Amy Andrews - How To Mend A Broken Heart

Fletch watched Tess’s face as a string of emotions chased across the taut face, which seemed suddenly paler. ‘She always wanted babies, Tess,’ he said gently.

Tess breathed in raggedly. She nodded her head vigorously. ‘Of course.’ Trish had absolutely doted on Ryan. ‘That’s great,’ she said, forcing words past the husky lump lodged in her larynx. ‘So, you’re an uncle, huh?’

Fletch nodded. ‘Yes.’

Of sorts. He hadn’t had a lot to do with his nephew given how often he was out of the country. But he was a dear little boy who adored him. And if it was hard at times to hold his wriggly little body and not think of Ryan, not see the similarities between the two cousins, then he erected another layer around his heart and sucked it up.

Tess heard the grimness in his response and knew that it couldn’t have been easy for him. She hesitated for a moment, went to take a step towards him until a shout of ‘Buy a vowel!’ coming from the lounge area halted the reflex before her foot had even moved.

She smiled at him as the sound of Jean’s excited clapping drifted out. ‘How’s Jean with him?’

Fletch felt his answering smile die. ‘She doesn’t remember him most days. It’s hard for Trish. Especially as Mum’s been living with them since just before Christopher was born.’

Tess frowned. ‘How come she’s living with you now? I don’t mean to tell you how to manage Jean’s condition but I don’t think changing her living arrangements at this stage in her disease is such a good thing, Fletch.’

‘Trish had problems with her first pregnancy. She went into early labour at twenty-four weeks. They managed to stop it and get the pregnancy through to thirty-four weeks. A month ago she went into early labour again with this one. Which they also managed to stop. But given her history and her age, her obstetrician ordered bed rest and no stress for the remainder of the pregnancy.’

‘Ah,’ Tess murmured. ‘Not very easy when you’re looking after a toddler and your high-needs mother.’

Fletch grimaced. ‘No.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Trish tried day respite but the unfamiliar setting distressed Mum, made her anxious, which flowed on into the nights. Mum stopped sleeping and she started to wander. She had a couple of falls.’

‘Oh, no,’ Tess gasped.

Fletch shrugged. ‘Lucky she has bones made of concrete.’

Tess laughed, remembering the time that Jean had slipped and fallen down a flight of stairs with not even a bruise to show for it. Fletch smiled at her laugh. It was as familiar to him as his own and yet not something he’d heard for a very long time.

Another thing he’d missed with surprising ferocity.

‘We got a day nurse in but the same thing happened. An unfamiliar face just aggravated the situation. So … I took a leave of absence from Calgary and came home to step in and do my bit. Look after Mum until after the baby’s born.’

Tess understood the conundrum he and Trish faced. The familiar was important to dementia patients, who clung to their repertoire of the familiar even as it shrank at an alarming rate around them. But, still, uprooting yourself from the other side of the world was a big ask.

Although she guessed not for Fletch. He’d always been very family orientated, always taken care of his responsibilities.

‘It’s a good thing you’re doing,’ she said softly.

He looked at her. ‘It’s family, Tess. Family sticks together.’

Tess shied from the intensity of his silver-green eyes. Was there an accusation there? Sure, she’d asked for the divorce but he hadn’t exactly put up a fight. In fact, he’d been pretty relieved as far as she could recall. Did he really blame her for wanting to get as far away from it all as possible?

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to go there. She was finishing her drink. She was going back to her hotel room.

Tomorrow she was getting on a plane.

‘So you’re not working, then?’

Fletch shook his head. He looked into his drink. ‘That was the plan but St Rita’s approached me with an interesting proposition and I’ve accepted a temporary contract …’

Tess blinked as the information sat like a lead sinker in her brain. ‘St Rita’s? In the … PICU?’

Fletch glanced up into her huge amber eyes, flashing their incredulity like a lighthouse beacon. ‘In both the adult and kids’ ICUs. They want someone to head up a study on the application of hypothermia in acute brain injury. They’ve asked me. I didn’t come here to work but … how could I refuse? It’s a marvellous opportunity.’

Tess was quiet for a moment while she processed the startling information. ‘Oh.’

She knew that since their separation and his move to Canada, Fletch had become an authority—s ome might call it an obsession—on cold-water drowning, undertaking several world-renowned studies. In fact, he was probably one of the world’s foremost experts on the subject. She’d read everything he’d ever published from the impressive studies to journal articles and every paper he’d ever given at a conference or a symposium.

None of them had brought Ryan back .

‘It’s part time, only a few hours a day with no real clinical role. I can do a lot of the work from home, which is perfect, leaves me a lot of time for Mum.’

Tess nodded. It sounded ideal. She just wished she could understand how he could go back there. She knew, although she didn’t pretend to comprehend, why he’d chosen that particular field of research but how he could handle the subject matter was beyond her. And how he could enter St Rita’s without breaking down she’d never know.

Her eyes sought his. She remembered how he’d told his mother earlier about the kids with the last of the winter bugs. She’d thought he’d been fobbing Jean off but obviously not. ‘You’ve … you’ve been into the PICU?’

Their gazes locked. ‘Yes. Several times. In fact, I called in there on my way to the cemetery.’

Tess let out a shaky breath. ‘Right …’

What did she say now? How was it? Have you been into room two? Did it bring back memories? Was Ryan’s presence still there or had it been erased by years of other children and hospital antiseptic?

Instead, she said nothing because she really didn’t want to know.

Fletch’s stare didn’t waver. ‘It wasn’t easy, Tess.’

She looked away. Had he thought it would be? Did he expect her sympathy? An embrace? Applause? Some kind of a shared moment where everything was suddenly all right because he’d confronted some ghosts?

A surge of emotions knotted in her belly and she knew she had to leave. Get out. Far away from Fletch and all that reminded her of that dark, dark time.

Denial had been working for her just fine .

She just wanted to go to bed and sleep off the jet-lag and not have to think about any of it.

‘Well,’ she said, downing the contents of her glass in one long swallow. ‘It looks like you have everything worked out.’

‘Tess.’

She ignored the reproach in his voice. ‘I’ve gotta go.’ She placed the wine glass on the table and headed for the door.

‘Tess,’ he said, catching her arm lightly as she brushed past him.

Tess stopped. ‘Let me go,’ she said, staring straight ahead.

‘Tess, please, stay for a while.’

She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Fletch.’

‘I want to talk to you, Tess.’

‘I think we’re all talked out.’

‘It’s about Mum.’ He felt her arm strain against his hand. ‘Please, Tess, just hear me out. For Jean.’

Tess sighed, and her muscles relaxed, knowing she was defeated.

Damn it .

And damn him.