She saw the lights before she pulled into the driveway—hundreds of tiny white orbs set against the blurred gray sky. A handful of extra trucks lined the edge of the driveway, and stretched between the back door and the oak tree was a huge banner. Happy Birthday Betsy spread across the top in big, blocky letters, the rest decorated with Magic Marker polka dots and squiggles.
Betsy let out a laugh, then ran her hands through her hair and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course he did.”
She took a moment to gather her bag and books, her stomach fluttery with nerves, then thought better of it and left the books in the car. As she climbed out she took a deep breath and pushed the last hour from her mind.
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 next season. But the ones that break under the force of the storm—well, you just toss those and pretend they never set foot in your garden in the first place. Eventually you learn to choose strong ones from the get-go. You know how it is around here. Everything needs to be strong. Plants and people.” She patted Betsy’s knee, then made her way to the dessert table.
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 Anna Beth and her crew.
Linda and Anna Beth picked up stray forks and plates and tossed them in a trash can next to the picnic table. When Roger dumped his third scraped-clean plate of banana pudding in the trash, he called to Linda, who wiped her hands on a napkin and waved good-bye.
“Tell Ty to give me a buzz tomorrow,” he said. “No doubt things will worsen overnight. We’ll need to make sure all the farmers in the area are ready, even if they don’t think they need to be.”
Betsy nodded. “I’ll do that, Roger. Thanks.”
Anna Beth motioned for Betsy to join her by the table. “Everything okay?” she asked as Betsy sank onto the picnic bench and sighed.
“I think I screwed up.”
“What happened?”
“I talked to the principal today.”
“Mr. Burgess? About what?”
“About the girls. About possibly enrolling Addie in school.”
Anna Beth’s eyes grew wide. “What? Why? Did something happen with Jenna? What’d she say?”
“No, nothing happened. It’s what hasn’t happened.”
Anna Beth narrowed one eye. “What did Ty say? He didn’t look too happy on his way to the barn.”
“He’s mad I didn’t talk to him first. We did talk about it once, but . . . we didn’t get very far. And he’s right—I should have told him before I went today.”
Anna Beth chewed on her bottom lip, a sure sign she needed to say something Betsy wouldn’t like.
“I know it sounds nuts, but I’m just planning ahead,” Betsy said before Anna Beth could speak. “Ty’s doing the same thing—all his preparations for a hurricane that may or may not even come this way.”
“Honey, planning for a hurricane and planning to keep your sister’s kids are two different things. They’re whole different universes.”
“But why can’t it work? Why does it have to be ridiculous? It’s August! School starts in a couple weeks and Jenna’s not here. What else am I supposed to do?” Her voice rose like stair steps, carrying across the lawn to where Addie and Walsh sat on the back steps, polishing off the last of the brownies.
“These girls, Betsy, they’re . . . they’re not your kids.”
Betsy stared at the ground as the sting of her friend’s quiet words sank in deep. “I have to get them to bed.” She stood abruptly. “Thanks for helping Ty with the party.” She turned and walked toward the girls on the steps.
“Betsy, wait. Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.” Betsy dug the heel of her hand into her eyes. Embarrassed was what she was. She’d shown her hand to the two people closest to her and she’d been turned down. Probably for good reason, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
That night Ty stayed outside putting the tables and chairs away in the storage closet while Betsy settled the girls in bed. Expecting him to be back inside any minute, she sat on the bed and waited. From the window, she could see light in the barn.
She curled her fingers over the edge. Stay up or go to sleep? She knew it was never good to go to bed angry—or let your husband do so—but tonight it seemed better than the alternative. There was still so much left to say, but what good would it do? Jenna was a mystery, Betsy was planning ahead, and Ty didn’t like it. Nothing they could say to each other would change any of that.
Finally, she reached over and turned off her lamp, pulled the sheet up over her legs. The bed felt emptier tonight than other nights when Ty had to work late. Tonight it felt cavernous, a deep and uncharted territory, and she didn’t have the tools—or the energy—to examine it. She tried to relax, but Anna Beth’s words continued to tumble through her mind. “They’re not your kids.”