Dance Away with Me - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,38
though he was working without actually doing it.
“I’m concerned about Eli,” she said. “The Eldridges were supposed to bring him back. Have you seen him?”
“No. But I can hike up there and check on him.”
“I’d feel better if I saw him myself, but my Honda might not be up to the climb. Can I borrow your Land Cruiser?”
“I’ll go. Paul tends to greet visitors with an assault rifle.”
“Why would he do that?”
“The Eldridges are what’s known as preppers or survivalists. They want to be self-sufficient, so they’re prepared for disaster: pandemics, nuclear attack, economic collapse, World War III, a meteor strike, whatever. In fairness, some of what they do is common sense—having extra food, batteries, water. Most of all, taking care of the land. But too many of them are paranoia propagandists. Tell me what to look for, and I’ll stop in.”
“No. I need to see him. It won’t kill you to watch Wren for an hour.”
“You don’t know that for a fact.”
She sighed. “Fine. We’ll go together.”
He wasn’t happy about that, but he seemed to recognize a losing argument when he was caught up in one.
* * *
The interior of Ian’s ancient Land Cruiser with its faded leather seats, missing radio knob, and dinged-up dashboard wasn’t quite as beat up as the exterior, but that was the best she could say for it. She settled in the backseat next to Wren, with one hand clutching the armrest. “Did you ever think about using some of your millions to put new springs in this thing?”
“Wouldn’t feel the same.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
Wren, however, didn’t mind the bouncing and jostling. She’d fallen asleep.
The Eldridge farm looked as hardscrabble as Ian had described it. With the exception of the solar panels on the roof and the antediluvian Dodge Ram truck, it could have been a homestead from the early twentieth century. As Ian pulled up outside the fence, a pair of furiously barking fecal-brown dogs charged toward them.
Rebecca appeared unarmed at the front door. Not so for Paul Eldridge. He emerged from the weathered barn holding the assault rifle Ian had warned her about. Eli scampered after him, showing no ill effects from his accident.
“Stay here,” Ian ordered as he got out of the car and walked toward Paul and Eli.
Rebecca approached the fence, moving slowly, as if each step were an effort. Ignoring Ian’s order, Tess got out of the car. She reached the gate at the same time as Rebecca.
“I’m sorry you had to come all the way up here.” Rebecca’s dull complexion, unwashed hair, and fingernails bitten to the quick testified to a hard life. “Eli’s leg is healing fine. I should have let you know. Would you like to come in? It’d be nice to have a woman in the house for a change.”
Tess extracted Wren from the car seat and followed Rebecca inside.
Unlike the unpainted exterior, the interior had soft green walls and a few feminine touches: a handmade throw pillow in brightly colored chintz and a string of pastel paper lanterns over the serviceable family dining table. A smaller table stacked with textbooks and pens marked the site of Eli’s homeschooling. His artwork hung next to it, mounted in simple frames decorated with painted twigs and pebbles.
Rebecca cast a yearning look toward Wren. “How old is she?”
“Almost two weeks. She’s a preemie, but she’s doing well.”
With no warning and an almost inaudible choking sound, Rebecca turned away.
“Are you all right?” A stupid question. She obviously wasn’t.
“I have to stop crying. It upsets Paul and Eli.” She slowly turned back, tears tracking her cheeks. The way her eyes naturally turned down at the outer corners made her look even more vulnerable. “I had a miscarriage two months ago.”
Tess curled her hand over Rebecca’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“I was almost four months along.” She gazed at Wren. “I’ll get over it.”
The very words Tess had told herself so many times. “Grief seems to have its own timetable.”
“I’ve wanted another baby for years.” Rebecca tried to pull herself back together, but she couldn’t draw her eyes away from Wren. “You’re so lucky to have her.”
“She’s not mine. I’m only her temporary caretaker.”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca gestured toward the kitchen table, and after they were seated, Tess offered a much-abbreviated summary of what had happened. She did her best to be factual and steer clear of the emotional undercurrents, but by the time she was finished, Rebecca had once again begun to weep. “I’m so embarrassed to keep falling