“What’s the good news, Stanley?” I keep it professional by calling him by his full name, not wanting him to get any ideas.
“Emmitt Crane can fix this. And I can patch this hole, but you might need a new roof. That’s a question for Emmitt though.”
I’m impressed by how well he can speak with a pipe between his lips.
“If you can patch the hole, Stanley, that would be wonderful.”
“Yep, yep,” he says real slow as he eases down the ladder like a man twice his age. “Just let me go get a few things from my truck right quick.”
When Stanley is done, I try to write him a check because I still don’t have cash.
“No, your money is no good to me. It took me a whole twenty minutes, Ms. Morgan.”
“But you have to take the money. I’d feel guilty if you didn’t.”
“Nah. You know what? Buy me a bottle of Pendleton, and we can call it even.”
Quickly, I jot down the name and nod. “Okay, I can do that.”
Stanley dusts his hands off, hikes his pants up, and pulls a pencil from behind his ear. He grabs a notepad from his chest pocket and begins to write something down.
His hand shakes as he writes.
“This is Emmitt’s number.”
“Thank you.” I take the piece of paper from him even though I already have Emmitt’s number.
“That’s all right, Ms. Morgan.” He hands me his card.
I walk him to the door before he can say anything else, and we exchange good-byes.
Shutting the door behind him, I fall against it.
What if I run out of money, fixing this old place?
The question game begins again.
I wonder if the other party has agreed to accepting the house. Maybe they could help me split the cost of the repairs, which also means they’d split the sale price of the house. But with these views and the square footage, this house could likely sell for quite a bit of money. I look around the space that could make or break me and the bank.
But these words come to me, and they’re not mine. You can, and you will.
“I hope you’re right,” I say out loud to the house.
I sigh, and then I make a call to Emmitt next and leave a message.
It’s about six in the evening, and I just finished the frozen meal I’d bought at Olive’s when my cell phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hello. This is Emmitt Crane. Is this … Tess Morgan?” he asks.
“Yes. Hi, Emmitt.” I explain the situation and ask if he can come over for an estimate of all that needs to be done to the house. “I don’t know if you have the time, but you came highly recommended by Stanley and Olive.”
There’s a long silence over the line.
“Emmitt? Hello?”
“Yes … yes. I’m sorry. Yes. I can come by tomorrow, if that works best for you?”
“That would be great. I’ll give you the address.”
“No, no. I have it. I know the address.”
“Oh.”
How would Emmitt know the address? How would he make the connection between me and this house and the address? But small towns and all. Being from one, I understand one.
“Well then, Emmitt, I will see you tomorrow.”
Yet again, my words are met with silence.
“Emmitt?”
“Oh, yes, that sounds good. See you tomorrow, Ms. Morgan.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Later, Anna calls. The wind has stopped irritating the old house. I settle in for the evening.
“Well, I had a man named Stanley fix a hole in the roof, and I have a contractor coming by tomorrow to look at the house. See what needs to be done.” I bite my lip. “I met a woman named Olive who owns a bar-slash-grocery store in town, and I know she owns it because the store’s name is also called Olive’s. She sells instant coffee and liquor and soy milk, just in case I decide to become a raging alcoholic or a vegan—because I’m scared to death, Anna.”
“Tess Morgan, you hired someone to fix the roof. You’ve called a contractor. You met Olive. I’d say, you’re on a roll.”
“I had a solid teaching job. I liked my life. And now … and now, everything is so uncertain.”
A big gust of wind returns, and the house creaks, as if to give me a nudge in the other direction.
“You were settling,” Anna says.
“Settling?”
“Settling.” Anna pauses. “You know as well as I do, Tess, that God had bigger plans for you.”
“That’s why he decided to uproot me from our small, safe, comfortable, little town and drop me in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness?”
“You’re not in the Alaskan wilderness. You’re in Ketchikan, silly. Do you see a bathroom?”
“Do I what?”
“See a bathroom?”
“I-I guess. Yes, I see a bathroom.”
“Then, you’re not in the wilderness.”
“I’m not going to argue that point because I’m tired.” I massage my forehead with my free hand. “I can’t believe I let you and Colt talk me into this.”
“It’s a matter of choice, Tess. Are you going to take this project on or not? You can decide to move home. You can sell the house outright.”
“No, there’s another party that Ike also gave the house to.”
“You still don’t know who it is?”
“No, and Twila hasn’t called me back yet.”
“Tess,” Anna whispers, “just trust this path you’re on. You might not know the reason right now, but you’ll know it when you’re supposed to. Don’t spend this time living in what you know is comfortable. Start living in the present and the uncomfortable.”
Anna’s words fall over me. Start living in the present and the uncomfortable. I toy with them and allow them to resonate in my mind.
I draw a deep breath in and let it out.
“Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you’re surviving the rugged wilderness and all.”
“Funny.”
We hang up after we exchange good-byes.
The wind returns, blowing every which direction, and I hear the quiet creak in the house’s wood, her bones. The house is talking. She’s trying to tell her story. Maybe she’s trying to convince me to stay. There are no other words to describe the feeling I have in my gut—the one that says, Stay.
I hold my breath and smile. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this out loud to a house, but here goes.” I sit up straight on the edge of the couch. “You’ve got to help me,” I say to the big house on the hill that overlooks the Tongass Narrows. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
The wind screams. The house shrills with excitement, shudders, as if to say, I accept.
My eyes fall upon the fireplace that’s dark and cold. I decide to follow Anna’s advice—to start living.
I pull on my new Ketchikan sweatshirt, feeling more Alaskan by the minute. I brave the rain and wind and grab four logs from the wood box on the porch, trying my best not to get eaten by spiders.
Once inside, I set the logs down, dry my face with my sleeve, and go into the kitchen in search of matches and some old newspapers.
There’s a stack of old newspapers in the corner of the kitchen. I find matches in the drawer next to the stove and walk to the fireplace, put the old newspaper at the bottom, place the logs on top of it, and light the match.
While the fire begins its slow start, I move the couch closer.
I will not freeze tonight, Satan.
The heater doesn’t work. I tried it last night. It blew black smoke everywhere, which was probably not a good sign about the central heat.
I need to prepare a list of questions for the contractor, I suppose. At least I can get some rough numbers from a contractor. I’m not out any money. Besides, maybe I can get a few contractors to come out, and then I can take the cheapest bid.
The fire starts to take off and crackles, bringing me out of my thoughts.
<
br /> The wind howls its long cries, and the rain begins to thunder against the roof once again.
I get underneath a pile of blankets and watch the fire that begins to twist and turn and dance. “I made that,” I say to the house, who still occasionally calls out from her dark corners.
Tonight, I don’t pull out my phone because I don’t want to be reminded of a man I used to love. Last night, I watched his bull rides in Idaho. Watched his face when the camera closed in on it.
Excitement.
Exhilaration.
Hard work.
Determination.
He’d worked hard for those rides.
And who could take that away from him?
Stop living in the past, Tess.
And with those words tucked in tight, I close my eyes and try to get a good night’s rest.
But not before a loud bang makes me spring from the couch.
A fire ball ignites in the fireplace and pushes out into the living room.
I scream.
“Thank you, Chief Spalding,” I say.
“And remember, get this chimney cleaned at least once a year.”
Embarrassed, I say, “I will.”
I shut the door behind him. Rest my back against the door and look at the mess of black soot that has plagued the beautiful rock fireplace. I mentally add a to-do list item, Get chimney cleaned.
Thankfully, the Ketchikan Fire Department arrived so quickly that there wasn’t any more damage to the chimney or the house.
“Listen,” I say to the old house, “thanks for not burning to the ground, but please, next time, give me a sign beforehand.”
And just as I hear the chief’s car tires pull out of the driveway, I hear a knock at the door.
Probably Chief Spalding with some added advice, or maybe he forgot something.
I pull open the door, but it isn’t the fire chief. It isn’t one of his men.
My heart begins to slam against my chest as I try to find my words. “Casey?”
Casey Atwood steps into the light of the dim porch.
His broad chest.
His long, lean jaw.
His black cowboy hat. My favorite one.
His legs that go on for days.
And he makes my body feel every sensation I’d rather not feel right now.
“What … what are you doing here?” I try not to allow our close proximity to affect my tone.
10
Casey
“I got a letter from Ike,” I say. “Can I come in?”
Hesitantly, she pulls open the door, allowing room for me to pass.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take her in my arms and hold her heart against me. Tess’s whole body against mine. Her dark hair is pulled back, but strands have fallen into her face, framing it perfectly.
I breathe her in, and I’m reminded of our time when things were so much simpler. Easier.
I see the shock registering on her face.
I’ve had at least the last fifteen hours to process all of this.
I set my bag down next to the doorway and look around.
It’s not in bad shape.
I notice the black soot that sits above the fireplace. “Chimney fire?” I ask.
Tess nods. She’s behind me, her mind probably blown, just like mine was. Her arms are across her chest.
“You didn’t get the chimney cleaned before you lit a fire?” I give her shit.
She rolls her eyes. “In my defense—never mind.” Tess walks to the couch, grabs a blanket. Sits down and stares at the black space of where a fire once was.
I turn and grab a few logs from the wood box outside. Walk them back to the fireplace. Stare up through the chimney and see that it’s now clear. I start a fire and don’t say much. Once I’m done, I take my bag from the front door and walk down the hallway. I see Tess has taken the room all the way at the end.
“Hey, Morgan?”
“Yes?” she sighs.
“You’re at the end of the hall?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take the room next to yours then.”
She doesn’t answer, and I set my bag down in the other room.
House looks stable. I take in the pine walls and walk back into the living room. Sit on the other side of the couch.
There’s a long silence that sits between us like an old, well-worn suit—one you’re sure you shouldn’t wear but you can’t help but love what it’s made from.
“I assume you took Ike’s offer?” she asks.
“I did.”
She looks at me from across the couch. “I called a contractor, who’s coming by tomorrow.”
I nod. “House looks pretty solid, Morgan.”
“Please, don’t call me that anymore.”
“Why?”
A few seconds beat through us like hours.
“It hurts too much.”
My heart sinks when she says this. I rest my arm over the back of the sofa.
The fire cracks, and the flames twist and move to the rain that has begun.
“Rains here a lot,” she says. “And”—she looks back toward the front door—“there’s a leak in the roof. But Stanley, the handyman, fixed it.”
I see the bucket but no stream of water. “Well, that’s not good. Guess it depends on how old the roof is.”
Tess looks back at me. “How long are you going to be here for, Case?”
Case.
She hasn’t called me that in years.
“As long as you’ll have me.”
She tries not to smile.
I miss her smile and everything that goes along with it.
Her dimple.
Her sigh.
The way she overthinks things. The inner dialogue that runs through her head that only those close enough to her get to hear.
I miss her body and the way she used to give it to me only when I needed it most.
Her scent.
The way she allowed me in, trusted me with information she never shared with anyone.
The fire pops.
“Just so we’re clear, Casey, I don’t need you here. If you want, you can buy me out, or I can buy you out. But I don’t think we can do this together.”
I’m here for all the wrong reasons.
I’m here to be with Tess.
I’m not here to make money.
I’m here to make amends.
“I’d like to propose an offer.” I get more comfortable on the sofa. It isn’t half-bad in terms of comfort even if it is circa 1980.
“An offer?”
“We restore this thing together.” I look around the living room. “I get one week with you. Just me and you. No work. No phones. No nothing. Just us in this house for a week. Seven days. Not five. So we’re clear.”
Tess mulls this around in her head. Her eyes move from mine to the fire and back to me again. “And if we don’t restore this place together? I mean, if you leave? Because that seems to be your motto, right?”
Ouch. I shake it off. I don’t argue with her. “If I leave, then you get sole ownership, and you keep the profit once we sell it. Simple.”
“What makes you think I want to restore this house with you?”
“The profit we’ll make. You need the money, right?”
She shakes her head, sits forward, and places her elbows on her knees. Ponders my wager. I can tell because she’s biting the inside of her cheek.
Through gritted teeth, she says, “Fine.”
I laugh. “You know an Atwood never agrees to a business deal without a handshake.”
The warmth of the fire feels good on my old bones. My body took a beating this past week, and I’m not sure how well it’ll hold up against Alaska’s winter cold, but I’m willing to try.
Tess stares at me. She sticks her right hand out, and I follow her lead.
Our hands touch, and I feel the same connectedness since we were kids. Sparks. Her skin against mine.
The night we made love. The
times we had sex just to feel each other, to feel close to one another.
We were younger then. Our hormones were those of teenagers touching her in places only boys dreamed about.
This makes her feel uncomfortable, and she tries to pull her hand away, but I hang on tight. She looks up at me with her big green eyes.
“What do you want from me?” she whispers.
“Seven nights.”
“I’d rather have the money,” she spits back.
The rain starts in again as she leaves me there with the fire and walks to her bedroom.
“Besides”—she stops before she closes the door—“I’m not so sure Ava would agree with your little agreement. Would she?” And with that, she quietly shuts the door behind her.
I was waiting for that. Part of me hoped she hadn’t seen it. In reality, I’m certain America saw the pictures—hell, the world. And not because of who I am, but because of who Ava is. Tess doesn’t know the truth of what all went down that night. I don’t need to explain it to her. I just need to spend my time here, helping us get better.
The truth is, I saved a lot of ten-thousand-dollar checks and kept them in my dresser drawer at home. I kept so many that the PBR calls me and asks why I haven’t cashed them yet. Truth be told, I don’t need all the money. I could live simple and survive. But I’m beginning to think that I can’t live without Tess.
The next morning, Tess is at the counter, coffee in hand, looking down at a piece of paper.
Another cup sits on the counter, steam pouring out from it.
I take the towel and throw it over my shoulder.
“Shower isn’t half-bad. It didn’t cave in with the water pressure. Suppose that’s a plus,” I say.
I look around for a coffeepot.
“The cup of coffee is for you,” she says, alluding to the other mug on the counter. Maybe a peace offering. “It’s instant. But it gets the job done.” She looks down at my bare chest, and I see her face grow pink, but it drains when she sees the bruise on my side. The jeans and belt buckle protect my lower half. “What happened?”
“Landed on my side after a ride. Thank you.” I pick up the coffee mug. “You remembered I like my coffee black.”
Saving Tess Page 9
