by Mary Campisi
When the second song finished, he figured he’d listen to one more and then take a walk down Main Street, glance in the darkened windows of the shops, and show his presence like Tess’s uncle had taught him. Control through presence, Will Carrick instructed. Works every time. Will had been right about a lot of things, especially Tess.
Cash yawned and eased back in the cruiser, letting Journey’s melody drift over him as he thought of Tess. Will could have ended it all when he caught them making out in the back seat of Cash’s car. Olivia Carrick would have grounded her daughter until she was twenty-five and Tess’s father would have bent to his wife’s will and agreed. Of course, Thomas Carrick would have escaped right after the punishment, just as he’d done for too many years before his death, heading out on the road to peddle dog food.
But Will said nothing to his brother and sister-in-law. He did say plenty to Cash, though, like Cut your hair, stop sneaking around, and pick her up at the front door—which meant, Meet the parents. Cash hadn’t liked authority and didn’t appreciate the ultimatum, but he was all twisted up in Tess; her silky skin, her throaty laugh, her lily-of-the-valley scent. So he did it. That step had turned into another, and eventually, with Will’s guidance, Cash enrolled in the police academy.
And now he’d taken it upon himself to do the same with Tess’s kid brother, JJ. He wasn’t a bad kid, just easily influenced and desperate for acceptance, something that happened when a father either dies or disappears. Cash knew all the signs—shoplifting on a dare, scribbling profanity on public property, drinking in the back seat of a car. The kid listened to Cash even if he ignored his mother and conned his sister, but that was something they were going to work on. Respect was the next step to turn JJ Carrick into a normal human being. If Cash could make the conversion, so could the boy. And though Cash was moving away, JJ knew he’d be checking in on him, which meant accountability. It also didn’t hurt that the boy was just a little afraid of Cash’s kick-ass attitude.
It would all work out fine. Will even had a job for JJ clearing brush and building a barn on his eighteen-acre tract of land, two miles outside Magdalena. As Ramona said, Busy hands leave no room for mischief. His aunt had lots of sayings and if you tempered them to modern-day lingo and threw in a cuss word or two, most made sense. Practical living for the twenty-first century.
Speaking of practical and living, in three days, Tess would sleep in his bed every night—naked. He could touch her and taste her any time he wanted. Now that was damn practical. It sure was living, too. Visions of Tess floated through his brain, settled in his groin…
After, he could never say if it was the sound of the music’s drums or intuition that jerked him to full alert as he spotted the masked figure in baggy clothes running from Oscar’s convenience store. The rush of the implausible kicked in as Cash flung open the squad car door, drew his weapon, and zeroed in on his target. The dead night air clamped the breath in his throat. This didn’t happen in Magdalena, and yet the events spilled out in full-blown action like a police training session. “Police! Stop!”
Officer training couldn’t have scripted the next scene any better. The suspect stopped and Cash advanced, gun drawn. “Hands behind your head.” He called for backup as he assessed the situation, taking in the low-slung jeans and black tennis shoes. He’s just a kid, probably 130 soaking wet. The thought ticked him. No respect for people or property; he belonged in a scared-straight program. That would settle him down. He relaxed his gun. Ten bucks said he knew the kid. JJ probably knew him, too.
Four feet separated Cash from the kid, who stood there, hands at his side. The kid was drunk, high, or bent on being antagonistic because he still hadn’t put his hands behind his head. Fine. He wanted to act like a punk; he’d get treated like a punk. Cash holstered his gun and reached behind his back for his cuffs. A night in jail would sober the kid up; maybe smarten him up, too. “Let’s go, hands behind your head.” He’d cuff him first, then pull off the mask. Cash had half a mind to send JJ to his uncle’s farm in case the boy ever got any ideas about pulling a stunt like this. Manual labor never killed a soul and it damn well saved quite a few. Cash heaved a sigh. There’d be reams of paperwork to deal with, which meant no Tess tonight.
Even in a sleepy town like Magdalena, all good cops lived in the moment, never stretching or considering past real time. Real time got the bad guy, garnered the promotion. Or busted it apart. Mistakes happened in real time, lives were ruined, people died. A cop could anticipate all he wanted, but reality stuck its ugly face in the mix every time: a twitchy gun finger, a moving target that stopped moving. Milliseconds separated the hero from the disgraced, and it was that millisecond that turned out to be Cash’s undoing.
He could hit a moving target from one hundred yards away. Obliterate one from four feet. But he made one big mistake; he didn’t consider the kid a threat and, therefore, he relaxed, which proved a true death knell in the police handbook.
Cash lifted the handcuffs, already planning his scared-straight talk with the kid, when the boy jerked to the right and yanked a gun from his hoodie. The action startled Cash but good cops reacted by instinct and instinct was Cash’s strength. In a single motion, Cash drew his weapon, aimed, and fired. The aim proved dead-on. The suspect dropped the gun and crumpled to the ground in a gasp of air and pain.
“Ah, Christ.” Cash fell to his knees and placed his hands on the boy’s chest. A sticky wetness seeped through the sweatshirt and smeared Cash’s hands. “Hold on, okay? Just hold on. We’ll get you help.” The kid tried to talk but it came out in a croak. “Don’t say anything, okay? I’m going to take off your mask so you can breathe.” His fingers shook as he eased the ski mask over the boy’s chin, past the fine nubs of hair sprinkling his cheeks, the slender nose, the hollow cheekbones, the eyes.
Cash stared at the boy, fighting the sudden rush of nausea that clamped his gut, threatened to spew out chunks of disbelief and horror. “No.”
It all started and ended then, the sirens in the background, the blood gurgling in the back of the kid’s throat, the chill to his skin, the disappearing pulse. “Hang on, kid. Damn it, don’t you leave me!” By the time the ambulance arrived, Cash had blood on his hands, his face, his shirt.
“We’ll take over from here, Cash.”
He knew that voice, had gone to school with the guy, played poker a few times at his house, but he couldn’t find his name because his brain was saturated with blood.
“It’s over, Cash.” The man whose name he couldn’t recall spoke again. “The boy’s gone.”
***
“I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but I will absolutely miss you to death.” Bree sighed and absently rubbed her belly. Pizza boxes stacked the corner of the room, with an empty salad container sitting daintily on top. Rolls of tulle and ribbon covered the table in shades of cream, lavender, and pink, all signs of a productive pre-wedding event.
“It won’t be forever,” Tess said. “And we’ll come home to visit on holidays.” She and Cash had talked about the opportunities waiting for them. The places they would visit, the travel, the areas they wanted to live in, the work, the new and different people they would meet. It had all sounded so wondrous and amazing and, of course, it was, but Tess hadn’t stopped to consider all she was leaving behind, especially the people. Best friends like Bree and Gina, neighbors and townspeople like Pop and Lucy Benito and Mimi Pendergrass. Family like JJ and Mom. And Riki, wherever she was. A tiny hurt pinged her chest but she pushed it aside with visions of the hospital where she’d work and the apartment she and Cash would share. They were starting a family, just the two of them, and in a few years they’d add a dog. A few years after that, a baby, with dark eyes and long fingers, just like his daddy’s. Picturing Cash as a father double-pinged her heart so hard she gasped.
“Too many hot peppers on the pizza, huh?” Bree tucked a chunk of strawberry-blond hair behind her ear with a knowing look. “Just wait until you’re pregnant. You’ll
see what real heartburn is like.” She rubbed her belly three more times. “Like fireworks exploding in your gut. Bam, bam, bam! Even plain old yogurt bothers me sometimes, but I’d suffer a volcano eruption for little Brody here.”
Gina cast her a doubtful look and said, “All the positive thinking in the world won’t put a stem on that orange.”
“Don’t jinx it. I’ve already got Brody’s mother knitting blue and green booties.” She fished in the Jordan almond bag and dug out three blue ones. “I am really not up to his mother’s squawking about one thing or another. She’s already told me her son doesn’t like tomatoes. And I told Georgia, of course he does. He absolutely loves them. I didn’t tell her I was wearing one of those cute little teddies from Nanette’s Naughties when I served them to him.” She rolled her eyes and giggled. “Creative Cooking 101 is what I call it.”
“Maybe you should teach cooking class—with props,” Gina said. “Wouldn’t that turn Georgia’s hair white?”
“Turn it white and stand it straight up like a porcupine,” Bree said of the mother-in-law who prided herself on having virgin hair and less than a dozen of them white.
Tess laughed, picturing the prim, proper, plump Georgia Kinkaid with a spiky head of white hair.
“Oh, that woman will be the death of me,” Bree said. She sniffed, grew quiet. “I’m really going to miss you, Tess. It was one thing when you were an hour away in school. I could drive up to see you, and you came home once a month. But Philly? It might as well be Pasadena.”
Gina shook her head. “Not quite.”
Tess clasped Bree’s hand, squeezed. “It’s not forever. Just for a few years, five tops.” Then they would head back to Magdalena and start a family.
“It feels like forever, though, or a ‘see you sometime, maybe when we’re all in our thirties with stretch marks and minivans.’”
Gina glanced up from a mountain of pink netting and frowned. “Or just stretch marks. Not everyone has kids.”
Bree considered this. “True. There’s something to be said for a brain that’s never been immersed in Play-Doh or stinky diapers.”
That made Gina smile, which was good since she never smiled when they mentioned words like men, dating, marriage, or babies. “Good point. I might just enjoy my spinster days. I could play godmother or aunt to your sixteen children and by the time Tess and Cash get started, I’ll have it figured out.”
“Speaking of, when do you think you’ll start expanding the Casherdon brigade?”
If it were up to Bree, she’d have everyone procreating until the universe was filled with playpens and sippy cups. Of course, Tess wanted children. Just not yet. There was so much newness surrounding them, gobs of it to absorb: a city, a marriage, travel—each other. They’d waited so long for this time together and now it was really almost here. Seventy-two hours away. She glanced at her watch. How many minutes was that?
“Answer her, Tess,” Gina prodded. “If you don’t, she’ll start the grand inquisition and you’ll be done.”
“Huh?” She’d been calculating the minutes until she and Cash stood before half the town and exchanged vows.
“Babies?” Bree eyed her. “You and Cash?”
“Yes.” He’d be off duty soon. He might sneak over here. He might even—
“When? How many?”
Gina blew out a disgusted sigh. “Really, Bree? You do not remember having this exact conversation two nights ago? Or the week before that? You’ve been on her since the day after Cash gave her the ring seven months ago.”
“I just asked a simple question. Can’t a person inquire or is it too mundane to talk about babies? Maybe the two of you would rather talk about what you plan to do once you blow out of Magdalena like it’s a leper colony.”
There it was again, Bree’s insecurity resurfacing. No one but Tess and Gina knew how badly Bree had wanted to finish college before starting a family, but Brody had nixed the deal with his testosterone-crazed personality and gotten her pregnant on their honeymoon. Between the morning sickness, a calculating mother-in-law, and a husband who counted his masculinity based on number of “knock-ups,” as he called them, Bree collapsed and gave up on the dream of getting a degree. Tess and Gina told her she could have a family and go to school, not that they knew that firsthand, but it didn’t matter because Bree vowed to devote every waking moment to her husband and growing family.
“Tess told you she was going to wait a few years to start a family. Like maybe five,” Gina snapped.
Bree dug around for another blue almond and popped it in her mouth, crunching as she talked. “Which is more than a few. A few is two or three. But what do I know?” She crunched on two more almonds. “I’m only going to be a mother, not a nurse or a physical therapist.”
Gina scowled. “Stop playing the drama queen. You’re not auditioning for the high school play. You already hogged all the leads. Remember?”
Tess threw down a silk flower and stood. She hated being caught in the middle, which was where she always ended up when the three of them were together. Why did Bree and Gina always have to compete for favorite with her? Why couldn’t they all just be friends—equally? She guessed that was like asking why dogs sniffed out patches of grass to do their business. “Can you two stop? This is ridiculous.”
Bree folded her arms over her protruding tummy and stuck out her bottom lip. “I only asked a simple question.”
Gina glared at her. “And I gave you a simple answer—which you didn’t like.”
Tess sighed. “I can’t always slice things exactly down the middle. You’re both my friends but this is exhausting. I’ve only been back in town three weeks and the whole time, it’s been nothing but bickering and posturing. You’re both in the wedding—maid and matron of honor—you’re both giving toasts. Why can’t we all share our friendship? Why do I have to pick a favorite?”
Gina pulled on a roll of pink tulle. Bree picked at a thread on her cotton shirt. Dead silence. The fighting had started in middle school and escalated with Bree’s pregnancy and Gina’s Dean’s List announcement in the Magdalena Press.
Bree slid a glance in Gina’s direction. “Sorry.”
“Me, too.” Gina met her gaze and shrugged. “I really do love you, Bree, but sometimes you bug the crap out of me with your passive-aggressive-helpless routine.”
So much for peace. Tess prepared for Bree’s backlash, but it didn’t happen.
“I could blame it on hormones, but sometimes I’m just not a very nice person.” Bree’s voice filled with pain and self-recrimination. “Everybody thinks I am and it gets hard to always be so dang nice. You know? That’s why I slip when I’m with you and Tess. Because you know I’m a pain, but you love me anyway.”
“Why do you feel you have to be nice all the time?” Gina asked. “I never feel that way.”
Obviously. Please, Bree, let that pass. She did, quite graciously, too.
“I don’t know. Why do I? I’ve always been a people pleaser, even when I didn’t want to be.” She swiped at her eyes. “You know what I wanted to do? Run Daddy’s company, but he pooh-poohed that away saying a woman had no business in a man’s world, especially one that had machines and steel-toed shoes in it. And then I thought I’d study finance because I was always good with numbers in Mr. Spencer’s class, but Brody said it wasn’t feminine.”
“So you quit and got knocked up?”
Gina could not put a compliment in her words if her life depended on it.
“I didn’t quit,” Bree insisted. “I love Brody and I want children. I’m just revising my goals. After I raise the children, I might think about going back to school.” She said the words with about as much conviction as nothing.
“Uh-huh. I bet you’ll go to school when I meet Prince Charming and we ride off into the sunset together. Maybe I’ll try to snag Nate Desantro; I’m sure he’d love the idea of marrying and settling down.”
They all knew that was like saying the Pope wanted a wife and kids. Even s
o, Tess had heard enough. “Why are you both so hard on yourselves? Why can’t you go back to school and find Prince Charming? Why does it have to be one or the other? And Cash says one of these days Nate Desantro is going to meet his match. That, I’d like to see, but it could happen. Anything can. We’re twenty-two years old and we can have anything we want.” Her voice gentled. “We can have it all; we just have to figure out what that means.”
Their eyes filled with such sadness, Tess almost looked away. It was Gina who spoke, her words carrying the certainty of someone who has been disappointed too many times. “Nobody can have it all. One way or another, we all have to choose.”
“Except you, Tess,” Bree said, her eyes shining with tears. “You do have it all: the man, the job, the life you want. And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving couple. I mean, look how you and Cash watched out for JJ, especially after your daddy died, and your mom…” She paused, shook her head. “We all know she’s had a hard time, even if she refuses to show it. But you got through it and now you’re getting your reward.” She sniffed. “These dang hormones make me so gushy. Hey, why don’t we try on our dresses, huh? One last time while it’s just us three?”
Tess eyed her mother’s room. The dresses hung in Olivia Carrick’s closet, altered, pressed, and waiting for Saturday morning like fresh bouquets of daisies. “I don’t know.” If her mother got an inkling she’d been fiddling with her wedding dress, she’d have something to say, and it wouldn’t be, How beautiful you look.