I was six. My grandmother raised me.”
Tess had lost her own mother almost ten years ago. Her father had deserted them when she was five, and she had only a few memories of him.
“For a long time, I didn’t care about having kids,” Bianca said. “But then I kind of got obsessed with getting pregnant.”
Tess wondered how her husband had felt about that. For all of Bianca’s chatter, she hadn’t said much about her marriage.
Delicious smells began to fill the kitchen as Tess sautéed the garlic and chopped Swiss chard in olive oil, throwing in some butter to cut down on the vegetable’s bitterness. She toasted the French bread and diced the aging tomatoes, along with some finely chopped olives. After mixing it all together, she adjusted the seasonings, splashed on a little more olive oil, and spooned it on top of the toasted bread. With the finished pieces set on a pair of ironstone plates, she and Bianca settled at the long dining table.
The bruschetta was perfect, the bread crisp, the topping meaty and full of flavor.
There was something restorative about being in this beautiful, sun-splashed room with a woman who was so vital and alive. Tess surprised herself by realizing she was hungry. For the first time in forever, she could taste her food.
The front door opened, and North came in, a backpack slung over one shoulder of his heavy jacket. He stopped inside the door and gazed at Tess, not saying anything, not needing to. I told you to stay away, and yet here you are.
Her last bite of bruschetta lost its taste. “I was invited,” she said.
“And we’ve been having the best time!” Bianca’s lively chirp hit a flat note.
“Glad to hear it.”
He didn’t sound glad.
“You have to taste this,” Bianca said.
“Not hungry.” He shrugged off his backpack and set it on a long wooden bench.
“Don’t be such a grouch. We haven’t had anything this good since we got here.”
He shucked his jacket and advanced toward them. The closer he came, the stronger Tess’s urge grew to protect Bianca.
“I’ll get you some.” Bianca hopped up—or as near to hopping as she could manage—and went to the kitchen.
North stopped at the head of the table, the place where Bianca had been sitting, and gazed down at Tess. The February light coming through the windows fell on the long scar that ran down the side of his neck. “This isn’t good for her.”
Tess deliberately chose to misunderstand his words. “Vegetables and olives are highly nutritious.”
His wife reappeared with a plate. He took it, but didn’t sit. “You need to rest, Bianca.”
“I need to walk,” she said, showing a defiance she hadn’t previously exhibited. “Come on, Tess. You promised you’d go out with me.”
Tess had promised no such thing, but she was happy to comply. What she hadn’t counted on was Ian North’s insistence on accompanying them.
Bianca directed all her conversation toward Tess, an awkward process, since North had positioned himself at his wife’s side on the narrow trail, forcing Tess to lag behind. Whenever the ground was uneven, he took Bianca’s arm only to release it as soon as they reached steadier footing. As soon as she could, Tess made an excuse to leave.
Bianca stopped walking. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“That won’t work,” North said. “We have plans.”
“We can change them.”
“No, we can’t.”
Bianca shrugged, then rested her head against his arm while she smiled at Tess. “We’ll work it out. I know the two of us are going to be besties.”
Tess was less sure of that. The last thing she needed was to be pulled into the odd dynamics between these two.
* * *
A week passed. Tess danced at midnight when she couldn’t sleep, at three in the morning when a nightmare awakened her. She danced at sunrise, at sunset, and whenever she had trouble finding her next breath.
Bianca popped in unannounced—sometimes several times a day. Mostly Tess didn’t mind the visits, despite the one-sided nature of Bianca’s conversation. Far more annoying were Ian North’s intrusions. He invariably showed up with one excuse or another to pull his wife away.
“I can’t find my wallet. . . . We need to call in an order for groceries. . . . Let’s drive into Knoxville. . . .”
He acted as though Tess posed some kind of threat.
A week passed. Then another. Tess checked in with Trav’s parents, who were recovering from his loss better than she was. She texted her friends—cheery lighthearted lies.
Doing gr8. Mountains beautiful.
The structure of having a job