Page 65 of The F*ck-It List

“I’ve got it,” I say, relieving her of the load.

She offers me a grateful smile even if it doesn’t seem as natural as usual. “Thanks.” Her hands wring in front of her before she shakes them out.

“You okay?” I say quietly.

“Yep,” she answers too quickly, too brightly.

I help Bea and Connor set up the table, Bea remaining quiet, speaking only when asked a question, and keeping her gaze firmly on the baked goods as we lay them out. Connor chats the whole time, seeming not to care or not to notice that Bea isn’t herself.

When people start flocking to the street fete in their droves, I’m forced to go back to my stall and chat to people, which isn’t my thing on a good day. I’m unable to stop stealing glances across the walkway to where Bea is already surrounded by customers. Her smile is painted on, failing at every interval between customers.

Does she look pale? She’s wearing more makeup than normal, but beneath it, she seems chalky, dark circles beneath her eyes. I’m distracted, confirmed when the couple I was talking to walk away mid pitch because I just stopped talking when I saw Bea step back from her table, letting Con take the lead as she bends her head low and plants her hands on her hips. Something is wrong, and I’ve seen this before.

When Bea drops to her haunches, I abandon ship and storm across the way, Connor gives me an incredulous look as I practically barge past him. I crouch in front of Bea, her face buried in her palms.

“Sunshine?” I speak softly so as not to startle her. Bea shakes her head, still covering her face. “Bea, can I touch you?” I ask, desperate to connect with her and pull her from whatever vortex her anxieties are pulling her into. I know Cas hadn’t had any qualms about reaching out for Bea when she’d done this before, but I don’t want to assume she’ll be as comfortable with me.

She doesn’t speak but her head nods and I put my hands on her thighs, bare from her shorts. I don’t pull her hands from her eyes, allowing her to hide from the crowds for as long as she needs.

“Oh shit, is she alright?” I hear Connor behind me.

“She’s fine,” I tell him without turning away from Bea just in case she looks up and needs the eye contact. “Keep serving the customers and when you get a minute, go to Eli and ask for an orange juice.”

“Okay,” he says, all of his usual bravado gone, sounding worried. “I-I can go now.”

“Thanks, bud,” I say gently.

Bea starts shaking beneath me as I hear Connor run up the road. I stroke my thumbs in what I’m hoping are comforting circles against her skin. Her breaths are laboured, wheezing from her chest with pained sounds.

“Shh,” I say gently. “Breathe for me, sunshine. Take a nice big breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it with me.”

I take a long, loud breath in through my nostrils, urging her to join me, she peeks up at me through wet lashes, and I give her a reassuring smile. I do another long breath and this time she follows suit.

“Excuse me, do these have nuts in them?” A nasally voice sounds behind me. Bea’s eyes snap up and she seems to remember we’re out in public surrounded by people and in view of everyone, her eyes going wide and her breathing going back to shuddering gasps.

I’m about to curse out the woman who thought now was a good time to approach, but my sister’s dulcet tones do it for me. “Does it look nutty to you? No. Probably alright then.”

“I don’t eat nuts,” the woman scoffs.

“How unfortunate for your husband, now why don’t you walk away and come back when the stall is open again?” I can’t see Joanie, but I imagine her shooing away anyone trying to approach, putting her resting bitch face—her words, not mine—to good use.

“Don’t worry about them,” I tell Bea. “It’s just you and me, yeah?”

“You and me,” she breathes in agreement.

“Good girl. Now keep breathing, keep taking nice big breaths for me, you’re doing so well.”

She nods shakily. A flash of orange in my periphery tears my gaze from Bea just long enough to take the plastic cup from Connor. I can feel him hovering, probably worrying about Bea and unsure what to do. I should give him a task to keep him busy, but my focus is too taken by Bea and trying to make her feel better.

“Con, get Bea a chair, will you,” Joanie says somewhere behind me and once again, my nephew’s lumbering footsteps slap across the tarmac.

“We’ll have him tuckered out by the end of the day,” I tell Bea with a wink, and she lets out a snotty laugh that has a little tension leaving my shoulders. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her without a hint of sarcasm as she wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

“Shut up,” she says wetly, and my smile grows.

“You doing okay there, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” she, says, no longer shaking and sinking down like all the tension is leaving her body. “I’m so sorry.”