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 same size and thickness. The trees had essentially become one, neither able to survive on its own without the support of the other.
“Jenna, this is gorgeous.” Betsy ran her fingers over the glass. “You took this?”
Jenna nodded. “I missed your birthday. I wanted to get you something special, but . . .”
“This is special. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Outside, something heavy hit the porch roof. They paused, waiting to hear if the noise would rouse the girls, but they slept undisturbed.
“Are you glad you went to Halcyon?” Betsy sipped her wine and watched Jenna from across the top of her glass.
Jenna nodded slowly. “I am. If I hadn’t gone, I’d still be thinking the best of me had already come and gone.”
“And now?”
“Now . . . now I see what I’m capable of. This will sound crazy, but I’m kind of proud of myself.” She bit back a smile. “I know it was hard on y’all to have the girls here for so long, but I think that extra time there is what helped me settle into myself. It showed me who I am. That I’m more than just a girl who got knocked up—twice—and works at a coffee shop.”
“Is that how you saw yourself?”
Jenna smiled. “Well, with no evidence to the contrary . . .”
“Jenna, I’ve always known you were capable of so much more.”
“Even though Mom never did?”
“I think she . . .” Betsy sighed, propped her elbow on the counter, and rested her chin in her hand. “I don’t know what she wanted.”
“I know what she didn’t want. She hated that I took photography and art theory instead of marketing and statistics like you. She made it clear you were the one who made good life decisions. I was the cut-rate, disappointing second child.”
Jenna hated the sound of her voice, the words coming out of her mouth, but it was now or never. She wanted these thoughts and feelings out and gone, to clear the air between her and her sister so they could move past it. She wanted them safe and close, like they used to be.
Betsy pulled the rubber band from the messy knot at the back of her head and raked her fingers through her hair. “You’ve got it all wrong.” She twisted her hair back up.
“What do you mean?”
“After you moved to Wyoming, she used to call me to see if I’d talked to you, if I’d checked on you, how you were doing. I think she knew she’d handled you wrong but was too proud to just call you up and fix it. She cried a lot.”
“Mom cried?”
Betsy nodded. “I could hear it through the phone. She was heartbroken, both over the fact that you left and that she played such a part in your leaving.”
“I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” Betsy could have been talking about a different woman altogether, not their cool, distant, scientific mother. Why did Jenna never see this side of her?
“It’s true. You were special to her.”
“But you did everything right. You had all the grades and accolades and the nice boyfriend who always brought you home ten minutes before curfew. That was you, not me.”
“You think I was the golden child, but it wasn’t always that way.” Betsy laughed. “That job I was supposed to have after graduation? With Prescott Branding? The summer internships, the informational interviews . . .”
“Sure. You were practically on their payroll before you even graduated high school.”
“Right. I gave it up for Ty.”
“You . . . what? I thought that was your dream job.”
Betsy nodded. “It was my dream—when I was willing to choose a career based on what would please Mom and Dad and impress their friends. I realized one day the path was laid out in front of me and all I had to do was follow it, so that’s what I did. I chose the right major, scheduled the right classes, made good grades, worked at Prescott every summer. It would have been a fine job, but my heart was never in it. And when I met Ty, giving it up was an easy choice.”
“Wow,” Jenna breathed. “What did Mom and Dad say? And how did I never know any of this? I just assumed the job didn’t pan out or was filled in-house.”
Betsy shrugged. “You were off on your next big adventure. I didn’t think you cared that much about what was going on back at home.”
“That’s not true.” But it was, wasn’t it? She’d been so focused on doing what she wanted, on flaunting their parents’ expectations, but she did it at the expense of knowing what was going on in her sister’s life.
“Anyway, they were livid, as you can imagine. Good little Betsy daring to rock the boat. And to marry a farmer, of all things.” She gave a half smile. “You know what though? That one moment—telling them I wanted a life with Ty more than the job in Birmingham—it was liberating. I remember thinking, This must be what it feels like for Jenna. To forget the rules and follow your heart instead.”
She paused and slowly twirled her wineglass. “I think I’ve always been a little envious of your ability to do exactly what you want without feeling the pressure to do the right thing. I wish I’d done that more.”
Jenna propped her chin in her hand. “And here I’ve been, most of my life, jealous of how perfect you seemed. Of how Mom and Dad adored you.”
“There was no adoring going on for a while. I even thought Mom might skip the wedding, but Dad talked her down.”
Jenna shook her head. “I feel like I’m seeing a whole side of our family I never knew. I guess that’s what I get for trekking across the country and leaving everything—and everyone—behind.”
Betsy leaned toward Jenna and tapped her finger on the counter. “But you see, all my rule following, all my doing the right things—it was the only way I knew to get her attention. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time, and even if I had, I never would have admitted it, just like you probably wouldn’t admit that all that sneaking out and coming in late and moving to a commune in Wyoming was just to get her attention, to try to make her see you. We were both doing the same thing, just in a different way. You rebelled; I tried to be perfect.”
“Until you weren’t.”
Betsy nodded. “Until I wasn’t. And that one little break from the rules felt so good.”
A sharp crack of thunder exploded outside, causing them both to jump. The candle between them flickered, making the shadows on the wall of the kitchen jump and shake. Lightning flashed, illuminating the emotion swimming across Betsy’s face.
Jenna opened her mouth to speak, to try to make sense of it all, but another deep rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and Walsh cried out, her voice a scared whimper. In an instant, Jenna was out of her seat, crossing the room to the mattress. “Shhh.” She smoothed Walsh’s hair away from her forehead. “You’re okay.” Her daughter’s eyes never opened, but when she shifted and resettled on her side, Jenna could tell the fear was gone. Walsh’s face was calm.
The back door was open and she followed the brush of cool air coming through the doorway. Rain fell in a soft cascade, a stark contrast to the pummeling deluge of the last few hours. Betsy was sitting on the porch in the dark, and she turned when Jenna’s foot bumped something. “Your eyes will adjust after a minute.” She patted the seat next to her and Jenna sat down.
“Is it over?” Jenna asked
Betsy shook her head. “This is the eye. It gets strangely calm before the other side of the storm hits. But that side’s usually not as strong as the first push. Everything okay inside?”
“They’re fine. And Ty’s asleep too.”
“Good. He’ll have a lot of work to do tomorrow. He’ll need his rest.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “We probably do too.”
In the distance a siren blared, and a couple of cars zoomed down the highway. “That’s a good sign. At least the road is still open.”
Through the gauze of clouds covering the moon, it was impossible to tell the extent of the damage. Jenna could see big branches in the yard and a wide piece of what looked like metal sheeting pushed against the side of the henhouse, but that was just what was close to the house. Who knew what lay beyond? “It doesn’t look too bad right here. Think everything else is okay?”
“It’s hard to tell. At least the trees stayed off the house. Ty was worried about that.”
Jenna stretched her legs out on the ottoman and leaned her head on the pillow behind her. The air smelled like rain and damp earth. And a little salt.
“So what’s next for you and the girls when you get back home?”
“Well, I talked to my boss on the way here. The guy they hired to replace me just quit and they need a shift manager. I told them I could start as soon as they put me back on the schedule.” She glanced at Betsy. “I asked for a raise too.”
“You what?”
“I know. I ditch my job for two months, then have the nerve to ask for a raise. But I was feeling bold. And he said yes.”
Betsy chuckled.
“I think it was strategic on his part, to keep me from leaving again. But I don’t care why he agreed to it, just that he did.”
“Good for you.”
Jenna nodded. “But I’m going to look for something else part time too. Maybe in an art gallery or a photo studio. Something I can fit in while the girls are in school. I can start there and see what happens.”
Betsy smiled. “That’d be great. It sounds like things are mostly going back to normal.” She paused. “Is that what you wanted?”
Betsy wanted to ask more, Jenna could tell. And she understood it—when she’d left for Halcyon, she’d been almost breathless in her desire for change. Now here she was, appearing to go right back to life as it was before.
“At first, I wanted everything to be different—me and everything around me. I wanted something to shake me up and spit me out in the life I once thought I’d be living.” She hesitated, but the time for hiding truths was over. “And I had a chance to do it. To leave and start over somewhere else.”
Betsy looked at her. “What do you mean, start over?”
“Gregory got a job in California and asked me to come as his assistant.” She swallowed hard. “I considered it, but it didn’t take long to realize the best part of me, the only part I don’t want to change, is what I have with Addie and Walsh. They’re the only good things I’ve ever done and I don’t want to let them down. Everything I do is for them. So, to answer your question, I think some things will go back to the way they were before, but I’m not the same person I was when I left Nashville. So maybe it’s something in between.”
They were silent for a moment.
“I see the change in you. I saw it when you got out of the car this afternoon. When you arrived here in June, you seemed conflicted. Nervous. You made me nervous.”
“I was. But I’m not anymore.”
“I’m not either. And I’m not worried about the three of you. You’re a good mother. If I’ve learned anything this summer, it’s that. Well, that and I had no idea what it took to keep two kids alive.”
Jenna smiled. “I think you did just fine. The girls seemed great every time I talked to them.”
“I just didn’t tell you everything. I lost Walsh. I almost caused the girls to choke on whole grapes because I didn’t know you had to cut them up. I had no idea what to do when they refused to go to bed. I realized how much you do on your own. How challenging it must be for you.”
Jenna shook her head and laughed. “You lost Walsh?”
“She was out in the pasture trying to drive the tractor. And I thought she was in the yard playing with Addie. She’s a sneaky little thing.”
“Yes, she is.”
“My point is you think you’ve done a poor job with these kids, but you haven’t. You’ve established routines for them. Order and structure. They’re happy and kind and compassionate. They’re good. And so are you.”
Jenna squeezed her eyes closed, her sister’s words like a comfort, a cure, and a release all at once.
Overhead, a lone cicada chirped in the dark tree branches as the rain fell harder. Jenna stood and followed Betsy back into the house, then closed the door softly behind them. While they were outside, Ty had moved to the floor next to the girls’ mattress. He had one hand on the mattress holding Walsh’s hand, the other hand under his head as a pillow.
Betsy grabbed the sleeping bags and pillows from the end of the couch and Jenna spread a blanket on the floor on the other side of the girls’ mattress. They unrolled the bags and set their pillows side by side. Jenna lay on her stomach, her chin on her hands. Betsy did the same and they peered at each other in the dark.
“We need chocolate pudding,” Jenna whispered. Betsy laughed softly. When Addie stirred, Betsy leaned up and pulled her blanket a little higher. Jenna’s heart ached for her sister. Betsy had always been her rock. An oasis—a safe place to find rest. She’d make the best kind of mother.
“Betsy,” Jenna whispered. “I didn’t know about you and Ty. About the doctors. Ty told me on the phone a few weeks ago.”
Betsy lay her head down on her arms, her face to Jenna.
“I just . . . I’m really sorry. I probably shouldn’t have asked you to keep the girls. I shouldn’t have just expected you to take that on for me.”
Betsy shook her head. “It’s okay. This time with them has been good for me. For me and Ty.”
“You’re an amazing woman, you know that, right? When I grow up, I want to be just like you.” Jenna scooted over and laid her head on Betsy’s pillow.
“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Betsy laid her head next to Jenna’s, their faces close together.
Jenna smiled. “I do know that.”