Hurricane Season

by Lauren K. Denton

  She nodded. “About as much as you do.”

  He stood and picked up his camera bag, then turned toward the Jeep. “We should get back. Tonight’s fried chicken. I need to get all the Southern food I can get if I’m going to head west.”

  “What’s the start date?”

  “If I decide to take it, the job starts the beginning of fall semester. But I’d probably need to get out there a little early to settle in.”

  She tied the shirt around her waist as they stepped across the hot sand toward the road. She couldn’t even think about fall.

  When she opened her door and climbed in, she noticed her phone sitting on the seat. She hadn’t meant to leave it behind. She scooped it up and checked the screen for any missed messages or calls. One voice mail. As Gregory cranked the engine and pulled away from the beach, Addie’s voice trailed out of the phone.

  “Mommy! Walsh caught a fish! Uncle Ty took us fishing in the creek behind their house. I didn’t catch anything. We threw Walsh’s fish back so it could go back to its family . . . What? . . . Aunt Betsy wants to talk to you.”

  After a moment of muffled voices, Betsy came on the line. “Walsh is quite a good fisherman. She pinched off a piece of hot dog, stuck it on the hook, and dropped the line in the water like she’d been fishing her whole life.” She let out a small laugh. “Anyway, hope things are going well. Give us a call when you can.”

  Jenna dropped her phone back into her bag. She propped her elbows on her knees and leaned her head into her hands, then turned her face to him. “My kids are having a lot of fun. They sound happier than ever.”

  “That’s a good thing, right? You can concentrate on you.”

  She nodded, then sat back in her seat. The wind whipped through her hair and fluttered her shirt against her skin.

  “Ever been to California?” he asked.

  twenty-four

  Betsy

  “Aunt Betsy?”

  Walsh’s voice was a whisper at the edge of Betsy’s consciousness. She had her laptop open and papers—a calendar, QuickBooks printouts, notes from three dairy association meetings, and a YMCA summer camp flyer—spread all over the heart-pine kitchen table. It was only ten o’clock, but with the girls up before six, the morning had been a long one.

  “Aunt Betsy?”

  Five minutes ago, when Walsh had called her name multiple times, Betsy had jumped up and walked to where Walsh sat in the window seat only to find that Walsh’s big toe itched and could Betsy please scratch it?

  Fool me once, Betsy thought with a tight smile. This time she tuned out Walsh’s calls and kept her eyes on her laptop. She’d been going back and forth with the director of Forsythe Ranch, a horse farm a couple miles away that hosted children’s camps throughout the summer. The director was hoping to find a regular field trip slot for the rest of the summer. A set group coming each week would be a chunk of extra money for the farm.

  “Aunt . . . Bet . . . sy.”

  “Hang on just a sec,” Betsy mumbled as she clicked to open the latest e-mail from the director.

  “Aunt Betsy, I have to go potty!” Walsh’s voice rang out, her voice louder with each word. She stood right next to Betsy, her dark hair a messy halo around her head, her face twisted in frustration.

  Betsy sighed, then smiled and snapped her laptop shut. “Okay. Let’s go.” She shuttled Walsh down the hall to the bathroom.

  While Walsh sat on the toilet and sang, Betsy perched on the edge of the tub, her chin in her hand. As someone who liked things to be on time and in order, having two kids in the house with no concept of or desire for a schedule was difficult. Plans and routines helped keep Betsy’s mind from wandering to painful places, and while she tried valiantly to stick to those routines, the girls were just as eager to mess them up. They didn’t do it on purpose, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

  Once Walsh finished her business and Betsy helped her wash her hands, they found Addie on her stomach in the den, rolling a pink bouncy ball to Etta, whose whole body was under the couch. Only the cat’s arms stuck out, batting at the ball. Walsh joined in and Betsy crossed through the room toward the kitchen. On the way, she caught a glimpse of Ty outside. With a large bale of hay in his arms, he walked around the side of the barn and disappeared in the back.

  Betsy filled a glass with water and took a sip, then grabbed a damp rag and wiped at a sticky spot on the counter. Behind her in the den, Addie and Walsh whispered, their voices growing louder as they disagreed on something, then settled down. Then footsteps crossed the hardwood floor into the kitchen.

  “We’re playing house,” Addie announced. “I’m the big sister and she’s the baby sister. You can be the mommy.”

  “Girls, I need to finish up some work on the computer. I’m sorry. Can you be the mom and let Walsh be the sister?”

  “But I’m not big enough. We need someone big.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do it right now. You’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

  Addie’s lip stuck out, and a swift wave of irritation mixed with Betsy’s guilt, creating a stifling blend of unfamiliar emotion.

  “Mommy always plays the mommy for us.”

  “That’s because she is your mommy.” Betsy’s voice was testy as she tossed the damp rag into the sink.

  Addie paused for a moment and Betsy braced herself. But then Addie turned to Walsh. “I’ll be the fancy lady and you be my puppy.”

  Walsh promptly dropped to her hands and knees, barked, and crawled off to the den. Addie followed behind holding an imaginary leash.

  Just as Betsy sat back down at the computer, she heard the back door open and two sets of feet scurrying outside. She took a deep breath. Maybe she could finish her work now. It was so peaceful, twenty minutes passed before she thought to check on the girls. She glanced toward the backyard, then reluctantly closed her laptop.

  Outside, she found Addie sitting on the grass next to the henhouse, making quiet clucking noises to Parsley, a sweet Speckled Sussex hen pecking near the fence.

  “Addie? Is Walsh with you?”

  Addie kept clucking but shook her head.

  “Do you know where she is?”

  Another head shake.

  Betsy peered around the edge of the henhouse and scanned the backyard. She checked Walsh’s usual hiding spot behind a big hydrangea near the porch steps. Nothing.

  “Walsh?” she called. “Walsh, come on out!”

  After a quick walk through the house in case she’d missed Walsh coming back inside, Betsy’s heart started to beat a little faster. Logically, Walsh couldn’t have gotten far, but telling herself that didn’t slow down her heart. She focused her eyes on the entrance to the barn and the sheds surrounding it. No movements small enough to come from a tiny Walsh.

  “Walsh? Walsh!”

  Picking up on the panicked decibel of Betsy’s voice, Addie crossed the yard and wrapped her arms around Betsy’s leg. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Betsy said, peeling Addie’s arms from her legs. “If you’d kept your eye on her—” She stopped herself—had she really expected a five-year-old to babysit her three-year-old sister?—but the damage was done. Addie’s chin trembled and her eyes filled.

  Betsy knelt in front of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It was not your job to watch your sister. It was my job. But we can find her together, okay?”

  When Addie sniffed and nodded, Betsy took her hand and half led, half pulled her toward the barn. Ty rounded the corner just as she made it to the barn door. He smiled but stopped when he saw Betsy’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t find Walsh.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t find her?”

  “I mean, I don’t know where she is. I was inside working and I thought they were both out in the yard. When I came out, Addie was with the hens and Walsh was nowhere.” She took a breath. “I’ve looked all around the house. Inside and out.”

  “Okay, well, she’s got t
o be somewhere. Walker’s in the barn. I’ll check with him.”

  Inside, Walker was adjusting dials on the tanks, getting the morning’s milk ready for transport. He shook his head when Ty asked if he’d seen Walsh running around. As Betsy passed him on her way to the other side of the barn, she heard him mumble, “Didn’t know babysitting was part of my job description.”

  Back out in the sunshine, she and Ty called for Walsh over and over, looking in every small space they could imagine Walsh might want to inspect. Tears were pricking the backs of her eyes when she saw Carlos strolling toward the barn with Walsh by his side. Betsy exhaled.

  “I found someone out in the side pasture,” Carlos called. “This little lady was pretending to drive the tractor. Good thing the keys weren’t in it. From the looks of her, she’d have figured out a way to drive off with it if given half a chance.”

  Betsy squatted in front of Walsh, who grinned, her cheeks still smeared with jelly from breakfast. Betsy wanted to ask her what in the world she’d been thinking, but that was just it—Walsh hadn’t been thinking. All she knew was she wanted to explore, so she did. She hadn’t meant to do anything wrong.

  “Please don’t leave the backyard unless someone is with you. A grown-up someone. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Betsy rubbed jelly from the corner of Walsh’s mouth, then stood. When Addie and Walsh scampered off toward the backyard, with Addie pulling Walsh’s hand and telling her about Parsley the hen, Betsy turned to Ty.

  “That could have been bad.”

  Ty ran his hand over the top of his head and sighed. “Jenna’s got her work cut out for her with that one.” He squeezed Betsy’s hand. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to it. Milk truck’s gonna be here any minute.”

  Betsy nodded and followed the girls toward the house. Back inside, they went right back to their antics, bouncing the pink ball around in the den, oblivious to the panic that had just ripped through Betsy’s morning. She was beginning to see why Jenna wanted to get away for a little while.

  Just as she sat back down to work, the pink ball bounced into the kitchen, ricocheted off the fridge and Betsy’s shoulder, and knocked over her glass of water. Etta followed, looking frantically for the ball, her claws skidding on the hardwood floor. The girls were close behind in a fit of giggles.

  Betsy jumped up and mopped the water with a dish towel before it could reach her computer. She picked up the dripping YMCA flyer and dropped it into the trash can, then shut the laptop. Not gonna happen today. She gathered her papers, set them on top of the computer, and put the whole stack on the washing machine, the only place she could be sure the girls wouldn’t find it. On the way back through the kitchen, she grabbed her phone.

  “Hey, you,” Anna Beth boomed. “How’s it going?”

  “Oh, fine, just losing my mind. And Walsh.”

  Anna Beth laughed.

  “You think I’m kidding. I lost her. Carlos found her sitting on the tractor in the pasture. All I wanted was to get a tiny bit of work done this morning, but between trips to the potty and spilled drinks and missing children, I still have a million e-mails to send and phone calls to return. Is it always like this?”

  “Pretty much. But that’s when you just give up and get out of the house. It’s not any calmer over here, but you’re welcome to come by. I have wine in the fridge and a glass with your name on it.”

  Betsy smiled. Anna Beth actually did have a wineglass with Betsy’s name on it, a holdover from when Anna Beth hosted a monthly book club at her house. The club was never really about the books though. “Thanks, but some adult company’s all I need. We’ll be there in ten.”

  Anna Beth’s house was a hive of activity. Jackson and his friends were upstairs playing video games, their voices careening down the staircase. Lucy and a neighbor were spread out at the kitchen table making beaded bracelets. “Everyone wears them,” Lucy explained when Betsy asked. Addie stood still as a statue next to the table, watching the older girls with focused attention.

  “If you want, I can make you one too,” Lucy said.

  Addie nodded. “But you have to make one for Walsh too.”

  “She watches out for little sister, doesn’t she?” Anna Beth said to Betsy. The two of them sat on the couch, their legs propped on the coffee table.

  Betsy nodded. “For the most part.” Recalling the events of the last hour, she wanted to add that it would have been nice if Addie had been watching out for Walsh this morning, but she bit back the pointless thought. “They fight too—and over such silly things—but Addie takes her big sister job seriously, I think.”

  “Still no word from Jenna?”

  “Oh, there’s word, just nothing definite. The retreat shuts down in mid-August, and she’s not sure if she’ll stay until the end or leave early. They left it up to her to decide. She wants . . . She feels she still has more work to do before she wraps up.”

  “And you’re just hanging on until then.”

  Betsy shrugged. “We’re doing okay.”

  Anna Beth shook her head and readjusted the pillow behind her back. “I can’t imagine. You’re taking to it so well. If my sister dropped her kids off at my house, I’d be hot on her trail, tracking her down and yanking her back here to take them home. Granted, her kids are full-blown teenagers and as sullen as the day is long. Nose rings, black clothes, the whole bit. Your two are a bit easier, I’d imagine.”

  Betsy gave a small laugh, her fingers busy working a knot out of a long plastic necklace. When she loosened the strands, she handed the necklace back to Walsh, who quickly tied it back together. “I don’t know. In some ways, it seems kids who did their own thing might be easier.”

  “Maybe. I guess there are pros and cons for all the ages.”

  Betsy waited until Walsh scampered back to the kitchen table. “They’re just so . . . They need so much from me all the time. I feel like I’m constantly running on all cylinders. I’m not used to it. And losing track of Walsh? That was scary. I don’t know how Jenna does it.”

  Anna Beth’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Sorry to tell you, but everything about parenting is scary. It’s good, but scary too. When you’re thrown into parenthood—whether it’s planned or unplanned—you just learn to figure things out. And feeling like you’re running around all the time? That’s part of it, but when it’s your own kids, it’s a little different. It doesn’t make it a total cinch, but I know Lucy’s and Jackson’s quirks and habits almost better than I know my own. When it happens for you, it won’t feel so chaotic.” She paused, listening to the thump and roar of the group of boys playing upstairs. “Well, that’s a lie. It’ll always feel chaotic. But you’ll be up to the task. You’ll be great.”

  Betsy lifted a corner of her mouth in a sad smile. “I think you’re the only person who still thinks it’ll happen for us.”

  “If you don’t believe it, then it’s my job to believe it for you. That’s a job I take seriously.”

  Betsy sighed and smiled, thankful not to have to pretend with Anna Beth.

  “I remember those days like they were yesterday,” Anna Beth said. “Not being able to get anything done without someone needing something right now. The potty, a snack, a Band-Aid, whatever. These days, the requests are just more expensive. This morning Jackson storms into my bedroom and tells me he needs four hundred dollars. Four hundred dollars. I asked him what in the world for, and do you know what he said? He said he needed it for a new PlayStation. I mean, the nerve.”

  Jackson bounded down the stairs then, his buddies just behind him, all of them sounding like a herd of cattle thundering down the hallway. As he pleaded with Anna Beth to drive them up to the gas station for Slurpees and the girls at the kitchen table burst into laughter, Betsy closed her eyes. Just a five-second moment of nothingness. When she opened them, Walsh was digging in Betsy’s purse.

  “Walsh, what do you need, honey?” She rose from the couch to pull Walsh’s curious hands out of her purse.

 
; “My snack,” she replied. “I’m hungry.”

  “Me too,” Addie called from the table. “What’d you pack for a snack? And I’m thirsty too.”

  Betsy swiveled her head toward Anna Beth, one eye squeezed shut. “I forgot snacks.”

  Anna Beth hopped up off the couch. “Don’t worry a thing about it. I have enough snacks to feed the neighborhood.”

  After dinner that night, Walsh wanted to see the hens. “Can we go?” she begged, her brown eyes round and hopeful. A cookie crumb clung to her cheek despite a quick swipe with a handful of napkins. Betsy reached down and brushed it off.

  “Please?” Addie was already shoving her feet into her shoes.

  Betsy thought of her computer on top of the washing machine, where it had sat untouched since earlier in the day. An array of dirty dishes lay on the counter and table.

  “I’ll take ’em.” Ty set his plate and glass in the sink. “Let’s go, girls.” He opened the back door and waited while they zipped under his arm and down the porch stairs. “You want to come too?” he asked her.

  Outside, the light had softened into that perfect twilight hour when everything seemed easier, lighter, like anything was possible. The light crept in the kitchen windows and filled the room with a pink glow.

  She shook her head. “You go ahead. I’ll finish up in here. Don’t keep them out long though. They need baths, then bed.”

  “They do or you do?”

  “Very funny.”

  As she stood at the sink with her fingers under the faucet, waiting for the water to heat up, she watched the girls running around, using every bit of energy left in their little bodies. Ty pretended to chase them, then fell down as if asleep.

  “Uncle Ty! Wake up!” They crawled all over him, their laughter floating across the yard and through the open back door.

  He finally straightened up and unlatched the henhouse door. The girls crept in, hoping, Betsy knew, for little brown-and-white speckled treasures.

  All at once, the water flowing from the faucet was scalding. No buildup, just a quick scorching. She slapped the handle, turning it to cold to stop the burning in her fingers. After a moment, she set it to warm and got to work, washing pots and loading the dishwasher.