10. InterMENtion
10
InterMENtion
Bre
T he serious, scowling face above her was so unlike the man she’d been having a semi-lucid fever-dream about. This man was stern, the set of his jaw too severe for such a handsome face. With dark lashes, a straight nose and even straighter set of his mouth, there was only one person who had those Mr Darcyish sideburns framing his face.
Still groggy from an afternoon nap such as she never let herself indulge in, because they simply wasted too much productive time, she mumbled, “Don’t start, Reece.”
“Breanna Henderson.” He ground out her full name without moving the straight line of his lips – she must really be in trouble. Bre fixed her eyes on the google-eyed poster of Pamela Anderson, avoiding Doctor Reece Hargraves like the adult she was.
With a small roll of his eyes, he turned from his perch on the edge of the bed, addressing the many faces who peered in from the doorway. “She’s fine.”
The collective sigh from the stairs implied the entire Carmichael family was lining the curve of steps between the kitchen and Billy’s room.
“Reece.” She tried to sit up and failed, immediately dizzy. Blinking it back, she forced herself to smile. “Small world, seeing you here.”
“Small town,” he countered. “Haven’t managed to get rid of me yet.”
“Lucky for me.” The sarcasm in her tone broke the tense lines around his mouth.
“There is another option, you know. I can call Dr–”
“NO! You are my doctor. And my friend. Hell, we survived school together and have a standing date every four years for my cervical cancer screening.”
The twins made a vaguely disgusted noise and thumped down the stairs, freeing space for other faces to press closer.
This time, Reece offered a genuine smile and a half-formed chuckle. “You’ve always had a way with words.”
“So I’m told.”
Ripping the black band of the blood pressure monitor from her upper arm, the doctor’s voice rose, addressing the crowd once more. “Her blood pressure is still a bit low. Low blood pressure could explain the dizziness, especially if it dropped suddenly. Around one twenty over eighty is normal, so I want to stay and keep it under observation for a while longer.”
“It?”
“If I said I was keeping you under observation, I’d probably end up with a bag of mint peas on my eye, am I right?”
Smirking, she wriggled down into the bed, unwilling to try sitting up any time soon and losing face in front of this crowd.
“That’s what I thought.” Raising his voice again, Reece addressed the faces, young and old, who waited with deep-set worry etched into their faces.
They looked rather like a parliament of blue-eyed owls, she mused as Reece absently handed her a tall glass of water, the firm thrust of it into her hands demanding: drink .
“Owls in tartan,” she mused into the glass as she gulped, watching Reece’s eyes flash over her in assessment at the outlandish comment.
“With rest, she’ll be absolutely fine.” The doctor’s words were at odds with the lines of worry on his face. “Go on now, I’m sure it’s a busy day.” His tone brooked no argument, and it was with some sense of tired amusement she noted Sharee’s bubbly enthusiasm leading the way down the stairs – followed much less enthusiastically by kilt-adorned Carmichaels, heads hung. Holly hung back, concern wafting from her like the scent of gingerbread from the ovens downstairs.
“Holly, I promise, she’s in good hands.”
With a nod, Holly told Reece, “Take care of my daughter.”
Salty water caught in the curve of Bre’s lips.
“Damned hormones!” Gulping down the rising lump in her throat, she finished the glass of water, shoving it back at Reece who’d fixed her with THE LOOK. Shrinking down, she bit the inside of her cheek, waiting for the lecture she knew was coming.
“Breanna,” Reece bit out once they were gone. “You need to take care of yourself … and this baby.”
Rubbing the lingering wetness from her eyes, she sighed, “Long time no pee on a stick, Reece.”
“Yes, that pregnancy confirmation was the last time I saw you, over six months ago! You’re in your third trimester now, Breanna. Where the hell have you been hiding? Moonshine is a tiny town, and besides that, I thought we were friends. But you’ve been too busy avoiding me, your mate and your doctor, and now here you are, pretending that everything is normal?”
“Not true. Nothing about this Christmas is normal, except the surface-of-the-sun heat outside and the way my calves scream at me all day. That’s new. And so much fun.” She laid the sarcasm on thicker than Vegemite. “Reece, normally I’d be coping. I’d have this all under control. I’d be out there,” she pointed to the window, and the trees beyond, “helping the guys cut trees and cart them to–”
“No. Not this year.”
She tried a different tack. “But there are guests – Crank Shaft and–”
“No,” Reece repeated, crossing his arms, the annoyingly crisp white of his overly starched shirt crinkling. “Not this year, Breanna.”
“Reece, listen–”
The grumble – like gravel on rocks – came from the corner. “No buts, Bruce.”
“Billy?” She must’ve been dazed, to resort to rhetorical questions. Of course the massive shadow somehow scrunched into the crevice near the bookshelf was Billy. With that strange grace that men his size simply shouldn’t possess, he rose, towering above them both. The tattoos of his forearm shifted back and forth as his fist curled then opened at his side.
“Look, no offence, guys,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut, “but I don’t need one man – let alone two – telling me what to do.”
Neatly folding the blood pressure monitor cuff, Reece said from the side of the bed, “It’s not telling, it’s advising . You need rest. You’d hate for me to advise Billy to tie you to the bed now, would you?”
“That’s nothing new,” she commented, without thinking. Billy’s ears went pink, the rising colour wiped away with the hand dragged down his face, but Reece only soldiered on.
“Breanna, I’ve spoken to Billy. The panic attacks, that’s another one of my concerns. I know you had them during high school, and we were working on techniques –” His eyes shot to Billy, conscious of the professional boundary he had to walk between friends and clients. “If you don’t look after yourself, we’ll have to get creative about how we can make you slow down. Stop, even.” He thought for a moment, Bre protesting the entire time. Holding a hand out, he demanded in a tone that was more statement than question, “Where is it, Breanna?”
“Where’s what?”
Reece exhaled slowly, eyes on the ceiling. “Your planner.”
“What planner? Hey!”
Billy handed Reece the thick journal, bursting with colourful Post-it notes, to-do lists, and receipts, all slightly smudged. Many of the edges had been worried from the crisp and starched parchment it once was into thin, soft paper.
“Give that back, or I’ll …”
Reece flipped the fat little diary open with a crisp efficiency she admired for a second. Tsking and tutting, the doctor shook his head as though it was packed with lewd drawings. Those things did exist in there, of course, but they didn’t grace every page, and even Dr Super Serious should have laughed a bit when he saw one of her creative little doodles. He should have turned the paper from portrait to landscape and quirked an eyebrow, like Billy had.
“I’m sorry, Bre,” Reece said finally, flipping the journal closed and standing to pace around the bedroom. “I’ll admit, I should have sought you out sooner. You never come to me, except for your aforementioned smear.” His eyes shot to Billy once more. “Anyway, I want to say sorry. I’ve been busy with the practice, and Sam. He’s a bit of a mess right now, as you both know, having seen him so often at the pub …” Reece shook his head. “But these are terrible excuses. I’m here now. I can see that you’re struggling with your body and your brain. Mental health is a big priority for me. Statistically … well, you know the stats. You both always attend my fundraising events and actually listen to my speeches. Honestly,” he paused, “I am worried, Breanna. I need to know what happened out there this morning. What’s going on?”
He absently picked up a sprig of dried wattle sporting several googly eyes from one of Billy’s shelves. A few yellow bursts fell from the twig, floating to the floor, before he set it back down. Billy, on the other hand, stared straight at her, waiting for more explanations.
“I had a panic attack.” There was no use lying now, not when she’d resolved earlier to try and communicate more effectively, especially with Billy, like she used to. “I’ve been … a bit swamped –” she pointed to her planner, “as you can see.”
“It was lucky you were around, Billy,” Reece said. “Looks like she’s been pushing herself to exhaustion.”
“I’m not exhausted! I can do everything the boys can.”
“Normally, yes,” Reece agreed, “but right now? You can’t. Not because you’re not able, but because you shouldn’t put yourself into these dangerous situations, for the sake of your health and the baby’s. Do you want to go to hospital?”
Bre folded her arms over her chest.
“Didn’t think so.” Reece smiled kindly, the severe lines of his face cracking. “You don’t have to … IF you listen to me and take a few steps to get this weight off your shoulders.” He weighed the planner experimentally in one hand, shaking his head at its heft. “From what I can surmise, your blood pressure skyrocketed – panic makes the blood pump faster around the body, and you have potentially fifty percent more blood pumping through your system right now. Too much, too fast, then a sudden drop …” Reece spoke more to himself now, nodding as he worked through the symptoms, diagnosing. “Low blood pressure or hypotension isn’t uncommon during pregnancy, but mixed with the need for a reduced mental load .... These are all reasons for continued observation, for a while at least.”
If anyone had ever had the balls to stand up to Bre – really stand up to her – it was Dr Serious himself. “That high peak from the panic, combined with hypotension coincides with hormonal shifts as your body adjusts to support the foetus. Yes, I’m confident this is a blood pressure issue, Bre.”
Bre huffed, trying to sit upright without causing the spinning gremlins in her head to whirl their dizzy dance yet again.
Reece dutifully focused all attention back to his patient, waving the planner in his hand.
“Was the panic attack because of this? The increased stress and worry that this ridiculously detailed Christmas planner contains? I mean, Bre …” He flipped it open to a random page and ran a finger down it. “You’ve allocated toilet breaks on a rotating roster, including the three-year-old I met downstairs who I know for a fact isn’t properly toilet trained yet!”
Billy’s eye quirked. Bre’s face flushed. Crossing her arms, she opened her mouth to dispute the facts, but Reece got in first.
“Bre, you know I can out-stubborn you, but if we need to bother with the traditional arm wrestle, I’ll haul that milk crate over and we can get it over with. We’ve tousled before, and if we need to, I’ll do it again.”
He was right, of course. Reece Hargraves didn’t know what it felt like to be wrong, or make a bad choice, or mess anything up. He wasn’t just Mr Serious, he was also Mr Perfect, and for some reason, all this labelling of Mr’s brought Bre’s mind right back to Billy’s Mr Happy jocks.
“Thanks for not treating me like some wilting princess, Doc.”
“Even the wilting princesses are strong, Bre. Don’t confuse femininity for weakness, or toughness as something more masculine. We all know you’re strong. And now, you need to focus all that power into telling me the truth. Is your anxiety the result of this overstuffed planner?”
She nodded weakly, irritated, flattered, hungry, needing to pee, and trying to quell the rising desire to cry. She sniffed, cursing the way her own body was leading the revolt against her. Both men patiently waited for her to elaborate. She couldn’t outlast either in a staring contest, so the words came out rushed, hot and angry.
“I don’t need you and Billy staging an inter men tion right now. I need more hours in the day. There’s just so much to do!” she bellowed, arms crossing tighter over herself. “And it’s all my own doing, I’m fully aware of that. I have plans upon plans, lists and every minute planned some days, and yet all I needed, really needed, was a contingency for …” She trailed off, eyes on Billy’s bare feet. Eyeing the little landing outside Billy’s room, she saw her favourite black Doc Martens there, neatly tucked to one side of the stairs, right next to his much larger work boots. Something about them, organised so neatly and regimented, made her eyes prickle all over again.
“Breanna, this –” Reece waved her planner before her eyes, snatching her attention, “– is too much for one person. In fact, it’s probably too much for several people. Plus you’re pregnant, so the amount of time and energy you need to complete all these tasks is, more realistically, time and energy your body is using to growing an entire human being! That baby should be your focus right now, for the health and safety of yourself, as well as this child. There are people who need you, Breanna. They need you to be safe and happy, and for your mental and physical health to be stable.”
Reece’s hand slid over the swell of her stomach, and one hot, defiant tear rolled down her cheek.
“These things are finite, Breanna. You can’t stretch a twenty-four-hour day any longer. And while you’re the toughest person I know, now isn’t the time to keep proving yourself. Stop pushing, for once in your life. You need to slow it down.”
“Delegate.”
“Billy makes an excellent point. Delegation is a good start. So much of what’s in that planner could be completed by someone else, and I know you can delegate. I saw the lists Holly and that woman, Sharee, were working from. It was all in your handwriting.” Reece sighed, pouring another glass of water from the pitcher, downing it in two gulps, before refilling it and offering it to his patient. “Now isn’t the time to have a death grip on your independence. It’s a time to learn how to let that go, because soon, there will be a dependant .” He motioned unnecessarily to the mound of flesh that had attached itself to her abdomen. “And whether you like it or not, you’ll need to learn to ask for help.”
Lips pressed tight, she wiped hastily at her cheeks, nodding slightly. She knew all this, but letting go, when she’d orchestrated so many of the moving parts, was like building an engine from spare parts then refusing to slide in the key and test the ignition.
“Billy.” She finally met his gaze. “Can you give us a minute alone?”
Wordlessly, the big friendly giant who was her best friend exited the room, leaving a vacuum in his wake.
“Reece,” she confided, gripping the glass tighter, so her hands would stop shaking. “I’ve really messed all this up.”
“Nothing is beyond repair.” Reece threw her planner to the foot of the bed where it landed with a heavy thunk. “You need to forgive yourself, Breanna. We all love you, even though you’re a pain in the arse. Let us help. All you need to do is ask, and I know it’ll be hard, but now’s a good time to start practising, because when you have this kid ...”
“I know,” her voice warbled.
“Postnatal depression affects one in five Australian mothers, and one in ten fathers.”
“I know all this, Doctor Serious. I just wanted this Christmas to be the same as every other. A last hurrah, you know?”
Reece wrapped her hands in his. “Now is the time for contingencies. Plans B, C, D. We’ll all help, okay? The Carmichaels will do anything you ask, Bruce .” He chuckled at the nickname he so rarely used. “You know it. You only have to ask. I know that’s hard for you, and you’re used to doing everything on your own, but you need to communicate what you need. Panic attacks are born on fear. So think, Bre – what is it that you’re most afraid of?”
“Billy hating me,” she shook out. “Him feeling trapped. He’s been trapped, Billy – beneath that train carriage, then later, in his own body and mind. He retreats there, waits for me to seek him out, because I think he’s scared, too, to make the first move, you know? … I can’t add an extra layer of resentment in his life.”
“I don’t think he’s capable of resentment, Bre, but you need to tell him that you feel this way. Explain it to him, like you just did to me.”
“I did … Kind of. I told him he couldn’t be the white knight, and he wasn’t allowed to marry me.”
A genuine, beautiful smile transformed Reece’s entire face. “That is not nearly the same thing. Out of curiosity, what did he say to that?”
Bre’s heart sunk. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly, it does. You’ve got too much going on right now to add Baby Daddy Trouble to the list.”
“Reece, he’s–”
“Communicate. Sort it out,” he advised, collecting his medical bag and heading for the door. “Slow down. And when you feel ready, join us all downstairs. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”
“That’s typical,” she grumbled.
“True. But I mean everyone . Billy’s grandmother has come out of hiding and even Elanor came over, though I think she disappeared as quickly as she came. She worries about you, you know.”
Scoffing, Bre studied the many googley-eyed memories lining Billy’s shelves. “She probably just came over to plant a wasps’ nest in a kitchen cupboard or something. Or to set a bomb in a box under the Christmas tree, ticking down to Christmas morning …”
Reece’s smile was full of sympathy. “When you’re ready, come downstairs,” he repeated. “Holly’s cooked for the entire farm, and everyone from the full-timers to the seasonal workers, to the families who started arriving today … anyway, they’re all awaiting orders. Willing to share the load. Because they love you.”
“Really?”
“Really. Billy rallied them.”
“Of course he fucking did. Such a white knight.”
Reece gave her a pointed look. “Cut him some slack. He might not want to marry you, Bruce –” He used her nickname like a weapon, but his growing smile held genuine warmth. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care deeply. You’ve been best friends forever.” He swept a glance over the room, taking in the remnants of their childhood littering every surface, before landing on the googly-eyes mistletoe. One of his rare smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth. “He deserves to know the truth, Breanna.”
“He does,” she agreed weakly . Later.
“Take your time getting up. Don’t go too fast. If you feel dizzy, too hot, or too cold, sit down immediately. I’ll be downstairs ignoring that tool of a TV show host and discussing Pantone colour choices with that gorgeous woman in white.”
With a wink, he slipped out the bedroom door that saw much less action than the window, and Breanna marvelled at just how odd this Christmas truly was turning out to be.
As dusk approached, pinks and purples kissing the tips of the pines, Bre leaned against the veranda railing.
“What a day,” she told the Evening Star, the first celestial being to greet her each twilight. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply – ‘box breathing’ as Reece had taught her after lunch. When the racing car in her chest slowed, she opened her eyes, using her listing powers ‘for good’, like Reece had taught her by listing:
Five objects she saw: A koala with a Santa hat ornament Bright banksias Beer bottles in red and white shawls A pair of thongs in the grass The tongs hanging over the railing of the barbeque.
Five things she could touch, and how they felt: The hard wooden deck beneath her feet The smooth, sun-warmed wooden railing beneath her curled hands The light breeze as it licked at the back of her neck The lingering warmth of the sun that sighed from the house as the cooler night-time approached The fluttering of the baby deep within her, encouraging her progress.
Five scents that hung in the air: The thick pine of the trees Her renewed spray of deodorant only a moment ago Cinnamon, from whatever Holly was whipping up in the kitchen Sweat and man, the official scent of hard farm work And …
Reece called it ‘Grounding’, a way to quell panic and remain in a calm present instead of the troubling future by listing in fives.
Keeping her eyes closed, she thought back on the day.
Lunch was better described as an ‘intervention’. Her plans and schedules had been dissected and redistributed so Breanna’s entire workload from now until Christmas Eve was to deal with Revv Ryder. Truthfully, it’d take all her remaining energy to accomplish this one task.
Piers had grinned and said, “You can focus all your attention on me now,” to a multitude of rolled eyes. She hadn’t responded, instead taking the opportunity to nap the afternoon away. It felt indulgent and entirely lazy, when Bre was accustomed to a faster pace, and harder work than being pregnant.
Turned out, growing a human was taxing. Her body needed rest – not that she would ever admit it to the boys.
Reece finally drove back into town, leaving Sharee, all soft cotton and softer smiles, to confide that evening, “What a hunk that doctor is!” before adding, “I don’t understand why I was on your list, Bre. You put Holly and me in touch, and organised everything between us, however, now that I’m here and we’re working together, there’s really nothing else you can do.”
Bre had moved to interject.
Of course there were things for her to do!
Confirm everyone was happy with their new arrangements.
Guarantee the house stayed spick and span for the millions of photos, videos, and social media content they planned to create.
Keep Sharee away from the alien slimeball who was Piers Ryder.
“Really, Bre, we’re big girls. I am here to work with Holly, and Piers is here for you.”
“Piers is only anywhere for himself.”
Sharee considered this. “Possibly true.” Her manicured hand waved all thoughts of him away. “That’s not the point. Holly and I, we love you, but we don’t need you. That sounds harsh, but I promise I mean it in the best possible way. Christmassy World Domination Via Social Media is our project. We’ll take it from here, okay?”
It was hard to disagree with the woman, when she was so damn nice all the time.
“And unfortunately,” Sharee added, “Revv was right – you should focus your energy on Crank Shaft . You’re the perfect person for this Christmas episode they’re filming, and I know Jaxon and Trudy are excited to work with you.”
“But what about the Christmas Eve Party? You’ve never seen it, Sharee, it’s epic ! It’s like Christmas vomits itself over the entire farm, like what you see in here, but for acres outside, and the whole town comes out to the farm to see it, and to feel like they’ve left Australia and entered this magical world Holly single-handedly creates. Sharee, that’s exactly why I wanted you here. Why I connected you two. Christmas here is the second of two community events on Moonshine’s social calendar. The Wattle Time Festival and Christmas at the Carmichaels’ are what these people live for!
Holly’s creative flair makes it beyond beautiful, but behind the scenes it takes a lot of planning. That part I do – taking the boxes of decorations from the barn for her to string up, liaising with the external caterers, once Holly’s all baked out, calling the band, buying and wrapping all the gifts for the children who come, booking the photographer and scheduling family photos with Edsel and Santa …”
“You take on too much,” Holly had said, with a shake of her head. “I didn’t realise you were the one behind all that. I can’t believe my sons didn’t help you!”
“They do. We all pitch in to move the heavy boxes, and–”
“They should help with the mental load,” Holly said. “My boys aren’t just muscles for hire.” The disappointment in her voice was exactly why Bre had taken on these extra responsibilities over the years. She hated letting this woman down, her pseudo-mother who’d always been there for her.
“And moving forward, we will help to manage it all, under your express direction.” Sharee slid a thin arm around Bre’s shoulders, squeezing tight.
“But–”
“But nothing. Tomorrow is a day for editing, as Piers decreed, so the Crank Shaft crew will be busy. That means you will be free. So …” Holly and Sharee exchanged wide smiles. “We have something planned for you.”
“You’re organising me?”
“We are. And it’s a surprise. So tomorrow morning, when you’re ready, you’re coming with us.”
“Am I icing white swirls onto Holly’s infamous festive phallus biscuits all day? Glueing googley eyes onto all those felt kangaroos whose personal space was invaded when you shoved candy canes into their pouches?” Rhetorical questions, Bre was learning, could be fun – just not when Revv posed them. Then, they made her want to punch something.
“Nothing like that,” Holly had smiled. “Trust me.”
“Trust me.” Bre repeated the words, said with such warmth earlier today, and brought herself back into the present, plucking at the damp clothing that clung to her skin. Exhaustion rolled over her in waves, and for once, she gave in.
Sneaking into the house, she made for the bedroom, curled around Billy’s pillow, and fell fast asleep.
The next day, Holly and Sharee refused to discuss their plans, until Sharee rather ceremoniously announced, “We’re going shopping!”
“IT IS TIME!” Holly’s head perked up from where she was icing a red G-string and thongs on cookies that were roughly Santa shaped. “I need those pants back.”
Bre looked down at herself, at Holly’s life-saving, bump-hugging yoga attire, the grass stains and dust hiding under a festive smattering of glitter from an art-and-craft session that had ended up resembling the carnage of a war between rival fairies. She loved Billy’s nephews, but wherever they went, destruction followed.
After this morning’s sparkling massacre, she knew she’d be finding glitter in her bra for weeks. The idea of shimmering nipple covers might entice Billy, but each tiny sparkle shard would make her sensitive, stretched skin itch.
“I hate shopping.” Bre crossed her arms.
“You should go into town and get your phone fixed,” Holly reminded her gently. “That Meredith woman who is working the bar at The Pope has started calling here, and she calls me, a fifty-year-old-woman, a ‘girl’! I know she doesn’t mean to be rude, but it is–”
“– frustrating. And not your problem, Holly. It’s mine.”
“I’m not adding to your list, Breanna darling,” Holly added quickly, “but the phone is an administration line for Christmas Tree Farm business, you know … But back to shopping. I need more flour for the festive phallus cookies. And you’re with us, today, dear. No escaping our clutches.”
Sharee beamed. “We’ll go slow, of course! And while we’re there, if you just happen to find some clothes that fit …” The end of the sentence dangled above Bre’s grunted response.
“As cute as you look in my son’s old shirts and my yoga tights, Breanna Henderson, I think we can do better than that,” Holly insisted.
“Plus, you’ll need something for the Christmas Eve party you just mentioned!” Sharee practically sang, with an excited wiggle of her shoulders. She already had her bright pink handbag over her shoulder, car keys in hand. “When was the last time you treated yourself to new clothes?”
“New clothes?” Breanna thought hard as they gently herded her towards the car. “Does new undies count?”
“No,” Sharee and Holly insisted in unison, each taking an elbow and leading her out of the house.
“I’m not a girly girl, you know. A few big shirts and shorts are fine–”
“Get in,” Sharee ordered, pointing to the already open car door. “I’ll get slip-on shoes for you. You just sit.”
“I’m not an invalid!” Bre immediately felt like an ogre for snapping at the lovely lady, but Sharee didn’t seem to notice, practically skipping to the veranda and extracting a pair of sandals from the large basket. They were Holly’s shoes, but she didn’t comment. Neither did Sharee comment on Breanna’s already swelling ankles.
“We’re going to treat you to some proper maternity wear that will be comfortable and keep you cool during this damned inferno of a summer. No arguments!” Holly held up her finger as Bre began to protest. “Or I’ll invite your mother along. I’m sure she’d love to join us, given the opportunity.”
“That’s low,” Bre spluttered.
“Aaand we’re back to mono-syllabic answers.” Holly beamed. “Lovely. Let’s go.”