She’d known it then, even in her haze of grief and disappointment. Deep down where it mattered, she knew now. He loved her. Her. He was reserved, but forthright. Calm, but decisive. When he spoke, she knew she could trust him. They’d chosen each other, above all, and she’d make the same choice again every time.
Three days of silence was long enough. She pulled her phone back out of her bag and tapped out a quick text.
Will be home for dinner. Let’s talk tonight. ❤
When the sun had lowered in the sky and clouds bloomed from the horizon in the south, Betsy followed the girls to the water’s edge to look for shells. The wind had picked up and the tide was higher now, creeping up past the soggy mounds of their sand castles, inching toward beach chairs that had been on dry ground hours ago. As they walked, eyes on the sand, the warm water rippled over their feet.
They came to a stretch where the shore flattened out, revealing a wide strip of damp sand not yet covered by the tide. It was speckled with shells, none of them deemed beautiful or special enough for the stream of shell-hunting vacationers to have picked up earlier in the day. To Addie and Walsh, they were a treasure. Soon their hands and sand pails were full of broken shells in tan, yellow, pink, and blue.
“Look!” Walsh called, her voice high with excitement. “A heart!” She bent down low over a pile of shells and picked up one with a small hole at the bottom. Half the diameter of a pencil eraser, the hole was jagged, making the delicate outline of a heart. “It’s for you,” she said. “You keep it.”
Betsy thought of the Mason jar by her side of the bed where she’d deposited all the heart-shaped items the girls had collected over the course of the summer. The faded yellow shell would fit right in with the others.
“And look at these.” Addie peered down at a spread of coquina shells with both halves still attached. “They look like butterflies.” She picked up a handful and passed them to Betsy. “These are for you too.”
Betsy laughed, her hands full. “I don’t know if I can hold any more. You’re filling me up with too many pretty things.”
As they continued their walk, clouds overtook the sun. Betsy found a tan-and-white spiraled shell half buried in the sand. Wide at the top and twisted to a fine point at the bottom, it fit snug in the palm of her hand. While Betsy rinsed the shell to rid it of sand, Addie ran to her holding something in her hand.
“Look,” she said, hushed and reverent. A quarter-size sand dollar, bleached white by the sun, sat in the center of her palm.
“Wow,” Betsy breathed. “I can’t believe no one picked it up already.”
“It was hidden under another shell.”
“Well, it must have been there just for you to find. Want me to add it to my bucket?” She held out the pail so Addie could place it inside.
Addie shook her head. “No, this one’s for Mommy. I’m going to give it to her when she comes back.” She held the sand dollar with one hand cupped under the other one and stared down at it. Her long blonde curls, frizzed at the edges by humidity, flared out around her face, just like Jenna’s used to in the heat of the summer. Walsh stood on tiptoes next to her sister, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks.
There was a photo at Betsy’s parents’ house—probably stuck in a box somewhere—of Betsy and Jenna on a beach trip in elementary school, before boys and cameras and textbooks became priorities. In the photo they both wore swimsuits, Jenna’s thin, reedy body nestled up against Betsy’s, already a little fuller, curvier than her little sister’s. Betsy had flung her arm around Jenna’s shoulders. Their heads tilted at the same angle, but in toward each other, their cheeks inches apart.
Closing her eyes, Betsy could feel the warmth of her sister’s cheek, smell the fruity scent of her hair, feel the wet sand on their skin.
She opened her eyes when Addie spoke. “Careful, Walsh. It’ll break.” Addie lowered her hands so her sister could peek inside, their heads close. “No touching. We’re going to give it to Mommy. She’s going to love it.”
Addie and Walsh were Jenna’s, no doubt—they both looked like her in different ways—yet something in Betsy’s blood ran in those two girls too, linking all four of them together despite time or distance. But life had already laid down its blueprint, already mapped out the roads and detours, disappointments and accidents that had brought them this far.
Betsy breathed in deeply, then out, like a rushing tide. It was time to get them home.
After shoving their sandy towels, plastic shovels, and buckets into the bags, Betsy picked it all up and they started back toward the boardwalk. They rinsed their feet at a water hose propped up on the railing, then slipped their feet into their flip-flops. Walsh turned around as they walked, waving behind her. Betsy turned, but nothing was there but the water and sand.
Just before they made it back to their car, a Perdido Key State Park worker waved to them. “Hope y’all had a good time!” she called. “You’re seeing the calm before the storm.” She was coiling a long rope in a loop around her hand and elbow.
Addie held up her bucket. “We found shells!”
“Ooh, that’s my favorite thing to do at the beach.” She crossed the walkway toward them. Her cheeks were pink. and she’d tucked her gray hair under a bright-yellow baseball cap with PK emblazoned in blue letters. Honey was embroidered on the pocket of her shirt. “What’d you find?”
Addie pulled out the sand dollar.
“Well, looky there. You found yourself a dollar. Not everyone’s that lucky. Whatcha gonna spend it on?”
Her brow wrinkled, Addie looked at Betsy.
Honey laughed. “I’m just kidding with you.” She turned to Betsy. “And did Mom find anything good?”
Betsy held out the tan-and-white spiraled shell still clutched in her hand like a talisman. “The girls found most of the good stuff. I just have this.”
“Hmm,” Honey muttered, stepping forward to take a closer look. “That there’s a paper fig. Kind of a funny name for a shell, but see how thin it is?” She ran her finger along the shell’s fragile edge. “Most of the time they break apart in the waves. Somehow this one made it through in one piece.”
Honey slung the coil of rope up on her shoulder and brushed her hands on the sides of her canvas shorts. “Glad you enjoyed your day.” She stared at the water a moment, then turned to her pickup idling in the shell lot a few spaces away from Betsy’s. “Couple more days, no telling what the beach will look like. We’re planning for the worst, but hoping for the best. It’s all we can do.” She climbed in the truck and stuck her arm out the window in a wave. Addie and Walsh waved back.
They crossed the white shells to their car. After loading the bags and empty cooler in the trunk, Betsy strapped the girls into their car seats, then laid a towel over their laps so they could spread out their shells on the ride home. Addie still held the fragile sand dollar in her hand, her fingers clamped around it.
“You know, it might be safer if you put it down. It could break by accident with you holding on to it so tight.”
Addie shook her head. “I can take care of it.”
“Okay.” Betsy tucked a strand of hair behind Addie’s ear.
She climbed in and buckled her seat belt, the lowered windows ushering in a gentle breeze and easing the heat in the car. Before she put the car in drive, she turned around to the girls. “I had fun with you today.”
Walsh nodded, leaned her head back against the headrest of her car seat. Addie cleared the rest of her shells off the towel and made space for the sand dollar. She placed it in the center, then looked up at Betsy. Betsy nodded once and winked. Addie smiled, her cheeks like two round, pink crab apples.
Betsy set her own shell in the cup holder next to her, then held her arm out the window. As she pulled out onto the road, she stretched her fingers in the wind. Ahead of them, the pink and orange sky beckoned.
thirty-four
Jenna
“What am I supposed to do with no cell service?” Micah asked. �
�No one told me it would be this bad.”
Jenna bit her lip to hide her smile. Micah was part of a group of artists from UT Austin here for the last week of the retreat. With Gregory gone on a quick trip to St. Augustine for his Lost Florida project, Jenna was helping Micah, the lone photographer in the group, get settled. They’d just finished breakfast and were waiting for the welcome meeting.
“You’ll get used to it. It’s hard at first, but if you just accept that you’re going to be a little out of touch for your time here—”
“A little? I’m totally cut off. I can’t get any news, no sports, nothing.” He scrolled his thumbs across the surface of his phone, his distress increasing by the second.
She laughed, then reached over and took it from him. “Trust me. Just leave it alone and focus on what you came here to do.” When Casey stood in the center of the group to get everyone’s attention, Jenna leaned toward Micah and whispered, “There’s a spot by the lake where you can get a little service if you stand in the right place. I’ll show it to you in a little bit.” He smiled.
Jenna looked around the room as Casey began the meeting. The group was mostly seniors about to embark on their last year of college. Fresh, eager, ready to dive into their work. She was both happy for them and a little jealous. Their only responsibility was to their work and studies, nothing to dictate where they should go from here. The world was open to them. She remembered what that felt like.
After the meeting, she walked Micah around the preserve. He lugged two camera bags, a tripod, and a backpack full of supplies with him. She tried to get him to leave everything but his camera behind, but he refused. When they neared a pond with bright-yellow wildflowers poking their faces above the water, he stopped to set up his tripod.
“This is perfect. I have to get this before the light changes. See how the sunlight plays on the petals?”
She nodded and watched. His equipment was expensive, spotless, probably purchased specifically for this retreat. She thought of her twenty-year-old Canon sitting on the counter in her cabin.
“Just remember,” she said as he set up his shot, “your first idea of what’s photo worthy isn’t always the best. Think of the body of work you want to create while you’re here. The feelings, the themes. What do you want to say?” She couldn’t believe she was repeating the same lines that had made her cringe when she first heard them from Casey and the others. Back then, she’d thought they were empty clichés, but now she knew they held some truth.
“So you’re telling me this isn’t photo worthy?” Micah asked.
“I’m not saying that. I just think you might be surprised at the photos you’re taking by the end of the session. When Gregory gets back, ask him to take you to a place called The Bottoms.”
He shook his head. “Why would we go there? Isn’t that the ugly part of the preserve?”
She smiled. “Yeah. It is.”
Gregory called her name as she left the dining hall after grabbing a quick lunch. Her shoulders relaxed when she saw him coming toward her. Halcyon had somehow felt incomplete without him.
“When did you get back?” she asked.
“Late last night. I was supposed to be gone a few more days, but I was ready.”
Together they walked out of the dining hall and into the thick, warm air outside.
“I’m glad to be back. It feels different here this summer.” As they walked he bumped her with his elbow. “How’s the new group?”
“Fresh as little daisies. Eager to take the art world by storm.”
He laughed. “They’re always that way. Although maybe not you though. When you got here, you were more . . .”
“Surly? Oh wait, that was you.”
“No, I was going to say you were tentative. Thoughtful. Maybe a little defiant, but that’s better in the long run.”
She needed to get back to her cabin and pack some of her prints for shipping, but when Gregory sat in the shade under a sweeping oak tree, she sat next to him. The mess in her cabin could wait.
The other artists filed out of the dining hall, ready to gain as much new ground as possible on their works in progress. Jenna waved at Micah. He held up a single camera bag that hung from his neck. She smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.
“You must be teaching him well,” Gregory said.
“I’m not teaching. I’m just trying to help him make good decisions. Like not hauling three bags and a tripod around the preserve every day.”
“You’re a good assistant then. How about that?”
She shrugged and leaned her head back on the chair. “I’ll accept that.” A breeze kicked up and rustled the sunlit leaves overhead.
“I’m taking the job in California.”
“Good for you.” She kept her gaze on the trees, holding her breath tight in her chest. The last few weeks with him had felt different. The push and pull, the conversation, the comfortable silence as they worked. It was both enticing and unsettling. She sensed his gaze on her but she didn’t turn her head.
“You could come with me, you know.”
She laughed to mask her thudding heart. “Me, in California?”
“Sure. Why not?”
She finally glanced at him and something in her shifted, as if she’d just stepped into a boat bobbing in the water. His voice was casual, his body relaxed, but his gaze was firm and unwavering. She rubbed her forehead. “Gregory, you can’t just ask me to come to California with you.”
“Why not? I just did.” He gave her a half grin.
“It’s too big.” She shifted in her seat to face him. “I can’t just . . . I have kids and a life and . . .”
He sat up and leaned toward her. “I know you do. And we’ll figure all that out. Look, you’ve been trying to decide what to do in your life, right? Halcyon was a gift and you took it and look where you are now. Maybe California is another gift and all you have to do is take it.”
“California is a gift for you. It’s your job. I can’t just follow you there. I’ve followed a guy across the country before, and it didn’t turn out too well for me. I can’t do it again.”
“I’m not asking you to follow me just for the fun of it. It’s a job for you too. The dean said I get an assistant—an official, well-paid one—and I get to choose who it is. You’d be helping me with grading and paperwork, but you’d have plenty of time to do your own thing. California’s a beautiful place for photography. It could be a fresh start.”
She closed her eyes. It couldn’t, wouldn’t work. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her.
“What do you say?”
“Hey, guys,” a voice called from up the path. Jenna looked over Gregory’s shoulder and saw Casey walking toward them, a bright-red envelope in her hand.
“Will you come to my cabin later?” Gregory asked, his voice quiet. “We can talk there.”
She nodded and he stood.
“How’s it going?” Casey said when she reached them.
Gregory nudged a rock on the ground with the toe of his boot. “Just catching up on what I missed while I was gone.”
She nodded toward Jenna. “Your mentee has done a great job with Micah.”
He smiled. “I knew she would.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I need to get going. I have a lot to do tonight. I’ll see y’all later.” He looked back at Jenna once before turning and walking through the trees.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Casey said when Gregory was out of earshot.
“It’s fine. I was just telling him about Micah.”
“This came for you in the mail.” Casey held her hand out. “It looks important.”
Jenna took the envelope and turned it over in her hands. She smiled when she recognized Addie’s drawings. Addie always drew extra-long eyelashes on her smiley faces and hearts on their cheeks. Betsy had written Jenna’s name and the address, and the girls had decorated the rest of the envelope with faces, dots, and flowers.
“From your kids?”
Jenna nodde
d. She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a sheet of pink construction paper. She took a deep breath.
“How are they doing with you being gone?”
“I think they’re doing okay,” Jenna said, her gaze on the drawing.
“That’s good.” A strong breeze whipped around the lake, carrying the scent of pine needles and salty air. “I wonder if this wind is coming off the storm.”
Jenna looked up. “What storm?”
Casey raised her eyebrows. “Ingrid? Big hurricane?”
Jenna shook her head. “I haven’t seen any news in a while.”
“I can tell. It’s a big one, out in the Gulf. The predicted track keeps wobbling, but they’re thinking Mississippi. We should stay clear of it, but if it moves east at all, there’s a whole list of things we have to do to get ready. Including getting all the artists out of here.”
Jenna thought of the girls at the farm. They weren’t too far from Mississippi. She reached into her bag on the chair and pulled out her phone. One bar of service.
Casey tucked her hair behind her ears. “I heard about Gregory’s job offer in Berkeley.”
Jenna nodded, her attention on her phone as she scrolled to Betsy’s number. “He’s taking it.”
“Wow, I hadn’t heard. That’s—well, good for him.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“What about you?”
Jenna looked up. “What about me?”
Casey shrugged. “I don’t know. The two of you seem to work well together. I know there’s the assistant position . . .”
Jenna shook her head. “There’s no way that would work.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Plus it’s scary to uproot your life.”
Casey’s voice was soft, but Jenna heard something else, as if she was saying two things at once.
“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you got your mail.” She headed back up the path, then turned her head and called back to Jenna, “It’s sweet to know your girls miss you so much.”
Hurricane Season Page 29