Hurricane Season

by Lauren K. Denton

  “I can try to help, although your teachers will know more than me. I can adjust the regular talk I give to the kids if they want me to focus more on a certain aspect of the process. Make it more science-based or more health-oriented. Whatever they want.”

  Mr. Burgess was nodding. “Wonderful. I figured you’d have some good ideas. Once we get a little closer to the start of the year, maybe we can sit down and talk through the details.”

  Over his shoulder, Betsy spotted Addie and Walsh between the racks. They’d left the mirror and now ventured toward the toy section. “Sorry, I’d better . . .” She gestured toward the girls.

  “Right. Go grab ’em. You’ll be in here all day if they make it to the toys. They’re adorable. Your older one—she’s about six?”

  “That’s a pretty good guess. She’ll be six in December.”

  He held his hands up. “I’ve been a principal for thirty years. Comes with the job.”

  “I guess so. Well, they’re my nieces.”

  “Ah, babysitting. I have three grandkids, so I do quite a bit of that myself. And I suppose being a school principal is a little like babysitting too. For the biggest family you can imagine.” He laughed. “I do love children, but I’ll tell you what—one of the best things about having kids is seeing the change in your spouse. I loved Carol in a whole new way after we had our first daughter. Children change people. They change everything.” He shook his head, lost in memory. “Do you have kids?”

  Betsy shifted her bag on her shoulder. “We don’t. Not yet.”

  “Then you understand that particular beauty of babysitting. You get to be around kids all day, then go home at night and enjoy the peace and quiet.”

  She just smiled.

  Betsy and Ty met in early fall of her junior year. By Christmas, she was ready for him to meet her parents. She had friends who took every college boyfriend home to meet the parents, but Betsy hadn’t dated anyone she wanted to put through the particular agony of dinner around the Sawyers’ antique walnut dining table. For the life of her, she didn’t know why she’d chosen a farmer as the first boyfriend to bring home. She could imagine her father’s glances at Ty’s callused hands, so different from his own milky-white hands that floated through the air each night as he conducted symphonies and concertos. She imagined her mom taking in Ty’s tan, freckled skin, a clear indicator in her mind of inevitable skin cancer.

  But she brought him anyway. Ever since their first date—he’d taken her to church at Auburn United Methodist, then to lunch at Amsterdam Café—she hadn’t been able to shake the peculiar sensation that she no longer wanted to do life without him. That she needed him. That his singular strength, solidity, and masculinity was tied to her—knots and tangles that probably began long before she was born.

  When she brought up the idea of him coming to her home over Christmas break, he agreed without a second of hesitation. The day after Christmas, he pulled up the driveway to her parents’ house in his Chevy truck that rattled a little too loudly for her dad’s taste.

  “What is that racket?” Her father lowered the newspaper an inch and peered around the edge of the Arts and Culture section.

  Jenna, a freshman at Alabama and eager for any kind of excitement, jumped out of her seat and ran to the front door just as their mother walked out of the kitchen drying her hands on a dish towel.

  Ty barely had a chance to knock on the door before Jenna flung it open. Betsy imagined the scene from Ty’s point of view: Jenna’s blonde curls springing out everywhere, clunky black Dr. Martens, white sweater that looked appropriate until she turned around and you saw it was open in the back all the way to her waist. Their dad still in his chair, polishing his glasses with the end of his silk tie. Their mom standing poised in a pristine white apron—pristine because she’d ordered their meal from Highlands instead of attempting to cook something presentable for their first child’s boyfriend. Betsy could almost hear her mother’s thoughts. Highlands for this guy?

  Dinner went as she’d expected it to. Food delicious, silences awkward, conversation stilted. But under the table, Ty gripped her hand, his thumb rubbing small circles into her palm. With his hand wrapped around hers, he answered her parents’ questions as well as he could. They asked about his parents and his major. His grandfather’s farm and how he’d make it profitable again after his grandfather’s death two years before. He spoke of the dairy industry as a whole, and his family’s farm in particular, with obvious pride.

  “I knew I was going to be a dairyman before anyone even asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.” He took a sip of water and sat back in his chair. “It’s been in my blood my whole life.”

  Her dad merely nodded, sipped his wine, and set the glass down. “I imagine it’d be hard for your livelihood to depend on something as fickle as the weather. Unpredictable animals. Crop prices.”

  Ty nodded. “It’s an understandable concern. But honestly, sir, cows are pretty predictable, as far as animals go.” He smiled. “Once you have a herd that’s reproducing regularly, you milk ’em twice a day. That’s the thing about cows—rain or shine, heat or cold, hurricane or drought, you’ve got milk coming twice a day. When milk means money, it’s just a matter of getting that milk ready to sell. And I plan to grow most of our own crops in the fields, so we won’t have to buy them. That eliminates the problem of fluctuating crop prices.”

  Her dad raised his eyebrows. “You seem to have it all figured out.” He turned to her mom. “Maybe I should have been a dairy farmer, honey.”

  “Not sure you’re cut out for such a rustic life, dear,” her mother responded.

  “I’m not sure anyone in this family is,” her dad said.

  Betsy folded her napkin into a neat square. “I can decide that.”

  From the other side of the table, Jenna winked at Betsy and smiled.

  Ty cleared his throat. “Obviously there’s a bit more involved, but that’s the gist of it.” They spoke like Ty was dense, but Betsy knew he picked up on their dismissive attitude. It rolled across the table in waves.

  That night Betsy and Ty sat in her father’s garden, wrapped in a blanket she pulled off the couch in the living room. Dozens of rosebushes, meticulously groomed by Jenna and their father, towered over the bench where they sat. “I’m sorry about my parents. They can be terrible sometimes.”

  “Not terrible. They’ve probably just never met anyone like me.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  Ty laughed, low and quiet. “Is that a good thing?”

  She nodded, aware—almost painfully so—of his leg pressed against hers, the heat from his hand pouring into her shoulder, her neck. Every nerve danced on edge, ready to jump.

  “What do you think about my life? The life I’m going to have? Is it something you want?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Ty smiled. “All this? The house, the fancy food, that Mercedes in the driveway?” He looked up at the house—two stories, Tudor-style, historic marker with an old family crest on the bricks by the door. “I can’t give you all this. I’ll give you everything I can, but there’s no way it’ll be like this.”

  “I didn’t choose all this.” She placed one finger under his chin and turned his face to hers. “But I did choose you.”

  twenty-three

  Jenna

  Jenna squatted on a fallen tree and tried to capture the lacy layer of mint-green fungus covering the bark. Gregory stood a few feet away. “Take it like that and you’ll flatten out the texture.” He stepped closer and pointed. “See what I mean?”

  He’d been by her side instructing her for most of the week since she’d made the decision to extend her stay at Halcyon, sometimes snapping his own shots, other times stopping to give her a quick lesson on lighting, balance, composition. It was as if he’d taken her decision to stay as permission to actually teach her the more technical aspects of photography. His tutorials reminded her
of excursions with Max back in Nashville.

  Max would chew his lips to keep from giving her unsolicited tips or pointing out where she messed up. Sometimes she’d give in and let him say his piece, but other times she’d ignore his agitation. He was always a gentleman, albeit a grumpy one, never giving advice unless asked. Gregory, on the other hand, didn’t care whether she wanted to hear his opinions. He just gave them anyway. That both thrilled and annoyed her.

  “I’m trying it anyway,” she responded. “Can I experiment or does that break one of your rules?”

  Exasperated—both from the stifling heat and from Gregory’s insistence on getting everything just right—she sat back on her heels and pushed her hair out of her face. As she did, the tree trunk she was perched atop shifted and sent her to the ground hard.

  “Good save on the camera.” He chuckled and reached down. She ignored his offer of help and pushed herself up with one hand, holding the camera away from the sand and dirt.

  She stood and wiped her hand on her shorts. Though she was satisfied with the shots from the morning, the midday heat was wearing on her. “This isn’t working. I think I need to stop and just try again tomorrow. Or at least later when it cools off.”

  “Cools off? It’s Florida in the summer. It doesn’t cool off.” He looked at his watch. “I have an idea though.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jenna sat in Gregory’s old Jeep Wrangler as he drove them away from Halcyon and toward the beach.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been here three weeks and haven’t seen the Gulf yet.” The top of the Jeep was open and the wind carried his words into the humid afternoon air.

  “I almost forgot we were so close. Halcyon makes it feel like there’s nowhere else to go.”

  He nodded. “That’s the point. But it is good to get away sometimes.” He grinned. “And you need a break.”

  She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. As they exited the preserve and crossed into cellular civilization, Jenna’s phone began dinging with texts. After a quick look at the screen, she smiled.

  Mario: Where are you, girl? No one can run this line like you can. The new manager is an idiot and we NEED you back here. So does your boyfriend;)

  Max: Heard through the grapevine you decided to extend your stay. Halcyon must be treating you well.

  Delores: Hi dear. I don’t want to bother you, but I noticed you’re not back from your trip yet. Just making sure you’re okay.

  Betsy: Meet Rainbow Shine. And the girls send kisses.

  Betsy’s text included a photo of the girls staring through the fence of the henhouse at a huge hen with black-and-white polka-dotted feathers. Walsh’s hand was up in a wave and Addie gripped Walsh’s other hand.

  “Everything okay?” Gregory looked over at the phone in her hands.

  Jenna scrolled through the texts again, lingering on the photo of the girls. Her desire to touch them—to be with them—was so strong, she had to bite her lips to keep from asking Gregory to turn around and take her back so she could pack her things. “It’s fine.”

  A few minutes later, he pulled off the road next to a long walkway leading to the beach. When their feet touched the sand, they went separate ways. Gregory set up his tripod near the edge of the water, and Jenna headed toward an abandoned lifeguard stand. Even from far off, she could see the splintered and broken boards on the side of the tower. With no houses or condos nearby, the beach was deserted, but she was still surprised no one had come by to repair the damage.

  Bits of driftwood, shells, and damp seaweed littered the sand below the tower. It reminded her of an old I Spy book she and Betsy had read as kids. They’d both loved studying the pages and picking out a marble or lollipop or domino from the tangle of miniature objects the photographer had painstakingly set up and photographed.

  She knelt in the shade below the tower, the cool sand scratching her bare knees, and pulled her camera to her eye to capture the array of marine life stranded dozens of feet away from its home in the calm, blue-green water. Pastel-colored coquina clams, still closed tight, were nestled against sharp splinters of wood and clear blobs of jellyfish. She nudged a piece of seaweed with the back of her hand and uncovered a chunk of green sea glass. She picked it up and ran her fingers across the smooth, tumbled edges. Veins of dark blue threaded through the green. She slid the glass into her bag and lifted her camera again. Time slipped away as she shot the remains of countless high tides and all they’d left behind.

  Sometime later, she glanced up at the sound of feet squeaking on the sand behind her. Gregory shaded his eyes from the sun’s glare and set his bag and tripod down on a log of driftwood set back against the dunes.

  “Looks like you’ve given up.”

  Jenna looked around her and smiled. “It seems so.” Her camera rested on top of her button-down shirt where she’d peeled it off earlier, leaving her in a gray cotton tank top and shorts. Her legs were stretched out in front of her in the sand and she leaned back on her elbows. She’d done all she could today.

  He sat down in the shade a couple feet away. Sand covered his calves and coated his forearms up to his elbows. She sat up and hugged her arms around her knees, absently twisting the purple-and-blue pipe-cleaner bracelet around her wrist. She’d worn it every day, just like she promised Addie.

  They were quiet for a moment before he broke the silence. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  She hesitated, but the warm air and gentle breeze invited honesty. “I don’t know if staying here was the right decision.”

  “Okay.”

  “As soon as I get it in my head that it was the best thing, I start to feel guilty about it. I keep going back and forth. It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to show I’ve changed from who I used to be, but then here I go making yet another impulsive, selfish decision.”

  “Impulsive, maybe, but selfish? You really think being here is selfish?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” A sand crab dashed across the hot sand in front of them. Jenna moved her foot and it darted in the other direction.

  “Tell me why you’re here. Why did you decide to stay?”

  “I’m here for my girls. And for me too. To try to make things better for all three of us.”

  “And what about that is selfish? You’re away from home, away from your children, away from work, all so you can focus on this talent—this incredible talent—that you hope can help give your family a leg up. And if it allows you to do something you love, then all the better. That’s not selfish. Seems pretty selfless to me.”

  Jenna wiggled her feet under the sand until it felt cool to her toes. “I don’t know. I don’t know if Betsy sees it that way.”

  “You need to decide now—today—to trust that the decision to stay was a good one. It was the best thing because it allows you to keep working toward your goal of pursuing your passion and providing for your family. You have talent and you have drive—that combination can take you a long way in this industry. Connections don’t hurt either, and that’s where I come in handy.” He grinned and she smiled in return.

  “When it’s all over and done, everyone will understand why you came here. Though I don’t particularly care what anyone else thinks about why you came or why you stayed. It matters to me that you believe in yourself. If you do that, your girls will too.”

  “Who knew you were such a motivational speaker?”

  He laughed. “Seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever been so . . .”

  “Encouraging? Uplifting?”

  “I was going to say sentimental and sappy, but your way sounds better.”

  “I think you’re in the wrong profession.”

  “Maybe so.” He leaned back on his elbows and stretched one leg out in the sand. “I’ll let you in on something else about me: I disappointed everyone in my life when I chose photography over a steady, stable job. My dad’s a doctor, his dad was a doctor, and they all expected me to follow in line. It hurt them deeply that I did
n’t. But I couldn’t abandon my dream for theirs. It would have been like giving up the best part of me, and I wasn’t willing to do that.”

  “That sounds familiar.”

  “A retreat like this makes you feel refreshed. Energized. It’s easy to expect everyone else to have changed because you have, but reality is still out there churning away. Your time away changes you, but it doesn’t change anyone else.” He sat up and brushed sand off the backs of his legs. “That’s why I just keep going.”

  She smiled. “You just keep taking the next job? Keep moving forward?” She was kidding, but then she saw that he wasn’t.

  He reached down to where the sand crab raced back toward them, then disappeared down a tiny hole in the sand. “I’ve been offered a job in California. UC Berkeley. I’d be the head of the photography department. It’s the only full-time job I’ve considered in twenty years of being on the road.”

  “Wow. That’s big. Are you’re taking it?”

  He shrugged. “Thinking about it.”

  “You should take it. Who knows? Maybe you’ll enjoy staying in one place for a while.”

  He stared out at the water as slow waves crept up the shore. “It’d be an incredible deal for me. I’d get an assistant to help with paperwork and some of my classes. I’d still be able to travel some for freelance gigs.” He shrugged. “I don’t know though. It’d be a big change, to have something regular. To have a boss. That might not go over well.”

  She imagined what it’d be like to have a job where she could challenge herself, excel, help others find their own creative eye. To work in the field that excited her, that made her feel alive. It was too much to contemplate.

  She stood and brushed sand off her shorts and legs. “You’d be an idiot not to take it.”

  He laughed. “Do you always say exactly what you think?”