Claim

by Janet Nissenson

  The doctor smiled. “Why am I not surprised that you’ve already read up on that, Ian?”

  Tessa grinned, the color returning to her cheeks for the first time in a week. “His middle name is “Thorough”, Doctor Gatlin,” she teased. “And over the past year, I’ve learned that my fiancé doesn’t take no for an answer very often. Actually, not at all.”

  “You’re a lucky woman, Tessa,” remarked Doctor Gatlin thoughtfully. “But not nearly as fortunate as Ian is to have you. Now, to answer your question, Ian. Yes, there are three tests currently being used to help diagnose the disorder. None of them are considered perfect, but each one has at least a ninety percent accuracy rating. And they’re not cheap.”

  Ian waved a hand in careless dismissal. “That’s the very least of my concerns. I’d fly Tessa to the ends of the earth, happily pay for whatever sort of tests or treatments that are available to make sure we get the most thorough diagnosis.”

  “Very well.” She gave a curt nod. “I have all three testing kits here in the office, and each one simply requires a cheek swab. If we take care of them now, Patty can ship them out by express mail this afternoon and we can have the results back in about a week. And while I don’t expect any of them to show anything amiss, having the tests done will give you additional peace of mind.”

  Tessa nodded, and she looked so relieved, so happy, and so much more like herself that Ian wanted to pick her up and swing her around the office with glee. Instead, he shook the doctor’s hand and told her in an emotion-laden voice, “We’re very, very grateful to you, Doctor Gatlin. Thank you for squeezing us in so quickly, and mostly for helping to put our minds at ease. It’s been a very difficult week for both of us, but especially for Tessa.”

  “I can tell,” replied the doctor calmly. “But you can rest easy now, Tessa. You, too, Ian. Now, I would like to see Tessa again. Nothing to do with the bipolar issue, but about these bouts of depression in her past. Have you ever spoken to anyone about them, Tessa? A professional, I mean.”

  “No.” Tessa stole a sideways glance at Ian before continuing. “Ian has encouraged me to do so, but since I haven’t had a recurrence in more than a year, I didn’t think it was necessary. Being with him makes me so happy, Doctor Gatlin, that I can’t ever imagine feeling sad or depressed again.”

  The older woman smiled. “It’s rather obvious how in love the two of you are,” she chuckled. “And that he takes very good care of you. But after hearing what your life was like as a girl, Tessa, all the hardships you endured growing up with your mother - well, that’s not something you typically get over on your own. I think that talking things out for a few sessions would be of tremendous help to you. To get some closure, if nothing else.”

  Tessa glanced at Ian, who was nodding emphatically at this idea, before returning her attention to the doctor. “All right,” she agreed.

  “Good.” Doctor Gatlin squeezed her hand firmly before giving her a little hug. “You’re a lovely young woman, Tessa,” she added kindly. “Both inside and out. And I’m positive you were a joy to your mother, likely the only good thing in her life. Take some comfort from that, hmm? Now, let’s get you set up with those tests as well as make an appointment, shall we?”

  It was a good half hour later, after filling out all the paperwork that accompanied the tests and setting up an appointment for Tessa with Doctor Gatlin, when they emerged from the medical building - both of them considerably more at ease then when they had entered two hours prior. Tessa, in fact, was almost bubbling over with happiness, the light that he’d feared would never shine again back in her eyes.

  “Do you have to go back to the office this afternoon?” she asked as they waited at the curb for Simon to drive up.

  Ian shook his head. “I had Andrew clear my schedule for the rest of the day. Why do you ask?”

  She grinned at him adorably. “I’m, uh, sort of starving so I was hoping we could get something to eat. And then, well, as you mentioned up in the doctor’s office, it’s, ah, been awhile, hasn’t it?”

  He guffawed, and this time he did pick her up and swung her around in a circle, causing her to squeal in surprise and passers-by on the sidewalk to smile at the happy couple who were so obviously in love. And then he kissed her, in full view of anyone who happened to walk by, until she began to make those little sounds of arousal that always drove him crazy with lust.

  Ian set her down just as the town car pulled up to the curb. “What appetite would you like to satisfy first, love?” he teased, holding the car door open for her. He murmured in her ear as he helped her inside, “Your choices are Italian or British.”

  Tessa was just about to reply when she was pre-empted by the unmistakable sound of her stomach growling with hunger. “Well, I guess that answers that question,” she replied sheepishly.

  He grinned as he slid into the car beside her. “Simon, can you take us to Perbacco, please?” Then, as they drove away from the curb, he slid a hand over Tessa’s belly.

  “We’ll take care of this particular appetite first, my love,” he whispered naughtily in her ear, “and then attend to this one the moment we get home.”

  His hand slid down her belly to the notch of her thighs, cupping her sex, and drawing a gasp from her lips.

  “Ohhh,” she sighed, her head falling back against the seat, her eyes fluttering shut. “I, ah, think the second one is going to take a much, much longer time to satisfy.”

  “Well, then,” he told her, his hand sliding up beneath the hem of her dress until his fingers brushed against her lacy underwear, “I’d strongly suggest you order extra courses at Perbacco. Because I will definitely want second helpings of this.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Late April – Boston

  “You’re positive that this is the place? And that they definitely have a copy of the fourth book they can sell us?”

  Ian grinned, tapping her on the nose with his index finger. “To answer your questions for the third time in the past half hour - yes. I verified the address when I called to confirm our appointment this morning. Let’s head inside, shall we?”

  Tessa nodded enthusiastically, taking him by the hand, and opened the door to the shop that specialized in antique, collectible, and hard to find books. Another bookseller that Ian had used to find Gillian Pedersen’s first three books had finally been able to track down the fourth and final novel she had written. And, as timing would have it, Ian and Tessa had been scheduled to visit several hotels on the East Coast this week, mere days after he’d received the phone call. They had already visited Washington D.C., Baltimore, and Philadelphia, and would be flying home from Boston tomorrow evening.

  It had been an especially busy spring for both of them thus far, between work, school, business trips, and the wedding plans that were quickly beginning to escalate, given that the big day was less than two months away. Julia and Sasha had thrown her a bridal shower a couple of weeks ago, the second one she’d been given since Victoria and Joanna had also hosted one during her visit to London in February. Tessa had fortunately been able to throw herself into the planning full force, no longer troubled by waiting around for test results or doctor’s appointments. All three of the genetic tests that Doctor Gatlin had recommended she take had come back negative, further reinforcing the psychiatrist’s diagnosis that Tessa was very unlikely to ever develop bipolar disorder.

  And Tessa had had, with Ian’s prodding, three separate sessions with Doctor Gatlin already, discussing her past in great detail. The sessions had, as the doctor had suggested, helped her to find closure with events of the past, in particular the guilt she still carried about Gillian’s death. She planned to meet with the psychiatrist two or three more times before the wedding, but had insisted to Ian that it most likely wouldn’t be necessary after that.

  The unexpected call last week about the discovery of her mother’s fourth book had thrilled her, but had also made her more than a little uneasy. Now that she knew for a certainty that the book
s were semi-autobiographical in nature, Tessa wasn’t certain she wanted to know what happened next - or at least her mother’s version of events. The first book had been about Gillian’s childhood; the second about her teenage years and ending with her running away from home at the age of seventeen; the third book had chronicled Gillian’s struggles to cope with the onset of bipolar disorder, how she’d drifted from place to place, the various men she’d met along the way. In a way, that third volume had been even more difficult to read about than the earlier ones, both of which had included numerous and detailed scenes about the abuse she’d suffered from her mother. In the third book, Tessa had felt the despair and loneliness Gillian had known, the fears and uncertainties about being on her own, and trying to understand what was happening to her. At least book three had ended on a happier note, for it chronicled the time in Gillian’s life when she’d written her first book, and had just learned a publisher was interested in it.

  A bell tinkled over the shop’s door as they entered, and Tessa was immediately assailed by the smell of old books and leather. The interior of the shop wasn’t very large, with books large and small crammed into every conceivable space. There were shelves built against the walls, tables and bins filled to overflowing with other volumes, and still others stacked on the floor. It was a cozy sort of chaos, she thought, totally unlike Ian’s - correction, their - library back in San Francisco, where every book was precisely shelved and arranged according to subject matter.

  Ian, however, didn’t seem to mind the slight disarray, and automatically began to scan the titles on the shelf closest to him. The shop was deserted, it seemed, with no other patrons inside at this hour of the day. It was nearly closing time, Tessa noted from the sign in the window, and she hoped they weren’t imposing on the owner by arriving so late.

  Moments later a man of about seventy appeared from the back room, an apologetic smile on his face.

  “Sorry about that,” he greeted. “I was finishing up a phone call, and didn’t mean to make you wait this – oh, my God. Gillian? It can’t really be you. But, no. You must be -”

  “I’m Tessa,” she corrected gently, recognizing the shock on the man’s face. “Gillian’s daughter. And my fiancé is the one who spoke to you about the book. Did you know my mother then?”

  The man nodded as he slowly walked closer. “I did, yes. And the person your fiancé spoke with was actually my wife. It was quite a surprise when she mentioned that someone wanted to buy one of Gillian’s books. There isn’t exactly a market for them nowadays. But I would never in a million years have guessed that the person interested in acquiring it was her daughter. Good Lord, you look exactly like your mother, young lady. It’s like looking at a photograph. Or, I suppose, a ghost.”

  Ian extended his hand to the shell-shocked bookseller. “Ian Gregson. I’m Tessa’s fiancé, and the person who spoke to your wife about the book last week.”

  The older man shook Ian’s hand. “Glen Rockwell. My wife and I bought this place from the former owners about six years ago, after we both retired. She was a professor of English Literature at Boston College, while I - well, I worked in publishing. And that’s how I knew Gillian. I was her editor for all four of the books.”

  Tessa couldn’t help the little thrill that shimmered up her spine to actually meet someone who’d known her mother as an adult, someone who’d likely known her quite well. “Is that why you happened to have her books available here?” she asked. “Because they were part of your own collection?”

  Glen turned to her, a warm smile lighting up his wrinkled face and rather weary looking eyes. “You’re very astute, young lady. Just as I predicted you’d be the first time I met you. You were a very inquisitive child, and you loved books. As I recall, your favorite was this beautifully illustrated version of Cinderella that I gave you for your third birthday. You couldn’t read yet, of course, but you loved to look at all the pictures. And you begged your mother to read it aloud multiple times each day.”

  Tessa saw the shock on Ian’s face, and knew her own features must look equally as startled. “You - you knew me?” she whispered in bemusement. “When? I mean, how? I don’t remember you, I’m sorry. And my mother never mentioned your name.”

  Glen shook his balding head sadly. “No, I don’t suppose she did. As for your not remembering me yourself, that’s not really a surprise either. The last time I saw you was just before your fourth birthday, and it was right after that when you and your mother disappeared. I tried to find you for years, but unfortunately Gillian was very, very good at vanishing into thin air when she wanted to. And, hard as it is to imagine now, there was no internet or cell phones twenty-odd years ago. Not like today, when it’s much easier to locate someone.”

  Tessa clutched at Ian’s forearm to steady herself, totally overwhelmed with this revelation. “We moved around a lot. And it probably started right around the time I was four or five years old. Sometimes we moved three or four times in a single year. Mom was - well, pretty unstable by then.”

  “I’m aware,” replied Glen, sighing. “I tried so hard with Gillian, did everything I could short of having her committed, to get her help. She’d stay on her meds for awhile, promise that everything would be different this time. And then she’d decide whatever pills she was taking were stifling her creativity, or making her feel like an alien in her own body, and she’d flush them down the toilet. It was usually a day or two later when she’d pack up her things, take you, and disappear in the middle of the night.”

  Ian, as he always did, was extremely attuned to Tessa’s emotions, and slid an arm around her shoulders to silently offer his support. “Mr. Rockwell,” he began quietly, “you’ll have to forgive Tessa if none of this sounds familiar. Gillian apparently never liked to discuss her past, never divulged much information about her life. We’ve been trying to piece bits and pieces together over the past year, including a visit to Oak Grove just last month. It was - disturbing, to say the least.”

  “I can imagine,” said Glen sympathetically. To Tessa, he inquired “You’ve read the other books, haven’t you?” At her nod, he hesitated before continuing. “And I assume after your visit to Minnesota you’ve realized that the books were about your mother’s life? That the character of Chelsea was really Gillian.”

  “I know,” replied Tessa in a low voice. “And I also know now that my grandmother was abusive, that all the scenes in the first two books actually happened. It was - upsetting to realize that everything was based on real life. But, please. Will you tell me what you know about my mother? And how you knew me? Ian’s right. I have very few memories of my childhood, not even any photos or other mementoes. Everything was lost in a fire ten years ago. Including my mother.”

  Glen closed his eyes, a visible shudder passing through his slightly rotund body. “So she’s dead then.” It was more statement than question. ‘I figured as much. Your mother - when she was manic, it was like watching an entire fireworks display going off on the Fourth of July. She had so much passion and energy, so much love for life. But someone who pushes herself that hard, who refuses to stop and take a breath every now and then - well, that sort of passion tends to fade rapidly. ‘She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too bright for this world.’ I always think of Gillian whenever I read that quote.”

  Ian nodded. “Wuthering Heights. And, yes. From what little I know of Gillian, I would say that was probably a fitting description. Would you possibly have some time to spend with us, Mr. Rockwell? I know Tessa would be incredibly grateful to learn whatever she could about her mother. As she said, there was really nothing left after the fire. That’s why we’ve been searching for more than a year to complete the collection of Gillian’s books. Until we found a hardcover edition with a book jacket, Tessa didn’t even have a photo of her mother.”

  Glen brightened. “Well, I can help you there. Back in my office I’ve got an envelope stashed away somewhere with old photos of your mother. Even ones of you as a baby an
d a little girl, I believe. Look, just let me close up the place, it’s about that time anyway, and we can sit in my office and chat for a bit. Give me just a few minutes. Oh, and before I forget.”

  He walked behind the counter where the cash register sat, and reached for something on a shelf. “This is what you came here for, I believe.”

  Glen handed her a nearly new paperback copy of the long sought after fourth book Gillian had penned. Tessa stared at it in disbelief before hugging it close against her chest.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ve wanted to read this so badly. Needed to know how her story continued.”

  Glen smiled at her sadly. “It’s different than the other books. More upbeat, more positive. But there are also a number of chapters and passages where her writing became erratic, and almost muddled. I remember having to make an awful lot of edits just to get it published. It didn’t sell nearly as well as the others, which is probably why you’ve had such a difficult time finding a copy. But I won’t spoil it for you, dear. It’s - well, I think you’ll be pleased overall, especially with the way it ends. Now, let me lock up and we’ll go have a good long chat in my office.”

  Tessa was hardly able to contain her excitement as she clutched Ian’s arm. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she murmured happily. “To not only find the book, but someone who actually knew my mother? And me! And he has photographs, Ian! Ones of me as a baby. I can’t believe this.”

  Ian grinned down at her. “I can. After all, didn’t you realize that today’s a Wednesday? And only good things happen to you on Wednesdays now.”

  She laughed in delight, and began to flip through the pages of the book they had tried to find for so many months. “Well, I hope you don’t have too much work for me this evening, Mr. Gregson,” she teased. “This book doesn’t appear to be as long as the other ones, so I might be able to get through half of it tonight.”