Life on the Porcelain Edge

by C. E. Hilbert

  Ryland’s stomach twisted with the ache he could feel trailing behind them. Macy was their only child. Their last link to her was Emma. If he was a more giving person he’d move to Columbus so they could see her anytime they wanted. His mother had five grandsons and all but one daughter in Gibson’s Run. Maybe he should seriously consider the coaching job.

  A tug on his belt loop pulled his attention to Emma’s giant smile.

  “So can they go?”

  He squatted to her eye level. “Honey, Grammy and Poppy needed to go home. You’ll see them soon.”

  “No, not Grammy and Poppy,” she said, rolling her eyes and giving him a glimpse of his future teenage daughter. “Miss Tessa and her friend.”

  “I need to take them home then I’ll meet you at lunch with G-ma. If that’s OK?” He lifted his gaze to his mother.

  “I believe your daughter is asking if your friends can join us for lunch.”

  He looked back to Emma, who nodded vigorously—her pigtails dancing around her ears.

  “I’ll ask, but I don’t think they will.”

  “Jus ask, Daddy, OKs?”

  13

  Opening the door to McGregor’s, the rush of conversations, clank of dishes and booming sound system slammed Tessa like a three hundred pound offensive lineman. The gregarious eatery was renovated a few years after she left for Louisiana and was a favorite spot of locals.

  Emma tugged on her hand, dragging her through the entryway, past the paintings of 1950’s pin-up girls and black-and-white photos of local sports teams nearly as old as her father. With each step the noise filled the remaining empty spaces of peace.

  Her head was starting to thump with the underlying rhythm, and the anxiety that began rising the moment she slid into the front seat of Ryland Jessup’s SUV overflowed.

  Emma stopped just outside a glass door and yanked on Tessa’s arm as though she were a door bell pull. Tessa bent down. The child cupped her hands around Tessa’s ear. “You gots to open the door. It’s to heaby fors me to get.”

  “No problem.” She smiled, and shot a wink to Lily, who was scanning the rambunctious dining room as if she expected a comic book villain to pop up with a machine gun. Wrenching the cool stainless handle, she swung the glass door wide and exposed a haven of quiet tucked in the back corner of the restaurant’s main dining room.

  Four round tables stood in a square. Each was partially filled with a mix of a people from newborn to senior citizen. Emma raced across the cozy room and jumped into the waiting lap of Ryland’s oldest sister, Elizabeth.

  “Well, at least I don’t feel like my head will implode from the noise,” Lily said.

  “Seriously?” Tessa asked with a lifted eyebrow. “This from the woman who singlehandedly caused us to have three noise violations and two visits from the local police during our senior year.”

  Lily waved her hand. “Pish. I was sowing my oats. I’m a soon-to-be-married lady of refinement. My gentle ears can only handle so much excitement. I’m parched.” She sidled to the sidebar stuffed with carafes of water and tea. Nowhere was Lily a stranger.

  “Hello, Tessa.”

  Tessa’s smile stretched. “Mrs. Jessup.” She stepped into the open arms of Ryland’s mother.

  “Oh, I think you’re old enough to call me Nancy.” Nancy Jessup stood eye level to Tessa’s five foot four frame. Her coiffed bob was a silvery shade of blonde and her eyes were the same changing gray as her son’s.

  “Well,” Tessa stepped out of her embrace. “Politeness was drilled into my soul by my mother—that included calling every adult by Mr. or Mrs. I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to break the habit, but I’ll do my best.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  The door swung open and the raucous sounds of the dining room rushed in with Ryland. Tearing off his scarf and jacket, he tossed them to an open chair just as Emma launched herself into his arms.

  She really loves her daddy.

  “Yes, she does.” Nancy replied.

  Tessa whipped her head to the right. She had spoken one of her wayward thoughts of Ryland out loud. Now she was losing control of her thoughts? Stupid toilet life.

  “Don’t worry dear. I won’t say a word to Ryland. My son isn’t perfect, but he’s a spectacular father. Watching him and Emma together is a thing of poetry.” She linked her arm through Tessa’s and guided her to an empty table. “I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to over the last few years. Tom tells me so little. Men don’t share as well as women.”

  “I should really help my friend, Lily Mae.”

  Nancy glanced over her shoulder at Lily and Ryland’s sister, Harper, who appeared to have fallen into a deep conversation—evidenced by the lack of Lily’s hand movements. “She seems to be OK for now.”

  “Lily doesn’t really understand the formality of introductions. She tends to go straight from stranger to sister in one beat of the heart.”

  “You love her.”

  “She’s the best friend anyone could have.”

  “I heard she flew up for the weekend to check on you.”

  Tessa instantly prayed a sinkhole would magically open and swallow her. Similar to the times she’d prayed the same prayer in adolescence—she was left with burning cheeks and a pit in her stomach—not a single hole in the space-time continuum in sight. “Yes ma’am.”

  “I also heard you ran into a little trouble with your writing.” Nancy lifted a glass to her lips and sipped.

  Why did people have to wonder about one’s life? She glanced to her feet, but no movement. Hole? Come on…not even a little crack in the earth? Ohio has had earthquakes. Is it too much to ask for one at this particular moment?

  “I don’t know all of the details,” Nancy interrupted Tessa’s destructive thoughts. “But your father shared that you’d run into some difficulties. And I’m ashamed to say, Sissy Jenkins filled in some of the blanks.”

  At the mention of Sissy Jenkins, Tessa’s heart sank. If Sissy knew what happened in Louisiana—the burglary, her firing, paparazzi following her every move, her clients’ secrets sold to the highest bidder—every one of the two-thousand-nine-hundred and ninety-four souls in Gibson’s Run knew. No wonder Mrs. Monahan asked her to substitute. She was officially more pitiable than when she was six years old and piddled in her pants. Tessa dropped her head to her folded arms.

  “Now, dear,” Nancy said with a pat to her shoulder. “You’ve nothing of which to be ashamed.”

  “Really? I failed at the most important part of being a ghost writer: being a ghost. Somehow, someone in New Orleans found out what I do and who my clients are. Besides an obligatory thank you in the acknowledgements, my name never should be associated with a client’s. Now I’m a term searched on the Internet. I failed.”

  “Tessa, you didn’t fail. You were violated.” Her face twisted in concern. “I’m sorry for what you’re enduring. I know this isn’t the best place to talk, but I’d love to help any way I can—even if it’s just using my excellent listening skills.”

  Tessa couldn’t suppress matching Mrs. Jessup’s grin. “Thank you.”

  Nancy patted Tessa’s hand and stood. “Well, I need to see where our servers are. My grandsons will not be calm much longer if we don’t stuff them with a few dozen chicken fingers and French fries.”

  Tessa leaned back and closed her eyes. She had designed her life to be simple and calm, but on the terrible, awful day, she’d stood in the middle of what seemed to be a Category 5 hurricane. Her reprieve to Gibson’s Run was merely a hiding place until she returned to truly assess the rubble of what was once her thriving career. The floor shifted and her eyes shot open at the distant hope her prayer for the earth to swallow her whole was finally being answered.

  Ryland sat in the chair beside her.

  Her stomach dropped. “Can I help you?”

  “I was hoping I could help you, but my mother skittered off before I could be your rescuer.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m sorry if she a
sked you too many personal questions. With six children, she seems to think she can mother everyone on the planet. Her mothering tends to include some serious doses of meddling.”

  “She didn’t meddle. Not really. She just informed me of how my career humiliation reached the brain trust of Sissy Jenkins. So, pretty much everyone in the tri-county area likely knows details about my life I’m not even fully aware exist.”

  “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Sissy Jenkins, Ryland. Sissy. Jenkins.”

  He rubbed his chin and relaxed into his chair. “Well, when you put it that way, you might want to hide in your closet until the next millennium.”

  “Thanks,” Tessa giggled.

  “Why do you care what people say about you?”

  “PK.” She pointed to her father as he walked through the door. “When you’re a pastor’s kid, you have to be concerned with what people are saying about you. One poor choice has a tendency to bathe everyone in the family in your gunk. I hate my bad press is affecting my dad.”

  “Tessa,” Ryland cupped her hand in his. “You didn’t cause your dad’s heart attack. The drama with your work is someone’s sick attempt to find a new way to exploit overly exposed people. Your dad’s heart attack was because he wasn’t taking care of himself. Neither situation is your fault.”

  Her throat felt thick and tight. A single tear tore a cold streak down her cheek. Until this moment she hadn’t begun to accept the unwarranted blame she’d been piling on since she’d received the call about her dad.

  With a feather light touch, Ryland brushed the tear from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek an extra beat. Her gaze locked with his. The comfort welling in the gray depths of his eyes fueled the flittering of the butterfly’s wings in her stomach. She nodded, afraid a bullfrog’s croak would escape rather than words.

  “From where I sit, you’ve tried to make your life mistake-proof.” His voice was a deep whisper. “Mistakes are a part of life. How we respond to the mistakes determines how well we live our lives. You’ve an extraordinary opportunity to respond with all of the grace and beauty God poured into your spirit. You just have to choose.”

  When had Ryland Jessup become wise? Shifting her hand under his to connect palm with palm, she squeezed his fingers. Subtle heat emanated from the touch. She opened her mouth as the table rocked with the force of a fly ball to left center. She yanking her hand away.

  Joey plopped onto the chair beside her—draping his arm over the back of her chair. “What I miss? You already order?” he asked.

  Ryland stiffened beside her, before he shoved against the table, and stood. “I should find Emma and a server. I’ll leave you two.”

  She reached out to stop him, but her fingers only grasped air. Her mind was fuzzy in regards to Ryland. The painting of him she was creating in her mind could hang in a cubist museum and easily be confused for one of the Masters. She couldn’t match her childhood tormentor with the kindness he continued to shower upon her. And yet, every time she felt they were on the edge of a moment of clarity, he stomped off in the opposite direction.

  Joey tweaked her shoulder. Pure joy was on his face with a delicious twinkle in his deep chocolate brown eyes.

  She tilted her head to rest on her upturned hand, her sagging spirits lifting.

  “So, T.T. what do you want for lunch?”

  Teenage Tessa Fantasy #22: After-church lunch with Joey Taylor.

  Ryland Jessup, who?

  14

  Ryland placed an order for a kid’s chicken strip basket with applesauce, and a medium rare cheeseburger with carrot sticks, before sliding onto an empty chair beside his sister Elizabeth, who was chatting with Tessa’s obnoxious friend Lily. How a sweet, timid woman like Tessa found herself attached to an outspoken, rude woman like Lily Mae was beyond his comprehension. He had a wide range of friends from college, most were other athletes, but they shared many similar qualities to him. He couldn’t think of one friend in his life of a similar opposite nature to the friendship between Lily and Tessa.

  From the corner of his eye, he followed the path of the server as she leaned down to take Tessa’s and Joe’s orders. Tessa closed her menu and shifted her gaze to the table, brushing a stray lock behind her ear. Joe’s broad grin gritted against Ryland’s spine—but the waitress visibly giggled, squeezing his upper arm. The man could flirt with a wooden pole.

  Since they were kids digging pits around his backyard tree fort, Joe had a knack for turning females into molding clay. His superpower over women would be a horrible temptation for evil in the hands of most men, but Joe was barely aware of his hero worthy skills. He assumed all women were placed on the earth to charm and be charmed. The women in his life changed as often as Joe changed email accounts, but he always treated his woman of the moment as if she was a damsel and he was the rescuer.

  Tessa Tarrington was the heroine of his current story, ripping a hole in the center of Ryland’s own lifelong fairytale. Joe tucked another wayward strand from Tessa’s ponytail.

  Shaking his head, Ryland shifted his gaze across the table and locked eyes with his middle sisters—the twins, Elinor and Marian. Both sisters had mirrored expressions—squinted eyes and pursed lips—their heads tilted to the left. “What?”

  “Isn’t that Tessa Tarrington?” Elinor asked, jutting her chin toward Tessa and Joe.

  “Of course that’s her,” Marian said. “Her father’s talking to Momma.”

  “Why aren’t you sitting with her?” Elinor stumbled over Marian’s last words—the zigzagging conversation a standard with the two sisters.

  “Yeah, why, Ry?”

  “Didn’t you have a crush on her when you were a kid?”

  “I remember…you bought her some weird present?”

  “What was that, Mar?”

  “Underpants, El.”

  Marian’s mouth dropped open. “You gave her underpants? How old were you?”

  “He was like five or something.”

  “He was six.” His sister Elizabeth jumped into the conversation. Oh, joy! More sisters.

  “Six?” Marian questioned, her head falling opposite to Elinor’s open-mouth chin tilt. “How did you talk Mom into buying underpants for a girl when you were six? I’m not sure you could get her to buy underpants as a gift from you today.”

  “Eeww, that’s gross.” His second to the oldest sister, Harper, offered as she sat next to him.

  “Can we please stop this conversation?” Ryland pleaded.

  “T’s never gotten over the humiliation of those days-of-the-week panties.” Lily Mae scolded him, her lips drawn into a thin, surly line.

  “They were days-of-the-week underpants? Oh, Rys. How could you?” Scout—the sister one year his senior—offered in disgust.

  “I…was…six.” He rubbed his temples, his eyelids shuttering against the gaggle of women correcting his romantic misstep twenty years earlier.

  An arm slid around his shoulder, as the debate about his ignorance grew in volume. “Your heart was in the right place, Rys.” Harper’s voice was low and laced with humor. “But if you don’t want your kindergarten misstep to splat on the floor in front of the now very grown up Pee-Pee Tee-Tee, you should extract yourself from this…situation.”

  Tilting his face toward his second oldest sister, he squinted. “Her name’s Tessa.”

  She cupped her hand around his cheek. “And don’t ever forget that vital piece of information, little brother.” Planting a sloppy kiss on his lips, she patted him on the shoulder. “Now go. I’ll take care of this hen party. You distract that sweet girl from the charming sneak you call a best friend.”

  He shoved away from the table just as the waitress arrived with his and Emma’s meals. Lifting both baskets with one hand, he hip checked his chair and sauntered toward the near empty table where Tessa and Joe appeared to be nestled in a private cocoon—sequestered from the chaos of a Jessup Sunday lunch.

  “Hey, giant, where do you think
you’re going?” Lily hollered, skittering to a stop a few steps behind him.

  His shoulders dropped at the sound of her southern twang. Why couldn’t Tessa have a normal friend? Why did she choose Miss Nosey Pants?

  “What?” He swiveled, nearly knocking her head with his elbow.

  “Watch it, bubba. You should understand your size and off putting proportions.”

  Cranking his chin, his neck popped. “I need to feed my daughter. Can you yell at me later for whatever imagined sin you think I’ve committed?”

  “Listen, bub,” her voice dropped to a near inaudible volume. Her finger emphasis in his chest was an adequate reminder she despised every bit of his person. “T’s had her heart set on Joey Taylor since she chewed rainbow-striped gum and permed her hair. You let them be.”

  “Do you always speak in cryptic references to childhood?”

  “I’m just saying Tessa seems like she has a real shot with Joey. I want her to have the room to pursue her dream. Don’t mess it up or mess with her head.”

  “I want my daughter to eat some lunch. She needs her nap in about an hour.” He glanced at the bottle cap clock on the wall. “I promise to stuff food in her face as quickly as possible and drag her away from her aunts, cousins, and grandmother so your friend can awkwardly flirt with one of the premier athletes in major league sports. OK?”

  “Hmpf.” Pivoting, she stomped back to the table overflowing with sisters.

  Not since he lived solo in his ten by eleven bedroom, had Ryland been so grateful to be male. Most days he loved his life—the copious females who seemed to ooze out of every crevice—but today they were too much. Too loud. Too pushy. Too southern. When his morning alarm demanded a stretch from his warm bed, he should have ignored its plea, played hooky from church, lunch, and life in general.

  “Daddy? Is those my fingers?” Emma tugged him back to reality.

  “Yep.” He was too exhausted from the last few minutes to correct her four year old grammar. “Where do you want to sit and eat?”

  Her hands shot to her mouth as if she was trying to keep the secret of Santa Claus from every child on the planet. “I knows.”