“So, why didn’t you tell us?” I ask gently. “Because if we’re overreacting, and we probably are, it’s because I learned this from Miss Barbara, who, to be fair to Dad, insinuated just alittlethat you and Ben would appreciate the space.”
Bethany lets out a snort of weary laughter. “Well, Miss Barbara has always been a free spirit. But if you think Ben and I are going toshack uptogether, Dad, you clearly don’t know the Wilsons very well. I think Mr. Wilson would skin Ben alive if he so much as suggested such a thing.”
I smile wryly at that. Bethany might be exaggerating the Wilsons’ reaction… but only by a little.
“Okay, so tell us what you’re thinking,” I encourage our daughter.
Bethany looks between us, seeming wary, hesitant, and so very young. Is she really ready to live on her own? Admittedly, she has a point. If she’d gone to college, she already would be.
“I haven’t thought it completely through,” she admits slowly. “Miss Barbara only asked me a couple of days ago, and I wanted to think about it first. But she wants someone to keep an eye on the place, and I’ll have to water her plants, so it’s just easier if I’m over there…” She hunches one shoulder, looking shy. “I mean, I kind of want to figure out what it’s like, living on my own. And I know it’s not the same as college or a dorm or anything, but… it’s close enough. And,” she adds, giving both Josh and me pointed looks, “it’s not like I’m that far away. I’m literally a ten-minute walk up the road. And I can come by here to hang out orhelp or whatever all the time.” She smiles at me, her expression softening.
“I’m not upset about this baby, Mom. I mean, I was surprised at first, but it’s exciting, and I know you’re going to need help once she arrives, so… don’t think I’m busting out of here. I’m not.” Her lips tremble just a little as she smiles. “I’m still part of this family.”
“You certainly are,” Josh assures her. He sounds a little choked up, and I might need to dab at my eyes, but then I can always blame pregnancy hormones.
Josh pulls Bethany into a hug that turns into a group hug that lasts all of three seconds before she pulls away, laughing.
“Okay, okay,” she warns us, “don’t get all emo on me.”
“Emo!” Josh explains indignantly, then he’s laughing, too. As bittersweet as it is to think of Bethany moving on, I’m glad we navigated this potential conflict, crisis averted. Hopefully, the next time Josh sees Ben, he won’t go all crazy dad on him, the way he did with William’s erstwhile bully. I can completely picture my husband giving Ben a little meaningful man-to-man talk.
But for now… I feel relieved.
The rest of the day passes in the usual flurry of chores that never seem to end—weeding, tidying, laundry, making cheese and a fresh batch of yogurt. There’s always something to do, but it’s agoodsomething. Usually, anyway.
In the afternoon, Rose and I spend a happy hour perusing the feed store catalogue; we’re hoping to pick up a couple more chicks when they arrive, as well as various seeds and early plants. Josh is still hoping to get pigs, although I remain ambivalent. Knowing my husband, he’ll be coming home with two of them any day now.
It feels exciting to be going through the whole seasonal cycle again, and hopefully, this time, a little—if only a little—wiser.When Rose goes off to play with her many cats, I spend a contented half-hour looking for a hotel in Charleston for Emmy and me. We’ve agreed to go away the first week in May before things get too crazy with the garden.
My dad ambles in as I’m deciding whether to splurge on a five-star luxury hotel that has a weekend deal.
“Hey, there,” he says, and something about his smile that usually comes so easily to him makes me pause.
“Hey.” I close my laptop. “I just boiled the kettle. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
“Now, that sounds nice.” He sits down at the table with an audible creak of his joints as I go to the counter to brew his tea.
“What have you been up to?” I ask lightly. My dad tends to make himself busy pottering around, playing games with the kids, or sneaking off to his room to watchMidsomer Murders. I feel a twinge of guilt that I haven’t been engaging him more actively; I’ve been more worrying about him from a distance.
“Oh, this and that,” he replies easily enough. “I got soundly thrashed by William in chess and discussed the advantages of the Browning X-Bolt 2 with Jack. I believe he has hopes to bag a deer this season.”
“Hmm.” I know everybody around here hunts, but I’m still struggling to get fully on board with it.
“And I watched an episode or two of my show,” my dad admits with a twinkle in his eye.
“What season are you on now?” I ask, smiling. My dad has watched a lot ofMidsomer Murders.
“Sixteen,” he informs me with a touch of pride. “I’ve still got a ways to go.”
“What, eight?” I ask with a laugh.
“Nine,” he corrects me. “I’d better hop to it.”
“What will you do when it ends?” I muse as I place a cup of tea in front of him. Despite our good-natured banter, I have a feelingthere’s something more that he wants to say. I sit back down with my own cup of tea and take a sip, waiting for him to spit it out.
“I’m sure I’ll find something else to occupy my time,” my dad assures me. He hesitates and then adds, “Actually… there’s something to do that tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I am surprised; it’s Sunday. The only thing we usually have happening on a Sunday is church.
