting for the right shot. But you also have an eye most people don’t have. You’re able to see worth and goodness where others just see something broken and ugly.”
He chuckled and his vulnerability surprised her. “I don’t usually have trouble moving on, but I don’t want to leave you behind. We can make a life in California, however you want that to look. Travel, work, art.” He leaned in close, brought his face close to hers. “Come with me,” he whispered.
When he brought his lips to hers, she didn’t pull away. For a minute—just a little slip of time—she let herself get lost in his hands and his touch, the scent of his skin, the way his muscles moved under her fingers. It was easy, natural, and she remembered what it used to be like. What she used to be like.
Don’t do this again, Jenna. The voice in her head was insistent. Then Gregory’s words came back. “A life in California. However you want.”
“No. Stop.” This time she spoke the words out loud.
She put her hands on his shoulders and forced herself to sit back. When she did, she heard the crinkle of paper in the front pocket of her bag and remembered Addie and Walsh’s drawing she’d tucked inside. She’d memorized every scribble and line on the pink sheet of construction paper. It was the three of them—their family—sitting around a table. Addie had drawn their hands linked with so many fingers wrapped together, it was hard to tell where one hand stopped and another one began. All three of them had hearts for eyes. “Hearts are for love, and we love each other,” Addie always said. At the top of the paper, Addie had written, in her large, exaggerated print, When are you coming home?
Jenna squeezed her hands together and imagined holding their hands, their fingers pressed against hers. She breathed in deep and for a moment forgot Gregory was sitting there in front of her.
She had plenty of jagged places inside her, but Addie and Walsh were smooth. Soft, tumbled edges, like sea glass. They were her light. She’d made a choice for them once because she had to—she chose them over the life she thought she’d live. But she was in control of her own life now. If she wanted to go to California with Gregory, she could do it. Maybe that’s all she needed—just to know she could make that choice if she wanted to. She didn’t doubt that she’d made the right decision all those years ago—to love her babies, to put down her camera and take on motherhood and all its beauty and limitations. And she’d do it again. But this time, she’d keep her camera with her.
All of a sudden, going home sounded like the simplest thing in the world. Her girls. Home. Nothing else mattered. Not California, not Gregory, not even her own fears. With the decision made, extricating herself from this temporary life was just a matter of leaving. She was good at that—leaving one place when her time there ran out—but this time was different. Instead of leaving, she was returning.
Gregory still looked at her, studying her.
“I can’t do this.” Jenna stood, pulling her bag onto her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s not you. It’s just . . . I have to go home.”
“At least let me walk you back.” He rose to stand next to her.
“It’s okay.” She moved to the door and opened it. “I know my way.”
She left him standing on the porch, moths fluttering around the bare bulb hanging over the door.
“Jenna?”
“I’m sorry,” she called, her feet quick on the trail back through the trees. “I just have to go.”
And then she ran. Heat lightning flashed in the distance but she kept running. Finally the glow of her porch light appeared through the trees. Instead of going straight to her cabin though, she stopped at the spot by the lake where she usually could find a whisper of cell service. Her phone screen lit up the dark, attracting two moths that danced in the light. She brushed them away and held up her phone. When the one service bar appeared at the top of her screen, she typed out a text to Betsy. Just a few words to explain, then she’d call tomorrow.
I’m finished here. Will be there tomorrow. I miss you and the girls so much.
In the cabin she flung her bag onto the tiny kitchen table and pulled the girls’ drawing out, scanning it with her eyes, taking in the hearts and hands. The love they poured onto the page. She’d been gone for almost two months, yet there they were, still thinking of the three of them together. Upstairs in her bedroom, she tucked the note under her pillow, and she imagined seeing them, holding them. She’d never wanted anything more.
thirty-five
Betsy
Back at the farm, the girls ran inside and emptied their buckets on
