I jolt hearing the screen door slap shut later, realizing I dozed off. The bathwater is chilly, along with my body. Wincing, I rise slowly, wrapping myself in Ethan's robe that engulfs my frame. I’m thankful he didn’t walk in on me naked and exposed in his bathroom. But then I wonder if that would really be so bad…
Ethan calls my name just as I secure the robe's belt. I emerge from the bathroom, combing dripping hair from my eyes. Concern creases his face. "Everything okay?"
I wave dismissively. "Just tired. Did I miss your zoom?” My casual words sound strained even to me. Ethan regards me silently as he removes his hat and coat.
"You’re sure you're alright?"
My defenses sharpen in answer to his probing tone. "Yes, fine. Tell me about this gal your grandmother found.” I aim for nonchalance again but internally cringe hearing the turn in my voice. I can’t just be cool around Ethan, at least not until I figure things out with Richard.
Ethan's eyes narrow, seeing through my front. He crosses the room and grips my shoulders. "First, you're going to eat something. You're dead on your feet."
He busies himself heating another puree Gran sent while I pick at a jar of apricot baby food, my stomach unsettled.
"So, this person seems capable?" I force out. Ethan nods and describes her Jill-of-all-trades background as he sits across from me. I try focusing on his words and not my churning insides.
"She needs a place to park her van. She’ll be living onsite, so having her handle festival prep should be easy.”
The Bedd family is making a habit of taking in women with nowhere else to go. I stab my spoon harder than necessary. "And your Gran found her online?"
"On some site for transient workers looking for temporary housing." Ethan gulps his soup. "She actually seems like a godsend. As we were talking, she whipped up a logo and website to market the thing. We just need to nail down locations for parking fields, port-a-potties...."
His words fade to background noise as I imagine a hippie waif just perfect for Ethan, invading the farm I helped revive. Gran said Ethan needs her. Gran, lonely and grieving, wants her close by. Ethan should be pining after this sort of woman. I’m taken, even if I did kiss another man in a moment of weakness when I was scared.
I have a freaking boyfriend. Don’t I? I feel like the worst woman in the world. I already broke Ethan’s heart once. What am I doing here in Fork Lick, in his house? Bile rises in my throat, I push away the barely touched food.
"Whoa, take it slowly if you aren't hungry." Ethan presses the back of his hand to my clammy forehead. "No fever at least. Go lie down. I'll clean up."
I let him guide me to the sofa, hating my weakness. My illness always emerges at the worst times — when I need fortitude to power through professional challenges or navigate emotional pits like jealous fits over virtual strangers. Pathetic.
I must doze again, waking disoriented by a quilt tucked around me. The room darkens into dusk. Hearing Ethan shuffling paper at the table, I rise gingerly, combing tangled hair with my fingers.
"Morning, sunshine." Ethan doesn't look up from leafing through folders...likely paperwork for hiring Molly, the cute pixie van woman who’s sure to capture his heart. If only I wasn’t having a flare up, then maybe I could be more helpful, and they wouldn’t have to hire anyone. My stomach knots anew.
"Very funny. What time is it anyway?"
"Nearly six. You think the grant committee will go for all of this? I feel like all I did was spread some poop and drive a tractor …”
I nod mutely, arms crossed. Ethan caps his pen, studying me. "Lia, are we alright?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't we be?" Too bright and too fast. Ethan stands, slowly approaching me. I fight not to step back, hating that he witnesses my unease.
"Hey..." Strong hands grip my shoulders as his blue-eyed gaze bores into mine. "Talk to me."
My composure cracks. "I shouldn’t have kissed you. It’s not fair. And then, once you get Molly settled, I will probably go because…I’d be done." Hot tears threaten as I voice a fear I didn’t realize I had — being unnecessary and replaceable. If I’m done here, that means I head back to the city and … I don’t know if I want that. Not anymore.
Ethan sweeps me against his chest, lips pressing my hair. "Don't ever think that, Lia. You’re saving this place when no one else could. You’re fighting for our farm.”
I want him to say he’ll fight for us. But I have no right to hope for another chance with him. Although … as he holds me, wearing his robe, standing in his house where he kissed me … maybe it’s not a foregone conclusion that he’ll never give me another chance.
I cling to him, the knot inside loosening. We stand entwined as a lump rises in my throat. "I need to call my doctor,” I whisper. "Update him."
Ethan tenses. “Your boyfriend? You sure that’s wise?”
I extricate myself, bristling at his judgmental tone. I forgot his unpleasant opinion of my doctor-boyfriend after recent arguments over my care. In fact, I forgot that I have a boyfriend. "I just want his medical opinion."
Ethan snorts. "Yeah, 'cause that's worked great so far."
Anger flares now, and I know it’s not fair to Ethan. "You still don't know everything!" I burst out. "Stop acting like you grasp complex immunology!"
Hurt flashes across Ethan's face. Shit. I press my palms over my eyelids as shame replaces fury. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."
Ethan turns away, muscles coiled. "It's fine. You should call your boyfriend. I’m sure he’s been missing you.” He snatches his coat off its hook. The door slams loudly behind him. I flinch, hot tears spilling down my cheeks. Why do I keep lashing out at the one person wholly on my side? What kind of person am I, letting Ethan kiss me—kissing him back—when I’ve got a boyfriend? A boyfriend I rarely see and who hasn’t checked in on me once since this flare…
I have no idea what’s going on in my head. In one breath I’m heartbroken at the idea of leaving this place once my job here is done. The next, I’m dreading any contact with my life back in the city. Especially with Richard. I wait several minutes for my breath to steady before fixing a smile I don't feel and clicking on Richard's contact for a video call. Right away his distracted tone clues me in that he's working. "Lia. How are things?"
I tell him about the sheep eating the seedlings, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His “mm hmm” feels robotic and he barely looks up from his paperwork as I talk. I sigh, and pivot to his area of interest: Crohn’s disease.
I summarize my symptoms and medication adjustments, asking his opinion on lowering my riskier oral medications. Richard makes noncommittal sounds, only half listening. "Babe, you know tapering those caused complications before. And it's unethical for me to directly advise without seeing you."
I press my case, but Richard cuts me off. "Sorry to do this, babe. I’ve actually got a consult. Just stay the course and we'll discuss next steps when you're back in the city."
He ends the call abruptly. My pulse quickens, reading the subtext. Richard is not interested in making time for me, either as a patient or a partner. I squeeze my burning eyes shut. All the old feelings of being managed versus supported creep back in. What in the hell am I doing with Richard?
I log in to my online health portal, looking at my most recent labs. Asher used to obsess over my results, back when nobody would listen to me that something was wrong. He used to make charts and bar graphs for me. It’s been a long time since I looked at my own numbers. I’d been trusting all my care to Richard.
I check my numbers and am shocked to see wildly irregular inflammation and nutritional markers. I look up interactions between my infusions and various oral meds. The data makes Dr. Sanchez's conservative suggestions seem wise, not detrimental as Richard insisted.
It’s nearly dark by the time I hear footsteps outside again. I steel myself to face Ethan's skepticism, but his expression shows only bone-deep weariness when he appears.
"No holes in Baabara’s bungalow. She must've slipped under the gate itself." He braces thick arms on the table. "Maybe electric fencing is the solution. Those can run a couple grand though, even DIY-ing parts. Plus, Gran would worry Babs would shock herself.” He scrubs both hands down his face. "I'm open to suggestions if you think of any."
There's defeat in his voice now instead of accusation. He looks utterly exhausted, the battered commander of a struggling platoon. My cheeks burn in the silence.
"Ethan, about before...."
He waves off my apology. “It doesn’t matter. You're worn out and lashing out happens."
"It does matter." I grasp his calloused hand firmly. "I deeply regret questioning your intelligence or your judgment. You're the most capable person I know."
Ethan blinks rapidly at my vehement tone. Slowly he brings our joined hands to his lips and brushes a whisper-soft kiss over my knuckles. "Well Ms. Thorne, I happen to think you're alright too." The tender moment stretches until Ethan clears his throat gruffly. "You talk to your doctor then?"
I frown. "Briefly. He insists the oral meds stay for now despite side effects. But after we spoke, I dug into my latest test results..." I detail my discoveries around nutritional imbalances and biochemical markers potentially indicating toxicity.
Ethan listens intently, asking a few questions. The more I talk, the more it becomes clear that there is nothing to consider with Richard. I no longer trust him as a physician or a romantic partner. “I … think I want to try to visit Dr. Sanchez again over in Climax. I’m thinking she might be onto something about stopping the harsh oral meds,” I conclude. "The infusions might control symptoms well enough alone."
Ethan considers for a long moment, thumb grazing his bottom lip. "And this goes against your boyfriend's medical advice?" I bristle briefly at his phrasing but merely nod. "Okay then. When do we call up Dr. Sanchez?”
There's no judgment or skepticism now. Just solid support bolstering my conviction. I exhale fully for the first time all day.