Dance Away with Me(79)

Tess wasn’t a therapist, and she didn’t know how to help her, but Rebecca needed help. “Let me fix you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I understand. But I’ll fix you something anyway.”

She overcame Rebecca’s weak protests and got her out of bed. Rubbing her back, she led her to the kitchen table. As she scrambled some eggs, she could see Eli through the window, showing off the chickens to Ian and Wren.

Rebecca had just taken a small forkful of eggs when Paul appeared. Half-moons of sweat stained the armpits of his long-sleeve work shirt, and dirt clung to the cuffs of his jeans. Ignoring his wife, he addressed Tess. “You didn’t need to come up here. Eli and I are going to have a talk.”

“It’s no problem. Sometimes a woman needs another woman.”

Paul pulled off his orange work gloves. “It’s been three months now. She needs to get over it.”

“That’s what people kept telling me after my husband died.” She remembered how Paul had shown up to help Ian with the tree house studio and wished she hadn’t spoken quite so sharply. “Unfortunately, grief seems to have its own timetable. She needs to see a doctor.”

“She needs to keep busy,” he retorted, before he turned to his wife. “’Becca, you stay out of that bed. You’re worrying Eli, and it’s not good for you.”

More than Eli’s worrying wasn’t good for her. Rebecca needed follow-up care, something her husband refused to recognize.

*

When they got back to the schoolhouse, two strangers waited on the front step—Abby Winzler, who turned out to be a friend of Sarah Childers, had a broken finger, and her survivalist husband, Chet, was plagued with a bad headache that Tess immediately suspected came from a concussion. On Tess’s orders, Ian strong-armed a belligerent Chet into his Land Cruiser and drove him to the hospital. Tess splinted Abby’s finger as best as she could and received two quarts of last summer’s peaches in return, along with a troubling list of Abby’s other ailments, all of them untreated.

There were so many women around here like Abby and Rebecca. Too poor, too remote, or too suspicious of doctors to get decent medical care. They had no place to go for advice on menstrual problems or breast health, no one to talk to about depression, heart disease, osteoporosis. Prenatal and postnatal care seemed to be virtually nonexistent.

All the care she’d been trained to provide.

She couldn’t do it. Not with Bianca’s screams echoing in her head. Someone else would have to step up. This wasn’t her responsibility.

Ian texted that the hospital was keeping Chet for overnight observation, and Ian intended to stay in Knoxville so he could bring Chet home tomorrow.

Her mood sank even lower. Something told her Ian’s generosity had more to do with avoiding her than with transporting Chet.





Chapter Seventeen




When Tess got back to the schoolhouse the next evening from the cabin, she found Ian polishing off a beer. “The next time one of these old mountain goats shows up, you’re on your own.”

She eased Wren out of the sling. “I gather you and Chet didn’t bond.”

“He doesn’t believe we put a man on the moon, and he thinks aircraft contrails are really poisonous toxins secretly spread by some kind of alien forces. Don’t ask me why.”

A car pulled up outside.

He regarded her accusingly. “I swear to God, I’m painting office hours on the front door.”

But it was Heather, and she came bearing gifts. “I hope you haven’t eaten yet, because I’ve brought takeout from The Rooster.” Her long earrings brushed her cheeks as she set the bulging carryout sack on the floor. “Also, my very own homemade carob quinoa wedding cake with avocado frosting. Kidding! Sara Lee. It’s a belated wedding present. I’m disorganized.” She flipped her loose braid over her shoulder. “And that’s not all. Pack up, Miss Contrary. You’re having a sleepover at Auntie Heather’s house.”

“Heather, you don’t have to. . . .”

“A wedding present. Now time’s a wastin’. Wren’s favorite male stripper is due to show up at my house any minute now.”

Tess smiled, but the last thing she wanted was time alone with Ian. Heather, however, was an unstoppable force, and she soon had Wren and a bulging diaper bag loaded up.

“Grab a blanket,” Ian said as Heather drove off. “I’ll get the wine.”

“Blanket?”

“I don’t want to stay inside.”

He had the tree house in mind. A sturdy platform with a skeleton frame stood about ten feet off the ground. He climbed the ladder first with the food and wine, then reached down to take the blanket from her. When she got to the top, she spread out the blanket and sat on it cross-legged, using the view as an excuse not to look at him.

It was the golden hour right before sunset. A wash of honeyed light glazed the trees and softened the edges of the rocky outcrops. He handed her wine in a plastic cup, poured some for himself, and sat next to her. His arm brushed hers.

“I like your tree house,” she said.

“Studio,” he clarified.

“Uhm.”

He rested his wineglass on his thigh. “You don’t think I’ll work here?”