2. Prescription For Love

Abby listened with half an ear to Presley and Carrie, mostly Carrie, discussing wedding plans— contingencies for the outdoor ceremony in case it rained, menu choices for the reception, music, traditional or individualized vows, floral arrangements, decorations, and a multitude of other details —and, with the other half of her mind, concentrated on the hammering, sawing, and occasional shouts from the direction of the barn. Blake hadn’t returned from his explorations, and she suspected he’d volunteered for or been conscripted into Harper’s construction company. She tried not to worry about how he was getting along or what he might be getting into. He had to be able to make his way in the world without her running interference, as much as she wanted to. All the same, he was still a teenager, and teens were not known for their best judgment. Added to that, Blake had had more than his share of disappointment and shattered dreams in the last year. Her instincts told her the adults could be trusted to be sensitive and responsible, but he was still hers to protect.

“I think I ought to check on the roast,” Presley said when Carrie flipped a page in the notebook she’d been filling with wedding to-do lists. “Or at least look at the instructions Lila left as to when to take the cover off and brown it.”

“You think we should eat inside”—Carrie put her pen and notepad aside—“or set up out here? The weather called for thunderstorms.”

Several wooden picnic tables sat in a shady corner of the yard beneath two big oak trees. The nearly cloudless sky was clear and blue, the temperature warm enough for a T-shirt, at least until the sun went down.

“I think we should eat outside if we can,” Presley said.

“I’ll hunt around for a tablecloth,” Carrie said.

“What can I do to help?” Abby said.

Presley shook her head. “Not a thing. Relax, I’m sure you need it after this crazy week.”

“Sitting out here has done more for my mental health than anything I can think of in a long time,”

Abby said. “If you don’t need me for a few minutes, though, I think I’ll take a walk.”

“Go ahead,” Presley said. “There are no rules or have-tos out here.”

Abby laughed. “That is definitely unique and different.”

When Presley and Carrie disappeared inside, Abby strolled across the yard to the driveway and down a gentle slope toward the barn. Fenced pastures surrounded it, empty of animals now, but she could imagine animals grazing in them sometime in the not too distant past and imagined it wouldn’t be long before some did again. The fences were still in reasonable repair, although here and there a post had tilted and a horizontal crosspiece had fallen out. The barn itself was weathered, with peeling red paint, but still sturdy looking. A section of the slate roof spelled out 1896 in various contrasting colors. NYC was the palace of the new and shiny. Out here, it seemed, history infused everything, from the hospital to the homes. She’d spent most of her life in the city, Blake all of his. Would they forever be outsiders here?

Abby reminded herself Presley and Carrie were newcomers, and they’d found their places. She and Blake would do the same.

She followed the sounds of construction around the back to the barn. Harper, Flannery, Glenn, and

Blake were surrounded by sheets of plywood, coils of chicken wire, a plethora of tools, and a pair of sawhorses piled with lumber. Blake wore a pair of leather work gloves and plastic goggles someone must’ve lent him and a fierce look of concentration as he held a board in place while Flannery drove nails into it with a power gun. The pop-pop of the nails shooting into wood had Abby’s stomach flipping in a rapid somersault. She told herself not to create disaster scenarios and waited until they had the board secured in place before advancing into the construction zone. She didn’t want to distract anyone at a critical moment.

“How’s it going?” she asked brightly.

Activity stopped and everyone looked at her as if she were an alien who had just landed in a great big silver spaceship.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“Super.”

Apparently she should be able to tell the state of affairs by looking. She studied the tall rectangular structure that Blake and Flann were attaching to the back side of the barn while the others waited with expectant expressions. Harper and Glenn appeared to be the design engineers, measuring, cutting, and directing where various pieces would go. She cocked her head and studied it. “It looks like a giant birdcage.”

Blake grinned. “It’s a chicken coop, Mom.”

Abby frowned, seeing only a big empty space. “Where’s the coop part?”

“Once we get the enclosure predator-proof, we’ll bring over one of the old coops,” Harper said. “With a little work, the coop will be fine. What’s important is that the flock is protected at night while they’re sleeping.”

Abby glanced around. On a small knoll fifty feet away, the gimpy rooster strutted around, pecking at the ground. “Flock?”

“Patience,” Glenn said slowly, her voice slow and sensuous.