Page 161 of We Redeemed the Rain

I looked at his pain on my hand and my vision blurred.

Like second instinct, I placed my hand over my left breast, soaking his tears straight into my heart. Tag said he struggled with panic. Was this it? Was this apanicattack? No way.

I imagined the man I loved doing this his entire life.

Why? Why so much suffering?

I interrupted Jesse’s attempts at intervening. “Is he—he having a panic attack?”

Jesse’s eyes flicked to mine from under the rim of his hat. “I—don’t think it’s panic, Bea.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m—I’m not a doctor. I shouldn’t?—”

“I know you’re not diagnosing him, Jesse. I just want your thoughts.”

He took a deep breath, leaning a little deeper into the cab, one hand on the back of Tag’s seat, the other on the roof of the truck. “I know he calls them panic attacks, but I really don’t think that’s what they are.” He gathered a deep breath. “I fully believe Tag has PTSD.”

“What?” That seemed so…extreme. I knew very little about the topic except for the fact that war veterans sometimes developed it. “From what?”

“That’s where your guess is as good as mine. I know a little about his history, but not enough to draw any conclusions.”

“So you’ve seen him do this before?”

“Definitely. He’s not usually this bad though.”

“What should we do?”

“I think the best thing we can do is help him come back to the present. The rain might help.” Jesse reached forward to unbuckle Tag’s seatbelt.

I was desperately trying to keep up, to sort through what was happening and be helpful. Back to thepresent? What did that even mean?

A snippet of our hayloft conversation barreled into my awareness like another clap of thunder.

“I feel like there’s a story. About rain.”

“No!”

Jesse froze.

“Not the rain.” Surprised by my own vehemence, I backpedaled. “Sorry, I—just don’t put him in the rain. He…he doesn’t like rain.”

“Any suggestions then?”

A few more pieces of Tag’s puzzle clicked into place. This wasexactly what happened in the hayloft that night. My music helped him.

“Music.”

Where was Glory when I needed her? I could try to sing but my throat was so tight with stress, I doubted I could. Fumbling like an idiot, I pressed random buttons on the console until the radio came on. All the presets were on freaking commercials and talk radio.

Jesse talked quietly to Tag while I tried to get my crap together.

Just sing, Bea!

I could hardly swallow. There was no way I could sing.

Finding the CD player, I tapped eject. A warm, silver CD pushed out into my waiting fingers with a quiet hum. I recognized the label before it was even fully out.

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