How To Mend A Broken Heart

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—some 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.

CHAPTER THREE

TESS sat at the table, staring out over the Brisbane River, while Fletch was in the kitchen fixing them both a top-up of their glasses. A light breeze ruffled her utilitarian locks and she had to shake herself to believe she was actually sitting on her ex-husband’s deck, drinking wine.

The whole scene felt surreal. Jean’s dementia had dragged her reluctantly into her past. A time when things had been simple and she’d truly believed that love could get a person through everything. It was a strange reality that warred with her present-day situation.

What did he want to talk to her about regarding Jean? Surely he had better access to the medical side of Jean’s condition than she did? He probably had half a dozen gerontologists up his sleeve he could talk to. Or maybe he was after practical advice? How to care for his mother on a day-to-day basis? Or a recommendation for a good home-care agency, maybe?

Whatever it was, she hoped he made it snappy because when she got to the bottom of her second glass she was walking away.

Fletch paused by the sliding door, watching Tess’s profile for a moment, and wished he was sure of her. He needed her help. Once upon a time he could have counted on it. But a lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then and she was so very, very skittish.

Plus he wasn’t so sure of himself now. His plan had sounded fine in theory but being with her again was confrontational on many levels. He’d thought he could handle it but standing two metres from her he realised it would be physically and emotionally harder than he’d ever imagined.

Still … he was desperate and Tess was perfect.

He took a deep breath and stepped out onto the deck. ‘Here you go,’ he said, placing her refilled wine glass in front of her.

Tess glanced down at the offering and murmured, ‘Thanks.’

She picked it up and took a decent mouthful, the smooth, fruity crispness against her palate not really registering. She placed the wine back down as Fletch sat opposite her, hearing the clink as it met the smoky glass of the tabletop. ‘You wanted to talk about Jean?’ she prompted.

Fletch sighed. Obviously there wasn’t going to be any small talk. Which he’d have preferred. He had no idea how she was going to react to his proposition, although instinct told him it wouldn’t be very well …

‘I need to get someone in for Mum. Someone who can be here while I’m out. When I accepted the contract I thought I’d be able to juggle it and her. It’s only part time and Mum doesn’t need constant care and attention. But the truth is I don’t feel comfortable leaving her at all. I just don’t think she’s safe enough and I’d feel a hell of a lot better if she wasn’t here by herself.’

‘Like a home-care nurse?’

Fletch shook his head. ‘No. I’m not after someone to help with her physical needs because she’s still capable, so far, of taking care of that. Although having someone who understands Alzheimer’s is a definite plus … I’m thinking more like a companion.’

‘You mean someone closer to her own age?’

‘I mean someone who knows her. She’s not great with strangers—they distress her.’

Tess’s brow wrinkled. ‘That would be ideal, of course. Are you thinking of one of her old friends?’

Fletch didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘I’m thinking of someone closer than that. Someone she knows really well who has experience with the elderly and with dementia sufferers. The best of both worlds.’