For the first time, I’m able to see her almond-shaped eyes as my own, similar in shape and color but far more experienced and well-versed in life. “Yes, I’m here about the letters. How did you know?”
“I knew this day would come.”
Looking down at our hands, I realize, aside from color—hers the color of milk chocolate and mine a pale pink—and age, they look identical.
“How come we have the same hands, Esther?”
But she doesn’t answer. She only stares straight ahead.
Finally, after several moments, she says, “It is not for me to explain, my dear. It is not my place.”
“Whose place is it?”
“This needs to come from your mother.”
I’m slow to speak. “You aren’t my mother?” A question I’ve pondered for several moments.
We do look alike in different ways.
Her answer, “No,” gives me both a feeling of sadness and relief at the same time. Sadness because I feel a deep connection to Esther, a wise woman with profound comfort of who she is, and relief that I don’t have to feel through another upset.
“But please know, Tess, that if we had to do it over again, we’d do the same,” Esther says and reaches for my hand.
I’m not sure what this means. “Do what over again, Esther?”
“You must go now, Tess, and find the answers you’re looking for.”
At first, I’m reluctant to let go for reasons I can’t explain—I only feel it deeply within me—but I do what she asked me to do.
I stand. “Can I come tomorrow and see you?”
“My hope is that you will come every day to see me, Tess.” And with that, her wide smile spans the distance of her face, and her eyes light up.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask.
She smiles. “Same time tomorrow.”
I walk away from Esther, feeling a little peace. With all the unanswered questions, I should feel indifferent, but I don’t.
When I get back to the truck, I look down at my phone. It’s an unknown number who’s called, so I call it back.
“Hey, Tess. It’s Jacob.” His voice is slow, almost sad. “I … I just need to tell you that my grandmother passed away this morning in her sleep.”
The air that I breathe suddenly stops. It stands still, unable to reach my lungs. I gasp, jerking my head up to look at the bench, but there’s no one there, except the eagle resting on the back of the bench.
“What?” A loud ringing in my ears starts.
“I wanted to tell you in person, but you weren’t at the Isner house, so I got your number from Olive.”
“But … I just talked to her.”
My sentence is met with silence on the other end of the line.
“That can’t be, Tess. She died this morning.”
“No, no. She—” I climb out of the truck and begin searching for her, walking to the bench. My eyes swiftly searching for Esther. “Jacob, she was right here. I just spoke to her.”
A sigh sounds. “I came home on leave to say good-bye to my grandmother, Tess, and to help my grandfather. She had cancer. She didn’t want anyone to know. She didn’t want pity.”
I ask him the words that are dying deep inside my chest. “How am I connected to your family, Jacob?”
“Huh?”
I tell him about the letters from my mother to Ike.
I tell him about the picture downstairs.
I tell him about the way Emmitt looks at me, treats me.
I tell him about the familiarity of the Isner house. The smells. The insecurity I felt as a little girl with my own mother.
This starts to spew from my mouth, and I cannot control it.
When I’m done, there’s only silence on the other end and then an apprehensive sigh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Tess.”
34
Casey
I sure as hell can’t tell Tess now.
She’s trying to navigate the waters of this whole thing with Ike and her mother. This is the last thing she needs.
But Tess comes through the door just as I’m making a fire for the evening, and she looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“You all right?”
Slowly, she moves her head to face me. “I’m not sure anymore, Case.” She shuts the door behind her, shock registering on her face. She hangs her coat up, walks to the sofa, and sits.
I sit next to her, and she begins to unravel a story about an eagle and a conversation with Esther, who just passed away, and Jacob and how the answers to all of this lie with her mother, Mavis.
“What about Martin?”
Tess shrugs. “I’m sure he knows, but I don’t think he’ll tell until I talk to my mom.” Tess stares at the flames, and darkness begins to fall outside. “I felt close to Esther, you know, like I knew her. Like something of me was connected to something in her. Some sort of mentor or spirit guide maybe. I don’t know.” She laughs. “This all sounds so crazy, right?” She looks at me, trying to be brave.
Shaking my head, I push a strand of her hair from her face. “I used to ride bulls with a guy named Pauly Calhoon. His mother was Native American while his father was a little everything. Anyway, he said that to the Native American culture, the eagle means sacredness. Since they fly so high, they believed that they were closest to the Great Spirit. That the eagle delivers prayers to the Great Spirit. He said that the eagle means strength, wisdom, and courage.” I stand and walk to the counter. I grab my cowboy hat and walk back to the sofa and sit down. “Pauly gave me this before his last ride. He was a real spiritual guy.” I pull out the eagle feather he gave me all those years ago.
“He died?”
“No, no. His father did though, so he moved back to Montana to help his mom with the family ranch.”
“May I?” she asks.
I hand her the feather.
“Maybe the eagle came to you as a symbol of strength. That no matter what comes of all of this, you will be okay, no matter what, and that you need to keep moving forward.”
Tess takes her attention from the feather and moves it to me.
“Look, on a whim, right before winter, you moved from our small-ass town to an old fixer-upper house in Ketchikan, Alaska. You left everything behind. Now, you’re here, I’m here, and we’re back together.” But when I say this, her face grows in question, her stare still on me. “I mean, if you’ll have me. We haven’t made things official.”
“I’d like that, Case.”
“The feather also represents freedom,” I say as I pull her to me. Her head falls to my chest, and I kiss the top of it. “Maybe it’s time to be free, Tess.”
The rain starts. The wind starts. The fire crackles. The old house begins its groans. There’s absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be.
As if everything in the world is finally right in so many fucked up ways.
Like the Great Spirit and God agree that I finally got things correct and my job is to get Tess there too.
I reflect on my time with Top Ten, how he let me live and how that ride was the ride that gave me purpose outside of bull riding.
“Case?” Tess asks, still holding the eagle feather between her fingers.
“Yeah?” I take in the scent of her hair.
“What do you think our little boy is doing right now?”
I feel the ache of lies in my chest. “I think he’s getting all the love he needs at this very moment.”
It’s been two weeks. There wasn’t a service for Esther, but Tess and I walked down to the water and threw roses in the ocean.
The upstairs floor is finally done. The house is almost finished. Tess and I purchased furniture, and she redid the bedrooms and the bathrooms. We updated the house with new appliances, beds, rugs, and a living room set. We changed the downstairs into a recreational room with a pool table and a big screen TV. We even added a mechanical bull, which Emmitt had come across when he was in Fairbanks.
The house looks brand-new, and yet there�
��s a connectedness to its past with pictures we found in the basement, dating back to the early 1900s. She created a picture montage between the living room and the kitchen.
Tess has a knack for decorating. And I see the joy on her face when she finishes a room.
We’ve broken in the house with our lovemaking.
The kitchen.
The shower.
Downstairs.
I give her what she’s needed from me these past eight years, and she gives me what I’ve needed. We’ve made up for lost time and then some.
And Tess still hasn’t called her mom. I don’t want to rush anything, but I can see the worry in her eyes when she’s smiling. I see the fear on her face when she thinks about it.
“The finals are next weekend,” she says, trailing kisses down my stomach.
I groan, pulling her to my mouth. I kiss her and then pull away. “Tess, I’m not having sex with you until you talk to your mom.”
“What?”
I smile against the pillow. Smile. “Nope, I’m shuttin’ shit down. No free rides from this guy anymore.”
She climbs on top of me, giggling and naked and beautiful, and I know I’ll cave—I always do for her.
“Is that right, Mr. Atwood?” She leans down, pushing my arms above my head. “You realize I’ve ridden a bull too. And he was like butter in my hands.”
I laugh out loud.
She does too, and she doesn’t cover her face. I see the little girl inside her that I saw all those years ago even if it is only for a moment. She falls against me, resting her head on my chest again.
Tess sighs. “I guess I’m scared, Case. I’m scared of what she’ll say.”
“What could be scarier than losing your brother and a child in one day?”
Tess’s body grows extremely still.
“Baby, we can do it together.”
She pulls her head from my chest and looks down at me. “You’d do that?”
“I would do anything for you, Tess.”
“After the finals.” She nods.
“No, Tess. Now.”
She sighs. “You’re a real pain in my ass, Atwood.”
“Same, Morgan. Same.”
I pull her to me and make love to her once more because I can’t spend another second without her.
I flip her over and push inside her from behind—the way she likes it.
It’s quick and hard, but we will make up for it tonight.
We both climax together.
Tess is on the phone when I come back inside the house from stacking firewood. It’s starting to get real cold here with daily temperatures into the teens. I think of investing in warmer jackets for Tess and me.
Is it her mom? I think to myself as I sit down at the counter on one of the new stools we purchased. I slide my phone from my pocket.
“Wonderful. Thank you so much, Mary Jo. That will be great. See you tomorrow. Bye.” She hits End. “That was the real estate agent that Emmitt had recommended. She’s going to come by and take a look at the house tomorrow.”
“You still want to sell?”
“Don’t you want your money back and then some, Case? I thought that was the plan. A business deal. Besides, you fulfilled your end of the deal, as I did mine. We never talked about a draw—if we both fulfilled our end of the bargain.” Her eyes find mine.
“What if … what if we keep the place?”
“Why would we keep it? Casey, you put a lot of money into this place. You need your money back.”
This time, I stare at her straight in the eye when I say, “This place, Ketchikan, will always be the place that rebuilt us, and I don’t know about you, but that’s worth a whole hell of a lot more than just money.”
Tess drops her shoulders and smiles. She turns a little pink in her cheeks.
“Besides, Grandma Clyda always says, ‘You ever seen a U-Haul behind a hearse?’” I smile at her and pop a carrot into my mouth from the bowl on the counter. I shake my head. “We can’t take money with us when we die.”
Tess looks around at her work, our work, Emmitt’s work. The white-tiled backsplash that we splurged on. The granite countertops that we installed with help from Stanley.
“So, we keep it and then what? Use it every ten years, like Ike used to do?” Tess asks.
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. What if we rented it out?”
Tess bites her lip, crosses her arms over her chest, and thinks. “Let’s meet with Mary Jo and see what she thinks. Then, we’ll weigh our options.”
I shrug. “Up to you.” Then, “Did you call your mom?”
I watch as her face shifts to nerves and apprehension.
“No.”
“Okay, here’s the plan. I booked us two one-way tickets home. You’ll ask your parents all the questions, and then we’ll fly together to the finals.”
Her demeanor changes and grows uneasy. I see the shift. I see the mood.
“You can’t keep running, Tess.”
“I’m not running. I’m thinking.”
“Is that what you call it? When the color drains from your face and you bite your lip?”
She tries not to smile. “What date are the tickets for?”
“Monday. I’ll fly here on Sunday to get you, and then we’ll fly home on Monday. That way, we’ll have two weeks in Dillon Creek before we leave again. Gives you plenty of time to figure things out with your parents.”
She shakes her head. “After all they’ve said about your family, the way they’ve treated you, how can you be so kind, Case?” She reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine.
“I might not have a relationship with them, but it’s real important that you do, Tess. Don’t worry. They’ll come around eventually.”
“Have you met my mom?”
I laugh. “I said, eventually. Besides, I’m a grown man, Tess. I can look out for myself. I have three brothers, remember?” And both of us share a moment as the grief washes over us. “Do you think Conroy and Tripp would let that shit continue? They’ll make it right. The truth will come out one way or another.”
“Can I tell you something a little morbid?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“I keep Tripp in the same white plastic container I brought him home from the mortuary in. He’s in my bathroom linen closet. And I specifically didn’t bring him with me to Ketchikan, so I’d stop talking to him as if he were really still here.” Her voice dies to a whisper.
I stand and walk to the door. I grab my cowboy hat, bring it back to the kitchen, and sit down on the stool again. From the inside of my hat, next to the eagle feather, I pull out a photo of Conroy and me when we were little boys. “I won’t ride a bull without him.” I hand the picture to Tess.
Her eyes fill with tears. “Do you realize we don’t talk about them? Ever?”
I nod, watching as Tess takes in the photo when my phone rings from my pocket. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I look at the screen. It’s Cash. I roll my eyes. Because the one thing I learned with Conroy’s death is, you always pick up the phone when someone calls. It might be the last time you talk to them. Conroy called my phone the night he died, and I let it go to voice mail because I was more caught up in getting to Oregon, so Tess could have the baby, and we could give him to a rightful home. I thought I’d be able to call him later.
Life had other plans.
I answer. “What?”
“Brother!” he yells.
I can tell he’s drunk.
“Hey, you need to settle a dispute.” His speech is slow, slurred.
“What?”
“There’s a newspaper reporter here in Dallas, and she is hot! She says you have a fucking kid, and I told her she’s fucking crazy!” He laughs into the phone, and my heart falls from my chest as my eyes meet Tess’s.
35
The Ladybugs
Mabe hasn’t eaten in days. Patty went home to be with her family in case their time together disappears.
Mabe’s
phone rings, and it sends a shock wave through her body.
She came clean to Betty. Told her everything.
Betty told Mabe it was the perfect time to serve a prison sentence.
Mabe thought Betty had fallen off her rocker. That the cheese had slid from her cracker.
“Your only living relation is a seventy-something woman. Your house is paid for. Your car is paid for, and The Ladybugs will survive without you,” Betty explained the other day.
But the truth is, Mabe is more concerned for Patty. Mabe had made a decision that night, but her decision, she decided, didn’t involve breaking the law.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mabe. This is Chief McBride. Listen, I need to meet with you and Patty today if possible.”
Oh dear. In person. This isn’t good, she thinks. She pictures herself in a bright orange jumpsuit.
“Yes, Chief. What time works best for you?”
“An hour?”
“Yes, that will be fine. Would you like to come here?”
“That’ll be fine.”
“See you then.”
After she hangs up with the chief, she calls Patty, and what usually takes seventeen minutes—the trip from Fortuna to Dillon Creek—only takes Patty eleven minutes.
At fifty-nine minutes since the phone call, there is a knock at the door. Mabe squeezes Patty’s hand and answers the door.
“Chief, thank you for coming,” Mabe says.
“Not a problem.”
Mabe, Patty, and the chief sit around Mabe’s dining room table.
The same sparrow takes a bath in the birdbath, and Mabe can’t quite understand why the sparrows are out, being that it’s winter and all.
The chief is slow to begin. “Your story matches up. We even dusted for prints after all these years. We hadn’t in the initial investigation because there wasn’t a third body or a third person—or so we’d thought. Your prints came back as a match. I had an unbiased mechanic from down South come to Evidence at the station in Eureka. Apparently, the spring had broken from the throttle body. The mechanic found the spring under the hood, next to the carburetor, on the intake manifold. And we’d never tested any of this because we didn’t have reason to.”
Saving Tess Page 23