Through the evening hours, Betsy watched Jenna. She saw how gentle she was with Addie and Walsh, how she laughed with ease, touched them often. Her body was relaxed, her tough, defensive exterior gone. Then again, maybe it had been gone for a while. Betsy had expected Jenna to be the same girl she’d been years ago, the last time they’d spent any substantial time together, but maybe she’d changed over time without Betsy realizing it. Or maybe the summer had changed her.
In fits and starts around the activity in the house, Jenna told Betsy about Halcyon—her cabin, the lake, some of her photos. Betsy told Jenna about the girls’ explorations of the farm, their obsession with Rosie, their rides on the Gator. But Betsy knew they were both leaving out parts—likely the most important parts—of the last seven weeks.
The unsaid words and misunderstandings sat between them like a living, breathing thing. She had no doubt some of it would remain unspoken, settling quietly into each woman’s heart, but she feared if they didn’t find a way to put at least some of those thoughts and feelings into words—and do it now, tonight—something would slip between the cracks and they’d lose their chance.
When the girls were hungry, Jenna asked if she could make them some dinner. “Just sandwiches or something easy.”
“I can do it.” Betsy pulled open the fridge door.
“No, let me. Please.”
Betsy backed away. The girls climbed up on the stools and watched as Jenna pulled out bread, turkey, apple slices, and carrot sticks.
Occasionally Jenna’s phone rang or buzzed with a text. She’d check the screen but then go back to whatever she was doing, undisturbed by whomever was trying to get in touch. When the girls finally began to tire, exhausted from their excitement over the storm and their mom’s return, Jenna settled them on the mattress near the stairs. She kissed their faces and whispered in their ears until they were calm and still.
Despite the increasing strength of the storm outside, Jenna seemed at peace.
Ty was still awake at eleven o’clock, pacing through the house and watching the red spiral symbol on the weather map moving steadily onward. Outside, the winds had begun to howl, whipping through the trees and sending small limbs and branches to the ground. At one point, Betsy heard a meteorologist say that while the storm’s track continued to wobble, it seemed to be tilting farther to the east, causing them to readjust their landfall predictions.
About this time, Ty’s eyes closed, then jerked awake. Betsy laid a hand on the side of his face. “Why don’t you go ahead and lie down? I’ll wake you up if we need you.”
“You know I can’t sleep on nights like this.”
“At least get some rest then. You need it for whatever tomorrow brings.”
He swung his legs up on the couch. “Are you going to try to sleep?”
She turned and looked back at Jenna, who sat on a stool in the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hands, her gaze on Addie and Walsh across the room. “Maybe later. I’ll keep an eye on things for now.”
The windows that looked out over the porch were the only ones not covered by shutters. Betsy stood next to them, peering into the dark to try to make sense of the swirling chaos outside. Bright staccato bursts of lightning illuminated the blue plastic tarp over the henhouse, one corner of it flapping in the wind. She could only hope the hens were tucked in their nests inside the main structure of the house. If the rest of the tarp held, it was possible they’d make it out just fine. She didn’t even want to think about the cows, their livelihood, huddled together in the back pasture. But the herd had made it through hurricanes before.
The red spiral on the TV weather map was still offshore, but judging by the relentless winds pushing against the house and making it creak and moan, Ingrid seemed to be just next door. And angry. But there was nothing any of them could do now. They were safe inside while the storm raged and cast its ominous gray-green light over the farm.
Despite the rushing noise from the wind, the girls slept. Ty remained awake on the couch for a while, but he finally nodded off, his head slumped sideways on the couch cushion. When the power went off, only Betsy and Jenna noticed.
thirty-nine
Jenna
With the house dark, the pounding wind outside sounded even louder than before, louder than any storms Jenna had been through in Nashville. Betsy gathered a few candles from the counter and set them in the middle of the table along with a box of matches. With the scrape of the match and the accompanying glow of burning candles, Jenna sensed the barriers between them slipping away.
Betsy pulled a bottle of wine from the cabinet and poured two glasses. “I figure we may need this.” She passed one to Jenna, then sat on the stool across the counter.
Jenna pulled her glass toward her and ran her fingers up and down the stem. It was cool under her touch. She glanced up as Betsy took her first sip and closed her eyes a moment. Sadness, regret, and affection bumped around in her heart as she watched her sister. It was the same as the night she’d overheard Betsy and their parents discussing Jenna’s trip to Seattle. Back then, she didn’t have words to express how she felt—words to explain her jumbled emotions. Tonight, so many years later, she still wasn’t sure if she had the words, but she knew she had to try.
“I have something for you.” Jenna reached into her bag and pulled out a thin silver picture frame she’d bought at a shop near Sunset Coffee. Inside the frame was a five-by-seven photo of two cypress trees twined together. Like the purple-and-blue pipe-cleaner bracelet Addie had given her, the two trees were wrapped around each other, each the
