by Mary Campisi
Chapter 8
“So, what’s with Cash and that Carrick girl?” Jack Finnegan pushed back his ball cap and leaned against the metal file cabinet.
Nate entered another number into the computer and shrugged. “No idea.”
“Hmm.”
That sound meant Jack didn’t believe him and had his own opinion on the matter. If Nate waited, he’d hear it soon enough.
“Well, I heard she came back to take care of her mother.” He gnawed on that for all of two seconds before commenting, “You know Olivia Carrick’s got to have surgery, don’t you?” He paused, lowered his voice, “Female problems.”
No, he hadn’t known, but he hadn’t inquired either. “Hadn’t heard.”
“So, I guess that’s a pretty noble gesture, coming from a daughter that ain’t seen this part of the country in over eight years.”
But Nate thought there was another reason for Tess Carrick’s return.
“I think it has to do with the Casherdon boy.”
Ah, so Jack thought so, too.
“They was crazy about each other. I used to see them up at the sawmill but I never told nobody about it. Young love is a powerful thing and I liked the boy. He was a good friend of yours, wasn’t he?”
“Yup.” Nate transferred another number from the spreadsheet.
“You gonna say anything longer than two syllables?”
Nate rubbed his jaw and kept his eyes on the spreadsheet in front of him. “Probably not.”
Jack rolled right into his next thought as though Nate hadn’t spoken. “’Cause I think you know a heck of a lot more than you’re sayin’. Like how you visited Cash at his aunt’s and gave him a talking-to, and how that little wife of yours has taken Tess Carrick under her wing. And I heard they were seen at Lina’s Café with my niece, Bree, and Gina Servetti.” He paused. “Chatting away and munching on pie and pecan rolls.”
Nate threw down his pencil and looked up at Jack. “You sure are a busy reporter. Do you have sources all around town or is one person feeding you this valuable information?”
Jack shrugged. “I know people.”
“Like Bree and your sister?”
“I don’t talk to Edith. She’s pure miserable and she might have a front seat next door to the Carricks’, but I wouldn’t believe a word out of her treacherous mouth.” He blew out a long breath and muttered, “Mean woman.”
“And Bree?”
“That girl’s like a soda with too much fizz, bouncing around, wanting to see everybody matched up and spitting out babies. Thinks that’s the key to happiness.” He shook his head. “That girl could have done so much, but instead she settled on a baby-making machine with a peanut for a brain.”
Nate’s lips twitched. Brody Kinkaid was not Jack’s favorite person. The man wasn’t even on his top 100 list, even though he could cook a mean chili, loved Bree more than sports, and knew how to fight a fire. Jack said a brain that couldn’t think was a waste, and Brody Kinkaid did not know the first thing about using his brain, which was why Bree was pregnant again.
“Bree only gave me bits and pieces, and nothin’ I didn’t already figure out myself.” He slid a sideways glance at Nate. “If I tell you my source, will you promise to keep it between us?”
“Sure.” How had Nate gotten involved in this discussion in the first place? It was one thing to talk to his wife, but he didn’t like gossip, had been the brunt of it for too many years in one way or another. And after that whole mess with Natalie Servetti, well, he’d just as soon keep his mouth shut. Period.
Jack leaned forward, so close Nate could see the stubble on his jaw, and said in a low voice, “It’s Pop Benito. He’s got people reporting to him right and left. Where did Tess go? What did she do? Did anyone go with her? What time did she come back? And what about Cash? Were they together? How long? Betty says he keeps a notebook of the findings. Don’t ask me how she knows, but she does. And she says Pop’s determined to get those two together, no matter what.”
***
Tess had spent years hopping flights and time zones, always on the move, never pausing long enough to catch a real breath or consider another life—a different life. Since she’d returned to Magdalena, she’d hardly thought of Her Lips du Jour or lipstick, other than trying to guess the color on a woman’s lips. How bizarre was that and why the sudden shift? Was it because she knew she couldn’t rejoin the lipstick industry until the non-compete clause expired? Or did it have more to do with concern for her mother’s health? Maybe the change had occurred because her mother appeared genuinely happy to see her and this was an opportunity to reconnect and strengthen their relationship. Of course, it could be her new friendship with Christine Desantro, whose quiet strength and compassion were helping to mend the fallout with Bree and Gina.
But there was no sense denying what had taken over her thoughts; it was hope. And the person behind the hope was Daniel Casherdon. She’d admitted as much the other day when Bree asked her point-blank about her desire for a second chance with her ex-fiancé. The truth had leaked out and filled her with hope that somehow she and Cash could find their way back to each other. But was that really possible? One day soon, she would have to tell him the truth she’d been hiding.
It was time to face her fears, starting with a trip to the dream home she and Cash had designed and which Uncle Will must have built. She’d called her uncle last night and asked if she could stop by and see it. There’d been a half-second delay on the other end of the line, and then he’d told her in a gentle voice that the door would be unlocked and she could visit whenever she liked.
Tess grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a bagel and was on her way to the cabin before Edith Finnegan opened the living room blinds. If she spotted Tess’s car gone, that would send the woman into a frenzy wondering where and what Olivia Carrick’s daughter was up to. She drove to Uncle Will’s with the windows down, the smell of grass and late spring filling the air. Uncle Will’s around-and-about-town truck was gone, but a beat-up one was parked behind the barn. She pulled up to the house and followed the gravel path to the log cabin where she and Cash had planned to eventually settle and raise a family.
Had Cash seen it yet? Had he walked from room to room, remembering their dreams? Or had he refused to even think about it? There was so much pain between them, so many unanswered questions. So many years apart. How did two people go about rebuilding a damaged relationship, even if they wanted to?
She walked up the steps of the wraparound porch. There were two wicker rocking chairs set side by side and a pot of pansies by the railing. Tess glanced back at the gravel path. Once she entered the cabin, her brain would be smeared with memories she could never erase. They would come to her in the stillness of night and threaten to consume her. If she crossed the threshold, everything would be different, and real.
Tess drew in a deep breath, turned, and entered the cabin.
The small foyer spilled into a large family room with a stone fireplace on the far side of the wall and an open kitchen to the right. Tess had wanted to be able to keep an eye on the children as they played and she prepared dinners of roast chicken, pork chops, and Cash’s favorite, chicken cordon bleu. They’d had it all figured out. Sadly, it had been for nothing.
She was surprised the place was furnished: a rocking chair, couch, table, television. Who had done it, and why? For that matter, who had built the house? Had Cash had it built when he was in Philly, with plans of returning one day? Maybe with a different woman, one who would prepare him his favorite meal while she kept an eye on their children? Tess tried to ignore the ache in her chest, but that was like trying to ignore a bleeding wound.
The master bedroom was on the first floor, on the opposite side of the kitchen. She stepped into the room, eyeing the skylight above the king-sized bed. We’ll make love at night, with the stars above us, he’d told her. And in the afternoon, with the sun heating our skin. Mornings, too. He’d smiled then and she’d forgotten about the skylight, fo
rgotten everything but the need pulsing through her body as he unbuttoned her shirt…
“What are you doing here?”
Tess spun around. Cash stood several feet away, bare-chested, a towel flung around his shoulders, jeans riding low on his hips. Barefoot. Wet hair slicked back. Memories simmered and boiled over in a croak of a response. “You live here?”
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “For now.”
Her gaze slid to his chest and the edge of scar peeking from beneath the towel: a reminder of the gunshot wound that could have killed him. He caught her looking and tossed the towel aside, snatched a shirt from the bed, and shrugged into it.
“Did you…did you build this?” His dark eyes narrowed and he studied her. What was he thinking? Was he remembering how they’d planned this whole house? How they’d dreamed about it and said it was the beginning of their legacy to their children?
“Your uncle did.” He grabbed the towel and disappeared into the bathroom, emerging a few seconds later, minus the towel, still looking dangerously attractive. “Will didn’t tell you about this?”
She shook her head. “No. I found it the other day when I stopped to see him. He wasn’t home so I took a walk around.” She paused. “That’s when I found it, but I left.” Her voice shifted, dipped. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it…I had to see it.”
“Will knows how to follow a plan, I’ll give him that,” he said, his lips firm, unsmiling.
Which meant her uncle had built their dream home exactly as they’d planned it.
“Might as well look around now that you’re here. The bathroom is in there. Double sink, shower with two showerheads, private toilet.” He motioned for her to take a look. “A little messy, but I didn’t expect company.”
Company. The word hurt, even though it shouldn’t.
“Thank you. I’d like to see what he’s done with it.” She moved past him and into the bathroom, taking in the granite countertop, the brushed nickel hardware, the frosted glass on the shower door. Visions of water pelting their skin as they touched each other flitted through her brain, bodies slick with soap and desire…
“…the bedroom has two closets, one walk-in and the other enough for a normal person…”
Was that humor she’d just heard? He used to tease her about all of her clothes, items from high school she could never quite part with… What would he say if she told him she’d lived out of a suitcase for years and her whole wardrobe would fit into half of the smaller closet?
“You can look upstairs if you want, but it’s unfinished,” Cash said as he headed into the living room. “It’s been roughed out for three bedrooms and a bathroom, but Will said the plans weren’t detailed enough to determine which way to go.” She didn’t miss the strain in his voice, as though he struggled with the words, or maybe it was the meaning behind them that gave him trouble.
How many bedrooms do you think we need? She’d asked the question the first time he showed her the plans for the upstairs. He’d cupped her chin and kissed her long and slow before he replied, How many can we fill up with little Casherdons?
“I don’t need to see it.” He hadn’t mentioned the room next to the master bedroom and neither did she. It would have been the nursery. Maybe it was better to pretend it didn’t exist.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” Beverages were safe topics that didn’t tear at a person’s heart.
“Light cream, one sugar?”
Unless the topic indicated a past intimacy. “Yes.” Pause. “Thank you.” He’d known everything about her eight years ago, from the way she drank her coffee to the brand of toothpaste she preferred. It had seemed natural and only the beginning of a lifetime of sharing and discovery.
Cash set her mug on the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for her. “I’d offer you something to eat but I’m not sure you’d go in for chicken wings and pizza at,” he glanced at the clock above the sink, “10:18 A.M.”
“Uh, no, but thanks.”
His lips twitched. “Your loss.” He sipped his coffee—black, no sugar—and toyed with the handle before settling his gaze on her. “So, what have you been up to these past eight years? Oh, too direct a question?” He shrugged and pierced her with eyes that had always seen too much. “Are we really going to be polite and pretend we’ve never done more than shake hands?”
“I…”
Her hesitancy annoyed him. “After all that’s happened, why can’t we just be honest for a few minutes? We planned a friggin’ life together—a home, kids, a future. When it all blew up, I spent years trying to forget you.” His jaw tensed, his gaze narrowed. “I never wanted to hear your name again and I certainly didn’t want to see you. Or have you see me like this.” He pointed to himself. “But then you showed up at Ramona’s and, damn it, it all came back. Everything, and it’s not going away.”
So, she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t forget. “I know,” she said softly.
He stared at her, as if that comment surprised him. Then his shoulders relaxed and he frowned. “It’s a damn nuisance, isn’t it?”
“If you mean the remembering what we want to forget, yes, it’s horribly inconvenient.” Her pulse tripled. Maybe he’d wished for a second chance. Maybe he still did.
“I’ve never seen anyone with that same shade of blond,” he said, studying her hair. “And I’ve looked.”
Tess fingered a few strands of hair and murmured, “Genes, I guess.”
“Yeah. I guess.” He traced the handle of his coffee mug and said, “What have you been doing for eight years?”
She shifted in her chair and let out a small laugh. “Selling lipstick.”
“Huh?”
“Selling lipstick.” She slid him a smile. “I’m very good at it, too. Did you know the right shade can give a woman confidence and make her feel beautiful? It can change her life.”
“Lipstick,” he repeated as if she’d told him she sold farm equipment.
Tess shrugged. “It’s the little things that can make a difference. I was the senior vice president of sales, in charge of the international division. I traveled the world, saw more places than I knew existed.” Why was she trying to sell him on the idea of how great her job was? It had been great. “And the compensation was fantastic.”
“What happened to nursing?”
There was no sense in avoiding the truth. “I couldn’t do it, not after what happened.”
“But you wanted to work with kids. How did what happened have anything to do with that?”
He meant JJ’s death, but she meant something else altogether. Once she’d lost their baby, she couldn’t be around children, and she certainly couldn’t work in a place where they were a constant reminder of what she might never have, of what she’d lost. But it was more than that. After JJ’s death, she could not work in an environment where she witnessed the fragility of life daily and the tragic, painful aftermath of those left behind.
“Tess? Answer me.”
She couldn’t tell him the whole truth, not yet. “When I was in school, I was so naïve. I only thought about the kids who survived. Oh, maybe they’d have a life-threatening condition that required treatment or surgery, but they’d get their happy ending. I’d be a part of that.” She paused. “After JJ, I realized not all of them would, and no matter how good the care was or how hopeful the outcome, circumstances could change things in a single breath.”
“That’s called life.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“Look at me, Tess.” She slid her gaze to his and wished she hadn’t. There was anger in those eyes, and determination, and something that looked an awful lot like disappointment. “There are no guarantees. Do you think I haven’t wished a million times that I hadn’t been the one on patrol the night JJ died? Or picked up on some sign that he was slipping back?” His words pierced her, dug around until pain spurted through her like an open wound. “I should never have listened to everyone w
hen you refused to see me and they said you needed time. I should have forced my way to you, broken down the damn door if I had to so we could deal with what happened. Maybe even get through it. But I didn’t.” He sighed, worked a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t listen to my gut and I’ve regretted that ever since.”
She blinked hard, forced the tears to stay in place. “I’m not sure it would have changed anything.”
“Maybe not, but we’ll never know. When you took off, did you go to your sister’s?”
She nodded. “That’s how I ended up in Virginia. Riki left shortly after I moved to Richmond. I hear from her now and again. One year she’s in San Francisco, six months later, Austin, then Charlotte. Same Riki.”
“I knew it,” he said under his breath. “Damn it, but I knew you were there.”
“And you? You’ve been in Philly the whole time? On the police force?”
A thin smile stretched across his lips. “Yup. Living the life.” He shrugged. “It gets old. You have to know when to get out and that’s what I did.”
“You resigned from the force?” Why hadn’t anyone mentioned this?
He shot her a quick look. “I did. You’re the only person in this town who knows that. I didn’t even tell Ramona yet. Hell if I know why I told you.”
“I won’t say anything. Where will you go?”
“No idea. Just considering my options.”
Was Magdalena an option? And if he said it was, what then? Would it matter?
“What about you?” There was an extra exchange of air before he finished in a casual manner. “When do you head back to Virginia?”
He picked up a pen and fiddled with it, as if her answer didn’t matter to him. Years ago, he’d done the very same thing, but the feigned nonchalance was merely a way to hide deeper feelings. Shades of the old Cash crept through these actions and Tess found herself admitting the truth.