Surrendered

by Jennifer Sienes

  * * *

  Tess

  Mid-morning sun streams through the breakfast nook windows, warming my bare arms. I glance down at the guest shack and ignore the niggle of guilt that attempts to take hold.

  “Unbelievable.” Julia plops a white bakery sack on the table and sits with her steaming mug of coffee. “People get arrested for breaking and entering, you know.”

  “I didn’t break. I just entered.” The tantalizing aroma of donuts has me reaching for the bag. So much for my morning run. The chocolate old-fashioned is nestled in bakery tissue alongside Julia’s jelly donut. She knows me well. I pluck it out and break it in half.

  “You can’t go around entering other people’s homes, Tess. It’s illegal.”

  I dunk my treat before taking a bite, which gives me a moment to respond. It would be rude to talk with my mouth full, wouldn’t it? “He’s living on my property, so I have every right—”

  “No. You don’t.” She snatches the bag and snakes her hand inside. “And you know it. Don’t think I can’t see the guilt written on your face.”

  “For the donut, not the entering.”

  “It’s none of our business what he has out there unless it’s a dead body.”

  Breaking off a piece of donut, I point it at her. “Ah ha. You don’t trust him either.”

  She rolls her eyes and picks at the glazed dough. “Don’t even try to get me involved in this asinine behavior of yours. You’re starting to scare me. I can just see you, forty years from now, living in this mausoleum of a house and snooping on your neighbors with nothing more than twenty cats for company.”

  Propping my elbows on the table, I lean toward her. “I’m telling you, Julia, there’s something suspicious about a man who owns absolutely nothing personal.”

  “Maybe he knew what a snoop you’d be and kept his personal stuff stored somewhere. Under lock and key.”

  I pop the last bite of donut into my mouth and savor the taste of artificial chocolate, sugar, and preservatives. “He doesn’t even have a photograph. I mean, who doesn’t have family photos?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have a family.”

  “Maybe he’s hiding something.”

  “Maybe it’s none of your business.” Julia snatches up the bag and crumples it. “You really need to get a life, girl.”

  “You wouldn’t be so casual if there was a strange man living on your property.”

  She laughs. “If he was as cute as Jake, it wouldn’t bother me in the least.” With the bag in one hand and her near-empty mug in the other, she moves toward the sink.

  I scowl at her back. “Even if you thought he might be a threat to Max?”

  “You really think he’s a threat?” She drops the bag in the garbage under the sink before moving on to the coffee maker in the corner.

  Jake’s smirk of last night flashes in my mind. A threat? Not likely. At least not physically. “He’s threatening my sanity. Does that count?”

  “Hey, what’s this?” Julia turns from the counter, the packet I brought home from the college in her hand.

  Irritation sharpens my voice. “Talk about snooping. You give me a hard time and then have the nerve to go through my drawers?”

  “Relax, Tess. I was just looking for a napkin. If I start searching your underwear drawer, then you can jump all over me.” She waves the packet. “So?”

  Crossing the room, I rescue the packet from her. “I’m not ready to share.”

  “Oh?” She retrieves her coffee and follows me back to the kitchen nook.

  I slide into the corner, windows on either side, and slip the packet on the bench seat—out of sight. A fragrant breeze catches my hair, and I slip a wayward strand behind my ear.

  “When do you think you’ll be ready? Before or after the Second Coming?”

  “I feel sorry for Max. His whole life, he’ll have you harping at him to make snap decisions. Puts a lot of pressure on a kid, you know?”

  Julia sits and reaches across, resting her hand on my forearm. “I hate to break it to you, friend, but this snap decision is about ten years in the making. You want to tell me why the thought of going back to school is so difficult for you?”

  I shake my head, unable to speak through the lump clogging my throat. To speak it aloud, even to my best friend, is unthinkable.

  “Was this mailed to you, or did you go down to Sac State?”

  What part of ‘I’m not ready’ does she not get? With a sigh, I retrieve the packet and slap it on the table. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “On you? Never.” Her hand tightens before she takes it back. “If you really wanted to avoid this conversation, you wouldn’t have put it in the napkin drawer.”

  And I thought I was the psychology major. I clear my throat. “I went down yesterday afternoon, hoping to put an end to this whole thing once and for all.” I run my nail along the edge of the folder. “I mean, ten years is a long time. I figured there’d be a…I don’t know…a statute of limitations on my degree or something.”

  “And?”

  “Remember I told you I was taking some online courses in English and literature?”

  “Yeah. Sounded like a real snore fest to me. Who would voluntarily take medieval literature? And Shakespeare. Like I said earlier, you need to get a life.”

  That’s the pot calling the kettle black. “Says the woman whose favorite company is a precocious eight-year-old boy.”

  “Don’t forget cute. That’s gotta count for something.”

  “True.”

  “So? Go on.”

  I hesitate a moment. Once it’s out there, I can’t take it back. In for a penny…I flip open the folder and take out the chart Janice Harding filled out. “These courses,” I say, sliding it across the table to Julia, “add up to a second major.”

  She runs her finger down the list then looks up at me, a grin spreading across her face. “You told me you took a few courses.”

  I shrug. “A few here and there.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “That’s what I have to figure out.”

  “So, you’re considering it? Going back to school, I mean?”

  Panic snatches my breath. “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s not like you have any choice, Tess.”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Oh? What are your options? You refuse to go back to school and then what? Take Katie and live life on the lam?”

  “Like anyone would actually prosecute. I do have skills, you know. It’s not like I can’t get another job.”

  “That would be the least of your problems.”

  Arguing would be futile. We both know she’s right.

  I take the chart back and fumble with the folder, rearranging the papers inside. Long enough to take a few cleansing breaths. “This stays between us, you hear?” How can I possibly go back to school when just the thought of it has me near a panic attack?

  But it’s not just my life anymore. I have a responsibility to Katie, too. And how else can I get rid of Jake, short of murder?

  Chapter 8

  Jake

  My education was wasted. Can’t make heads nor tails of Sean’s bookkeeping, and I’m bleary-eyed from straining over numbers long after we closed the restaurant. Early morning sun burns my eyes the moment I step out of my cell—a man on a mission—and make my way across the dew-damp lawn to the O’Shay home. Maybe if I can charm Tess…

  Scratch that. There’s no charming Tess. I’ll appeal to her business sense. Surely, she’d want to protect her family legacy.

  Stepping up to the glass-topped back door, I cup my eyes and cautiously peer inside. Last thing I need is to be slapped with a peeping Tom charge. No movement. I try a few soft taps with my knuckles and wait. Nothing. Grasping the door knob, I give it a turn—and it opens. Didn’t Sean teach his daughters anything? Tess doesn’t trust me with an opinion, but she leaves the backdoor open for any lunatic who might happen by.

  I stick m
y head inside. “Hello? Anybody home?”

  Footsteps overhead. “Jake? Is that you?” Katie’s voice bounces down the stairs, then her feet appear on the topmost tread.

  “No. It’s Jack the Ripper.”

  “Very funny.” She jogs down the steps dressed in shorts and a tank top. Neither of which seem school appropriate.

  Scowling at her, I step inside. “Why is this door unlocked?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Tess went out that way when she left this morning.”

  I’m not sure whether to be disappointed that Tess is gone or relieved to not have to deal with her. “You guys keep this locked at night?”

  “Yes, Dad. We keep it locked at night. Especially since you moved in.” She snickers.

  “Good thing I have a healthy ego. The two of you are sharp-tongued enough to emasculate Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

  “You want to use the kitchen?” She starts back up the stairs and I follow.

  “I was hoping to catch Tess.”

  “That’s very brave of you,” she says over her shoulder.

  Or foolish.

  “What d’you need her for? Maybe I can help.”

  “Maybe you can. Do you need a lift to school? We can talk on the way.”

  “Tony’s picking me up.”

  “Tony?” She says it like I should know him. And maybe I do. “You mean Anthony? From the restaurant?”

  “Yeah. Want some coffee?” She crosses the kitchen to the coffee maker on the counter and nabs a cup from the cabinet overhead. Turning, she waits for me to answer.

  “Sure.” Not sure how receptive she’ll be to my concern. But isn’t that why Sean stuck me here in the first place? “Are you…dating Anthony?”

  She offers me a full mug. “I guess.”

  “Don’t you think he’s a little old for you?”

  “A couple years is all.”

  “Four is more than a couple. Does Tess know about this?”

  Hands wrapped around her own mug of coffee, she faces me. “It’s no big deal.”

  “You’re a sophomore in high school, and—”

  “Junior. In a couple more weeks.”

  “And he’s going into his third year of college.”

  She sighs and thrusts her chin out. Must have learned that move from her sister. “Is this what you wanted to talk to Tess about?”

  Pick your battles. I’d be smart to table this conversation for another time. Switch gears. “How much do you know about the process of ordering at the restaurant?”

  “What do you mean?” She carries her coffee to the table in the corner and sits.

  I follow. “Who orders the supplies?”

  “Maris, I guess. I mean, she does the cooking, so she’d know what we need.”

  “No one holds her accountable?”

  The space between Katie’s brows crinkle. “Like how?”

  “It seems she has access to the company credit card, but who makes sure that what she’s ordering is necessary?”

  “Dad did, I suppose.” She sips her coffee. “And now that he’s gone, I guess you do.”

  That’s what I was afraid of. “Sean never used an off-site accountant?”

  “Maybe for taxes. But he always handled the bills. Why?”

  “When did your dad give her the authority to use the credit card and order the necessary supplies?”

  “You’d have to ask Tess that. It seems like he left more and more of the business operation to Maris or Tess over the last few years. I wish I’d paid more attention.”

  “To the business end of things?”

  “No. To Dad.” Eyes focused on the mug, she runs her thumb along the rim. “I think maybe he was getting sick even back then. I just figured he was tired of working, but now that I think about it…”

  “If your dad was having health issues, he wouldn’t have wanted you to know about it.”

  “You were pretty close to him. Do you think he was sick before his heart attack?”

  “He did life his own way.” Which isn’t an answer. But it’s the best I can do while still adhering to Sean’s wishes. “Not to change the subject”—liar—“but I ran into Pastor Kent the other day.” Another lie. “He asked about you and Tess. Was hoping to see you both in church again soon.”

  Katie snatches up her mug and heads for the sink. “I think Tess is angry with God right now. You know, because Dad died.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m not angry with God. But I am kinda angry with Dad. I mean, he went off on vacation and then up and dies.”

  “Everyone dies eventually.”

  “Yeah. I get that. It’s just weird that some Mexican official sends us Dad in an urn. We never even got to say good-bye.”

  How do I even respond to that? “That’s not entirely true. We had a memorial for him. Lots of people get cremated.”

  “I keep expecting him to appear.” She looks at me, tears threatening. “If I at least saw his body…” She turns on the water and rinses her mug. “Anyway, it doesn’t seem fair that both Mom and Dad died pretty young. I don’t remember Mom, but Tess does.”

  “Must have been rough on her, taking care of your mom when she was so sick.” Could be bitterness growing in Tess like cancer, losing her mom like she did.

  “I suppose. Seems like there’s more to it, though, don’t you think?”

  “In what way?”

  Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she turns to me, hip resting on the counter. “She never even told me she’d been to college. Kind of strange, if you ask me. Mom dying might have taken her off track, but it’s like school was some deep, dark secret.”

  * * *

  Tess

  I’m not sure if getting an appointment with Byron Reynolds was difficult because he’s in high demand or because he’s avoiding me. Probably afraid I’ll have another meltdown in his office. I told Candace on the phone that it was of the utmost importance, as if that would sway him. There’s nothing worse than having no control over my life—or the family bank account, for that matter.

  Twenty minutes past my appointment time, and I’m still camped out by myself in his reception room. I’ve skimmed all three magazines laid out on the coffee table—ABA Journal, Kiplinger’s and People. I’ve studied the floral arrangement on the side table, and I’m pretty sure it’s a fake. Nothing nature makes is that perfect. And I’ve checked my watch no fewer than five times. Enough is enough.

  Candace steps out of Byron’s office, closing the door behind her. “You sure I can’t get you anything, Tess?”

  “How much longer, do you think?”

  “Should be soon. We have coffee.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Water?”

  “Tell me the truth. There’s no one actually in there with him, is there?”

  Before she can answer, the door to Byron’s office pops open again and he sticks his head out. “I’m ready for you, Miss O’Shay.” Then he looks at Candace. “Can you call my wife and let her know I won’t be home for lunch?”

  I step through the door, and Byron closes it behind me.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I had some other business that needed my attention.” He extends his hand toward the chair in front of his desk. “Won’t you have a seat? Did Candace offer you something to drink?”

  “She did.” I sit with my purse on my lap and wait while he takes his place behind the desk.

  “Now then.” He folds his hands on his desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “Two things.” I shift in my seat, stalling for the best approach. “I’ve decided to adhere to my father’s wishes and go back to school.”

  “Wonderful.” A smile lights up his watery eyes. “Sean would have been so pleased.”

  Opening my purse, I retrieve the tuition bill and slide it across the desk. “So, if you could write me a check out of Dad’s trust…”

  His smile falls. “Oh, well, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “What?” I reach for the n
ote and glance at the total again. Almost $2,000. I could take it from my savings, but it wouldn’t leave me with much. And what about the credential program? That’s another $3,000 for the first semester. Maybe this is the loophole I was looking for. “I’m sorry. I thought you said Dad made provisions for this.”

  “I realize you were, shall I say, indisposed during our last meeting, so you might not remember the particulars. Your father did, in fact, make provision for your tuition, but I am not the executor of the trust.”

  “Then who is?” But a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach forewarns me.

  “Mr. Holland, of course.”

  “Jake?” Big surprise. I shove the note into my purse. “Are you telling me that I have to go to Jake for money. Why would Dad do that? I just assumed…”

  “I did explain it to you last time we met, but you must not have heard me.”

  “Blocked it out, more likely,” I mutter. Is there no end to the injustices here?

  “And the other matter?” Byron’s had years of experience deflecting.

  My irritation will have to wait for when I have more time to nurse it along. I muster up some semblance of a sweet smile and fold my hands on Byron’s desk. “You remember telling me that Dad had Jake investigated?”

  Byron raps his knuckles on the desk once and gives me a reproachful frown. “I’m afraid we’ve already covered this territory, Ms. O’Shay. Without Mr. Holland’s permission, I cannot allow you to see that report.”

  “Oh no.” I lean forward, flattening my hands on the desk. “I am well aware of the issue of confidentiality, and I would never ask you to breech it.” Sean O’Shay isn’t the only one who’s ever kissed the Blarney Stone. “I was hoping you might give me the name of the investigator.”

  His caterpillar brows nearly meet in the middle as he stares down his prominent nose at me. “Really, Ms. O’Shay. Do you think I’ve been in business for nearly fifty years without a modicum of intelligence?”