Dance Away with Me(39)

Once again, Tess followed Heather’s orders.

The cold, bracing air energized her, but she’d barely walked a mile before her need to check on Wren forced her back inside.

Heather was sitting in a crossed-legged meditation pose on the floor, Wren nestled comfortably in her lap. Heather looked up, then touched the tip of her finger to the tiny place between Wren’s eyebrows. “It’s amazing how open her chakras are. You’re taking wonderful care of her. Her third eye is already clearing. It’s a sign that she’ll be wise.”

Wren cooed in response to Heather’s touch, and Tess felt an irrational sense of pride in knowing her newborn’s third eye was already so well developed. Which officially made her one more crazy, doting mother.

Foster mother, she reminded herself. That’s what she was. A temporary caretaker until Wren found her real family.

*

Leaving Wren for the first time was excruciating, something Heather understood, because all morning Tess’s cell pinged with photos: Wren sleeping, Wren eating, Wren pooping. Ian texted her saying he’d be gone longer than he’d expected, but offered no explanation. He probably wanted to spend more time in bed with some alluring figure model.

Knowing Wren was in good hands should have relaxed Tess, but the mood at the Broken Chimney seemed to have changed. Maybe it was only in her imagination, but customers who had once taken time to chat were now in a rush. It took a visit from Courtney Hoover for her to understand.

The would-be Instagram queen appeared at the counter, her face freshly polished with her trademark opalescent glimmer powder; eye makeup applied in a kaleidoscope of vanilla, rose, and plum anchored with a perfect smoky liner. “I heard you were back.”

“We’re out of mocha,” Tess lied. “Cocoa bean shortage in Brazil.”

“Bummer.” She curled her fingers around her ever-present cell phone displaying maroon hard nails with tiny crystals embedded in the tips. “I’ll just have a doughnut then. I haven’t posted a food shot in a while.”

Tess picked up the tongs. Phish had added a new doughnut choice in the almost three weeks Tess had been gone, and Courtney pointed toward the chocolate-frosted Long Johns. “Let me have one of those.”

Tess wondered if Ian knew about the Broken Chimney’s Long Johns. “How’s your Instagram feed going?” she said, to deflect her thoughts.

“I’ve been posting more videos. Video’s the way to go.” She tapped the top of the display case. “Not that one. The one on the left has a shinier glaze.” As Tess put the more photogenic Long John doughnut on a plate, Courtney dropped her voice and leaned forward. “You should know, Tess, that everybody’s talking about you.”

“Oh?”

“I’m just being honest.”

During the hours Tess had spent after Trav’s death numbing herself with reality TV, she’d learned one thing. Whenever someone said they were “just being honest,” they really meant they intended to be cruel.

Courtney pulled out her wallet. “A lot of people think what happened to Ian North’s wife is suspicious.”

Tess’s breath hung in her chest. She should have been prepared for this. “Bianca wasn’t his wife,” she said carefully. “She was his friend. And an amniotic fluid embolism is a lot of things, but it’s not suspicious.”

In the background, The Dead began singing “Brokedown Palace.” Courtney’s nails looked like crampon tips as she spread her hand on the countertops. “I’m only being honest, Tess. As soon as she dies, you and Ian North move in together. People notice something like that.”

Tess slapped Courtney’s five-dollar bill in the cash drawer and counted out her change. “I’m taking care of the baby. That’s all.”

“Right. That’s why you’re here now.” Courtney deposited her cash in her wallet, shouldered her purse, and slithered off to the front window with her doughnut, where she posed, neck tilted, hair extensions snaking down her back, Long John dangling above her parted lips. #DoughnutBlowJob.

Tess plunged a pair of dirty mugs into the sink, berating herself for getting sucked into Courtney’s venom. Phish must have known a lot of people in town had turned against her, but he’d been afraid she’d quit if she found out ahead of time.

Her phone pinged. She gazed at the screen. Wren lay curled adorably in her nest on Heather’s yoga mat, a tiny red bindi painted between her eyebrows. Don’t worry. The text read. Organic ketchup.

Tess was falling in love with Heather. At the same time, her arms felt empty. She couldn’t wait to throw off her apron, get away from the condemning stares, and reclaim her baby bird.

A few of the after-school crowd tumbled through the door. Unlike the adults, they were happy to see her. Ava Winchester was the last to arrive. “Tess! You’re back!” She grabbed a girl Tess hadn’t yet met and pulled her toward the counter. “Tess, this is Gabi.” Gabi had a chubby round face, curly red hair, and green, assessing eyes. Leaning closer to the counter, Ava lowered her voice. “Gabi’s on the spectrum.”

“You didn’t have to tell her that,” Gabi protested.

“How else is she going to help you if she doesn’t know all the facts?” the ever-practical Ava said. One day, Tess decided, Ava would make a kick-ass social worker. If she didn’t get pregnant first.