by Harper Bliss
When we arrive at the spot where her remains are buried, at first, I don’t feel anything. It’s as though that veneer of cold hard steel has wrapped itself around my heart again, shutting everything out. The sun is high in a blue sky. The grass is so green. It’s a beautiful day, and Tess and I could be tourists visiting the graves of the handful of famous people buried here. But we’re not. We’re here for Tracy Hunt. My deceased wife. The woman whose life I took, but who robbed me of life long before that.
Tess doesn’t say anything, just leans into me a little closer. I left Chicago over a year ago and have told Tess everything I remember. From the very first time I met Tracy, with her asymmetrical bangs, loud gestures but soft voice, to the last time I saw her, her skull cracked and blood pooling around her dead body. And I have cried. I have cried all the tears that wouldn’t come since Tracy died. Her death still haunts me—I will never forget the instant, the shocking silence of it, the immediate knowledge that something terrible, something irrevocable has happened. When you take a life, no matter the circumstances, your own life changes. But the difference is that, no matter how different it is now—and thank goodness for that—my life does go on. I’m alive. I’m still breathing. And I have Tess.
“Do you know that Al Capone used to be buried here?” I say, just to say something, to fill the silence hanging over us. “Not anymore, though.”
“She was a criminal too, Laura,” Tess says. “She committed crimes against you.”
But I never filed one single police report, I think. I know better than to say it out loud. Heck, I even know better than to still think this way. I never breathed a word about their daughter’s true nature to her parents. As far as I know, they’ll go to their own grave believing it was a stupid accident, one of those inexplicable twists of fate that life can throw at you. I felt insurmountable guilt for my parents-in-law’s grief for the longest time, because to have to bury a child is not something you can recover from either. But Tracy was their child, without them she wouldn’t have existed, and if they ever knew about her uncontrollable temper, they never let on.
“She was many things,” I whisper, while I feel that cold fist around my heart unclenching slowly. “I lost respect for her long before she died and I think that was the hardest. Bruises heal, but to live with that toxic mixture of utter disdain and constant fear. It didn’t make any sense. It was like being two people. She was two people, but so was I. I was never a push-over before her. I didn’t let my parents walk over me when they wanted to change me, I just left. But maybe I used up all my leaving power by doing that. And every time something happened, I vowed I would leave her. I would pack my bags the very next night, the next hour, but I never did. Because then Tracy became her other person again, that person I had fallen in love with, and through some strange, defensive trick of the mind, I did respect her again. I respected her remorse. I respected what we had between us, the love that didn’t seem to languish. Being in an abusive relationship is just one endless mind game. In the end, she did manage to change me into someone I wasn’t. Or I was deep-down all along. I don’t know.”
“I know who you are, Laura.” This is what Tess is so good at. She takes my claims about myself, my guilt and the disdain I have for my personality when I was with Tracy, and tosses them out the window by replacing them with words like this. “You are brave and strong and beautiful and kind-hearted. That’s who you are.”
“That’s who I am with you.” I turn to face her and kiss her in front of Tracy’s grave, while realizing that this was the reason I needed to come here. To be able to do this. The ultimate act of looking at the future, and no longer be ruled by my past.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
TESS
FOUR YEARS LATER
“If I had known in advance you could hear the roar of the crowd from here, I would never have moved here,” Laura says the exact same thing she says every Friday night the Cougars have a home game.
“You can hear it all throughout Nelson, babe.” I have my same-old reply at the ready. “Rub my feet?” I bring my left foot to her lap.
“Can’t you see my lap is taken?” She rubs the back of Socks’s head, who instantly pushes himself against her hand. That cat was an attention whore from the very beginning. The biggest difference between when Laura just brought him home to her Aunt Milly’s house back in the day and now, is that now he’s a lazy fat ginger and no longer that spritely kitten with the high-pitched meow who slept on Laura’s pillow.
“Can’t you see I’m carrying our offspring?” Ostentatiously, I pat my giant belly.
“How much longer until I have a cousin to play with?” Emma asks. She’s sitting with us on the back porch of our newly-built house, instead of attending the Cougars game, and pissing off her father greatly in the process.
“Three more weeks,” I say.
“I’ll rub your feet, Auntie Tess.” She has the sweetest smile on her face.
“That’s very nice of you, Emma, but rubbing pregnant spouses’ feet is not a niece’s job. Why don’t you go pry Socks from Auntie Laura’s lap, so I can put my feet there.”
Emma jumps up. Chunkie, our chocolate labrador, follows on her heel—that dog would follow her to school after she has spent the night at ours. In her rough and careless seven-year-old manner, she liberates Socks from Laura’s lap. Socks is good-natured enough to be toyed with like that, but Chunkie gives a jealous little bark.
“Daddy said that if Socks has babies we can have one,” Emma states proudly.
Laura and I both burst out into a giggle. Scott can be so cruel sometimes—funny, but cruel to his daughter.
“Emma, darling,” Laura begins. “Socks is a male cat. He’s not going to have babies.”
“But you and Auntie Tess are two ladies and you’re having a baby,” she says matter-of-factly.
I wonder what else my brother-in-law has told her. I’m too exhausted by being with child to explain my pregnancy to Emma. She’s too young to understand it, anyway.
“Maybe Chunkie and Socks can have a baby as well,” she adds, not giving up hope just yet.
“That would be a really cute animal,” Laura jumps in. She has finally started rubbing my feet and it feels so good I could do with some peace and quiet right about now. I’ve started respecting my sister much more for going through this three times in her life.
I close my eyes and block out Laura and Emma’s chatter, and think about the child we’re about to have. The new life we’ve created. I’m almost forty-three. Once Laura and I concluded that we both wanted a child, we had to act immediately. We didn’t have the luxury of time to analyze every emotion, worry or doubt. We just had to go for it and do it. We set the process in motion long before we married a year ago. Another leap of faith. And here we are. In our house on my land, which is now also her land.
I look out over our back yard, which isn’t fenced off because there’s no one around—and Chunkie isn’t the kind of dog to stray very far from his home. It’s just fields and Texas flatness and ever-changing colors. A good place to raise a child, I think. After all, I was raised in this town, on a ranch only a few miles away, and my family is here. My born-to family and my brand new family.
“Auntie Tess?” I feel Emma’s little hand on my arm. I guess I’d better start getting used to interrupted rest and endless questions.
“Yes, darling.” I look into Emma’s bright young face. She’s the spitting image of Megan and, therefore, also of me. For a split second, it feels like looking into the future, and looking into our daughter’s face.
“What will you call the baby?” she asks.
The questions are getting more persistent and inquisitive. I glance at Laura and, every time I do, now as much as when we first met, a warmth spreads underneath my skin. We only just decided on a name a few days ago. Laura wanted to start on the design for the birth announcement and she claimed that was impossible without a firm decision on the name.
“Your cousin will be called M
illy.” After Laura’s aunt without whom none of this would have happened, I think. Without whom we wouldn’t be sitting here right now, counting the weeks until our child is born.
“That’s a pretty name,” Emma says. “Mommy says that she and Daddy…” Emma starts chattering again, as much talking to Chunkie and Socks as to us, and I look over at Laura again. Once we really started thinking about it, coming up with a name was easy. Milly—not short for anything, just Milly—Douglas-Baker will arrive in this house in less than a month’s time, and then our lives will start all over again.
Laura never had to say it out loud, but I know that one of the reasons why she wanted to have this child is because of some cosmic awareness that if you take a life, you must create a new one. Perhaps, once Milly is born, she can consider herself even with the universe as well.
As for me, I’ve felt even with the universe since the day my cart bumped into hers at the supermarket.
“I love you,” Laura mouths, and gives the ball of my foot an extra good squeeze.
In response, I give a deep contented sigh, as I smile at my wife and overlook our Texas land.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Being from Belgium and living in Hong Kong, I’ve never set foot in Texas, but a certain television show charmed me so much that, after binging on all five seasons twice, I knew I had to set a story in a small town in the great state of Texas. However, I would not have gotten it right without the generous help and input of Texas native and my brand new beta-reader, Carrie. I may have to come visit you in the Lone Star state some day.
As always, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to all of you, my readers. No clichéd saying is more true than the one that says a writer is nothing without her readers. I’m fully aware, dear reader, that without you, I’m nothing. Thank you for making me something.
Cheyenne Blue was once again my trusted guide in the final stages of production of this book. We’ve worked together on quite a few projects now and her edits, while always on-the-money and precise, hurt me less and less, which leads me to believe that having a friend as an editor is a big advantage. (She also suggested that cowgirl Sherry and best friend Rachel would make a great pairing in another book.)
To all members of my Launch Team: what you do for me and my books is selfless, invaluable, and highly appreciated. (And got me an audio deal!)
Last but by no means least, I must thank my wife, because she’s the one who has to deal with all the crazy (and I have a lot of that.) She picks me up when I’m down, does a silly dance for me during our afternoon breaks, and brightens up every single morning simply by waking up beside me.
Thank you.
GET TWO FREE BOOKS!
Building a relationship with my readers is the very best thing about writing. I occasionally send newsletters with details on new releases, special offers and giveaways.
And if you sign up to my mailing list I’ll send you all this free stuff:
1. A free copy of Hired Help, my very first (and therefore very special to me) lesbian erotic romance story.
2. A free copy of my first ‘longer’ work, my highly romantic novella (35.000 words) Summer’s End set on an exotic beach in Thailand.
3. You’ll have to wait and see, but I may have a nice surprise up my sleeve… ;-)
You can get Hired Help (a spicy F/F novelette), Summer’s End (a deeply romantic lesfic novella) and the ‘surprise’ (it will be hot and romantic, I promise!) for free by signing up at harperbliss.com/freebook/
Get a free copy of Hired Help and Summer’s End when you subscribe to Harper’s mailing list.
Click here to get started: www.harperbliss.com/freebook/
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Harper Bliss is the author of the novels Seasons of Love, Release the Stars, Once in a Lifetime and At the Water’s Edge, the High Rise series, the French Kissing serial and several other lesbian erotica and romance titles. She is the co-founder of Ladylit Publishing, an independent press focusing on lesbian fiction. Harper lives on an outlying island in Hong Kong with her wife and, regrettably, zero pets. She enjoys talking about herself and her writing process (but mostly herself) on her weekly YouTube broadcast Bliss & Tell
Harper loves hearing from readers and if you’d like to drop her a note you can do so via [email protected]
Reviews are also greatly appreciated (and help the author as well as other readers.) If you can spare the time, you can find links to Far from the World We Know on Amazon and Goodreads here: harperbliss.com/book/far-from-the-world-we-know/
Website: www.harperbliss.com
Twitter: @HarperBliss
Facebook: facebook.com/HarperBliss
YouTube: youtube.com/c/HarperBliss
Instagram: instagram.com/harperblissauthor
Read an excerpt of Harper Bliss’s bestselling novel now…
Seasons of Love
(Sample)
CHAPTER ONE
I try to recline my seat, but as soon as I push the button and apply some pressure, I feel the knees of the passenger behind me resisting my attempt. Perhaps I should have listened to Miranda when she told me to book a business class ticket. “But this is not a business trip,” I’d said, to which she’d just responded with a sigh. Not that I would ever buy an overpriced ticket just to have some more room on any trip—or that I ever go on business trips.
“Some more wine, Ma’am?” a female member of the cabin crew asks.
“No, thank you.” I hand her my empty plastic cup. I’ve had two units already. Despite this being the start of a long overdue holiday, I won’t let go of my health principles so easily.
I close my eyes, the back of my seat straight again, and think about the two weeks of absolute nothingness stretching out in front of me.
“At the end of your life, you won’t wish you had worked more, Alice,” Miranda said a few months ago. “As your partner in this company, I demand you take three weeks off this summer.” She’d offered me her phone and had me flick through some pictures of blue skies and a stylish house a few minutes from the beach in Quinta do Lago. “Consider it booked. How does August 1st till August 21st sound?”
“Three weeks? Have you lost your mind?” I’d glared at her, but had difficulty keeping my gaze off her phone. The last picture she’d shown me was of the swimming pool, which was bathed in the most exquisite light, the water a reflection of all things summer. It didn’t help that she came to me with this on one of London’s more dreary days. “Fine, but it’ll have to be two weeks. Three is just ludicrous.”
Miranda had stretched out her hand and demanded we’d shake on the deal. Apart from a day here and there and a long weekend in Paris or down the coast in Cornwall, I’m not much of a holidaymaker. I’d rather work than spend too much time with my own thoughts, a work ethic that, in my humble opinion, has allowed Miranda to earn enough money to actually buy that house in the Algarve.
But Miranda got her wish and here I am. The plane is about to land at Faro airport.
After going through all airport shenanigans—another reason to only ever travel by car or train—I pick up my rental car and spread out the map over the steering wheel. The lady behind the counter said the car came with a sat nav, but I like to find my destination the old-fashioned way.
By the time I arrive at Miranda’s house, I’m more than ready for a dip in that pool. And I have to agree with her, because as I park my car in front of the house, a sense of summer, of intense leisure, comes over me. A sensation I’ve never experienced anywhere else. Not for a long while, anyway. I’m tired from the journey, but just arriving here engulfs me in an aura of relaxation.
The house looks every bit as stunning as in the pictures. It’s not overly big, but its white walls look picturesque against the blue of the sky, and the pool is surrounded by grass so green and lush, that someone must water it on a daily basis. I hope they won’t intrude on the complete privacy Miranda guaranteed me for the two weeks I’m taking up residence here.
<
br /> I only brought one suitcase, and I wheel it into the master bedroom, which looks out over the pool area. I inhale deeply, and let the stress of London, work, and the journey here wash off me a little with every exhale.
Before I relax completely and enjoy the rest of this beautiful day, I should get some exercise. The flight was only three hours, but the entire journey took about seven, and my legs are stiff from sitting down too much. In London, my favourite—and only—means of exercise is an hour every morning before work on the stair walker I set up in my spare bedroom. It’s a great way to catch up on the news and stay in shape. When I asked Miranda if there was any gym equipment in her house she’d looked at me funnily, as though that was the most outrageous question ever, even though most hotels around the globe boast some sort of gym on their premises.
“Just relax,” Miranda had said. “Two weeks off won’t destroy your excellent physical condition, Alice.”
It’s not a hardship to have to make do with the pool. I’m not the world’s best swimmer, but it will be good for my biceps, triceps, and deltoids, not to mention release the tension from my legs. I can be adaptable, I want to say to Miranda, but I’ll have to save it for when I see her again in two weeks.