Saving Tess

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Before I depart the ferry, I wait for all seven passengers to exit and walk to Willow. “What language are they speaking?” I motion to the elderly couple and the young soldier.

  Willow smiles. “Tlingit. A native tribal language that has somehow vanished into the American culture. That is Martin and Esther Walters and their grandson, Jacob.”

  “Where are his parents?”

  “His mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, that is a story for another day.”

  I take Willow’s suggestion. “Thank you for the entirely too-short boat ride.”

  Willow smiles proudly and pulls her chin up just a smidgen. “You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay, Tess.”

  “I don’t remember telling you my name.”

  Willow points down toward my suitcase. “Unless you borrowed an overnight bag, it’s on your luggage tag.” She shrugs. “It’s my job to know these things.”

  “Oh.” I laugh.

  Willow and I exchange good-byes, and I exit the ferry, watching as Jacob helps his grandmother into the car while Martin walks to the driver’s door. I’m drawn to them, their story, and I’m not sure why.

  I pull out the address from my purse, my luggage in tow, and realize how cold it’s getting as the sun has finally made its descent behind the mountains.

  Instead of retrieving my phone, I think better of it. Walk back to the boat. “Willow!” I call.

  She looks down at me from the top of the boat.

  “Can you tell me where 93 Baker Street is?”

  She pauses. “You’re in the old Isner house?” Her look is both peculiar and questioning.

  Some sort of whistle sounds from Willow’s boat just as I say, “He … he passed away.”

  “What?” she calls down.

  “He died!” I yell back.

  “What?”

  “He’s dead!” I yell again.

  “What?”

  The whistle stops.

  “Ike Isner is dead!”

  “He’s dead?” Willow asks.

  I’m careful with my words now, uncertain of how she knows Ike, uncertain of their relationship. So, I tread lightly. “Yes. I’m sorry if you’re just hearing the news now.”

  “Oh, the Isners were big in our community. Not in my time, but my grandfather’s time.” Willow is probably eighteen, maybe nineteen. She’s quiet for a moment, almost lost in thought. “Anyhow, 93 Baker Street is that house right there on the hill with all the windows. Take Bunker to Baker. It’s about a two-minute walk.” She smiles. “But it’s uphill.”

  I take the keys that Twila gave me from my purse and breathlessly set my bag down against the house. It’s cold in Ketchikan, Alaska. But not as cold as I thought it would be. Then again, it’s only September, and things aren’t always what they seem. My hands are like ice as I slide the key into the lock, and the door opens with a long, smooth creak.

  The scent of age and time and old memories fill my nose. A familiar scent. A scent I can’t quite put my finger on.

  It’s dark inside, and I reach for a light switch against the wall as I step into the old house.

  The living room illuminates. Twila said in an e-mail she’d get the power and water turned on, something I didn’t even think about, as I was too caught up with should I stay or should I go.

  To the right, the living room is big and open, and tucked behind it is a wall of windows, but it’s too dark to see the view tonight.

  I pull my suitcase in behind me and shut the door.

  There’s a knock at the door, which nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I turn back to the door, and my heart begins to race.

  “Who-who is it?”

  “Jacob.”

  My eyebrows draw together. Jacob? He’s safe, Tess. He’s military. Calm yourself down.

  I open the door.

  Jacob is holding a casserole dish with pot holders. “My grandmother wanted me to bring you this.”

  “Oh, that … that’s very kind of you, your grandparents.” How did they know I was at this address? I take the dish from Jacob.

  “My grandmother says you can keep the pot holders. She makes them.”

  “This … this is very thoughtful. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “My grandmother says if you bring back the dish, she’ll fill it for you again.”

  I smile. “Where can I return it?”

  “The Tlingit Visitor Center. She’s a Tlingit elder and a volunteer there.”

  “I’ll do that—bring back the dish.”

  “Anyhow, welcome to Ketchikan.” Jacob turns to leave.

  “Jacob? How did you know I was here, in this house?”

  He stops, turns back to face me, rubs the back of his neck, and shrugs. “My grandmother knew. She says, ‘Welcome home.’ ”

  My eyebrows furrow. Welcome home? She probably has me confused with someone else.

  “Enjoy.” He smiles.

  “Thank you, Jacob. And tell your grandmother I said thank you.”

  “Sure will.” And he leaves.

  I quietly shut the door behind me and find the kitchen to the left. I turn on the light. It’s a big, open kitchen, though it dates back to the early ’90s. It’s dusty. I set the dish down on the counter and take off the lid. It’s salmon, and the scent of the dish smells of garlic and butter. My mouth begins to water. Next to the salmon is some sort of small potatoes.

  I put the lid back on to keep it warm while I unpack.

  It was awfully kind of Esther. The thoughts of what Jacob meant by welcome home prickles at the back of my brain as I wander through the house. The furniture is covered in sooty white sheets. Two sofas face the wall of windows along with two big recliner chairs and a coffee table. I carefully pull the sheets from the furniture.

  The sofas’ pattern is roses with green stems while the recliners are brown leather.

  A fireplace sits in the middle of the windows, and the rock-lined wall goes clear up to the middle of the vaulted ceiling.

  The hardwood floor creaks under my feet from years of weight and it makes me wonder what the walls have seen and called to those who’ve lived between them.

  I walk back to the front door and get my bag, wheel it down the hallway past the kitchen, and find two bedrooms. The beds are down to bare bones. A headboard and a naked mattress, a window with drawn curtains.

  I take the bedroom in the back. I’m not sure why. Maybe if a wild animal made its way inside, I suppose I could buy myself a few more minutes to think of a plan to save myself. This makes me think of The Great Outdoors, a favorite movie of my dad’s. This thought leads me to my parents. I should probably let my mom know I made it safely.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I text my mom. Then, I shoot an e-mail to Twila and thank her for turning on the power and water. Then, I start a to-do list.

  Fear starts to creep in. I flew over a thousand miles to a place I’ve never been, to live in house, in a community I’ve never been to, to fix and sell a house. I’ve officially lost it.

  But instead of going into panic mode, I add Take a homemade dish to Esther to my to-do list.

  I also add Grocery store to my to-do list. Then, I start a grocery list.

  The fear gets louder in my head as I think of the creaks in the floor, the repairs that will need to be made, the money that I don’t have.

  A soft pour of rain starts. It’s gentle, as if the weather gods were asking the house for forgiveness beforehand.

  The downpour starts.

  The wind begins to howl. At first, it’s quiet, but once the wind and the rain starts to dance, the house begins its song, both somber and merciful, all at the same time. As I listen, I make a note to call a contractor to see what needs to be done structurally to the house in order to sell this place.

  My phone begins to ring, and his name slides across the screen.

  It’s Casey.

  8

  Casey

  One beer led to three and the shot that
Tuff Hedeman bought me. We talked bulls and riding and all the shit.

  We talked about Disaster—his spins, kicks, and twists.

  When Tuff leaves, I’m alone at the table.

  A brunette who reminds of Tess sits down across the table from me and doesn’t say a word. She sits and stares at me.

  After a long minute, I say, “Can I help you?”

  She eyes me. “Yes, you can actually. I’ve been sitting across the bar, watching the women fall all over you this evening, and never once did you pay them any mind.” She pauses. “Who are you in love with?”

  “What makes you think I’m in love?”

  God, she reminds me so much of Tess. This could be a problem.

  I push my beer out of the way. No more, I tell myself.

  “Well”—she shrugs—“if you had even stopped to notice how beautiful these women were and you didn’t have a pure heart, then I’d say you would have taken one or more home by now.”

  I lean back, cross my arms against my chest, and stare back at her. The jukebox plays a Chris Stapleton tune, something about drinking and losing things. I’m curious about the woman who sits in front of me.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  “Casey. And you?”

  “Ava.”

  The waitress sets a shot down in front of me.

  “I didn’t order—”

  “I did,” Ava interrupts as the waitress also sets one down in front of her.

  “Congrats on a great ride.” She holds her shot glass up.

  I hold up my shot glass, and we take them.

  “I thought you didn’t know my name,” I say.

  Ava smiles. Sets her shot glass down. “Just wanted to confirm it was you.”

  I settle into my own skin. Get comfortable with the fact that I just rode a hell of a ride, and all of a sudden, I’m at ease with the attention.

  It is always the last shot that makes everything feel all right, makes me content in my own skin.

  I scan the room for Garrison, who’s making out with some buckle bunny in the corner of the bar.

  “What’s her name?” Ava asks. “The woman you’re in love with.”

  I don’t know this woman from Eve. How do I know she’s not some trashy magazine reporter, looking for untrue stories?

  “You remind me of someone.” I change the subject.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Someone I used to love.”

  She smiles. “Ah, so it is a lost love.”

  “Something like that.” The shot finally explodes in my stomach. I stare into her eyes, and all I see is Tess. Against my better judgment, I say, “You want to get out of here?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  I put my hand on the small of her back as we exit the bar. When we’re outside, I grab her by her hips and back her up against the wall outside the bar. I’m barely an inch away from her lips.

  “Are you okay with this?” I whisper.

  “Yes,” she says breathlessly.

  I cover her mouth with mine and use my tongue to explore her.

  I feel her breasts against my chest.

  Her body against mine.

  I kiss her hard and fast, and all I can picture is Tess.

  I try to chase her out of my mind.

  Pushing Ava’s head to the side, I caress her neck, trailing kisses down the side. Pull her tank top strap back and kiss her collarbone. The one place that was Tess’s weakness. Part of me prays she’ll enjoy it and let me know. Because maybe I can have a Tess without our past. Maybe I can fall in love with someone who isn’t Tess.

  I harden against her, and I know she feels me.

  “Do you have somewhere we can go?” she asks. “If you don’t, I can arrange something.”

  “Come on.” I pull her by the hand, as if I owned her, and lead her across the street and upstairs to my hotel room.

  After I fumble with the key, we make it inside the room. Grabbing both of her legs, I wrap them around my waist and walk to the bed, set her down, and crawl on top of her.

  Kiss her until my lips hurt.

  Kiss her like she’s my Tess.

  Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

  I slide in next to her. Set my cowboy hat up on the bedpost.

  “Is this okay?” I ask again, more urgent and with more hunger.

  “Yes.”

  She grabs her breasts in her hands, her legs spread, and I run my hand up her thigh and underneath her skirt. I push her panties to the side, trace around her folds, and push lightly.

  She whimpers beneath my touch, and I look at her.

  In this light and by the face she’s making, she isn’t Tess at all.

  She’s just a gorgeous woman who’s almost naked, in my room, in my bed.

  She doesn’t have Tess’s dimple or her giggle when I did things to her like this in the front seat of my pickup truck when we were seventeen. Or the night we went all the way and made love.

  I took her virginity that night. She took mine.

  In this light, I see a woman who isn’t Tess at all, but a figment of what I want her to be.

  Ava is a beautiful woman, but she isn’t Tess.

  I drop my head. Pull my hand from her panties. “I … I’m sorry. I can’t … I can’t do this.”

  Ava smiles, breathing hard, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s the woman you’re in love with, isn’t it?”

  “Something like that.” I stop and look at Ava. “I’m sorry.”

  She sits up and pushes herself to the end of the bed. Stands. Pulls down her skirt. Puts herself back together.

  No, she isn’t Tess at all, but God sure made her beautiful.

  “Seeing as you’re not wearing a wedding ring, is she your girlfriend?”

  “Was. Long time ago.” I sit up. “I’m really sorry, Ava.” I drop my head.

  “No, it’s fine. I knew what I was getting myself into when I sat down at your table. Thought I might be able to change your mind.”

  “You’re a stunning woman.”

  She puts her long, dark hair into a ponytail. “It’s fine, Casey. But let me know if things don’t work out.”

  I stand to walk her out.

  “Will you stop with all your gentlemanly ways? You don’t need to walk me to the door.”

  “I’m not. I’m walking you to your car at the bar.”

  Ava laughs. “Why?”

  “Because that’s how I was raised. I’m not letting you walk back without me. And I don’t take no for answer.”

  Ava rolls her eyes, but she wants this. She wants this in a man, and I’m not the one to give it to her.

  “I have a driver.”

  “Great. I’ll get to meet him.”

  We walk back downstairs.

  There’s a man who’s bigger than the state of Alaska with a panicked look on his face. His neck is thicker than my thighs. He’s outside the hotel. “Holy shit, Miss Ava. God. Where the hell did you go?”

  “Needed a break. That’s all.” She winks at me.

  “Who is this guy?” I whisper.

  “My security,” she whispers back.

  “Is this cowboy giving you a hard time, Miss Ava?”

  Shit, this guy could crush me with one punch. Knock me into Tuesday.

  “No, not at all. Come on, Gavin. Take me to the car.”

  “Good night, Casey. Thank you,” Ava says with a wink.

  “Hey, what do you do for a living?” I ask.

  She turns back, and Gavin laughs.

  “Does it matter?” she asks.

  I guess it doesn’t. “Just making sure you’re not some news reporter, looking for a story.” I smile.

  “See you around, Casey. And I really hope that woman is worth your heart.”

  Night two. Round two.

  “And now, Downey Records’ double-platinum recording artist and Grammy winner Ava will perform ‘If I Were You.’ ”

  The crowd erupts.

  I drop my head an
d smile.

  Ava takes the stage and finds me standing with the other bull riders in the middle of the arena.

  “This performance is dedicated to the good guys, one in particular. Right, Casey?” She winks at me.

  I look back at her, shaking my head, and smile back. Definitely not a reporter.

  As I listen to Ava’s performance. Once she’s done, I try to get my head in the game, I go over Tuff’s advice in my head. Visualize my ride. And then wipe my mind clean.

  Just me and Disaster.

  Dancing partners.

  Old lovers.

  It’s late when I pull into Dillon Creek. I ended up winning the event and taking home the whole pot of money.

  Suppose I got lucky this time.

  Got some good rides.

  Got some good bulls.

  Didn’t die.

  I drive down Main Street.

  As much as I try to run from this town, I always come back. There is a sense of calmness, a sense of knowing. This will always be home. It hurt to be home after Conroy died. Everything reminded me of him. Being at the ranch hurt too.

  I pull over at Wilson’s Grocery to grab a few things.

  “Casey!” Twila yells.

  Shit. Just what I don’t need right now.

  “Hey, Twila. Sorry I didn’t stop by.”

  “That’s okay because I have what I need to give you here.” She reaches into her slim briefcase and hands me a manila envelope with my name on it. “Call me after you’ve read it, and we can go over the details.”

  Whatever it is, I probably won’t want it, but I don’t tell her this. “Will do.”

  “Oh,” she says as she continues on her way. “That was a cute video with you and that little boy.”

  After I’m home, I toss my riggin bag and my overnight bag on the counter. I throw the manila envelope down on the counter too.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  But nobody seems to be inside.

  Mom and Dad’s truck are here.

  “Hey, son.” My dad walks into the house behind me. “Great rides.” He grabs my shoulders and then points to the manila envelope on the counter. “What’s that?”

  I shrug, almost annoyed. “I don’t know. Some letter from Twila.”