She dropped the phone to her side with a quiet groan. How long was her kid going to give her the silent treatment? She’d been trying to connect with her for weeks now, but whenever she dialed, Tansy rejected her call after one ring or two. They were getting into an absurd routine. Heartbroken, angry, and completely frustrated, Renee would then leave a terse message, asking her to please call her back.

Tansy always followed this up with a cryptic text, usually blaming homework or saying she was about to take a nap.

Predictably, her phone started to buzz.

Studying for a Spanish test. Hablamos luego!

Cute. Real cute.

She punched her fingers into the keys. Just thought you might want to know a hurricane is headed for the Cove.

She paused, debating whether or not to add an extra dramatic touch.

We’re being told to take proper precautions—boarding up the house, having a shelter plan, those kinds of things.

Well, that was all technically true. She glanced over at the breathless weather person standing out on some beach making wild gestures. Guess she shouldn’t throw stones. Turns out she wasn’t above using the storm to boost her ratings.

Her phone buzzed once more. Tansy again.

OMG. WHAT! I JUST LOOKED IT UP!

Guess the dramatic really did capture people’s attention.

With a wry smile on her face, Renee neatly typed back, Really. Figured you would want a heads-up, especially if you aren’t able to reach me in the next few days. I suspect the electricity will get knocked out.

She laughed, wondering what scenario was more ridiculous: Tansy actually calling her or the power going out from a hurricane.

Will you call me after the storm blows through? Nothing bad is allowed to happen to you!

The sweet glimpse of the old thoughtful Tansy made her heart ache.

So her daughter was in there somewhere, beneath the crop tops, secret boyfriends, and too-cool attitude. It had been weeks since they’d talked, and the realization that she hadn’t heard her daughter’s voice in so long shattered her heart.

Tansy’s eighth birthday, that had been the last time her daughter was truly angry with her. Renee had thrown Tansy a 1950s-themed party, complete with a jukebox rental and adorable poodle skirts (sewn by Bree) for all the little girls.

“Where’s Daddy?” Tansy had asked, giant tears rolling down her pale cheeks. She’d been wearing saddle shoes with white fold-over socks. The saddest, cutest birthday girl the world had ever seen. “Where’s my daddy?”

“Honey, I don’t know.” They were in Renee’s bedroom, away from the happy party chatter. Elvis Presley crooned somewhere in the distance. “Maybe he got caught in traffic? Or what if a pack of llamas decided to block his driveway, and he’s stuck?”