Saving Tess

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Calder and Colt jump in and hold us back as we struggle to free ourselves, staring each other down with momentary hatred.

  “Casey, please. What are you talking about?” my mom begs.

  “Let me go, Calder!” I yank my arms free and storm outside, not sure where the hell to go.

  I walk toward the fence line through the darkness and scream out the most horrendous yell I have ever let go.

  Resting my hands on the fence, I drop my head and stand here in the night as I listen to the stillness of the night.

  Brooks, my dog, is at my feet, looking up at me, whining.

  I’ve missed him, and I drop my hand to give his head a scratch. He tucks his ears in, knowing I’m not happy. Knowing that something is wrong.

  “It’s all right, boy.”

  Twenty minutes pass, and the red I saw earlier slowly begins to fade.

  I hear footfalls behind me.

  “You done?”

  But it isn’t Calder.

  It isn’t Colt or my dad.

  It’s Cash.

  Sighing, I keep my head where it’s at, my hand on my dog. “You’ve got balls, coming out here, Cash.”

  He laughs. “I come face-to-face with one-ton animals three nights a week. There’s no question about my balls.” Cash comes to the fence and stares at the ranch that’s illuminated in the moonlight. He’s holding a towel to his nose.

  I don’t apologize for the nose yet. With disdain in my tone, I say, “Why’d you tell the reporter it was you?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I don’t want to feel like I owe you, Cash. Fuck. I don’t want to feel anything toward you because you never, ever make right on your word, and I don’t want to feel the fucking guilt because I’m fucking angry with you.”

  “Look, I know I’m an asshole, and I know I’ve screwed up a lot.” He laughs and then pauses to gaze out into the darkness. “Too many times to count. Guess I just wanted to get it right, just once. You’re going to the finals. I … I just didn’t want that burden on your shoulders. And people expect that of me—that type of behavior—but not you and certainly not Tess.”

  I whip my head around. “How do you know it was the truth?”

  He smirks. “Come on, man. I know you. The second you paused on the phone that day, I could tell that it was true. And I know that’s why you and Tess weren’t there on Waddington when Conroy and Tripp were killed. I know you went to Oregon.”

  “How? How do you know all this?”

  “Fed the reporter drinks. Got her drunk. She knew some pieces, but I filled in the rest with what was left—in my head, of course.”

  “Suppose you fucked her too.” I shake my head.

  “Here nor there.” Which means he did. “Have you told Mom and Dad?”

  “No,” I say sharply. I need to tell them. There’s a lot I need to talk about with Mom and Dad … and Tess.

  “You should be honest.”

  I let out a loud howl of laughter. “You, talking about honesty?” I give him a side-eye.

  “We’re built different, Case. It’s expected of me to act a certain way. But you? The expectations for you are different. Besides, sometimes, it’s easier to fit the mold we’re given.”

  “For you.”

  “Yeah, for me,” he sighs.

  Footfalls sound again. Several this time.

  Cash and I look back to see both of our brothers coming toward us.

  There’s only one missing. There’s been one missing for the past eight years.

  “You two figure it out yet? Or are we going to have to put you in the barn for twenty-four hours to figure it out?” Colt laughs as they join us at the fence.

  I’m still pissed off at Cash. Maybe I’m taking other shit out on him that isn’t his shit to own, but on the other hand, it feels real good to have the four of us together again.

  Colt starts to laugh.

  “What’s funny?” Calder asks.

  “I thought”—he laughs more—“you were going to rip Cash’s face off.”

  Then, Calder starts to giggle. Then Cash and finally me.

  Cash’s nose is still swollen and red when he removes the towel because, now, he’s bending over, laughing so hard that it’s uncontrollable.

  We all are.

  I don’t remember the last time we did this, but I know it was before Conroy died.

  And it feels real good and real sad, all at the same time.

  Once the laughter dies down, I tell my brothers about the baby. How well Tess hid it. I tell them about the little boy that Tess and I had. Gave up for adoption. I tell them the truth about why we weren’t there when Conroy and Tripp were killed.

  I hold back on Tess’s story with her parents. I know her story has yet to be finished, and she’ll tell it when she’s ready.

  Calder looks at Cash. “You stickin’ around for the holidays? Could use the help.”

  “Yeah,” Cash says, lightly rubbing his nose with his fingers.

  “Broken?” I ask.

  “Nah, I’ve had plenty of those. Bone is still intact.”

  I nod. “Suppose you deserved the others, but you didn’t deserve this one.”

  “We good?” Cash asks.

  “I don’t know, man.”

  I’m not sure anything will ever be right with me and Cash. Maybe if he can stick around long enough this time, it might be.

  But Cash’s MO isn’t sticking around too long for anything.

  He’s broken hearts all the way across America and into Brazil. I know it because I have to hear the sob story afterward. Women asking about him at events, wanting to know why he is the way he is. Why he can’t just commit and settle down. Why he drinks too much and sleeps with way too many women. Why he goes from zero to a hundred with anger.

  Pent-up anger and grief.

  But for the first time in a long time, everything feels like it’s beginning to finally fall into place.

  Tess.

  The truth about our son.

  The finals.

  My family, my brothers, our mom and dad.

  But there’s still one thing I have to tell Tess, and all of this good might just explode in my face.

  38

  The Ladybugs

  Erla has decided and planned how she’ll die. She’s decided to drive to Garberville, forty-five minutes south of Dillon Creek, in a rented car with her cement blocks, her ropes, and all of her grief. There’s a deep spot in Eel River that never gets below twenty feet, even in the summertime. She’ll go late at night. It’s foolproof. Even if the police find the car, she rented it under Larry O’ Donnell in Eureka. Why they didn’t ask for Erla’s driver’s license was a sign from God that she was doing the right thing. How on earth anyone could rent a car without showing proof of a driver’s license is beyond her. And when the employee mentioned she was new at the rental place, well, Erla just squealed at her luck.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure, Erla?” Twila asks as she sits down at her desk across from Erla.

  “I need to update my last will and testament, Twila.”

  “We can do that.” Twila types something into her computer. “How are you?”

  Her look is a bit sad, maybe a little forlorn, and Erla knows what she means—without Don. How is your life without Don?

  “It’s moving forward,” Erla says. “Always moving forward whether I’m ready for it or not.” Erla chuckles lightly, trying to break up the slow sadness that has just overcome the office.

  “And what’s your date of birth, Erla?”

  “September 2, 19 …” Oh, no. What year was I born? “Um, 19 …” Erla says again and then tries to laugh it off. “Why, I can’t remember! Can we just write 19 something?”

  Twila pulls out her calculator. “If you don’t mind me asking, Erla, how old are you?”

  “Seventy-six,” she lies because, really, she stopped keeping track of her age at seventy.

  Anything over seventy is considered old, so anytime
anyone would ask, she’d reply with, “Old.”

  Twila does the calculation on her calculator. “Does 1942 sound right?”

  “Sure.” Erla Brockmeyer has been forgetting more and more these days.

  Her house is an array of colorful sticky notes. She prays nobody will come over unexpected because she’ll have to lie again. Boy, Erla wishes that God will give her a pass to heaven even though she’s been doing the devil’s work with the lying. And to be quite honest, she isn’t sure how God feels about suicide. Though it’s noted to be a sin in the Bible, she really hopes he’ll see all the work she did before she came home for good.

  In fact, just to remember this appointment, she made a line of sticky notes against the wall from her bedroom to the coffeepot and wrote Twila: Will and the date. There must have been forty of them! But all Erla has these days is time on her hands.

  Time and silence.

  Twila goes over the last draft of the will with Erla, and they make the necessary changes.

  Before Erla goes, she hugs Twila, knowing it might be the last time she sees her. “Thank you for all you’ve done for Don and me, Twila.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, Erla. Truly, it’s no problem.”

  Erla begins to leave out the back door.

  “Uh, Erla? Main Street is this way.” Twila points in the opposite direction.

  “Oh, that’s what I meant.”

  Erla reaches into her purse for her keys, and she feels a piece of paper next to them. She pulls it out and reads the piece of paper.

  You are parked next to The Flowerpot. Also, you have seeds that you found in the garage that are in the trunk of the car. Donate those.

  Mabe tried to convince Erla that she could use her phone for reminders, but Erla has never been one to trust technology. Besides, a pen and paper have never steered her wrong, so no need to start using technology now.

  Her phone is great for making calls and taking pictures, but that is about all she uses it for. She checks her e-mail on the computer and pays all of her bills with a good old-fashioned check, stamp, and envelope, which reminds her that she’ll need to write out directions for Scarlet about Don’s retirement checks.

  When she looked at the retirement paperwork when Don first got sick, Erla could receive the checks, but once she passed away, there would be no more.

  Erla pulls her coat tighter around her. She forgot it was winter in Dillon Creek. The changing of the seasons has always been her favorite.

  This will be the last one, she thinks quietly to herself as she makes her way down Main Street.

  Before she begins to cross the street, Bo Richards stops his truck for Erla and calls, “Mrs. Brockmeyer!” He waves from his truck for her to cross.

  “Mr. Richards!” She makes her way across the street and waves a thank-you.

  Erla feels relief. As if life has become a burden, and now, she’s going home to the big house.

  After Erla gets the flower seeds from her trunk, she makes her way into The Flowerpot.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Brockmeyer. It is so lovely to see you.”

  “Likewise, Juniper. Listen”—she sets the box of seeds down on the counter—“could you use these? I simply just don’t have the time or the use for them.”

  Juniper doesn’t even look in the box. “Of course. I’m certain I’ll find a home for them.” Juniper is as sweet as pie even if she is a little earthy. “Interested in new seeds? I got some hybrids in that I thought you’d enjoy.”

  And it hits Erla like a pile of cement.

  She won’t be around tomorrow.

  She won’t be around ever again.

  39

  Tess

  Mom’s eyes are bloodshot.

  Dad looks lost.

  She holds her breath before she starts, staring deeply into my eyes. “We … we wanted another child so badly.” She uses the tissue to wipe her nose. “We couldn’t conceive, your father and I. Tripp was getting older, and our time was running out. He’d run around the bar, happy as a lark, asking about a baby sister day after day,” Mom says, remembering. “Maybe he knew something we didn’t.” Mom looks around the living room, as if watching a day and time come alive that no longer exists, only a moment that has burdened her waking thoughts. “It was no secret that we wanted another child. We should have been grateful for just one healthy baby, but”—Mom reaches for my hand—“I think I felt something that was bigger than your father and me, something that we were supposed to do, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.” Her hand tightens around mine.

  “Anyhow, Ike saw something at the bar that day. He called me the next day,” she sighs and holds her memories at bay only for a minute to regain her composure. “He said there was a beautiful little girl that he knew who lived in Ketchikan. That her mother couldn’t take care of her and that her grandparents felt it was best for her to go somewhere far away from Ketchikan.”

  Mom pauses for a moment, and I move to the sofa to put my arms around her, feeling every minute of her pain.

  I was that mother. Too young to take on the responsibilities of a child for an act I’d done.

  The pressure from my heart fills my chest.

  “Your biological mother’s name is Elizabeth Walters.”

  Reality collides with the truth I’ve believed for years.

  Esther and Martin are my grandparents.

  My arms fall from my mother’s sides because I’m unable to slow the thoughts, the pieces of the story down.

  “She couldn’t take care of you because she was involved in drugs and just couldn’t get clean.”

  The feeling of chaos, I think to myself, never wanting to leave my mother’s side once I came to Dillon Creek.

  “The final straw came when your grandmother, Esther, came to pick up Elizabeth for dinner one night, only to find you at home alone. You told Esther that your mommy had been gone for a long time and that you missed her.” My mom chokes back tears. “You were so innocent and so young, Tess.”

  I can’t breathe because the story she’s telling is one that I remember, looking deeply inside my subconscious mind. I just needed someone to breathe life into a feeling I still feel today.

  “She said she’d be right back. And the sun set, and it was dark. I crawled into her bed and hid under the covers until the sun rose again. She didn’t come home.” My stomach begins to tie into knots, and I think I’m going to be sick.

  This time, my mom puts her arms around me.

  My father strokes my cheek, tears in his eyes.

  “There was no way we could let you go, Tess, after Ike told us that story. You were ours if Ike could legally get you to us.”

  “That’s why you don’t have baby pictures,” I say. I look into my mom’s eyes. “Esther passed away.” I shake my head and bring my eyes to the hardwood floor. “She gave me a Chilkat before she died.” I cover my mouth, now understanding that I am the family member, not a trusted close friend.

  “What?”

  “Cancer, and I had no idea. I got to meet with her, and she worked until days before she died.”

  My mother smiles through her tears. “That was Esther.” She picks up one of the letters on the coffee table. “We knew this day would come, Tess. I … I suppose your father and I just didn’t want you to feel unwanted if we told you. God, you’re our daughter. And when you said you were going to Ketchikan, that Ike had written the letter to you, we knew.” She nods and looks at my father. “We knew you’d eventually put the pieces together. Maybe it was the wrong decision not to tell you … maybe it was the right one. I don’t know. But”—she takes both of my hands into hers and looks down at them—“you belong to us, and I never wanted your biological mother to hurt your heart again. I’d seen how her drug abuse affected you. Her absence sat in your heart. When you were little, you were—”

  “Terrified of you leaving my sight,” I finish her sentence.

  All of a sudden, I’m four.

  Ike was beside me, holding my hand. He sai
d, “Elizabeth, these are the Morgans. This is Bruce and Mavis and Tripp.”

  Tripp marched right up to me, a stuffed animal in tow, and hugged me. “Sister,” he said and kissed me on the cheek.

  My mom got down on her knees in her pantsuit, her impeccable hair, and it was the look in her eyes, filled with empathy and unconditional love, that made my two little legs move toward her. But mostly, it was the tears that started to fall when I took those steps. She held open her arms, and I fell into them.

  “Welcome home, baby girl,” she whispered softly into my ear.

  “You changed my name,” I manage to say in the present moment.

  “I hope that’s all right, Tess. Ike recommended we do it, per Esther and Martin’s request.”

  “That … that’s my middle name. Tess Elizabeth Morgan.”

  “We didn’t want you to lose everything,” my dad finally says.

  My mom says, “Please know, Tess, that while your biological mother couldn’t take care of you, she was your mother, and she loved you with all her heart. That love never goes away.”

  And that’s when all the guilt of the last eight years comes to a head.

  I fall to pieces on the floor.

  I cry for our son.

  I cry for our son’s adoptive parents who received the gift that my parents received when they adopted me.

  I cry for the little four-year-old girl inside me who had a wonderful childhood because of my mom and dad. Because of Esther and Martin and because of Elizabeth.

  I cry for the years I spent in guilt, wondering if giving up our child for adoption was the right decision or not, the unjust anger I felt toward Casey for all those years.

  I cry for the unanswered prayers I never knew I had.

  Quickly, I realize that our little boy has a great life, and I know this because we were the Ike Isner in his case. Because I was adopted, I was given this beautiful life.

  We were given names of families who wanted our unborn child more than everything. Given résumés and videos and answered questionnaires.

  Only given first names of potential adoptive parents.