Dance Away with Me(67)

“That’s a rabbit!”

“A very fine rabbit.”

“A cartoon rabbit! What the hell, Ian?”

He practically smirked. “I thought you wanted an investment piece. That’s what this is.”

“How do you figure?”

He regarded her with exaggerated condescension. “You obviously know nothing about contemporary art. Mystery adds value.”

“Aha.”

“The art world will go crazy trying to figure out the significance of that rabbit. Your eBay auction will shoot right through the roof.”

“And what is the significance of that rabbit?”

“I loved Bugs Bunny when I was a kid.”

She smiled.

“I’d better give it a title.” He took the sketchbook back from her, thought for a moment, and then wrote something. He returned it to her. Above his name and the date were the words Composition in Pencil and Rabbit Pellets.

“You didn’t!”

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any rabbit pellets. But with that title, you just made another grand.”

She burst into laughter.

He grinned right back at her, looking exactly like the kid who’d once loved Bugs Bunny.

*

They returned to the house together. He pointed out bear scat on the trail and a set of coyote tracks. He showed her how the thickest stands of spring beauties and hepaticas grew beneath trees that hadn’t yet leafed out.

“You’re a city guy,” she said. “I keep wondering how you know so much?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time outdoors over the years. Hiking, camping, canoeing. And artists tend to be close observers.”

How much had he observed about her?

The tension that had temporarily eased reappeared when they reached the schoolhouse. “I need to get cleaned up,” he said. “Don’t fall apart while I’m gone.”

“I’m not in the habit of falling apart.” Blatantly untrue, since she’d been regularly falling apart.

As he disappeared into the geode bedroom, she went to the kitchen. Would he give her away when the Dennings arrived? He’d been clear that he wouldn’t go along with her marriage story, but he’d also said he wouldn’t expose her lie. Unless they asked directly.

She gazed around the kitchen, trying to recall why she’d come in here. Because she’d foolishly promised them eggs Benedict. She tried to clear her head enough to assemble the ingredients. There was no Canadian bacon on hand, so she’d have to use regular bacon. She’d also have to make a hollandaise sauce, something she’d only done once before.

Predictably, the sauce broke, butter and egg yolks separating into a grainy, watery mess. She started over only to have it break again. She went outside to search for a cell phone signal and found one by standing on her front right car bumper, where she watched a YouTube video that told her how to fix the sauce. By the time she’d made the repair, Ian had retreated into his studio, and her stomach was a churning mess. It was ten o’clock. Where were they?

Fifteen anxiety-ridden minutes later, she heard a car. She raced to the window and saw the Dennings’ Lexus come to a stop in front of the schoolhouse. She gripped her stomach and made herself take three deep breaths before she ran outside.

Even with the car sealed shut, she could hear Wren crying. She yanked the back door open. Wren had wedged herself into the corner of the car seat, her eyes puffy, mouth wide, and potato chip tongue aquiver between her pink, toothless gums.

Tess fumbled with the seat buckles, pulled the baby out, and curled her against her body. Wren immediately quieted. Tess wanted to run into the woods again, hide in the fire tower. Make a little home for the two of them, with the mountains at their feet and the stars as their night-lights.

She cradled the baby, murmuring soothing shhhhs. Yearning to beg her forgiveness for abandoning her. She heard the low buzz of male conversation. Gradually, Wren’s body grew lax.

“You have the magic touch,” Diane said.

Only then did Tess turn. Jeff looked his normal natty self, but Diane didn’t seem to have remembered to comb her hair. Her lipstick was in place, but not her eye makeup, and instead of a chunky silver necklace, her black sweater displayed a milky stain.

“Wren’s like her father,” Jeff declared proudly. “Simon could kick up a fuss, too.”

Diane reached out to cup Wren’s head. “We were younger then.”

“She can be exhausting,” Tess managed to say.

Diane offered a tired smile. “I’ve definitely had better nights.”

Tess’s spirits soared. Maybe her plan had worked. Maybe the reality of dealing with a cranky newborn had made them realize they didn’t want to do it full-time. Maybe seeing how quickly Wren had quieted for Tess would open their hearts.

Diane immediately crushed her hopes. “She’s so precious. Worth every moment of lost sleep. How could anyone not love this little creature?”

“I smelled bacon inside,” Ian said. “Let’s see what Tess has made for us.”

“Everything’s better with bacon,” Jeff declared, the epitome of a cheery grandpa.

Tess straightened Wren’s cap. The baby didn’t smell like herself. Instead, she smelled of Diane’s perfume and Jeff’s aftershave.