Captive Hearts

by Harper Bliss

  “You seem distracted,” Sherry says. “Is it because your friend left so suddenly?”

  She pins her light-blue gaze on me and, for a split second, she does make me feel like I’m the only person on the planet. What is it with this woman? Is she a witch or something? Does she have magical powers?

  “No, I’m sorry.” I can hardly pour out my heart to Sherry. “You have my undivided attention now.” I pull my lips into a smile. “Do you go from town to town?” I might as well make the most of the situation and get to know Sherry’s story. After all, it’s not every day that you meet a female bull rider. And I’m nothing if not polite.

  “I do.” Sherry’s ‘I’ is flatter than mine. “Travel all around Texas in my trailer. It’s not a bad life. I get to meet interesting folks everywhere.” Sherry has planted her elbows on the table and she leans in close. “Folks like yourself.” Her smile goes all lop-sided. She’s not just an excellent bull rider then.

  “I’m guessing folks like myself are pretty rare in small-town Texas.” I play along a little.

  “You would think that, but I never have any trouble finding them.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.

  “I bet.” I sip from my beer; Sherry does the same. “So you go around the state leaving a trail of broken hearts?”

  “Hardly.” Sherry leans in a little closer. “There are plenty of women who are after exactly what I’m offering.”

  I mirror Sherry’s position, our faces almost touching. “And what exactly are you offering?”

  “A good time. A type of conversation you don’t have every day. A different perspective. Things like that. Sometimes, when they really move me in here,” Sherry slants back a bit and taps her chest, “I write them a poem.”

  “A poem? You’re a woman of many talents.” She’s starting to intrigue me a little.

  “I haven’t done the research, but it could very well be that I’m the only cowgirl-poet out there.”

  Because my brain is trained this way, I have to ask. “How long are you in town for, Sherry?”

  “Wanting to keep me already.” Her eyes glitter with promise. “I usually stick around a week or so. Sometimes longer. No use traveling all this way to just up and leave all the time.”

  “I run the local gazette and I would love to interview you for it. The cowgirl-poet is an excellent angle. We could even publish one of your poems.”

  “How about the one I write for you, Tess?”

  I have to chuckle. She’s good. And that smooth voice of hers is winning me over. “We’ll see about that. Do you have a phone number where I can reach you after the weekend?”

  “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t need a phone, but sure.” She picks a pen out of the breast pocket of her shirt. “Give me your hand.”

  I look at the pen, then at my hand, trying to put the pieces together. “Really?”

  “U-hum.” Sherry gives a slow nod.

  I hold out my hand, palm up, and allow her to scribble her number on it. “It’ll be gone as soon as I wash my hands.”

  Sherry cocks her head. “I believe in what’s meant to be, Tess. If you’re meant to call me, you will have that number when you need it. Either way, this is a small town. You’ll see me around.”

  I’ve been so wrapped up in Sherry’s words that I didn’t notice Laura heading toward our table. She has a stressed look on her face.

  “Sorry to disturb.” Laura runs a nervous hand through her hair. “I just got a call from Windsor Oaks. Aunt Milly has taken a turn for the worse. They’ve taken her to the hospital in, uh, Forreston. I have to go.” She stands there looking so forlorn and alone.

  “I’ll go with you,” I say instinctively. “I’ll show you the way.”

  Sherry leans back in her chair, regarding the scene.

  “Tess, there’s no need. Just stay here. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Laura starts to turn already.

  “Go,” Sherry mouths.

  “Laura, wait. I’m coming.” I grab my purse and jacket and pace after her, put an arm on her shoulder. “What did they say?”

  “Nothing much. Just to hurry.”

  And hurry we do.

  Seventeen

  Laura

  The drive over is tense, the silence only broken up by Tess giving me directions. At the hospital, they make us wait.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” I say. “I’m so glad I don’t have to be here alone.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Tess says. “Shall I get us some tea? It might be a long night.”

  “I’ll go with you.” We walk to a machine at the end of the corridor. “She hasn’t been doing very well. It’s as though I’ve been watching her slip away more and more.” Though I’ve been expecting this moment, it still feels like someone is clenching an ice-cold fist around my heart.

  “Whatever happens, Laura, you’ve been there for her. You were a daily presence in her life. That counts for a lot.”

  We walk back to the cluster of chairs in the waiting room and sit down. “I know what it feels like to be alone. That’s why I came to Nelson, but, you know, it was a bit of a last ditch effort. Before I arrived here, she’d probably been feeling alone for quite some time already.”

  Tess puts her hand on my knee. “You’re looking at it the wrong way. First of all, she lived in Nelson, and before she broke her hip, she was still very mobile and got to see enough people during the day. Second, you were hardly in a state to think of anyone but yourself.” Her hand remains on my knee.

  “I didn’t get to ask her the million dollar question, though.” I wanted to. Every day, I wanted to. But, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to let their names flow from my lips.

  “What’s that?”

  “Whether, when the time came, she wanted her brother and his wife invited to the memorial.” That cold fist is there again, clenching for a different reason now.

  “Your parents?” Tess’s hand squeezes.

  “Richard and Phyllis Baker. The people who raised me but stopped being my parents long ago.”

  “Did they get along?” Tess asks.

  “Heavens no. My father never approved of Uncle George. Nowhere near Christian enough.”

  “You might still get a chance to ask her.”

  “I hope so.” Tess removes her hand and stares at her palm while a sliver of a smile appears on her face.

  “What’s that.” I see something on her hand.

  She shows it to me. “Sherry gave me her number. I may interview her for The Ledger.”

  I can’t believe I was jealous earlier. I just want Tess to be happy now. “Sorry for interrupting your, huh, whatever it was.”

  “I would never have gone back with her. I told you I’m not one for one-night stands.” Tess’s voice goes all hushed, as though this is not something to discuss in a hospital waiting room. “But it was nice to… I don’t know… do some heavy flirting. She’s a poet.”

  “A poet?” I don’t get the chance to ask more, because a doctor is coming our way.

  “Are you the relatives of Millicent Johnson?”

  “Yes.” I rise and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.

  “She’s in intensive care. She took a nasty fall. Hit her head. She’s stable for now. You can see her, but she’s not conscious. Taking into account her advanced age and overall health I think you should prepare for the worst.” The doctor is young, but he delivers his words in a gentle but confident manner, his gaze unwavering.

  I nod my understanding, though the words don’t really get through just yet.

  “Family only.” The doctor walks off.

  I look at Tess, wishing she could go in with me.

  “Laura, come here.” She opens her arms.

  Without thinking, I step into her embrace, choking away a tear.

  “I’ll be right here waiting,” Tess whispers in my ear. “Take all the time you need.”

  * * *

  Aunt Milly looks as frail as I’ve ever seen her. She’s connected to a monitor
that beeps steadily. An oxygen mask is on her face. I can still see some dried blood in her hair, although the nurses have tried to clean it off. And the sight of her floors me. My stomach crumples, my knees go a little weak, and I need to steady myself against the wall. She’s the only family I have left. The only person with Baker blood running through her veins that I know. She and Uncle George never had children. My mom has three sisters, but I never met any of them. I probably have a bunch of cousins out there but, if I do, I’ve never heard of them.

  “My family has never been a good influence on me,” my mom told me when I was little. “I was better off without them.” Then I became better off without my family too—except for Aunt Milly.

  What I’ve always wondered though, is why devout Christians like my parents, who vocally disapproved of contraception, never had more children. I never asked. I shake off the thought and look at my aunt. It’s as though I can sense that, no matter if she recovers from this head injury, these are her last days on this earth.

  I look at her and wonder what she would want. “I forgive him,” she once told me. “I forgive my brother for being a bigoted ass, which makes me, a heathen as he would call me, a much better person than him. How’s that for irony?”

  Does that mean she would want him to pay her his last respects? Then I ask myself the only question that will solve this issue for me. Would I want my parents to come to my last send-off? I find it impossible to give a quick yes or no, though I’ve always tried to consider them as no longer existing in the same world as me. Why is it so hard to shake them off completely?

  I postpone making my decision. Aunt Milly is still alive and, as long as she is, I’ll be by her side.

  Eighteen

  Tess

  Laura is spending all her time at the hospital. She takes her laptop to Aunt Milly’s room and works from there. “Just so I’m there when she wakes up.”

  I wait until Wednesday to call Sherry. After Laura went into her aunt’s room at the hospital, I quickly copied her phone number on a piece of paper, before it had the chance to fade away.

  When I meet her for coffee at Mary’s, we’ve barely sat down before she asks, “How’s Laura’s aunt doing?” Sherry’s kindness already came through on Saturday night when she was flirting with me. It shone through her bluster and bravado so easily, which is probably why I enjoyed her flirting with me so much.

  “It’s not looking good. She has woken up a few times, but the prognosis is not hopeful.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Sherry couldn’t sound more sincere. That must be how she does what she does, conquering hearts—or other body parts—across Texas. She’s an expert at making people feel special and that’s hard to resist.

  “Laura is pretty cut up about it.”

  “Understandably.” Sherry clears her throat. “So you and Laura, huh?”

  Of course I know what she’s getting at, but, for my own sanity, I need to play dumb. “What about me and Laura?” I can’t even make my voice sound genuine.

  “It’s very clear to me that you love her. I barely know you, yet I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to be stepping on anyone’s toes here.” She rests her chin on her palms, strokes her cheeks with her fingers.

  “I know what it looks like. But it’s very complicated and there’s a very good reason why Laura and I aren’t together.” Not an hour goes by that I don’t think about that reason.

  “U-hum.” Sherry does that low, slightly cynical hum I’ve heard her utter quite a few times. “There always is.”

  I inhale sharply. “But you’re right. I have feelings for her.” Though it’s a relief to be able to just blurt it out to someone, Sherry is perhaps not the best choice of person to confide in. I’d better bring us back to the order of the day. “So, about our interview.”

  She pulls her lips into a lopsided smile. “I don’t care to be interviewed, Tess. I’m glad you called me, but I’d rather keep myself under the radar, so to speak.”

  “But… you said…”

  Sherry reaches her hand across the table and touches my forearm with her fingers gently. “I think I can safely presume we both know why we’re here.” She looks me straight in the eyes, her stare bold and unblinking.

  A fierce blush creeps all the way up from my neck to my cheeks. If I say something now, it will surely come out as an inadequate stammer. I give a slow nod while I suck on my bottom lip. I return Sherry’s stare, though mine doesn’t feel half as bold as hers.

  I called her. Under the pretense of interviewing her for The Ledger, yes, but, deep down, I knew what it would really be about—like Sherry just said. I took the necessary steps to see her again. I wanted to see her again, because I liked how she made me feel. As little as I know about her, I know enough to see she’s good at heart. So, the only question that remains now is: do I want her?

  “How about dinner tonight?” Sherry says, her fingers still on my skin. “No strings attached.” She’s still gazing into my eyes. To me, it seems she wants to seal the deal here and now.

  Then the door of the café opens, I look up briefly, and see that it’s Laura, and in that instant I know for certain that, no matter how nice Sherry’s fingers on my arm make me feel, how wanted and craved for, I will never go anywhere with her. Because the woman I want just walked in the door and our eyes met only for the briefest of moments, and still I knew.

  Sherry turns to see whose presence in the café has thrown me, then looks at me again, her smile a little sad. “I’m going to leave you to it, Tess.” She starts to get up.

  “I’ll call you,” I mutter.

  Sherry takes a step in my direction, puts a hand on my shoulder, and says, “There’s no need.” She leans in and kisses me slowly, gently on the cheek. “See ya, Tess.” She gives a quick two-fingered wave to Laura and leaves the café.

  I lean back in my chair and give a few minutes of thought to how thrilling it felt to be truly wanted by someone else for a few minutes. I watch Laura as she orders a tea to go. In the two short encounters I had with Sherry, she made me feel more desirable than Laura has in the entire time I’ve known her. I don’t hold it against her, because how could I possibly do that? Nevertheless, it stings. It hurts to want someone who can’t reciprocate. Who explicitly told me not to wait for her.

  “Hey.” While Mary brews her tea, Laura comes over. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  “Turns out I’m not the kind of gal who goes off to make sweet sweet love to the cowgirl passing through town.” Truth is, I couldn’t even imagine it. As charming as Sherry is, every time I tried to picture us together, Laura’s face emerged. Maybe I will have to start keeping my distance, but what kind of friend would that make me? It’s as though, because of what Laura told me about herself, I’m now tethered to her because I want to be there for her as a friend, but I’m always kept at a safe distance as well. I don’t even have the option of walking away to preserve my own sanity, to safeguard my own heart.

  “Sorry,” Laura says. She just stands there and in her demeanor—hesitant, wavering—she’s the opposite of the woman who just sat across from me, and I suddenly find it infuriating.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can we talk for a second.” I motion for her to sit.

  “Sure.” She sits across from me, like she has done so many times before, but, this time, it feels different.

  “How’s Aunt Milly?” I can’t just barge into what I’m about to tell her, though the rage I felt initially, and that was spurring me on to have this conversation with her, is quickly dissipating now that I’m looking into those blue eyes again.

  “The same.” She’s not in a very communicative mood then.

  And I can’t bring myself to say it. The line I was going to feed her: my head knows I need some distance, but my heart wants other things.

  Deserting Laura now would make me feel much worse than all the useless pining for her does.

  “Wha
t did you want to talk about?” Laura asks when I don’t say anything.

  “Have you, er, made a decision yet,” I say instead of what I wanted to say. While I do, I think of what I said to Laura the night she told me about her deceased wife. I refuse to play the martyr because of how I feel about you. I sure as hell feel like one now. “About your parents?”

  “I’ve sat with the phone in my hands a couple of times. I had to find their number first, so I went online and looked at both their faces on the church’s website. Such a nice, smiling couple they make. Dashing really. You’d never guess they once told their daughter to fuck off.” Laura scratches her neck. “I—I sent them an invitation when Tracy and I got married. To the church, because I don’t even know if they still live at the same address. The silence afterward was deafening. Not a word from them.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Instinctively, I reach for Laura’s hand over the table—as though my touch can make it better.

  “No need to feel sorry for me. Besides, that has nothing to do with Aunt Milly, who did attend the wedding, by the way. Came all the way from Texas. This was before she broke her hip.” Laura doesn’t shrug my hand off her. “I figure that even if I let them know about Aunt Milly’s condition, they probably won’t show up anyway. That they will just remain silent. Why would they forgive her for marrying someone as inappropriate as Uncle George now? My father will probably try to get her into heaven on her deathbed or something.” Laura’s voice is growing high-pitched.

  “Do you still want that to go?” Mary comes over with Laura’s tea.

  “Oh, no, I’ll just have it here. Thanks, Mary.”