Bree squinted. So Chip was going to put in commercial-grade motion-sensor floodlights tomorrow and no doubt have them face directly into her bedroom window, where she could be blinded at random, insanity-inducing intervals throughout the night. Every night. Terrrrific.
“That sounds expensive,” Bree put in.
“A little over five hundred dollars when I first bought them,” Chip replied. “But can you put a price on safety? . . . Especially yours?”
Bree’s mother put her hands on her chest.
“Five hundred. Talk about an investment.”
Bree was going to have to break out the BB gun Evie hid under her pillow.
“That is just so thoughtful,” her mother said.
“It’s nothing,” Chip said.
“You are our answer to prayer,” Bree’s mother persisted.
Oh, good grief.
Mom’s eyes were starting to water. Bree felt like ducking under the table and squeezing between their legs for the exit.
Her mother leaned in. Her voice was low as she looked at Chip. Her Bible-Belt, foothills-of-the-Smoky-Mountains accent grew as thick as the preacher’s of her mama’s country church. “And are you . . . well . . .” She shrugged to finish her words.
He lifted a questioning brow.
“Are you a religious man, Chip?”
Bree almost hid under the table.
This was excruciating.
“Yes, Mom,” she answered for him. “He goes to Abingdon Community Church, and he’s got a Bible at the head of his bed. You don’t need to add him to your prayer list.” Sure, she was 99 percent certain he was praying to God to destroy her, but still. “I feel like we can safely avoid you trying to convert him in this conversation. Okay? Okay. Who’s thinking brisket?”
Chip’s and Mom’s heads swiveled in her direction.
“How did you know I go to Abingdon Community?”
“Why have you seen his bed?”
Both asked their questions at the same time, with the same expressions. Terrific.
“You go every week to sit with your family before heading to family supper,” Bree said hastily. “Phone conversations carry. And I’ve seen his bed because he happens to have a bedroom directly across from mine.” She shifted uncomfortably. “And I’ve just happened to notice it. Once.”
Her mother pursed her lips then, and Bree knew she was struggling between chastising her for looking into men’s windows and celebrating that they were one step closer to matrimony.
Apparently she settled on glee, as her eyes started glimmering. “Well. Chip. Isn’t that nice to hear you’re so connected to your family. Family supper. We have those as well, only on Saturdays.”
“Really?” Chip said. “So you had one yesterday?”
Clearly it was the wrong question, because her mother’s and Dan’s expressions shifted. “Oh, not yesterday. We had a bit of a”—her mother’s eyes darted away from Bree—“family emergency.”
Bree stopped halfway in the act of unrolling her napkin.
“But we’re confident that it will all smooth out soon.” Her mother paused. Bit her lip. “Lord willing.”
“What’s wrong?” Bree said, her words swift and low.
Bree watched as Mom took a breath. Exhaled. “Anna’s back in Knoxville. They’re considering . . .” She hesitated. “Transferring to Memphis.”
“To St. Jude’s?” Bree felt panic and release at the same time. She’d been trying to get her sister-in-law to transfer Anna to St. Jude’s since the diagnosis. For six months Daria had fought it. Saying Anna’s condition was serious but not dire. That traveling to Knoxville’s Children’s Hospital would be hard enough. That it was better for Anna to recover at home, where she belonged. That keeping her life as close to normal was important, more important than traveling across the state and turning their lives upside down, far away from everyone.
But what was happening now? What had happened that was so awful to make Daria change her mind?
The thought made Bree sick, and the stench of the food around them was too much.
“I’m actually feeling a bit under the weather,” Bree said, the booth suddenly claustrophobic.
“Oh honey,” her mother began. “We didn’t mean to—”
“I’m fine,” Bree said, nudging Chip’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I just need to lie down. I’ll call Daria when I get home.”
Chip slid out of the seat, moving well back in order to let her stand. He opened his mouth as he looked to the door, and if she hadn’t known better, she might have said he had true concern in his eyes. It was clear he had no idea what was going on.
“I can drive you home.”
“No.” Bree shook her head. The crowd swelled. Bodies were everywhere. The banjo player struck a chord, and the speaker screamed in her ears. “No, you guys go on and eat.” Bree was walking