Surrendered

by Jennifer Sienes

  “Not yet.” He picks at a piece of cheese hanging off the edge of the bread.

  Katie catches my eye. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Your dad never had the birds and the bees talk with you, huh?”

  “Funny. I mean what did you do before Dad hired you?”

  “This and that.” I wave a hand at Max. “You intend to eat that thing or what?”

  “Tess says no one knows anything about you. She says you appeared out of nowhere.”

  “What? Like I fell out of the sky or something? Maybe I’m an alien?” I scowl. Bad enough I have to defend myself to Tess, but now this? “You two ever hear of the concept of privacy?”

  Katie laughs. “In this family? Like I had privacy the other night?” There’s an edge to her tone.

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, kiddo, but until you’re eighteen and supporting yourself, your life’s not your own.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I stand. “Let’s go, Max. See if Tess is with your mom.”

  “So, who was that guy last week?” Katie looks up at me. “You know. The one you tried to send down the street.”

  “Don’t know who you’re talking about.” I take Max’s plate and stack it on mine. Ready or not, I’m going to hunt down Tess.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she intones. “From where I was standing, you seemed pretty upset.”

  “Come on, Max.” I turn and stop short of running into a body.

  Tess.

  A blush steals up her face. “What’s going on here?”

  Katie twists in her chair. “Just asking Jake about the mystery guy from last week. The night you no-showed.”

  Tess drops her eyes.

  What’s Katie up to, playing the two of us? “Max is ready whenever you are, Tess.”

  She holds out her hand to Max, who ignores it and runs ahead. Knowing the mess he made of his sandwich, she’s better off.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Anything to get away from Katie’s probing questions. I follow her to the alley, where Max is scrambling into the passenger seat of her car.

  Tess jiggles the keys in her hand. “So, who was he?”

  “Who?”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  Playing stupid won’t work with her. “Some guy I knew years ago.” I shrug. “We left on bad terms. No big deal.”

  Turning away from me, she sighs. “If that’s true, why didn’t you just say so? Why the big side-step with Katie?”

  “Because it’s none of her business. None of yours, either, if it comes to that.”

  “Guess turnabout’s fair play.” She jiggles the keys once more and heads for her car.

  She’s right. Turnabout’s fair play. How many times did she tell me her past was none of my business? Only now, all her secrets are out in the open. Doesn’t seem right that I shut her out.

  Either way, I lose.

  Chapter 23

  Tess

  If this season of my life were a literary work and I had to choose a theme, it would have to be secrets. Mine, Jake’s, and even Maris’s. I’m not quite ready to face mine, and Jake’s holding onto his like a tight-fisted miser, so Maris wins my attention by default.

  I’ve never been to her place, which I didn’t think strange until now. How can you work with someone for half a lifetime and not know how they live? And what does that say about me, that I never gave it a thought before?

  I get her address from the personnel files. Since the restaurant is only closed on Mondays, I take a detour to her place after teaching. If she’s home, great. If not, I get a reprieve. It’s not like I have to confront her but doing so will be like baby steps toward some of my bigger issues—like taking down a big, bad English professor.

  Maris’s house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac on the outskirts of town. It’s quaint, which is unexpected. I pictured her living in a space that suits her personality and—let’s face it—her size. The yard is a profusion of color—a carpet of lawn surrounded by chrysanthemums, salvia, nasturtiums, and hanging baskets spilling over with purple and yellow pansies.

  I double-check the address before climbing out of the car. It’s definitely Maris’s vehicle sitting in the open garage. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Maybe this isn’t such a great idea after all. What if I confront her and she quits? Guilty or not, no one wants it shoved into their face.

  The front door opens, and Maris’s larger-than-life figure appears. “Tess?” Shock and something I can’t quite read is reflected in her expression. “What’re you doing here?”

  Too late to back out now. “Hey, Maris.” I sling my purse over my shoulder and close the car door. “Just thought I’d see where you live. It’s hard to believe I’ve never been here before.”

  “I’ve never asked you over. But you’re here now, so you might as well come in.”

  Not the most gracious invitation I’ve ever received. “Were you going somewhere?”

  “Nope. I saw your car pull up from the window. Do you want to sit out back? I can whip us up something to snack on.” That’s more like the Maris I know.

  “Sounds great.” I follow her through a neat, compact living room and out a pair of French doors. The back deck is larger than her living room and much more scenic. Potted plants and more hanging baskets give it a lush atmosphere.

  “You must have a green thumb.”

  She shrugs. “I suppose. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I sink into a cushioned chair and close my eyes. To confront or not to confront? What do You think, Lord? The prayer filters through my brain like water through a rusty pipe. When was the last time I prayed? Since Mom died? Since the attack?

  “Here we go.” Maris carries a tray laden with cheese, crackers, apple slices, and lemonade.

  “That was fast. Are you always this prepared?”

  “Leftovers. I had company this weekend.” She places a frosty glass in front of me before settling in the seat across the slate-topped table. “So, you want to tell me the real reason you’re here? And don’t say you were just in the neighborhood. I’m not stupid.”

  I pick an apple slice and take a bite.

  Maris sips at her lemonade and stares ahead. “It’s about the money, isn’t it? Did Jake finally convince you I was stealing?”

  Apple juice trickles down my windpipe and I cough. Hand over my mouth, eyes watering, I can’t speak. Not the smoothest stall tactic. “It’s not”—cough—“not about the money.” My voice sounds like Marlon Brando’s in The Godfather.

  She narrows her eyes. “You don’t want to discuss the money?”

  I wave a hand at her while I take a sip of lemonade, the cold tartness causing another spasm. After another fit, I clear my throat. “What bothers me isn’t the missing money.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head. “It’s the intent behind it.”

  “Ah.” She nods. “You are here about the money.”

  She’s so missing the point. Fine. She wants to play it that way, I’ll bite. “Did you take it?” I watch her face and assess her expression. She won’t look at me. That could mean she’s hurt or guilty. It’s been too long since Psych 101.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Then what is it? A personal crisis? Need to keep your grandma out of a convalescent hospital?” A gambling debt?

  No answer.

  “How long did you work for Dad? Thirteen years?”

  She flicks a finger under her eye and blinks. “Your mom hired me.” Her eyes catch mine. “Did you know that? Fifteen years and a hundred pounds ago.”

  “It’s obvious you still have some affection for them.”

  “I was closer to them than my own family. Your parents, they were good people, Tess.”

  I drop my eyes before she can see the tears forming. They weren’t good people, they were great people. No one could possibly follow in their footsteps. “Is it because you resent me? Is that why you took the money?”
/>   She snorts. “You think I care any less for you than I did for them?”

  I pound a clenched fist on my leg. “Then why? You can’t just keep telling me that it’s not what I think when you give me no alternative.”

  “Are you going to prosecute?”

  Her point-blank question hits me like a two-by-four across the head. “I…” How do I answer that?

  “If you slap me with a criminal charge, I’ll come clean. But unless I have to keep myself out of jail, it’s not my truth to tell.”

  She’s making no sense. “Then whose is it?”

  “Sean’s.”

  “Dad’s? But Maris, he’s dead.”

  She scowls at me. “You don’t think I know that?”

  “This is crazy,” I mutter. “The only way I can get a straight answer out of you is if I have you arrested?”

  “So, are you?”

  The world has gone stark, raving mad!

  * * *

  Jake

  One to-go coffee in hand, another tucked against my chest, I enter the door to the church offices. No one at the front desk, and the place has that quiet, empty feel.

  “Hello?” I half expect my voice to echo in the dim reception area.

  Shuffling comes from the back, and Kent lumbers down the hallway. “Jake. Didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Few minutes early. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Come on back.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “The office is closed on Mondays. Best time to get things done around here.”

  We pass two dark offices before reaching Kent’s—bathed in the glow of the setting sun. The scents of sage and early fall drift through an open window. An oak desk, two file cabinets, and a couple chairs fill up the space. Both side walls are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Aside from what appear to be family photos, I spot volumes of John Wesley’s Teachings, Exploring Christian Theology, Warren Wiersbe Commentary—

  “Have a seat.” He waves me to the padded chair as he moves behind the desk.

  “Brought you some coffee.”

  His eyebrows hitch. “Decaf?”

  “What would be the point?”

  “Good man.” He drops into his chair before accepting the cup. “I was surprised to get your call. How’re things going?”

  “Depends on the hour.”

  He laughs. “Sounds normal. Tess and Katie doing well?”

  I stand, too fidgety to sit still. “Again. Depends on the hour.” My tone comes out gruffer than I intend.

  Crossing his arms, his eyes narrow. “So, I gather this isn’t a social call.”

  “You get many of those?”

  He pushes back in his chair. “What’s going on?”

  Clenching and unclenching my hand, I test the words out in my head. No matter how I play them, the ending’s still the same. “Tess and I, we’ve made some headway.”

  “Oh?”

  “We’re not at each other’s throats anymore. Progress, right?”

  He nods and waits. Must be that counselor approach.

  I pick up a framed photo sitting on the shelf but put it back before the images register. Dropping back in the chair, I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Tess…” Just the thought of it—of some creep laying his hands on her—chokes off my words.

  Where’s this emotion coming from? Tess and I barely tolerate each other.

  “We have all the time in the world here, Jake. No rush.”

  Breathe, Jake. No big deal. “I found out why Tess left school all those years ago.”

  “I take it it wasn’t because her mom died.”

  I shake my head. “She was…” I swallow the reactive hostility that rises whenever I think about it. “She was raped.”

  Kent’s eyes widen and his face pales. “Dear God.”

  “One of her professors.”

  He runs his hand through his thinning hair and blows out a breath. “So much makes sense now. Don’t know why I didn’t see it myself. How’d you find out?”

  “She told me.”

  His eyebrows arch.

  “Well, I kind of forced it out of her. I’m sure it would still be some deep, dark secret if he hadn’t reappeared.”

  “The professor?”

  “Tess saw him on campus a couple weeks back. It about did her in.” The bruised look to her eyes and the retching sounds the night Katie came home drunk are just as vivid as that day.

  “So, he’s still teaching?”

  “As far as I know. She didn’t report it.” I rub my brow. “It’s not right. Seems she loves teaching. And now…”

  “You think she’ll quit?”

  I shrug.

  “You might suggest counseling.”

  “That’s fine for the long-term. But what about now? How does she step onto campus knowing that sick…?” I slap an open hand on my knee. “Someone needs to put the fear of God in him. If I—”

  “Whoa there.” Kent leans forward, elbows on the desk. “I get you’re upset but thinking like that’ll get you nothing but trouble.”

  “Turn the other cheek?” I snort and push up from the chair. “Is that what I should tell Tess to do? Turn the other cheek?”

  “We’re talking about you right now, Jake.” He stands and plants his hands on the desk. “You gotta trust God to handle it.”

  I scowl. “So, I do nothing?”

  He throws up his hands. “Okay. Let’s say you go after this guy. Then what? You gonna beat him up? Or worse?”

  “I can’t just let it go.”

  “You attack him, then what happens to you? You think you’re doing Tess any favors getting yourself thrown in jail? You think she’ll thank you for it?”

  “I’m not looking for her thanks.”

  “Are you looking to heap more guilt on her head? Because that’s what’ll happen, guaranteed. She’ll blame herself for it.”

  Can’t argue with that. “Yeah, but to do nothing?”

  “Another thing. You get yourself into trouble and everything else will come to light. Is that how you want things to play out with her? Unless, of course, you’ve come clean.” It’s evident in his gaze he knows that’s not the case.

  “She’ll find out soon enough anyway.” God help us all.

  “Best thing you can do for Tess is be there while she works through this. Remind her this guy can’t take anything away from her she’s not willing to give.”

  “How do I keep her safe?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust God for that one, too.”

  I throw a hand up. “Didn’t do her a lot of good in the past, did it?”

  “Look. I know you don’t want to hear my sermon right now, but God always has a way of putting a spin on the ugliness in life. There’s a reason for this—and you play a significant part.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Sean.” He pins me with a hard stare. “You think it was just coincidence that you met him? That he talked you into taking a job at the restaurant?”

  “You make it sound like he saw the future or something.”

  Kent shakes his head. “No. He didn’t. But I’ve no doubt God did. Trust Him, Jake. Stay connected to Him and see what He can do through you. In the meantime, get Tess some pepper spray and teach her a couple self-defense moves.”

  Chapter 24

  Jake

  Armed with the makings of healthy pancakes, I breach the O’Shay fortress. One thing about Tess, she’s a sucker for carbs. The house is Sunday-morning quiet with an early-fall chill. I take liberty with the thermostat and get to work.

  Took a while for Kent’s message to sink in. How would landing myself in jail help Tess? But sit by and do nothing? Not an option. My plan is two-fold: find out the name of her attacker so I can at least strategize something and get her spiritually reconnected. Hard to take advantage of God’s protection if you’re not in line with Him.

  No one stirs until I flip on the blender to mix the batter. The motor sounds
like a jet carrier preparing for take-off.

  A bleary-eyed Tess pushes through the swinging door with enough force to hold back a tide. Gray sweats, over-sized flannel shirt, and pink, fuzzy slippers with… are those bunny ears? She won’t win any fashion contests. “What’re you doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  I make a point of checking my watch. “Almost seven. Day’s half gone.”

  Pushing the tangled hair from her eyes, she shlepps to the coffee pot. “I liked you better before you got comfortable around here. Remember when you asked permission to use the washer? Those were the good ol’ days.”

  “Liked me better, huh? You about took a contract out on my life.” I pour spoonfuls of batter onto the griddle.

  Tess slides the carafe back on the burner. “Are you going to share?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?” She lifts the mug to her lips and slurps. Way to impress me.

  “We’re dressing for breakfast. Think you might find something appropriate to wear?”

  “You mean like white gloves and a tiara?”

  I take in her slippers. “I’d settle for anything that’s not out of The Redneck’s Guide to Fashion.”

  She snorts. “You break into my house then have the nerve to criticize my attire?”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Her eyes narrow. “What’s that in your back pocket?”

  “What?” I contort my body. No use, can’t see my back pocket.

  “Is that a handkerchief?”

  Is that all? “Yeah. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? Not even my dad owned one. In fact, I think it’s against the law to buy them if you’re under seventy. Way to attract the babes, Jake.”

  “You’re one to talk.” I flick the spatula at her. “And your dad wondered why you never married.”

  Mumbling, she leaves the kitchen—insufferable the only discernible word. Five minutes later, she’s back in a pair of faded jeans, a pink sweater, and sneakers. Arms spread wide, she curtsies. “Does this meet with your approval, Your Majesty?”