Saving Tess

by J. Lynn Bailey

  She runs her hands alongside the bandages that are still there to keep the entrance wound and the exit wound from infection. Tess pushes herself up onto the counter, her ass on the edge so that I can get between her legs. I take her mouth hard as she puts her hand around my length.

  “Are you always this ready?”

  “Only for you,” she whispers.

  With that, I slip inside her and give us both what we need. This time, it’s quick and it’s hard and it’s so good. We climax together.

  Breathlessly, we both come up for air.

  “You’d better get some clothes on, Tess Morgan, or we will spend the whole damn day in this kitchen.” I shake my head and kiss her mouth one last time before I smack her naked behind as she struts off to the bedroom.

  “Hey, did you call Mary Jo?” I ask, rinsing out our coffee mugs.

  “I did,” she calls from the bedroom. “Told her we aren’t selling. That we’re keeping it for us.” Tess walks back out to the kitchen in a T-shirt and jeans that fit her body so perfectly. “You know what she said?”

  “What’d she say?” I ask.

  “She said that she couldn’t tell me how excited she was to hear that. It was almost like she was relieved.”

  Tess’s cheeks are still pink.

  The afterglow, I think to myself as I cup her cheek in my hand. “Did you talk to Jacob?”

  “I did. He and Martin will come out to Dillon Creek when he gets his leave in June. I’m not sure where we’ll put them.” Tess looks around at her small house.

  I slide my arm around her waist. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.”

  “Why are you being so sneaky, Mr. Atwood?”

  “Sneaky? Me? Never. Come on.”

  We head up the hill in my truck.

  She shoots a look back at me. “I haven’t been up here since we were kids.”

  “They kept the place up. Did a remodel that will blow your mind,” I say casually as we exit the truck.

  Up on top of Jagger Hill, you can see the entire Eel River Valley from Dillon Creek to Fortuna, to Belle’s Hollow, to Rio Dell. You can see the Dillon Creek town steeple from First Christian Church.

  Tess has loved this place since we were kids. From the property that it sits on to the plain at the top of the hill, to the view, to the house. She first fell in love with this place when Betsy Jagger invited her and her mom for some tea business. Then, Tess house-sat for the Jaggers as she got older. And then the Jaggers got older and older and eventually died in Southern California near their grown children.

  The front of the house has the views while the back of the house opens up to twenty acres of land, complete with a barn, a riding arena, and redwood trees—Tess’s favorite.

  “This view is just incredible, and it hasn’t changed over the years.” She carefully takes me around the middle and follows me toward the house.

  “I hope you have a key, Casey, because breaking and entering is not on my list of to-dos today.” She laughs.

  “Turns out”—I pull the keys from my pocket—“I do have a set of keys.”

  “Who gave you those?”

  I unlock the front door. The house has a wide open floor plan with ceiling-to-floor windows on the back of the house as well as the front of the house.

  “It’s empty.” Tess looks around, takes in the scent, and closes her eyes. “I can hear Betsy Jagger’s voice in my head right now. ‘Tess Morgan, life ain’t gonna be beautiful unless you make it that way.’ ”

  The Jaggers moved to Dillon Creek by way of Texas in their mid-thirties. The Jagger house was a vacation home until Gary Jagger retired from the oil company and made Dillon Creek their permanent residence until they got too old.

  “She really liked you.”

  “She liked me because I listened to what she had to say.”

  “Come on.” I take her hand and lead her to the living room—or the great room, whatever they call it.

  On the mantel sits a white box.

  My stomach begins to tie into knots, and my hands begin to sweat. Tess does a full turn and glances to the left—the wall of windows that overlook Eel River Valley and our future together—and ahead of us to the rock fireplace that trails up to the vaulted ceilings.

  “God, I love this house.” She turns to the view, and behind her, I grab the white box from the mantel.

  Now. Do it now.

  “Tess Elizabeth Morgan.” I get down on one knee.

  She turns and covers her mouth, looking down at me, unable to speak.

  “I love you for all the reasons you think you’re imperfect. From the day we met as kids, I knew you were the one and that all we needed was time. Who knew that our fate would take as many twists and turns as it has, and yet here we are, standing together where it all started. I’d be the happiest man in the world if you’d be my wife.”

  Tess’s eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes!”

  I slide the ring on her finger, and she doesn’t take a second glance. She just throws her arms around me and kisses me in the most meaningful way, making my knees weak and my heart softer.

  “How’d … how’d you get the ring back?”

  “I have my ways. Besides, you don’t hide things very well.”

  She pulls away too soon. “What about my parents?”

  “Tess, I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I hadn’t asked for your dad’s permission first.”

  Tess lets out a slow sigh. “He agreed?”

  “Of course he agreed.”

  I kiss her again and again and again.

  “We should go. I don’t want to get in trouble for being in a house that doesn’t belong to us, Case.”

  “Why would we get in trouble for being in a home we own?”

  That’s when her face turns to disbelief.

  Her eyes wide, she says, “Wh-what?”

  “That is, if you want it.” I shrug.

  “Ours? This … this is our house?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tess covers her mouth with her shaking hand and tries to put together words. “I swear to God, Casey, I have not cried this damn much in my whole life.” She spins around in the living room, taking in every angle, every aspect, every piece of wood. She faces me again. “I can’t believe this is ours, that you’re mine, and this is us.”

  “But I was hoping someone could decorate the place. Do you know anyone?” I walk toward her and take her hands in mine. “I was thinking we could get married in the back.”

  She pulls me to her and begins to laugh and cry and laugh again. “Yeah, that sounds perfect, Case. That sounds perfect. But the only thing I want in this whole world is you.”

  “I’m here, baby, forever.”

  46

  The Ladybugs

  “Erla Brockmeyer was called home to be with the Lord in her sleep. Some say she died from a broken heart, and others say she died from Alzheimer’s, but truth be told, she was just tired, and she missed her husband dearly. But it all doesn’t matter because she’s at peace now,” Pastor Mike starts.

  Scarlet wipes fallen tears from her eyes, the ones that not just burn her eyes, but also burn all the way down to her soul. Her regrets are many. Too many to count. She planned to come home for Christmas, but something always seemed to come up.

  Mabe squeezes Scarlet’s hand, as does Clyda on the other side of her.

  Scarlet’s mother didn’t make it home for her own mother’s funeral, which is no surprise. She has a way of cutting others out of her life as easy as flipping burgers.

  But it’s really nice to be surrounded by Scarlet’s grandma’s friends, The Ladybugs.

  As Pastor Mike goes on, Scarlet thinks about her own life as a businesswoman. She, too, is a bit cutthroat but never with family. Getting married and divorced from a man she settled for was never on her list of things to do in her life, because if she is being honest with herself, her heart has never fully recovered from Cash Atwood.

  Not since that summe
r when they were seventeen.

  Not since he broke her heart.

  But sometimes, stones are better left unturned. Some stones are better left where they lie. And some stones are better left painted a different color than their natural shade.

  Now, Scarlet’s job is in Dillon Creek, to clean out her grandmother’s home, sell it, and move on.

  A new woman, Patty—as Mabe introduced her—sits next to Mabe and cries.

  “She’s going through a lot right now,” Mabe whispers.

  Scarlet nods.

  The good pastor goes on about righteous love and forgiveness and that Erla expressed both. He talks about being a champion for God’s grace.

  Patty wails.

  Mabe stands and takes Patty outside.

  Scarlet wonders if Patty is different in the head or if she’s on the brink of an emotional breakdown, and she passes no judgment, as Scarlet herself has been there a time or two. Her divorce hit her harder than she would like to admit.

  Maybe it was me, she thinks. Maybe she was too cold sometimes. She knew she wasn’t completely in love with her ex-husband. Maybe her heart never grew past the Atwood brother who was destined to do big things in the rodeo arena.

  Here Scarlet is, sitting at her grandmother’s funeral, thinking about herself.

  Clyda squeezes her hand at Pastor Mike’s words, which she did not hear.

  Perhaps she ought to do more listening and less thinking of herself. Less thinking in general.

  She’s also angry with her mother for not coming to her own mother’s burial. Putting the burden on Scarlet to plan everything. Her mother can be quite self-centered too.

  Grief can be sneaky. Sometimes, it lives quietly in others, dormant, not demonstrating its true colors until one day, all the regret, all the missed opportunities of time well spent seeps into the hearts of loved ones, and the grief finally begins.

  She thinks about the last time she heard her grandma’s voice. The call she forwarded to voice mail because she just didn’t want to talk, too busy sulking in her own worries, her own self-pity, her Cadillac problems. If she could only go back and rewind to that moment, answer the call, she could have spoken to her grandma one last time.

  Scarlet tries to catch the tears that fall, one by one, but it’s no use, so she allows them to fall and allows herself to feel the weight of them. Her grandmother was her soft place to land. She came to Dillon Creek when things got to be too much in the city. A quiet place to get well, get close to her roots again, and find peace. But one day, Dillon Creek stopped being that place for reasons she’s not ready to discuss. That old prayer that goes, “Accept the things I cannot change,” well, Scarlet can’t quite accept those things.

  Scarlet built her life based on goals, success, and never once took time to look back and see where the inside job—the one that she’d constructed her heart around—faltered. She always knew that her heart would catch up with her one day; she just didn’t know it would be at her grandmother’s funeral at First Christian Church. Her tears fall quietly, and her eyes grow blurry.

  The two constants in her life—her grandpa Don and grandma Erla—are now gone, and Scarlet is left to pick up the pieces and find a new road. Not knowing where this new road will take her scares the hell out of her.

  47

  Tess

  Six Months Later

  Martin and I are still at the table with the meal we just finished. Casey has taken Jacob out to the barn to look at his hunting equipment.

  My parents have left after a hug and good-bye for Martin and Jacob. My parents have turned a corner with their grief, with me.

  The Atwoods have gone, too, and the exchange between the two families went better than expected.

  We had no idea how a big family dinner would go in our new home, but it’s like Ike’s letter said—Sometimes, you’ve got to find the healing in order to mend the bridges.

  Martin’s hands are soft, his skin thin, and in some places, there are little purple bruises. Between his fingers is his napkin, twisted and round. Since Esther died, he doesn’t wear the same smile I remember. His face is not as full, his heart probably not the same.

  “I am so proud of the woman you have become, Tess. I know your life with your biological mother was hard. As your grandfather, I tried and pushed Elizabeth. Then, one day, I pushed too far, and she took you away for several weeks. Your grandmother and I were devastated. We—” His voice becomes broken. “We were not sure what to do, but we did know you would be better off far away from Alaska. Hidden somewhere where he could not find you.”

  “He?” I ask. “My biological father?”

  Martin nods. “He died in prison. Serving a life sentence for a double homicide for killing his wife and his teenage daughter in 2009.”

  There are no words to fill this moment.

  “In our culture, it is the raven that we hold in high esteem. It is the raven that has taught our people many life lessons in forgiveness and love and respect and courage and bravery. Every time he came around you and your mother, the raven would put a dead mouse on our porch to signify his company with Elizabeth and you. That was when we knew he was back. We would start to notice the raven weeks before. He would fly overhead, make his calls, be loud or sometimes quiet.” He smiles only a little. “Esther and I decided enough was enough, and that day, when we went to get you for good, we opened our front door, and a pile of dead mice was lying on our porch. We knew something was awfully wrong. We went to Elizabeth’s to find her on the couch with the devil stuck in her arm, and you—” He covers his eyes with his hands so that I can’t see his tears.

  This is a memory I don’t have. But sometimes, the memory can play tricks on us, allow us to see only what we want to see to preserve ourselves, our hearts.

  “It’s all right, Grandfather. I’m okay now. Because of you and Grandmother, I’m okay.”

  He sucks in a gulp of air.

  It’s the first time I’ve called Martin and Esther grandfather and grandmother.

  “You were so little, my sweet girl. So little. At four, no child should see that. I am sorry we did not come sooner. That we did not do what we knew to be right in our hearts sooner.” Tears silently fall from his eyes.

  I put my hand in his. His big, soft hands bury mine.

  “You have faith in your children, that they will get right and take on their responsibilities as they should. We raised Elizabeth right, and it was her addiction that turned her into someone she was not. But I know she loved you with all her heart, and I also know that she knew she had to let you go to let you fly. After Elizabeth died trying to deliver Jacob out on the streets and you were safely with the Morgans, your grandmother and I felt relief. One day shortly after Jacob was born, we walked out to our old barn to do some cleanup, and when we opened the door, thousands of butterflies flew out in a swarm. We stood there and cried. In our culture, a butterfly symbolizes transformation.” He nods quietly to himself, perhaps remembering that moment. “So, if you see butterflies, know it is your other mother, making sure you are all right.”

  Tears make their way to the edge of my bottom lids.

  “But you see,” Martin continues, “nature has a way of taking care of its people because the man who helped create you died in prison. It is an unwritten law in prison—among the inmates, I suppose—that if a child is harmed on the outside by the hands of an inmate, he will not survive prison. And so it was.”

  Before anyone can interrupt this moment, I lean over and embrace my grandfather. “Thank you for putting me and Jacob first. Thank you for giving up time with me for all these years to do what was best for me.”

  The door swings open, and Austin comes running at me.

  “Tess, look what Casey gave me!” Austin falls into my arms, and in his hands is Casey’s 2020 PBR World Finals Champion belt buckle. But all I can think about is this sweet, little boy who smells of the outside and hay barns and sweat, in my arms after all these years.

  And absolutely noth
ing could be more right in the world at this moment.

  “Children are full of forgiveness, are they not?” my grandfather whispers.

  Danielle and Trent—Austin’s mom and dad—follow in behind him. I nod in gratitude for them allowing me time with their son.

  They nod back, and Danielle’s head falls against Trent’s chest. They’re incredible parents.

  Casey and Jacob follow inside.

  “Casey!” Austin squeals. “Can you teach me how to ride a bull?”

  Danielle’s mouth drops open. Trent laughs.

  Casey leans on the kitchen counter and smiles. “Baby steps, kid. Baby steps.”

  Danielle is relieved.

  And I tighten my arms around Austin, knowing he’s got the heart and the toughness to ride like Casey, but I hope, for Danielle’s and his future wife’s sakes, that he finds a different line of work.

  Trent turns to Casey. “How’s retirement treating you? Do you miss it?”

  “Man, I can tell you everything I don’t miss. The travel, time away from family and friends. The beating my body took every weekend.” He laughs.

  Danielle turns to me. “I absolutely love your decorating style, Tess. Your taste is just incredible.”

  “Thank you. I really enjoy it.”

  “Have you thought about being an interior designer?”

  “Well, actually …” I hand her my new business card that reads Tess Morgan, Interior Designer.

  “Oh, my friends are going to die over this. Would you consider coming out for a visit to Idaho?”

  I smile not only with my mouth, but also with my heart. “In a heartbeat.” Because that means Casey and I will get more time with Austin.

  I reached out to the adoption agency and asked if they could forward our contact information to Austin’s parents, and we were prepared if they didn’t want anything to do with us. It was the call I received about two months ago that still sits with my heart on a daily basis.

  “We’ve always been very honest with Austin about where he came from. He knows he has another mom and dad,” she said. “We have full faith that God put Austin in our lives at the time we needed him most,” she went on.