by Laura Moore
The two-lane road was empty, the few houses that were built near it lit by single porch lights or lanterns suspended over front doors. No motels appeared with vacancy signs. The world was dark and asleep.
A wave of fatigue hit her: physical exhaustion combined with the emotional turmoil of what she’d just done …
Oh God, had she been a fool to leave? Yes—no—she wasn’t sure anymore, only knew that her heart hurt more than she could have ever imagined. She’d lost Ward, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever find such happiness again. Her eyes closed against the pain and then abruptly she opened them, terrified at what she’d just done. It was increasingly clear that she was in no condition to drive. She needed a place to rest.
Maybe when she neared Route 20 she would come upon one of the larger chain motels and she’d find refuge, a place to gather herself.
Suddenly, Tess became aware of a car following her. Had it been there long and she’d been too preoccupied to notice? She wasn’t sure, but for some reason its presence on the lonely road caused her heart to stutter and then race as the darkness pressed closer. She was now miles from anything she knew.
Maybe the car would turn off into a driveway or onto a crossroad. She alternately cast nervous glances in the rearview mirror as she checked ahead for intersections. Whenever one neared, she looked back, hoping to see the bright orange flicker of a turn signal. None. Her apprehension grew.
Was the car following her? Really following her? Was it getting closer, the driver planning to overtake her? Tired and wrung-out, she could no longer distinguish justified alarm from paranoia.
Fear clawed at her. Her breathing grew heavy as panic edged closer. She jumped at the ring of her cellphone lying on the seat next to her. “Yes?” Her voice was shrill.
“It’s me. I’m behind you. There’ll be a Super 8 Motel in about eight miles. I’ll wait until you’re safe in your room.” Ward disconnected before she could reply.
Oh God, oh God, what had she done? She pressed her lips tight to stop their trembling, the words ricocheting inside of her, bruising. Even now, after everything, he was still keeping her safe.
She made it to the motel and roused a sleepy night clerk for a key to a room. Stepping outside again, she saw his Jeep idling. But he didn’t leave the car. She took that as a sign. Too much had gone wrong—was still wrong—between them.
Her fingers were clumsy as she inserted the key and pushed open the door to a sterile box of a room. It was almost more than she could manage to shut the door and draw the deadbolt, because she knew what she would find when she moved to the window and drew back the drab yellow curtain to peer out at the parking lot. Ward’s Jeep was gone.
Exhaustion and misery overtook her. She fell onto the bed and lay curled on it as sleep claimed her, too quickly, too thoroughly, to resist. Her dreams were not, as she’d feared, of Edward Bradford. Worse, they were of Ward, of his smiling face as he held her in his arms.
Astoria, Queens
Dear Tess,
If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Who knows how much time has passed. It could be weeks; it could be years. To butcher Faulkner, “Only when the clock stops does time come to life.” My clock has stopped and so it’s time to give you the answers you deserve. I’m not sure an apology is possible. I’ve acted selfishly, yet I know myself well enough to recognize I’d fail again if I were lucky enough to meet you in a crowded party and see your smile. The first time I heard your laughter, it reminded me of the Trevi Fountain on a bright summer day, one of my favorite places on earth. I’d have liked to have gone there with you. I would have liked to show you so many of the places I love.
Unfortunately, even then I knew it was not to be.
The first headache struck a week before that party where you were passing appetizers. The headache had been accompanied by vertigo, the dizziness severe enough to empty my stomach before I could reach the bathroom. The sensation was not new. I’d suffered such headaches before, when I was a senior in high school. I knew what they heralded. I already understood that faithless time was slipping away from me.
But when I saw you, I wanted that smile for my own. You were so very lovely. I repeat, I was selfish, I was greedy.
The headaches began to plague me with tiresome, vicious regularity. I managed to keep them from you, even once I’d convinced you to move in. But their frequency told me that I had to act quickly. So I proposed and was given the light shining in your eyes as my reward. In asking you to marry me, was I out of my mind as well as dying? Not at all. I wanted to be able to give you what was mine and the only way I felt confident that my wishes would be respected was to make you my wife.
Would I have asked you had I not been knocking on hell’s door? I know you’re wondering. Honestly? Probably not. I spared you the unpleasantness of my family, Tess—perhaps my one unselfish act—but let’s say my parents’ example of matrimony wasn’t particularly inspiring.
Anyway, we wed. And then a problem I hadn’t anticipated presented itself. I hadn’t really thought about how my illness would affect you once the symptoms became obvious. I could handle my love for you. I couldn’t cope with yours for me. Tess, my intent in marrying you was never to have you nurse me or grieve for me, but to allow you to spread your wings and fly—that would come after my death. So I had to rectify things.
Here I must tell the ugly truth again. It wasn’t that hard to hurt you, Tess. The pain I’ve been suffering for months now is merciless. It’s made me so, too. But, though I did my best to drive you away as quickly as I could, you were stronger than I ever gave you credit for. My only recourse was to leave you and kill any remaining affection you might hold in your heart.
You may no longer want even the memory of my love. My money, however, is now yours, all yours, and I hope it will allow you to achieve your dreams. The lawyer’s letter that you’ll find included here will outline the basics. When you meet with him, he’ll explain everything in full.
I regret much, my darling Tess. Knowing you, never.
David
The letter rustled between Tess’s shaking hands. A tear and then two escaped and fell, with more following. She didn’t notice. She was already rereading her husband’s words.
The letter had been waiting for her on the dresser in her childhood room, propped against an old photograph of her and Christopher when they were children, before Christopher had to be placed in the facility.
After four days of solid driving, she’d reached home late that afternoon, pulling up to the modest brick house. Her mother’s rosebushes, planted along the metal fence enclosing their front yard, were in bloom. Her father had mowed the tiny lawn. A few stray clippings were scattered along the walk up to the house. Her mom and dad must have been listening for her, for they were there, pushing open the storm door and stepping onto the stoop before she’d reached the concrete steps.
Exhausted and heartbroken though she was, Tess had been happy to see them after so many months and had smiled tremulously as she and her parents exchanged hugs. Her mother’s pretty, careworn face was creased in a smile, and her father, in his short shirtsleeves and pressed trousers, had patted her back as they entered her childhood home.
The house was the same as always: immaculate and just a little threadbare. The aroma of her mother’s marinara sauce reached her, drifting in from the kitchen’s open door, past the dining room with its square dining table and cut-glass vase of her mother’s roses in its center.
She sniffed. “It smells good, Mom.”
“It’s almost ready. We’ll eat early. I can see how tired you are, Teresa.”
“Dead on my feet.” And sick at heart.
“Give me your keys,” her father had said. “I’ll bring in your bags for you.”
Dinner had been a quiet affair. Tess had nearly fallen asleep before finishing her pasta. “I’m sorry, Mom. I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll be more myself tomorrow, I promise.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“Th
at’s a long drive you made, Tess,” her father had said. “And in such a small car.”
A car that, thanks to Ward, was a lot safer than the one her father had steered her toward. Just the thought of Ward opened a floodgate of pain and regrets. She forced her thoughts to the here and now. This was her real life. “It’s small but it runs really well, Dad. I’m afraid that other car wasn’t up to a cross-country drive. Can I go with you to visit Christopher tomorrow?”
Her mother smiled. “Your father is going to take the afternoon off. We’ll visit Christopher together.”
“That’ll be nice. Really nice.” She’d risen from her chair and made to clear their plates, but her mother put a stop to her effort.
“Leave the dishes, Teresa. I’ll tend to them. You go upstairs now. Sleep will do you good.”
On leaden legs she’d tripped up the stairs and then made it down the short hallway to her room, which overlooked the backyard—the same postage-stamp size as their front yard. She glanced out the window.
The sun hadn’t even set yet. At Silver Creek, Pete, Jim, Carlos, Holly, and Frank would be beginning to water and feed some of the animals. Quinn might be in the garden, weeding or pinching back lettuce, or perhaps she’d be working with Tucker or making sure her goats hadn’t gotten into mischief. Up at the main lodge, Roo and Jeff would be ratcheting up the energy level in the kitchen. She could almost hear the music coming out of the iPod’s playlist. Jeff would have liked her mother’s marinara. The tomatoes tasted so fresh.
And Ward? Where would he be? Would he be training Bilbao, putting the gelding through his high-speed spins or galloping him flat-out across the corral to stop on a dime as if the horse came equipped with antilock breaks? Maybe the gelding was practicing staring down a heifer or a young steer. Or was Ward out riding Rio with a group of guests, leading them down a trail at a lope? Was he thinking of her? Was he staring off in the distance, filled with longing, aching for her with every breath he took? Could he possibly miss her and feel as miserable as she did?
Despair rocking her, she’d swayed and had to put her hands on the window ledge to steady herself. Drawing a ragged breath, she’d turned slowly, and that was when her gaze had landed on the legal-sized envelope on her dresser.
It was the one her mother had told her about so many weeks ago. Her parents hadn’t forwarded it. She didn’t blame them. She’d told them not to, had stressed how little import it could contain. She decided to open it. Her emotions were so dulled and battered that nothing more could affect them. As she sat down on the edge of her bed, she’d glanced at the return address printed on the envelope.
Yes, “Roberts and Little” sounded like a law firm—a law firm with a nice Park Avenue address, she’d noted as she tore open the back flap. She’d wondered whether Lucas, Anna’s boyfriend, knew of the firm. Inside, she was surprised to find two separately folded packets of stationery. Frowning, she unfolded the first and saw her husband’s bold, slanted script. Without thought, she dropped the other in her lap. Her heart hammering in her chest, she began reading.
Dear Tess …
The tears she’d been unable to shed for so many months fell at last as she read and reread David’s words.
She would have to sort out her feelings eventually, but right now her sadness warred with anger and disbelief that David had gone to such lengths to manipulate her. Not only that, he’d willingly crushed her heart and her belief in herself in order to drive her away when his illness could no longer be hidden. That was what he had called love.
How blind he’d been to her character. He’d thought he could excuse the betrayal she’d suffered at his hands by leaving her his money, as if that would erase the damage he’d inflicted. She’d married him for love. He’d married her to foil his parents—wasn’t that what it ultimately boiled down to?
A thought struck her. What if this letter had reached her shortly after David’s death? What if her parents had forwarded it out of respect for its official, legal appearance?
How would she have reacted? Would the bitterness and anger that was consuming her as she considered the scope of David’s machinations have ruined her relationship with Ward?
No. She’d quickly recognized Ward’s true character—his strength and desire to protect those he loved. The answer brought relief tinged with sorrow.
The problem with her and Ward’s relationship revolved around trust. She’d been so traumatized and shamed by her dealings with David and the Bradfords that she’d hidden her past from Ward, someone she loved. But she wasn’t alone in her inability to trust. Because of the damage Erica inflicted when she rejected him, Ward hadn’t been able to put complete faith in Tess. He hadn’t been able to banish the doubt that she might ultimately be as mercenary as his ex-fiancée.
She glanced at the now slightly crumpled sheets of paper and realized that there was one crucial reason she wished she’d had this letter in her hands sooner. If she could have seen, written in these inked lines, just how shallow David’s love had been, she knew she would have had the courage to tell Ward the whole truth. But she’d instructed her parents not to forward the envelope—another mistake she would have to live with.
Wearily, she picked up the second letter, unfolded it, and read its contents. When she finished her lips were pressed in a grim line. Fine, she’d contact Paul Roberts, Esq., first thing tomorrow. The sooner she handled the matter of her inheritance, the better.
Tess came downstairs the next morning in a severe navy blue dress. It was as no-nonsense a business outfit as she could find in the suitcases she’d hastily packed and lugged to her car. She’d hung the dress in the bathroom while she showered. The steam generated as she tried to scour the cobwebs from her mind and the grit of days in a car had taken care of the creases.
What the shower hadn’t cleared of her groggy mind and the gritty sandlot that had piled up behind her eyes, the aroma of her mother’s coffee promised to erase. Her parents drank espresso at breakfast. Just breathing its scent did wonders.
Her mom must have heard Tess turn the shower water off because two golden slices of toast were on her plate next to an empty cup and a glass already filled with orange juice.
Tess kissed her mother on her cheek. “That smells good,” she said.
“Sit, or your toast will get cold. I thought you’d be down sooner.” Her mother too was already dressed. She’d have been to the seven-o’clock Mass.
Tess clasped the handle of the stovetop espresso maker, the kind her parents had used since forever, and poured the thick black brew into her cup. She took a sip and felt her brain settle into order. “Sorry. I had to make a call. Mom, that letter upstairs? It was from David’s lawyer. That’s who I was calling just now. There are some papers I need to sign. I’m meeting with him at eleven-thirty, but I’m sure to be back by early afternoon. What time do you and Dad plan to visit Christopher?”
“I was thinking three P.M. so that it won’t interfere with Christopher’s dinner. You know how that upsets him.”
Tess nodded. Anything that disturbed Christopher’s anticipated routine could cause terrible distress. “But he’s doing okay otherwise?”
“He’s still sleeping more than he used to and he’s kind of subdued, but he doesn’t seem unhappy or in pain. He likes the postcards you’ve sent him. I put them in a stack on his dresser so we can look at them together.”
“I’m glad he likes them.” She’d picked up a bunch of goofy cards at rest stops along the way to California. “I still have a few left. I’ll bring them for him. And maybe I can buy a video game on my way back from the meeting with the lawyer.”
Her mother sat down in the chair next to her. “You’re a good girl, Teresa.”
Tess’s heart squeezed painfully. “No, Mom, I’m afraid I’m not. I hurt a man back in California, a man I cared deeply for. A man I loved. I kept things from him because I didn’t want to face them again myself or have him think less of me when he heard what I’d done. He found out anyway and so i
t’s over between us.”
“I don’t believe you could have done something that would truly make this man think less of you. You are a good person. Your life hasn’t been easy—other people would be tempted to feel sorry for themselves, but not you, Teresa. You’re strong. You’ll make it right with him somehow, I know.”
Tess smiled at her mother’s staunch faith. She wished she had the same.
Her mother reached out and laid her hand on Tess’s bare arm. Her voice was tentative, as if she were finding her way along a tricky path. “The thing you didn’t want to discuss with this man, was it about that money you received from David’s family? Your father and I, we were so grateful when you told us about it. You did a wonderful thing for Christopher. But, Teresa, your father and I can manage the expenses on our own—”
“No.” The word came out fiercely. “Setting up Christopher’s fund is the one good thing I’ve done. I’m not going to regret that I helped my brother and you and Dad.”
Her mother nodded tightly and squeezed her hand, too overcome to speak. For the first time in many days Tess felt better, like maybe she had done something right.
Midtown Manhattan, with its weekday noise of squealing car tires and rumbling bus engines, with its press of pedestrians moving down the sidewalk like a wall of flesh and babbling tongues, seemed alien to Tess after her five months at Silver Creek. While waiting for a red light to change, she looked up and saw a strip of sky bounded by concrete, steel, and glass. To think that six months ago she wouldn’t have noticed she was missing anything.
It wasn’t that she no longer loved the city. New York was still amazing, with an energy and a vibrancy like nowhere else.
It was just that now she appreciated the rustle of the wind through the trees; the scent of a pine forest in early spring; the feel of a powerful horse moving beneath her, responding to the pressure of her legs, the subtle opening of her hands. What in the noisy urban congestion of New York could compare with those newfound pleasures?