Tess in Boots

by Courtney Rice Gager

  Ouch. I forgot how hard and uncomfortable these chairs could be. I adjusted my weight, crossing one leg over the other and leaning to the side. There, that was better. The slight movement gave me a shift in perspective, and I could see a woman in the next row popping Junior Mints into her mouth.

  I smiled to myself. There was a similarity between this concert and the first one I attended in the city.

  Junior Mints.

  I hadn’t planned on going. It was a Thursday night, I remembered, and I was just getting ready to leave the office. But right before I left, Jim Pierce stopped by my desk, offering me a ticket to the symphony that night at the Lincoln Center. He couldn’t make it, he explained, but it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. I didn’t have any interest in the symphony, but this was Jim Pierce. Talking to me. Offering me his ticket. Back in my telemarketing days, it was a huge deal for someone like him to even know my name, nonetheless speak to me. So I said yes without even thinking about it.

  I didn’t have much time to get home and change before heading back into the city. When I arrived at the venue, the show was about to start and I was starving. The closest thing to food I could find in the lobby was a giant box of Junior Mints, which I paid almost an hour’s wages for.

  An usher helped me find my seat as they dimmed the house lights, and I inched my way down the row, squeezing past about a dozen other audience members. As I sat down, my jacket caught on the armrest of my chair and I struggled to pull it free. There was a clattering sound as something fell to the floor. I looked down to see my box of Junior Mints peeking out from under a nearby seat. I sighed and bent to pick it up, contorting myself into a very uncomfortable position until I could reach the candy.

  When I settled into my seat, the music had already begun, and I’d made quite a scene. The guy seated next to me leaned in and murmured, “That wasn’t necessary.”

  I whipped around to look at him. “Excuse me?”

  I must have said it a bit too loud, because several people turned to look at us. From the next row a lady with her hair pinned up into a French twist put her finger over her lips and glared at me. I turned and fixed my gaze on the musicians.

  I’d only been in New York for a short time, but I already learned people in the city could be so rude. This guy was another perfect example. He had a lot of nerve admonishing me. What was I supposed to do? Just leave the candy on the floor?

  I remembered sitting in the audience, trying to pay attention to the music and popping Junior Mints into my mouth. Once I calmed down it was all I could do not to fall asleep. But then, about thirty minutes into the concert, something strange happened to wake me up. The guy next to me, the same one who made the rude comment, reached his hand right into the box and ate my candy.

  Who did he think he was? He did it again, and again, until there were a couple pieces left in the box. By the time intermission came around, I was seething. “Did you want the last two?” I asked when the house lights came up.

  He turned to look at me, and I was struck by how handsome this Junior-Mint bandit was. I hadn’t gotten a good look at his face yet, and I assumed he was some sleazy-looking jerk. But this man was… gorgeous. He smiled at me, revealing a perfect set of pristine white teeth.

  “No, you go ahead. I can always get more.”

  “How considerate of you,” I snapped. I didn’t care how attractive he was. I was hungry.

  He perused his playbill without a response as I chewed on the last two Junior Mints. I crumpled up the empty box, and with no trash can nearby, I shoved it into my purse.

  That’s when I saw it.

  My unopened box of Junior Mints. It hadn’t fallen to the floor at all. It was in my purse the whole time.

  That meant… I’d been eating his candy. When he made the comment earlier, he wasn’t trying to chastise me for making a scene. He was trying to thank me for picking up his candy.

  I wanted to die. I wanted to shrivel up and die right then and there. Or at the very least, wake up and realize it was all some terrible, mortifying dream.

  But no such luck. I wasn’t waking up, and there was no way out. I was stuck in my seat, trapped by the crowds of people stretching their legs all around me. I had to say something to him. I felt the tips of my ears burning as I tapped him on the arm.

  “Excuse me?”

  He lifted his gaze from the playbill and looked at me over his glasses.

  “Um…” I held up the box. “I’m so sorry. This is extremely embarrassing. But I thought you were eating my Junior Mints. I bought some, too, and when I saw the box fall to the ground I assumed… um, anyway, turns out it was yours.”

  The slightest smile spread across his lips. “That explains a lot.”

  “Please. Take these.”

  “No, thank you. It’s fine.”

  “I insist.”

  He closed the playbill. “Tell you what. Why don’t you have dinner with me after this? Then we’ll call it even.”

  I wasn’t sure how or why he wanted to go out with me after what transpired. But I was elated. I couldn’t wait to tell Annie. She was going to flip.

  “Okay. I’m Tess, by the way.”

  “I’m Logan. So you’re a fan of the symphony?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I lied, “the biggest.”

  That’s where the pretending started, and I guess it never really stopped.

  I hadn’t seen it before. Not until Thatcher questioned me that day at the diner. But looking back, it was clear as could be. With Logan, I always seemed to be reaching for something more, trying to be this perfect complete version of me. Like I would one day become that person for him, if I could just keep playing the role a little bit longer.

  He would be here soon, I remembered, and a feeling of dread washed over me. A small part of me wanted to see him, sure. He was comfortable. He was what I knew. It would feel so good to slip back into life with him.

  But I was also afraid of seeing him. Afraid of not having the guts to stand up to him. Afraid of pretending again. Afraid of losing myself. As hard as things were, the more time I spent down here, the more I got back in touch with who I was. Or, more accurately, who I wasn’t.

  And I wasn’t a fan of the symphony. I never had been.

  I looked away from the lady’s Junior Mints and tried again to focus on the beauty of the music. But it was no use. I couldn’t concentrate.

  To pass the time, I scanned the old black-and-white photographs that lined the cinderblock walls. I counted them, not spending any significant length of time studying the photos, when one particular image caught my eye. I was too far away to make out the details, but something about it seemed to be calling my name.

  Yes, there was something special about that photo. I tried to look away, but each time I did, it drew me back in, nagging at me with relentless pursuit. It haunted me. It was almost as if I could feel the man in the photo staring at me from a distance.

  As one song faded into another, the man seemed to be crying out to me, shouting louder and louder above the music. He wouldn’t let me rest. When the last song was finished and the conductor took a bow, Jake popped out of his seat and made a beeline toward the restroom. As soon as he disappeared from sight, I wiggled through the crowd and walked over to the picture, squinting and tilting my head as I got closer. What was it about this photo that was so compelling?

  I took my time absorbing its details. At first I wasn’t quite sure, but then… yes. Yes, that was the vineyard in the background. It must have been from a long time ago, back when the barn was new, and the grapevines were young.

  The man in the picture stood in front of the fields, hands in his pockets, squinting into the camera. He was wearing a hat, which cast a shadow over his face, making his expression hard to see. I leaned in closer, so close my breath fogged up the glass of the frame.

  There. I could see better from here. I scrutinized the man’s features. There was something tender about his expression; something in his eyes made me think he might h
ave been in love with whoever was on the other side of the camera.

  From up close I could see there was something very familiar about those eyes. In fact, I’d seen those exact eyes, looking at me in that exact way.

  They were Thatcher’s eyes.

  The realization sent a chill down my spine. Yes, it was him. Without a doubt, it was him. But then again, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

  Could it?

  “Excuse me, dear.” A woman’s voice came from right over my shoulder.

  I jumped and turned around to see a sweet elderly lady smiling up at me.

  She touched my arm. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I wanted to say hello. You’re Thatcher’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

  As soon as she spoke the words, I recognized her. It was Ms. Betty, I realized, from the diner.

  “It’s Tess,” I said.

  She smiled. “That’s right. Tess. How are you, dear?”

  “I’m-I’m good. Good, thanks. How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Out and about for a night on the town. My husband’s the conductor, you know.” She pointed at the stage area where the musicians were packing away their instruments.

  “Really?”

  She nodded, her smile brimming with pride.

  “That’s funny,” I said. “I was going to talk to the conductor. We’re having a wedding next weekend, and I’m looking for someone to play at the ceremony.”

  “A wedding? He proposed! I knew it! I knew it!” Her mouth flew open with excitement, and she fanned herself.

  “Hmm?”

  “Thatcher. He popped the question, didn’t he?”

  “What?” I must have been a little too loud because several people in the room turned to look at us. I lowered my voice and asked again, “What?”

  She looked puzzled. “He didn’t ask you to marry him?”

  “Who? Thatcher?”

  “Yes, dear. Thatcher.”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  She tugged at the collar of her blouse. “Oh, my. I’ve done it again. I’ve said too much, haven’t I?” She stole a glance at her husband, as if to make sure he wasn’t watching her. “Would you like to sit down, dear?”

  I nodded and collapsed into the seat on the end of the nearest row. She sat behind me, and I turned to face her, resting my arms on the back of the chair.

  She leaned forward with wide eyes. “I heard about the boots.”

  “What boots? These boots?” I kicked out my foot for her to see.

  She lit up with recognition. “Yes! Those very boots.” Her eyelids crinkled. “They’re exactly like I remember them. So he did give them to you.”

  I was more confused than ever. What did the boots have to do with anything? And why did she think she remembered them? Was she… all there? Back home, the old lady who lived in the apartment across the hall from me had developed dementia. It was sad the way she went on sometimes. Remembering my neighbor made me feel sorry for Ms. Betty. She didn’t seem to be playing with a full deck.

  “Ms. Betty, I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Well, I thought-oh dear, I’m doing it again.” She gave her collar another tug. “There’s a wedding, you say?”

  “Yes.” I leaned to the side and peered around her, trying to spot Jake. I found him across the room, taking a business card from a man in a suit.

  “That’s nice, dear. Who’s the bride? A friend of yours?”

  I sighed. How to respond? I couldn’t answer with, “I don’t know.” It would baffle this poor sweet lady even more. “Well,” I said, eyeing the exit and planning my escape, “I’m the wedding planner.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I heard something about that, come to think of it. How nice. Will you be using the chapel in town then, dear?”

  “No. It’s going to be at the vineyard. Carl’s old place?”

  “Oh! Such a beautiful place. Why, I haven’t been there in years. Is it as nice as I remember?”

  “It is beautiful.” I nodded and bit my bottom lip. I didn’t have the heart to tell her how neglected it had been. “But, you know, it needs some cleaning up. It’s coming along, though. We’ve been working hard on it.”

  “Thatcher, too?”

  “Uh-huh.” I scanned the crowd for the conductor, who appeared to be on his way out. Ms. Betty said he was her husband, so I thought I would hang around with her and catch him, but now I wasn’t so sure. Poor Ms. Betty. She had probably never seen that man before in her life. I would have to excuse myself and go track him down. I braced myself to stand up. “Well, it’s been—”

  “He resembles Carl, don’t you think?” She turned and looked at the wall.

  I turned, too, following her gaze to the picture I was staring at a few moments before. I looked at her, and then back at the picture to be sure we were focusing on the same thing.

  Yes, we were.

  The room emptied out, growing quieter. My mouth felt dry.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Thatcher,” she said, still watching the man in the photo. “He takes after his grandfather. Don’t you see it?”

  I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “His grandfather?” My voice was scratchy.

  “Yes, dear. Carl. His grandfather.” She pointed at the picture with a hint of impatience in her voice, and just like that, Ms. Betty didn’t seem so crazy after all. She seemed sharp as a tack.

  I noticed her expression soften a little as she pulled her gaze from the photo and turned back to me. “He helped with the fundraising for this building. Carl and Maisy were wonderful people. I grew up next door to her, you know. She would care for me when my mother was helping with the harvest. Such a beautiful, sweet woman. They were a remarkable couple. Did you ever get to meet them, dear?”

  I shook my head, speechless.

  She placed a hand on my knee. “Well, they would have loved you.”

  We were interrupted by a man’s voice coming from behind me. “There you are. I turn around for one minute and you’re jabbering away. Let’s go already. It’s past my dinnertime.”

  She hoisted herself up and placed a hand on the arm of the man. “Harold, this is Tess. Thatcher’s Tess.”

  I stood, and the man nodded at me in an obligatory manner.

  “She’s having a wedding and wants to invite one of your students to play,” she said.

  “Ah.” He looked annoyed as he fumbled around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to me. “We do it all the time. Put in a call to the music school. They can help you.”

  “It was lovely seeing you.” Ms. Betty took both my hands and gave them a squeeze, then pulled away and tucked her purse under her arm, turning to leave.

  “Wait!” I shuffled ahead of her. “You said something earlier. About the boots. What did you say about them?”

  She seemed to be thinking it over for a few seconds too long. “I don’t remember, dear. I’m sorry. This old mind isn’t as quick as it used to be.” She tapped a finger to her temple, and then took her husband’s arm as she walked away.

  “You ready, Tessy?” Jake appeared by my side and patted me on the shoulder.

  I stared at the back of Ms. Betty’s head and nodded.

  “Great. Let’s roll.”As I followed Jake out of the community center, I glanced back to get one last glimpse of Carl’s watchful eyes, penetrating me from their resting place in an unknown past.

  CHAPTER 21

  My thoughts spun faster than the tires on the asphalt as I sped along the highway back to the vineyard.

  “What’s the hurry, Tessy?” Jake asked from the passenger seat.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I lied.

  “You should have gone at the concert.”

  “There was a line.” I was supposed to be spending quality time with Jake, but I wanted him to be quiet so I could think.

  Carl was Thatcher’s grandfather.

  Carl was Thatcher’s grandfather.

  I rolled the idea around in my
mind, trying it on for size, examining it from various angles.

  It explained a lot. Thatcher did know pretty much everything there was to know about the vineyard, didn’t he? And he had said he was raised by his grandparents, hadn’t he?

  But then again, for every question answered, another one surfaced. Like, why hadn’t Carl left the place to Thatcher? It seemed odd to me that Thatcher was practically Carl’s son, but Sara got the vineyard. What happened?

  And why hadn’t Jake or Sara told me about any of this?

  Then again, why would they? From their perspective, what did it even matter to me? I was supposed to be visiting for a few weeks, tops. Of course they wouldn’t tell me.

  And then there was the question of the conversation I overheard between Thatcher and Sara. He said he loved her, that he always loved her. And he did. But not in a romantic way. They were, what… cousins?

  Yes, cousins. Sara James. That was right. Sara told me she spent summers with Carl, I remembered. So they were closer than most cousins. More like siblings, even. Like me and Jake.

  “You’re awful quiet,” Jake said.

  “Am I?” I readjusted my hands on the steering wheel.

  “Something’s bothering you. You’ve been acting strange lately.”

  “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just thinking.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “About Thatcher.” As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. “And Sara,” I added. “Sara, too.”

  “Tessy, I told you—”

  “I know, I get it now. Of course they weren’t married. They’re cousins, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.” His voice teemed with exasperation. “You didn’t know that?”

  “No. Not when we had the conversation in the driveway today.”

  He snorted. “That explains a lot.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Why the sudden interest in Thatcher anyway?” he asked.

  “There’s no interest.” I squirmed in my seat.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. No! I mean… yes, I’m sure. No, I’m not interested in him.”

  “Tessy… I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to tell me straight.”