Tess in Boots

by Courtney Rice Gager

  And then it hit me. I dialed the number back and held the phone to my ear, willing him to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Bill? It’s Tess again. Tess Dougherty. What are they paying you? We’ll pay triple.”

  There was a clanking sound, and then muffled chatter in the background.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “I dropped the phone. Triple, you say?”

  “Yes. Triple.”

  “You’d have to pay half up-front, you know,” he said.

  “Done. Just tell me where to send the check. I’ll have it in the mail tomorrow.”

  More muffled chatter. Then Bill came back on the line. “Miss Dougherty? You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Things were starting to come together. I did a silent victory dance right there on Ms. Millwood’s front lawn.

  CHAPTER 18

  Maybe I should pick it up.

  No. Don’t do it, Tess. Don’t you dare answer that call. Let it go to—

  “Hello?” I sat sideways on a barstool in the barn, tallying up the invoices from the wedding when the phone rang. I tried to talk myself out of taking the call, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn’t resist.

  “Tess.” Logan sounded surprised to hear my voice.

  I wasn’t quite prepared for this conversation. Why was he calling after all this time? What did he want?

  There was a stretch of strained silence as I waited for him to speak.

  “You’re really gone, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “I went by your apartment again. I thought maybe you were bluffing. But you’re really gone. Where’d you run off to?”

  Don’t tell him, Tess. Stay strong. Make him suffer. Don’t—

  “I’m with Jake,” I said. “In North Carolina.”

  I didn’t mean to give in. But there was something about hearing him on the other end of the line.

  “Well… when are you coming back?”

  “I don’t know. Not for at least a couple more weeks. I’m planning a wedding.”

  “You’re planning a wedding?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Could I come see you then?”

  I hesitated. He wanted to come see me? I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw a man in a brown uniform standing in the doorway. He waved to get my attention.

  “Tess? Are you still there?”

  “One second.” I put my hand over the phone and turned to the man. “Can I help you?”

  “Delivery for Ms. James?” He thrust a clipboard in my direction.

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “Ms. James? Ms. Sara James?”

  “Right here.” Sara whisked through the doorway and took the clipboard.

  “You Ms. James?” the man asked.

  “I used to be.” She used the attached pen to scribble her signature, and he handed her a parcel envelope before he left. Sara breezed out the door without looking at me.

  I almost dropped the phone. Sara James? As in… Thatcher James?

  They had the same last name?

  Or, they used to, she said. Which meant… she and Thatcher were once… married?

  No. No way.

  But then again, it would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? The conversation I overheard between them, and the way she answered when I asked her how they knew each other. “It’s a long story,” she said.

  “Hello? Tess? Are you there?”

  “Huh? Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” I tore my gaze away from Sara and turned my attention back to Logan.

  “Good. So can I come see you?”

  A band of sweat formed along my hairline. “I… I don’t know. I’m busy. The wedding’s next Friday. I’m really swamped, Logan.”

  “I’ll come after the wedding. Saturday, maybe. I have some things to tie up around here anyway.”

  Like what? I wanted to say. Another relationship?

  “Please, Tess. I love you. I miss you.”

  He loved me? He missed me? What was he trying to pull, calling me like this?

  “I’m coming,” he said. “It’s final. You don’t have to see me if you don’t want to, but I’m coming.”

  I sighed. “I guess… okay. That’s fine.”

  “Good.” There was silence on his end of the line.

  “Why, Logan?” I closed my eyes and placed a hand on my forehead.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Why are you calling, after all this time? And why are you coming here?”

  “Because I miss you. It’s been too long since we’ve talked. I thought I’d hear from you by now.”

  I wanted to leap through the phone and wring his neck. It’s been too long since we’ve talked? I thought I’d hear from you by now? As if it were my fault he ran off like a coward and refused to call me for weeks? As if he’d been the one waiting around for me to call? He said he missed me, but I had a hunch it was because something must have happened with this other woman he was seeing. I wanted to shout at him. To demand answers. To tell him to lose my number and forget my name. But instead, I whispered into the receiver, “I know.”

  What was my problem? What was it about him that made me so weak?

  “I’ll see you next weekend. Goodbye, Tess. I love you.”

  He hung up, and I stared at my phone, recalling the details of our conversation and trying to remember when I turned into such a coward. I had so much to say to him. But instead of giving him a piece of my mind, I let him call the shots. It was always that way with Logan, wasn’t it?

  I remembered the first time he came to my apartment. We cooked a meal together, and he riffled through my drawer of kitchen gadgets.

  “I can’t find your garlic press,” he said.

  “My what?”

  “I guess that explains it.” He pulled a tattered potholder out of the drawer and held it up with two fingers. “Why are you keeping this?”

  I smiled. “Jake made it for me at summer camp when we were kids.”

  “Do you use it?” he asked.

  “Well… no, but—”

  “You need to clean this drawer out, Tess. Your kitchen will be a lot more functional if you organize it.”

  “I think my kitchen is fine.” I shrugged.

  He dropped the potholder in the drawer and snapped it shut. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

  And he did. Over the next few months he organized every drawer, closet, and crevice of my apartment. I cringed as he boxed away homemade birthday cards and tarnished soccer trophies. We were making my space more livable, he explained. It was time to grow up, time to get things in order.

  It was one of the countless ways Logan rearranged my life to fit his perfect standards. And just like always, I sat back and let him do it.

  Well not anymore. It was time for a change. I had a little over a week before he’d be here. A little over a week to grow a spine.

  And I knew just the thing to give me some practice.

  I tucked my phone in my pocket, gathered my paperwork, and headed off in search of Jake.

  CHAPTER 19

  I found him outside the house, lying on his back in the driveway, halfway under his car. Sara’s car wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  This was my chance. It was now or never.

  I walked up to where Jake was working and tapped his foot with mine. “Hey there.”

  “Hey, Tessy,” he said, without looking out from under the car. “Pass me that rag, will ya?”

  I crouched down on the gravel and picked up the rag, placing it into his open hand. “What are you doing under there?”

  “Changing the oil.”

  “Ah.”

  “How’s the wedding coming along?” he asked.

  “Good. Things are a little rushed, but it’s good.”

  “You know, Sara said there’s an orchestra concert downtown tonight. It’s just some local college kids. But I thought you could go check it out. You might find someone to play for the ceremon
y.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a little short notice.”

  “What else do you have to do?”

  I thought about it for a moment. He was right. What did I have to do? I had to plan the wedding, that’s what. And this would help. “That’s not a bad idea. Where is it?”

  “The community center, I think. Six o’clock. I can take you, if you want. It will give us a chance to hang out.”

  “Six o’clock. Yeah, that’s great. It’s a date. Thanks.”

  “Uh-huh.” He grunted, and I heard a metallic sound come from under the car.

  I took a few controlled breaths, trying to work up the nerve to tell him what I came to say. “Hey, Jake?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This may sound like a crazy question, but… has Sara been married before? Before you, I mean?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Are you sure? Like, absolutely, one-hundred-percent sure?”

  “I’m pretty sure, Tessy. But if she had been, I’d hope it was to someone rich. I’d like to cash in on that divorce settlement.”

  “How do you know for certain?”

  “Because I know my wife. What kind of crazy question is that, anyway?”

  I hesitated. How to even begin to tell him? “Jake…”

  Do it, Tess. Be a big girl. Say it.

  “Jake, do you think there’s anything… going on between Sara and Thatcher?”

  He laughed again, harder this time. “Oh, Tessy.”

  “Seriously!” I stomped my foot. It’s so obvious. Why doesn’t he see it?

  He slid out from under the car and sat up. “Seriously. No. Look, Tessy, I have a lot to worry about. Not the least of which is something going on between Sara and Thatcher.” He shook his head and smiled to himself.

  “But I—”

  Before I could say anything more, I heard the sound of tires on the gravel and saw Sara’s car approaching. She parked behind Jake and stepped out onto the driveway with the puffy brown envelope from earlier tucked under her arm.

  “Hey, babe.” Jake walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hey.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

  “That.” He pointed to the package under her arm.

  She looked from Jake to me, then back again. “This? Oh, nothing. Just something I ordered…”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Um… beauty supplies. You hungry?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’ll make some sandwiches.” She smiled at him and headed toward the front door. “How about you, Tess? You want to eat with us?”

  “No thanks. I have wedding stuff to do.”

  “All right. See ya later.”

  “See ya.”

  Jake went back to work on the car, and I started off toward the cottage. I looked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of Sara as she disappeared into the house. I couldn’t help but notice the way she carried the package close to her body, protecting it, as if it would shatter into a million pieces if she loosened her grip.

  Back at the cottage, I stretched out on the bed, reflecting on how Sara was so dismissive in brushing off the contents of the package, and how Jake simply shrugged and accepted her answer.

  Oh, nothing. Just something I ordered… It was so scary how he took what she said at face value. She was walking all over him, and he didn’t even realize what was happening. What else had he been so naïve about?

  Well, her relationship with Thatcher, for one.

  Sara James.

  Who are you, Sara James? And what do you want with my brother?

  Back when Jake and Sara got married, my mother was all up in arms about it. She said it was too fast; he didn’t know anything about her; they should have waited. She had a hard time letting it go, long after the wedding. And a part of me understood. I was just as concerned at first. Then I met Sara, and I liked her. To me she always seemed so caring and genuine. But now I wondered if maybe my mother was right. We didn’t know anything about her, did we? And being here, where she grew up, among all these secrets, made it all the more evident.

  It was so hard to stay here and watch Jake get trampled on. But then again, that’s the reason I was staying. For Jake. I promised to help him, and I’d gotten this far. I couldn’t leave him hanging. This wedding was important to him. And if it was important to him, it was important to me.

  I let out a heavy sigh and pulled myself up off the bed, walking over to the table and powering on my laptop. When the screen came up, I typed a quick email to Viv detailing the invoices I compiled earlier in the day so she could send out the payments. I cringed as I relayed the cost of the band in the email. It was way too much. But I was desperate. And besides, Viv had said it herself. “We’ll pay anything.”

  This would be some wedding, I mused. I couldn’t wait to get a look at this rich mystery couple. I hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed by the quaintness of it all. But then again, why would you come to a place like this if you weren’t going for quaint? They could have just as easily pulled this off in Hawaii. Or anywhere. So they must be looking for something low-key. If they were going for charm, I’d charm their overpriced pants off.

  I hit “send” on the message to Viv, and then opened up the email Natalie sent with the vendor information. I made a mental note to do something nice for that girl. She pulled through in a big way. In less than forty-eight hours after speaking with her, I had a cake and a band all secured. Now to call the photographer.

  Call DJ, she wrote. The photography thing is a side gig, but you have got to see these pictures.

  I dialed the number Natalie gave me and was surprised to hear a woman pick up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, I’m looking for DJ?”

  “This is DJ.”

  Huh. I don’t know why I expected it to be a man. Not that it mattered, but it surprised me a little. “Oh. Hi. I got your number from an acquaintance of mine. I know this sounds crazy, but I’m planning a wedding next Friday, and I need a photographer. Are you by chance free?”

  “I could be,” she said. “Where’s the wedding?”

  “Carl’s Creek Vineyard. It’s right off—”

  “I know where it is. What did you say your name was again?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think I said yet. It’s Tess. Tess Dougherty.”

  “Tess Dougherty.” There was a hint of amusement to her voice. “Yeah, sure. I can do it.”

  “You can? That’s amazing!”

  “There’s one thing, though,” she said. “I want to show you my work first.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m in a pinch, and I trust you’re great.”

  “No. I insist. I won’t agree to do it unless I’m sure you like my work. It’s part of my artistic process.”

  I placed a hand on my forehead. Artistic process? I didn’t have time for this. There were a million little things I needed to organize here. And I still had to run down to Suzie Q’s to talk to them about the rehearsal. Unless… maybe she could meet me there for dinner tomorrow night. That way I could knock out two birds with one stone.

  “Are you by chance free around five tomorrow?” I asked. “I’m planning on heading down to Suzie Q’s to talk to them about food for the rehearsal anyway. Maybe we could grab something to eat there, and you could show me the pictures. Do you know the place?”

  She laughed. “Yeah. I’ve heard of it. That works. I’ll see you then, Tess Dougherty.”

  “Great. Thanks, DJ. See you then.”

  I hung up the phone and tossed it aside. Something about our conversation rubbed me the wrong way. It was almost as if she was mocking me or something.

  Oh, well. If I was going to make this wedding happen, I couldn’t waste time worrying about silly little things like whether people liked me.

  Or big important things, either, like
what was going to happen to Jake. And what I would do with my life after the wedding. If, that is, I survived until then. And right now, that seemed like a big if.

  CHAPTER 20

  The toes of my boots rested on the bottom rung of the folding metal chair in front of me.

  It was the first time I’d worn them since trying to give them back to Thatcher. For a while, I left them sitting by the cottage door. I considered throwing them out, or donating them, even. But they were so comfortable. And they went with everything. At least around here they did.

  And besides, they were just shoes. What was the big deal? In a way, wearing them felt like a small victory of sorts. I could wear them and not think about him.

  Take that, Thatcher Bartholomew James. I’m wearing the boots, and I’m not even thinking about you.

  Staring down at the toes of my shoes and hearing the music of the orchestra all around me reminded me of the first time I sat in the audience at a concert like this one. That time I was wearing a cocktail dress and heels instead of jeans and a pair of boots. And I was sitting in a plush red velvet seat in the theater, not a folding chair in a community center. But other than that, it was the same.

  Boring.

  This music never appealed to me. It was nice background sound and all, but I could never pinpoint why anyone would spend hours at a concert like this. There was nothing to watch, for starters.

  Well, except for tonight. But that was different; that was because I was on a mission to scope out the musicians. I had to hand it to Jake. It wasn’t a bad idea finding someone to play at the ceremony. I scanned the intense faces of the performers. For students, they all seemed so polished and professional. Any one of them would be perfect. I would approach the conductor after the concert to see if he could put me in touch with someone. Or better yet, maybe I’d make Jake do it. He seemed to be enthralled with the performance. I could see him in my peripheral vision, seated next to me and swaying his head along with the music. Jake always did have an artistic side, though growing up he mostly channeled it through fleeting memberships in various garage bands.