She chews. It’s longer than expected, so I think she’s buying time to drum up an answer.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Casey.”
“Would you just admit it?”
“Admit what?”
I smile. “You get PBR updates, so you can see what I’m up to.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She takes another bite and then a sip of wine to wash it down.
“Admit it.”
She shakes her head. “I have a boyfriend in the PBR, okay?”
Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s her in the fire’s light, but I move my plate to the coffee table and slowly scoot to her.
Don’t do this, Casey. If you leave for the finals, you will fuck her up.
She allows this, so our bodies are barely an inch apart. She leans back, and I’m almost over the top of her, our mouths and our bodies in close proximity.
I stare down into her eyes and see the broken little girl I saw in the picture downstairs.
It takes everything in me not to kiss her, so instead, I lean into her ear and whisper, “I don’t think your boyfriend would approve of this position we’re in, Miss Morgan.”
My chest moves closer to hers, and I’m not sure if it’s my heart that’s pounding, her heart, or ours together.
When I reluctantly move, she grabs my shirt and pulls my mouth to hers, and I fall into her.
I lose myself in her scent, her mouth, and the way her tongue feels against mine, like old memories and fire. A fire I only feel for Tess. A fire that’s burned for so many years now that I can’t keep track.
The taste of red wine.
More of her I want, which only deepens the kiss.
I need to stop this.
But I can’t.
It’s when I feel her hands on my chest and I start to harden against her that I pull away, breathless and almost unable to control myself. My body is pulsating.
“I’m sorry, Tess,” is all I say before taking my plate and walking to the kitchen.
14
The Ladybugs
Nobody says anything about Erla’s incident at the last meeting. But Mabe, Clyda, Delveen, and Pearl are gathered around the table in the back of Dillon Creek Pizza, preparing for the holiday fundraiser. Erla sits too.
Thank goodness for The Lunch Guys playing dice in front of the window, breaking up the silence between the five women.
Finally, Erla says, “I was thinking of having a Santa’s village theme, ladies. Where children can sit on Santa’s lap for free and receive a gift. We can sell pies and candles, hot chocolate and hot cider, and Christmas wreathes. Have a silent auction.”
The whole group collectively sighs once Erla speaks, and they begin to laugh, joke, and get to work.
The tension that hovered above them disappears.
Erla isn’t leaving The Ladybugs after all.
She had a moment. An awful moment, and maybe Erla was right to some degree. Perhaps it was a wake-up call for Delveen and Pearl because after an hour of planning, neither Delveen nor Pearl make any mention of cheating, divorcing, Viagra, or small-town scandal.
All five women leave Dillon Creek Pizza with to-do lists and things to gather for their planning meeting next week.
Planning parties is Erla’s sweet spot, and she enjoys it from start to finish.
Whether The Ladybugs are holding a community event or collecting money to help kids, it doesn’t matter.
As The Ladybugs disperse and go their separate ways, Mabe puts on her hat, sunglasses, and scarf.
Erla leans over and whispers, “Mabe, I thought the AA meetings were in the evenings on Monday?”
Mabe turns to her old friend and cousin with surprise. Does everyone in the world know that she attends AA meetings in this attire? Mabe thinks about it for a moment. Not many women in their seventies, wearing a hat, scarf, and sunglasses, walk in Dillon Creek without being noticed. What a dumb idea it was in the first place—the disguise, not the meetings.
“If you must know, Erla”—Mabe sighs, slightly annoyed—“I’m headed to Fortuna to speak with someone. Official AA stuff.”
Now, Erla knows if Mabe adds the word official to anything, it really means mind your own business, but Erla doesn’t care. Someone she has left in this world, who she loves with all her heart, is finally doing something good for herself.
“Good on you, Mabe.”
The truth is, Mabe finally has someone to help. Sure, Mabe helps Erla. The Ladybugs help the community. But this is different. This help with Patty, that Betty threw in her lap, finally gives her purpose.
Erla looks around for her car.
Panic begins to fill her insides.
Oh dear, she thinks. Where in the world did I park my car?
Confusion begins to set in, followed by fear. She doesn’t remember driving it here.
The pain in her chest starts again, but it isn’t as severe as it is sometimes.
Mabe is driving by and stops. “What’d you lose?”
“I … I can’t find my car.”
“Honey”—Mabe’s face grows an off shade of white—“you didn’t drive here, remember? You decided to walk.”
Oh. That’s right. Erla plays it off well.
One thing about Erla is, she is a chameleon. She can fit in anywhere, blend in anywhere. She can tell you anything, and you’ll believe it. Some might call the last one manipulation. But Erla only uses that special skill set when it is absolutely necessary—for instance, like now.
“Get in. I’ll drive you home.”
“No, no. Go to Fortuna on your business, and I’ll walk home. Truly, I’m fine, Mabe.” Erla laughs it off. “I’ll call you when I get home, so you don’t worry.”
Mabe is hesitant, but it is Dillon Creek after all. If she gets lost from here to there, someone will help her. Besides, she does have the cell phone she never uses, and if she does wander off, Mabe can track her down with the Find My app. Sometimes, Mabe is grateful that technology has always been in her wheelhouse.
“All right, honey.”
On her way to Fortuna, Mabe allows her fear to take her places she’d rather not go. She plays Dillon Creek Echo headlines in her head.
ELDERLY WOMAN DIES IN THE ELEMENTS
LOST ELDERLY WOMAN SUCCUMBS TO INJURIES
ERLA BROCKMEYER DIES OF GRIEF
And perhaps this is just Mabe’s subconscious mind, reactivated by the wrongdoing of leaving two severely injured boys in the field to die that night. Mabe swallows the guilt one more time and drives to Fortuna to meet Patty.
It’s just a left and a right, Erla. Goodness’ sake, how can you be so stupid?
Erla looks around at the houses that surround her. None of them look familiar.
How did you get so turned around?
Don’t call anyone, she tells herself. That will just cause unnecessary worry.
But the pain in her chest continues.
“Erla?” Betty Lewindowski comes out from her house. “Honey, did you lose something?”
Bingo! Betty lives two houses down from Erla.
And there, at the end of the street, is Erla’s house.
“Have you seen Millie?” Erla lies. Please, God, forgive me.
“No, I haven’t. Would you like me to help you look?”
“Oh, heavens no. I’ll check at home one more time. Thanks, Betty.”
Betty waves from her steps.
The pain in Erla’s chest subsides, and she makes her way back home. And for the first time in a long time, Erla is scared she might be losing all of her marbles.
Mabe calls Erla as she’s walking through the front door.
“Hello?”
“You didn’t call.”
“I just walked in the door, Mabe.”
“I pegged you as dead, and all the headlines that played through my head—sweet Jesus!”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Mabe sighs. “What took you so long?”
Erla lies again, but in her defense, there is also some truth, “I was talking to Betty.”
“Betty? What’d she say?”
Everyone knows that Betty Lewindowski is Mabe’s AA sponsor, but nobody talks about it. And Mabe thinks it’s one big old secret.
“Nothing, Mabe. Everything is fine. I’m home safe.” Erla can feel Mabe’s tension on the line. “Come on, Mabe. It’s just grief. Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably outlive you.” Erla laughs.
“Let’s hope so.” Mabe finally comes around. “Lord knows, I’d be a mess without you, Erla,” she whispers.
Erla’s heart curls into a ball as she tries to fight off the guilt of not telling Mabe that she in fact did get lost—sort of—and that she has shortness of breath, all to keep Mabe Muldoon from worry.
But sometimes, it’s just easier to lie. “I’m fine, Mabe.”
Later that day, Scarlet calls, and Erla tells her granddaughter all about the Christmas fundraiser meeting and what happened at church last Sunday. She skips the part about chest pains, getting lost, her lack of memory. After all, there isn’t much Scarlet can do, being this far away, and she needn’t cause worry to her granddaughter.
“I’m coming home for Christmas this year, Grandma. I’ll let you know when I firm up dates.”
“Oh, Scarlet. That will be wonderful,” Erla says as tears form in her eyes.
Erla does remember a certain boy that Scarlet has always had a thing for. Now that she’s divorced, maybe there’s an opportunity for a new start.
“What about that Cash Atwood? He was always such a pleasant young man.”
Erla isn’t senile yet. She knows Cash has been known to be reckless and might drink a little too much at times, but he’s got great parents, and Erla has always believed that second chances are important.
“Oh, Grandma. I was just a girl. Besides, I’m sure he’s moved on, just as I have.”
“Don’t be so sure, honey.”
“Anyway, I love you, Grandma. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Love you too, sugar.”
It’s later into the evening when Erla gets a knock at the door. Quickly, she opens the door, and her stomach falls to her knees.
“Chief McBride? What brings you here so late in the evening?”
15
Tess
What are you thinking, Tess?
It’s the wine.
Once, I read a story about a bottle of wine that was laced with cocaine, and the woman who purchased the wine, after she ingested it, had to be rushed to the hospital.
I pull myself from the floor, grab my plate and Solo cup, and follow Casey into the kitchen.
I try not to picture Casey with his shirt off, and this only makes things between us more awkward as we move like robots throughout the kitchen, trying to clean up.
“You know, Case. I’ve got this. I’ll clean up the kitchen,” I say.
“Are you sure?” His voice is deeper than it normally is.
“Yeah, good change of pace.”
He jumps on the opportunity and walks back to the living room. He takes his spot on the sofa, and knowing Casey, it isn’t that he doesn’t want to be helpful; he’s just trying to make things easier on me.
A loud crack of thunder makes me jump, and the noise filters through my bones.
The wind blows, hollering around the perfect edges of the old house.
But she fights back with her groans and creaks. Her ability to adapt to change.
I finish the dishes just as the house goes dark.
“Tess, are you all right?” I hear Casey’s voice.
“Yeah.” I grab a glass of water from the tap as the fire’s light guides me back into the living room to the roaring fire, where Casey is adding a few more logs.
Darkness surrounds us, and the orange flickers give us light.
Casey makes his way to the window just as the sky ignites with an unnatural bright light.
I, too, move to the window and stand a safe distance from him, looking down below to Ketchikan and the Tongass Narrows, waiting for the lightning to return.
Watching the town, the body of water, the unassuming world below us, I’m moved by the powers of the world and my inability to control my surroundings.
No matter what, I can’t control any of this. Not the lightning. Not the rain. Not the wind. And certainly not Casey Atwood.
A loud crack of thunder vibrates the floor below my feet, and it rolls on longer than I’d like to believe.
“It’s beautiful,” Casey says.
But when I look at him, he’s not looking down at the town; he’s looking right at me.
In the dark, he whispers, “Just so we’re clear, Tess, I didn’t pull away from you because of you. I pulled away because of me.”
Isn’t that always the way of things? I nod and don’t say this to him.
“Good night, Casey.” I tear myself away from the only man I’ve ever loved, knowing he’ll leave to make the finals because that’s what cowboys do.
I wake up, feeling refreshed after the best night of sleep I’ve had in months. Pushing the covers back, I look at my phone to see what time it is. It’s still so early as I pull myself from the heaven of warmth and walk down to the kitchen.
Whether he’s here or he’s gone, Tess, you can’t control that as much as you can control the lightning.
But when I round the corner just out of my bedroom, Casey is standing there, reading a newspaper, standing at the counter.
He looks up at me as I enter the kitchen, and I see his eyes rake over my body. Thankfully, this time, he has a shirt on.
“Good morning,” he says. “I hope you take your coffee the same. Two sugars and that hippie shit.”
“Soy milk?” I purse my lips and walk to the island, standing opposite of where he’s standing. “Thank you,” I say as I put the mug to my lips.
“Yeah, hippie shit.”
“So, I was thinking, once we get the estimate from Emmitt, we can discuss the priorities of what needs to be done first,” I say, cutting to the chase.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“All right.” I look down at my coffee and shrug. “Even if it’s instant coffee, it’s not that bad. I meant to go by the hardware store and buy a coffeepot yesterday.”
Casey reaches into his wallet and throws a stack of cash down on the island counter.
“What’s that for?”
He shrugs. “Food. Coffeepots. Whatever we need it for.”
“You carry that much cash on you?”
“No, but the walk to the bank in town was steeper than I’d thought.”
“When did you walk down?”
“Last night. Needed to clear my head.”
“In the thunderstorm?”
“No, I waited for it to slow down.”
I look down at the wad of one-hundred-dollar bills.
Casey pulls out his phone and touches his screen several times. “Emmitt e-mailed me the estimate. Just forwarded it to you. He’s going to start renovations today.”
“Today?”
Casey looks at me. “I hope that’s okay?”
“But I thought we were going to talk about it? Prioritize.”
I grab my phone and pull up my e-mail. My eyes grow just as big as the zeros that I see in the estimate. Panic fills my chest. I can’t afford this. I can’t even afford half.
“Casey”—my voice fails me—“I can’t afford this.”
“I can,” he says like it’s no big deal. Like he’s agreed to go to the store and grab some milk and cheese.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“This isn’t what I agreed to.”
“Tess, we agreed to do the renovations.”
“But that was before I saw the estimate.” I count the zeros in my head, just to be sure I have it right.
Emmitt’s broken it down into each job.
“Would you just let me do this?” he asks, his eyes pleading.
I shake my head. “No. No way. If I’m a partner in this, I pay half.” Or somehow get the price lower, I think to myself.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn about things, Tess? Why can’t you just accept help?”
My mouth falls open. “Says the bull rider …”
He ignores my comment. “Besides, it’s too late. I’ve already sent in the payment.”
“You did what? I can’t believe you’d do this without talking to me first.”
“Says the woman who rides a steer without prior knowledge.”
“You’re impossible!” I huff and walk back to my bedroom and slam the door.
Shit!
I roll my eyes, walk back out to the kitchen, grab my coffee from the counter, and say, “I like the hippie shit!” And I storm back to my bedroom.
I pace. I’m so mad.
I look at the estimate again. Even if I help with labor and put ten grand into this, it’s still not going to cover half. But once we sell the house, if we ask for twenty thousand more than the cost of the renovations, I can give that back to Casey.
Hastily, I pull my checkbook out, write a check for ten thousand, and open my door again. I walk out to the kitchen.
My heart thumps against my chest with anger. “Here’s the deal.” I push the check across the counter to him. “You take this. I will help with the labor, and then, when we sell the place, we’re going to ask twenty thousand more than the renovations. That will pay you back for the portion I can’t come up with up front. If you can’t agree to that, then there’s no deal.” I cross my arms over my chest and bite down on the inside of my cheek as I wait for his answer.
A smile begins to form on his face as he watches me.
This pisses me off even more. “I always pay my own way, Casey—you know that.”
“Can I have time to think about it?” he asks.
“Fuck you, Casey.”
I stomp back to my bedroom to grab my shower stuff, storm back out of my room and to the bathroom we share, and slam the door behind me for good measure.
Who in the hell does he think he is? Mr. Moneybags?
I slide my T-shirt over my head and shimmy out of my panties.
There’s a knock at the bathroom door.
Saving Tess Page 12
