His mother was also right about not being able to hate Macy. For all her faults Macy gave him a beautiful daughter and a couple good years of memories. Just because she’d allowed her wants to override everything and everyone else, shouldn’t diminish the good she’d helped create. And her selfishness shouldn’t cloud the good in Tessa. He wouldn’t allow Macy’s malice to control him a minute longer. The letting go would be an everyday process. Until it wasn’t. But he wouldn’t fully be able to let go of the pain of the past without stepping into his future. With Tessa. She was his future. His and Emma’s. He’d allowed his insecurities, doubts and pain enough footholds.
No more. No more drudging up what had been. He was determined to start fresh. To choose love. To choose Tessa. He needed to see her. In person. To tell her he loved her. To beg for her forgiveness. Hope she would accept it.
With Mabel gone for the night, he’d have to wait until the sun came up before he could go to Tessa’s, but he could wait.
Emma tugged him from his revelation with her sweet voice. “And I think Miss Tessa loves you too.” He could only hope the wisdom of a four year old was as true as the Gospel.
~*~
With an hour and a half workout, breakfast, shower, and dressing a half-sleep toddler checked off his morning list, Ryland whipped his SUV into one of the last remaining parking spots at church. He unlatched Emma from her booster seat and she slipped her hand in his as they walked the few steps to the clapboard white structure older than the town itself.
“Daddy, y’think I can run ahead?”
“No, darlin’. But I do think you might want to go to Kids Church today.”
“Really? Why you think that?”
Oh, so many things wrong with the grammar. “I believe it would be nice to worship with kids your own age. You’re almost five. Ready for kindergarten. You’re ready to graduate to worship with the big kids.”
“But I like listening to Pastor Tom. His voice is reals deep and when he’s tryin’ to make a point it gets reals loud. But not scary. Just loud. Makes me giggle.”
“I’m certain Pastor Tom would love to have you laugh at his serious moments, but I think you should try Kids Church today. OK?”
With a sigh she nodded and tugged Ryland toward the side entrance splattered with confetti paint and an arched sign screaming, ‘Kids this way.’
The drop-off took a few extra minutes and he slid in the back row while the announcements were being read. Scanning the congregation he couldn’t see Tessa, but she had to be there. Her father was back to preaching full time. He couldn’t imagine ‘skipping’ was allowed even when the PK was an adult PK.
Straining for a glimpse of Tessa, he missed the additional latecomers piled into his pew. He was shocked to see Jane Barrett and her husband, Lindy, as well as Sean and Maggie, who tended to split their time between the hometown church and a mega-church near Columbus.
Jane gave him a broad smile. “Whew!” she whispered. “I was worried we’d be walking in during the prayer.” She kissed his cheek in greeting. “I always forget how long the drive is from downtown.”
“Why are you sliding in the back row like a bunch of sinners?”
“Because we are?” His former babysitter gave him a wink. “Daddy’s talking today. Giving his testimony. Bitsy insisted we all attend. I’m sure Molly and Jake are somewhere near the front. They never disappoint Bits. Me, on the other hand…” She shrugged.
He hadn’t been aware they were beginning testimonies again, but with Tom back in his pulpit the change to worship made sense. The pastor loved to have examples of God’s hand displayed for his congregation. And the loving father, farmer, and friend, Henry Grey, was a prime example of the love God had for everyone.
Settling into his seat, he bowed his head to pray and hoped wherever Tessa was in the church her heart was still open to him. To them.
As the offering plates began to pass down the pews, a high school student sang a reverent solo, plucking at his heart strings.
Jane nudged the plate against his shoulder. He dropped his envelope in the offering before refocusing his attention on the music.
Jane leaned over to him. “Where’s Tessa? I hear things hit a rough patch between you two. Did you make up?”
“What did you hear?”
“Just the typical. You two were in a fight. Blah, blah, blah. You’re an idiot. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Jane,” her husband covered her hands with his. “We should probably listen to the music. Not focus on Ryland’s love life. I think the Lord deserves one hour of undivided attention.”
Giving him an I’m-sorry shrug, she shifted in her seat and focused on the soloist. She leaned into her husband’s side as he stretched an arm around her shoulders. Like a choreographed play, Sean mimicked Lindy’s move, kissing the curly head of his future wife, who snuggled against his him.
Suddenly, the hallowed place of worship hollowed Ryland. With the outward expression of love and contentment, he felt lost. Searching the congregation, his heart ached to see the face of the one he loved. Once he saw her, once he sought and graciously received her forgiveness, his world would be righted. He’d be at peace; just like his dream. Glancing at his watch, he only had forty more minutes until he could freely search.
At the end of worship, Ryland gave Jane a quick hug good-bye agreeing to another group dinner in an effort to extricate himself from the barrage of questions. Slipping past several friends and acquaintances, he caught his mother’s eye as she was deep in conversation with Sissy Jenkins.
Debating the obligatory hug his mother required from each of her children and another confrontation with Sissy he slowed his steps. But six feet six inches did not ever get paired with a short stride and he couldn’t avoid hearing Sissy’s whispers to his mother.
“He said she left this morning. Some publishing deal out of the blue. It’s a real shame your boy couldn’t lock her down.” The words ripped at his heart. He was too late. How could he be too late? It had only been forty-eight hours since he’d slipped her the note about dinner. He’d thought he had the rest of his life. Apparently the rest of his life ended at noon on Sunday.
“Ryland, I didn’t see you.” His mother stepped into his embrace and whispered. “We don’t know anything for sure. Don’t jump to conclusions. OK?”
He nodded and stepped away from his mother.
“Wish you hadn’t made her mad,” Sissy said. “Having her in town certainly made for a happier pastor. I heard Jamison offered her a fulltime position. The kids seem to love her. But she called yesterday and turned him down.” She narrowed her gaze on Ryland. “You certainly messed up things for everyone. I’ll see you at Jazzercise, Nancy.” And off she went to spread more Sissy Jenkins cheer.
“Ryland, don’t listen to her. You know she judges every situation as if she is running a TV courtroom. Maybe Tessa has another reason for not being here.”
“Sure, Mom.” But he was sure of only one thing.
Tessa Tarrington had left Gibson’s Run without saying good-bye.
40
The swoosh of the street-sweeper cleaning in front of her apartment pushed Tessa from her reoccurring dream. More of a memory than a dream. Swaying in Ryland’s arms.
Twisting to her side, she dragged her feather pillow to her chest and squeezed. Glancing at the bedside calendar, she noted the marked star heralding the street sweepers. Three weeks since Ryland had walked away from her. Three weeks after she’d left Gibson’s Run for good.
Three weeks since Jim Evanston called her with an offer. An offer she told him to stick. He and his ugly-hearted wife wanted her to write the untold story of her “tragic” romance with Joey and her torrid “affair” with Ryland. They hinted at the book they were fast-tracking about Everett Tanner and his many women—including Macy. But they wanted a bookend deal. Both sides of the spousal betrayal story. Macy’s and Ryland’s.
The vileness of suggesting anyone—including her—would write such trash made her s
ee the truth in Ryland’s accusations. She rapidly shut the door on a possible story and threatened legal action if any book about her, Ryland, Joey or anyone in her circle was floated by E&E. She’d worked for the Evanston’s long enough to know what made them quake. Cash flow moving in any direction but into their pockets was unthinkable.
At the end of the call she wished she’d been on a house phone and could have slammed the receiver into the cradle with a crack. Hitting the off button didn’t have the same soap opera effect.
Before she could lift her gaze across the street to see if she could catch Ryland, Terrell called. As surreal as an offer to write her own life story was, Terrell’s call could have been filmed for a science fiction movie. He’d casually pitched the Guard-Ann series to a few of his publisher friends.
“Nothing formal, mind you. Just wanted to see if it would hold water.”
Within days he was fielding offers from three of the biggest children’s imprints in the country. She had her pick of who to sign with, but he recommended the one with a four book deal including an option of a cartoon based on the story. Clearly the biggest pay-out for him, but the potential of writing under her own name was mind-blowing.
Shocked, she’d slid to a bench and asked Terrell to set up meetings for the following week. After hanging up the phone with him, she’d called Lily and asked if Beau’s daddy would loan the plane to her for another round-trip to Columbus.
Even after her father had scolded her for running away again, and she denied it, she knew the truth. She’d run. Again. But without Ryland’s willingness to trust her, to believe in her, their relationship couldn’t move forward. And facing a life in Gibson’s Run without Ryland or Emma —knowing the outcome—she just couldn’t muster the energy.
Her new phone—new number; new life—buzzed on her bedside table and she answered it with a swipe.
“Yes, Lily.”
“Open your door right now.”
Before she could toss back her covers, the pounding started.
Slipping on a robe, she knotted the belt as she slammed open the door.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“No time for small talk.” She thrust a coffee in her hand. “Drink. We have much to discuss and I need to have you fully awake and alert.”
She followed a frenzied Lily to her couch and sipped the rich chicory coffee steeped with creamy milk. Medicine for her weary soul.
“I know how she did it.” Lily said, slamming her coffee on the ottoman.
“Careful with the furniture. Didn’t do anything to you.” Tessa sipped from the to-go cup. “How who did what? I’m barely coherent Lil. Let the coffee find my blood stream.”
“Bobbi Ann.”
Coffee burned through her nostrils and over her lips. “Warn a girl before you use a name like hers. Nearly tore the inside of my mouth out.”
Pushing off the couch Tessa padded to the kitchen and snagged a glass of water to cool the scalding. “Now what did the nefarious nitwit do this time.”
“She’s the source. The leak. The thief.”
Lowering to the couch, Tessa drew her legs to sit cross-legged facing Lily. “She’s my burglar? You’ve got to be kidding me. How? Why?”
“The why’s pretty easy. She hates you and thinks you have everything her blessed little heart deserves. Writing career. Double digit manuscripts. Cozy relationships with dozens of stars. Trust of everyone in the industry. Two star athletes fighting over you. And there’s always the Billy situation. You know how she hates that he liked you before he ever made a play for her.”
“So not true. We were in class together. Friends. He needed help. That’s all.”
“Hmphf. Doubt the feeling was mutual from Billy’s side, but you made your position pretty clear and direct. So he moved on to more welcoming pastures.”
“Regardless. She and Billy are married now. She can’t seriously still be jealous over college.”
“She can, and she is. She’s made it her life mission to ruin everything you have.”
“Well, that’s a dumb mission.”
“Bobbi Ann.”
Tessa nodded. Enough said.
Lily went to the print of New Orleans she’d given to Tessa as a house warming present. It was the lone hanging piece she had. Brick walls were no joke.
She tilted the painting and revealed a tiny hole in the mortar. Tessa moved to stand beside Lily and slid her finger inside the hole. It was empty. “Why are we poking our fingers in old building holes?”
“This isn’t an old building hole. This is an expertly drilled new old building hole.”
“And this is important why?”
“Because of this.” Lily reached in her pocket and pulled out a tiny black cylinder—barely bigger than her fingertip.
“And this is?”
“A recorder. She’s been spying on you. On all of us. Probably since her daddy so generously gave us that big discount.”
“What?”
“When I was packing up my apartment, I noticed a few perfect holes in the walls—behind pictures—I was certain weren’t there when I moved in. I contacted Mr. Risdy because I was concerned about my security deposit, and he said not to worry. Real quick. Had my security deposit back in my account before I was officially moved out of the apartment.
“And then last week, I stopped at Ella’s to pick up her mail. Water the dozens of plants. Etcetera while she’s working on her new contract, and I noticed one of her paintings was askew.”
“You just happened to notice?”
“Hey, I’m super observant. Why do you think my young adult novels are so intense?”
“Because you have the maturity level of your readership?”
“Mean.” But her twinkling smile recanted the admonishment. “Regardless, I straightened the painting and noticed the hole. Only this little guy was stuck inside. Ella added extra security after your burglary. Triple deadbolts, so on. I think the incident freaked her out more than she was willing to say. Anyway, breaking in—even if you were the owner of the building with a master set of keys—would be impossible now. “
“And because of holes in our three apartments you concluded that Bobbi Ann—I don’t sweat for anything but shopping—Risdy became a mastermind criminal whose been tracking our every move and listening in on our conversations? Destroying my life bit by bit?”
“Well, yes.”
“Lily, this is a harebrained idea even for you. What evidence do you have—besides the holes which could have been there when we moved in and didn’t notice, and a recorder that could have been put there by anyone? People are generally innocent until proven guilty in this country.”
“I researched the serial number on the recorder. With a little finagling of my father-in-law and Beau, I was able to use some of their contacts in the police department to confirm the purchase. Made by one Ellen Risdy. Bobbi Ann’s mother. Who—God bless her soul—is in a hospital in Northern Louisiana for the mentally ill. Bobbi Ann is using her sick momma to wheedle her way into our private lives.”
The tiny hairs on the back of Tessa’s neck stood at attention.
“But why? I can almost get the ‘she hates me’ reasoning, but this seems like an awful lot of hoops to jump through just to hear a few conversations with clients. Even if she did steal my notes, what did she get out of it?”
“Other than ruining your life?”
“Other than that.”
“She secured a contract with E&E. Days after your life was in shambles because of your break-in.” Lily began to count out on her fingers. “Your career ruined. Sent you packing to Ohio. Decimated your love life.”
“Fair enough. Let’s just suppose for a minute she is the culprit behind the terrible, awful day.”
“She totally is.”
“Easy, Detective Lily Mae of the made-up-law-enforcement-agency, guilty until proven innocent.”
“Guilty,” Lily muttered.
Tessa shook her head. “Listen. I know you are al
l hyped up on a mystery solving high, but let’s just be logical and reasonable. No conclusion jumping.”
Lily sighed. “Agreed.”
“Let’s start at the very beginning.”
The two friends began to walk through the last several months.
Tessa debunking. Lily prosecuting.
The scale tipping to Lily.
“She wanted you humiliated. I’m sure of it. I think she’s been listening to you for well over a year. Think about some of those leaks. Your senatorial candidate client a year ago. How could anyone know about his daughter’s problems with depression and near suicide? Or the teeny bopper rocker’s eating disorder? You didn’t write about any of it. But somehow the tabloids found out? You didn’t even tell me until it was out in the papers.”
“Gossip is a hard beast to keep wrangled.” Tessa said. “They all have assistants. Anyone could have leaked those stories. And just look at how rabid the idea of making Bobbi Ann into a villain has made you. Besides, even if she was spying on me, why would she spy on you and Ella?”
“It makes sense. We’re your best friends. If you were venting or sharing anything with anyone it would be us. Simple logic. It’s totally Bobbi Ann. And I have more proof.” She sucked in a deep breath, pressing the air back through her lips in a whistle. “Yesterday, I cornered Ronny Rapaport down at the Picayune and after a little arm twisting, he confirmed Bobbi Ann was the source behind the article on Joey. They corroborated her story with the driver, but when it all synced up, they ran with it.” Lily’s voice lowered. “She followed you to the hospital and took the picture of the two of you out front.”
“I just can’t believe it.” The room swam before Tessa’s eyes. The pieces of the mystery began to click in place. The leaks on books she was writing based on interviews she’d conducted in her apartment. The flood of additional untold information on her clients after the burglary of her apartment. The conversations about Macy and Joey she had with Ryland in her apartment. Her apartment. She was sitting in the epicenter of her own demise.
Life on the Porcelain Edge Page 27