Surrendered Page 4

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I made a promise to your dad, Katie, because I owed him. I plan to stick to that promise.”

  “What do you mean you owed him? Did he give you money or something?”

  “Something. It doesn’t matter. My point is that we need Tess to go back to school. All of us. You get to keep your home and the business, I get to move on with my life, and Tess…well, Tess gets something back she’s lost.”

  “What’s that?”

  I wish I knew. “That’s between her and God.” And Sean.

  She snakes her hand out and snags my arm, halting my steps. “What is this, some kind of come-to-Jesus move?” Her young eyes are jaded with suspicion. Been there myself.

  “Whatever it is, it’s your father’s ploy, not mine.”

  “Yeah right.” She folds her arms across her chest and stares me down. Just like her sister. “You’re going to stand there and tell me you have no idea what Dad was up to?”

  “Afraid not.” Across the street, a lawnmower revs up with the tang of fresh-cut grass.

  “Do you know why she quit school?”

  “I know what she told Sean.”

  “My mom, she got cancer, you know.” A breeze kicks up, blowing her hair across her face. Just as well. Can’t be affected by what I can’t see.

  “You and Tess…you’ve suffered a lot of loss.”

  She shrugs. “It’s not like I remember her much. I was only six.”

  “And now Sean.” Still can’t gauge her emotions with her head down. “I’m sorry, Katie. Your dad was special.”

  “Wish I knew my mom.” The words are faint, as if she’s afraid to voice them out loud. “Dad said she was a combination of Mother Teresa and Sophia Loren. Not that I have a clue who Sophia Loren was.”

  A chuckle slips out. Hard to keep my distance from the kid when she’s so transparent. “Google her. I’m sure you’ll be impressed.”

  “Now it’s just me and Tess, you know?”

  I nod.

  “And if she does this to us…”

  “She won’t.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t know Tess.”

  “No? Well, you don’t know me.”

  Chapter 5

  Tess

  With a flick of a finger, the car window hums down. The promise-of-summer scented air tickles my face as Katie and I harmonize with the radio. Not very well, but who cares? For this brief moment, life is good. She’s talking to me again—why, I don’t know, but that’s okay—and I’ve avoided Jake at the restaurant for the past four nights. Does it get any better than this?

  Then I turn onto our street. A U-Haul van is sitting smack in front of the house under my favorite oak, and my bliss deflates with the speed of a balloon in a knife attack. How could I forget Jake’s threat to move in this weekend?

  The radio is abruptly silenced and Katie, finger still on the power button, sighs. “Can’t we stop him?”

  “It’s okay, Kitkat.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “Somehow, it’ll all be fine.” Making promises I can’t keep is like laying out a mine field. They’re going to blow up in my face sooner or later. “Let’s get these groceries in and we’ll deal with him later.”

  A click of the garage door opener and I ease the RAV4 into the narrow, one-car garage and turn off the engine. What can I say to ease the sudden tension aside from declaring complete submission?

  Katie releases her seatbelt. “I guess I didn’t think he was serious.”

  “Dad?”

  “Jake.”

  “You talked to him about this?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Wait until you had me living like Little Orphan Annie? I’ve got a pretty big stake in this too, you know.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Katie.”

  “How about, ‘Hey, Kitkat, I’ve decided to stop being a complete moron and go back to school?’”

  “Let’s not go there again. Please.”

  “Hey, I’ve got it.” Her eyes widen. “You could just marry him, and then we’d get everything anyway.”

  She can’t be serious. A smirk and a nudge of her elbow and I can breathe again. “Very funny. You want to enjoy that ice cream you insisted on buying, we’d better get this stuff inside.”

  Snatching up my purse, I climb out and join Katie at the back end of the car.

  One downside of living in what Jules calls our “historic monument” is the stairs. Architects got a lot smarter in the twentieth century. Why they ever thought to put the major living space up a full flight is beyond me.

  I follow Katie through the family room then the laundry room, then past my bedroom to the dinky bathroom, where I stop to deposit the toiletries I purchased and separated at the checkout. Katie continues up the back stairway, which curves to the kitchen on one side and her bedroom on the other.

  My foot on the bottom step, I hesitate and peer through the glass-topped back door—the same view I have from my bedroom window. The guest house sits across the yard, nestled under a hundred-year-old oak. The door’s open, but nothing’s visible in the shade of the tree. Is Jake in there unpacking his things? He better not get too comfortable. Once I find out what he’s up to, he’s history. I trudge up the stairs.

  “You could’ve skipped your run this morning,” Katie says when I join her in the kitchen with a huff.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So you’re always telling me. And since you slept in, maybe you should finish hauling the groceries up.”

  “Not on your life.” She slips back down the stairs.

  Instead of following, I cross through the dining room and living room and head for the front door. We’ve debated the distance for years. Which way is closer?

  Dad’s bedroom door is ajar, and the desire to stop and reminisce takes hold. Pushing it open, I gaze from the threshold. A tall, cherrywood dresser sits in one corner, family pictures lining the top like cheap tombstones. Dad never did see the value of decorative frames. “It’s the memories that count, Tessie-girl, not the dressing.”

  A queen bed, still adorned with a family quilt handed down for generations, is arranged under a large, double-hung window. Sheers as yellow and filmy as those in the kitchen afford no privacy—if 93-year-old Clementine Travers ever gets up the gumption to peep through her attic window.

  Two matching cherrywood nightstands bookend the bed, an antique lamp and photo of Mom on each. Ten years she’s been gone, yet Dad’s sense of loss never seemed to ebb. Should I be impressed or saddened?

  “What’re you doing?” Katie, arms loaded with two brown grocery bags, stands in the front doorway.

  Stepping out of Dad’s room, I close the door behind me. “Just looking. It’s a shame this room is empty.”

  “I could move in.”

  “No way, José. If anyone moves in there, it’ll be me.” I nudge past her and out the front door.

  “Then can I have your room?” follows me across the porch.

  Halfway down the stairs, my steps falter, and it takes a bit of fancy footwork to keep my balance. Jake and some guy I’ve never seen are hauling a futon from the back end of the van, laughing at some private joke. I pretend I don’t see them.

  “Hey, Tess,” Jake calls out, then dips his chin—some macho communication?—and he and his friend lower the couch to the sidewalk. “This is Marty. Marty, Tess.”

  Marty has the surfer look about him—blond, shaggy hair, golden stubble on his chin and cheeks. Quite the contrast to Jake’s dark, button-down appearance. He wipes his hand on his pant leg and, stepping across the overgrown grass, offers it to me. “Good to meet you, Tess. So, you’re the one making this guy crazy.”

  I’d look like a snot if I didn’t at least reciprocate his offering. “More like the other way around.”

  Marty’s handshake is warm and firm. Just the way it should be. Nothing worse than being insulted by a limp handshake. “I’m sorry about your dad. He was cool.”

  “You knew him?” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my
shorts.

  “Met him a few times. At your restaurant.”

  “We’re wasting sunlight,” Jake calls, squinting up at the sky like he’s tracking the time by the position of the sun. Yeah right.

  “Well, Tess.” Marty flashes a white smile. “Hope to see you around.”

  “Yeah. Nice meeting you.” There’s something familiar about him, although I’m sure we’ve never met. I leave the guys to their wasted effort—after all, it’s very temporary—and retrieve the last grocery bag.

  Marty’s voice floats across the yard as I hit the garage door opener. “You never told me she’s hot.”

  Jake’s response is unintelligible.

  “It changes everything,” Marty responds.

  * * *

  Jake

  I shift the futon for a better grip and glance at Marty. “You’re watching behind me, right?” Hate to trip over something, like a neighborhood cat or flowerpot. Hard enough maneuvering the narrow, brick-layered pathway from the front of the house to the back.

  “You gotta be kidding.” Marty’s sudden stop about pulls the frame from my hands. He stares past me.

  “What?”

  “This is your new place? Looks like a toolshed.”

  “I’ve lived in worse.”

  “By choice?” He shakes his head as we make our way across the lawn to the guest house. “Tell me again what you’re gaining here?”

  “Peace of mind. What d’you care?”

  “You’re one strange dude.”

  “So you’ve said before.” Calling the place a toolshed’s a little harsh, although I’m sure that’s what Sean used it for. “Leave the futon here.” I drop my end on the narrow porch not two inches above a patch of grass and turn to open the double doors. The twenty-by-forty room’s a little stark, but serviceable. A skylight and windows on every wall don’t allow much to hide in the shadows. Not the rustic plank flooring, open framing, or the mouse scurrying for cover under a small oak desk in the corner.

  “Seriously?” Marty’s shoes scuff the floor as he enters behind me. “It’s not even insulated.”

  “Easily remedied.”

  He crosses the room and swipes his fingers across the grime on a window. “It’s Tess, isn’t it?” He looks at me, slapping his now dirty hand on his jeans. “You’re moving in here to scam her.”

  “Let’s get the futon in. We have a whole truck to unload still.”

  “Well?”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong.” Doesn’t matter what I tell him. He’ll never buy the truth.

  An hour later, everything I own is crammed into the room—the futon, a hand-me-down coffee table and dresser that reminds me of my grandmother, ten stuffed U-Haul boxes, and an assortment of kitchenware that’s now useless—at least for the time being.

  “Appreciate your help and use of the truck,” I tell Marty as I walk him back out front.

  “No problem. What’re friends for, right?”

  Friends? He hardly knows anything about me. “I’ll return the favor someday.”

  “How ’bout setting me up with Tess? I mean, if there’s really nothing going on there.”

  I laugh, despite the fact the idea rubs me wrong. “You’d have more luck going it alone. I’m just one more strike against you.”

  “One more strike?” Marty reaches in his pocket and retrieves the keys. “What’re you trying to say? You don’t think my boyish good looks is a plus?”

  “You never know.”

  “Hey, I’m heading up to Tahoe this weekend to do a little wind surfing? You interested?”

  “I’ve got a restaurant to run. Maybe next time.” The excuse comes with more than a twinge of regret. How long has it been since I’ve been on the lake? Any lake?

  After seeing Marty off, I head back to my prison cell. My mind focused on a strategy to unpack, I’m almost to the shack when I hear it—either someone’s snooping in my stuff or the mouse has brought reinforcements. The sun’s dipping behind a tree, leaving my room in gray shadows, but the long, red hair and trim figure leave no doubt who’s invading my turf.

  Shoulder propped on the door jamb, I watch in amazement. And she says I have nerve. “Goldilocks, I presume.”

  Tess jumps and screams, facing me with a hand over her chest. “You scared me half to death.” No apology, no embarrassment, just indignation.

  “Something I can do for you? Maybe you’d like me to leave and give you a little more time to go through my things.”

  “Could you?” She reaches out and flicks the flap of an open box, peering inside. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that much.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Her eyes meet mine and one brow arches. “Clues.”

  “To?”

  “Who are you, really?”

  “Oh, excuse me.” I step across the threshold and hold out my hand. “Thought we were properly introduced last year. Jake Holland.”

  She rolls her eyes, but I swear there’s a hint of humor playing around her mouth. “Very funny. You know what I mean.”

  Knowing me wouldn’t change a thing. “Trust isn’t your strong suit, is it, Tess?”

  Humor gone, she crosses her arms. “And give me one good reason why I should trust you.”

  “Because Sean did. If you trusted your dad—”

  “And look where that got me.”

  “So, we’re back to that. It makes me wonder if the mutual warmth I saw between the two of you ever existed. Or was it just an act?”

  “How did you know about peanut allergies?”

  “Come again?”

  “You told Julia that Max could have peanut allergies, and you were right. How did you know? Do you have children?”

  “I’ve experienced allergies before. Nothing clandestine or mysterious about it.”

  “But you won’t tell me who you are or where you come from.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “You living here makes it important. What is it you’re hiding?”

  “Fine. You first.” Two can play this game. “Why’d you quit school?”

  A flush crosses her cheeks, and she drops her eyes. “My mom died.”

  “But you didn’t go back. It’s been what? Ten years?”

  She pushes past me and steps outside, slicing me open with a glare. “It’s none of your—”

  “Business. Yeah, I got it. But that door swings both ways, Tess.”

  Arms pinned to her side, elbows locked, fists clenched, she turns away, her hair a burst of flames as the sun catches it. Her legs jerk as she walks across the yard, and I imagine she’s restraining the urge to stomp—just barely.

  She’s an enigma, that one. Independent and passionate…and afraid. I wince when the slam of the back door reverberates across the yard. How easy it would be to step aside and let her have her way. It would save us both a lot of grief. Or would it? It might be that Sean knew what he was doing. I certainly hope so, ’cause Tess O’Shay might just be the death of me—in more ways than one.

  Chapter 6

  Tess

  My hands, slick with sweat, slip on the steering wheel as I turn into an empty parking spot—since the campus is officially closed, there are so many to choose from. A knot in my stomach tightens as I shut off the engine. Breathe in. Breathe out. This is insanity. What craziness ever made me think this was a good idea? Katie needs to be appeased. Julia says to at least check it out. And Jake? Who knows what he wants? Why is it no one listens to what I want?

  The afternoon sun is intense. Blinding. Even through the darkened lenses of my sunglasses. Or maybe I’m just being hypersensitive. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I gather the large envelope of information, step out of the car, and close the door. Did I lock it? I pull on the handle. Locked. I check my watch—ten minutes before my scheduled appointment. My heart’s up in my throat. Hard to catch my breath.

  Swiping at a bead of perspiration trickling down my temple, I tuck the envelope under my arm and rummage
through the purse slung on my shoulder. Where did I stash the slip of paper with the directions? Did I forget it? Perfect. Just perfect. There’s no way Katie will accept that as an excuse for missing my appointment. She’ll think I did it on purpose. Selective amnesia. I pull out my phone and open my email, flipping through until I find the one sent by Janice Harding, career counselor, and check to see where her office is located.

  With noodle legs, I cross the campus parking lot, where the heat rises in waves, and step onto the Sacramento State campus. It’s kind of eerily quiet, like a college ghost town. The temperature drops under the shade of giant oaks surrounded by grass—fresh cut. It smells like…childhood. What I wouldn’t give to go back there now. What was it Mom used to say? “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.” I could use a ride right now. Was the campus this overwhelming when I attended? Surely, they’ve added buildings since. Rummaging again in my purse, I pull out the map I downloaded and printed off the website and push my sunglasses on top of my head. Now if I can just figure out where I am…

  “Need help?”

  The male voice startles me from perusing the map, and I look up into the face of a young man. Very young. Another reason not to jump into campus life. Co-ed. Makes me feel like an old maid. “You wouldn’t know where Lassen Hall is, would you?”

  His brown eyes light up, and he grins like I told him he’s God’s gift to women or something. “Yeah. No prob.” He takes the map from me and looks at it without even squinting. Those were the days. “You’re right here.” He taps the map. “You want to go here.” He finger-draws a line from point A to point B, then flicks his hand in the direction I should head. Simple.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Another grin. “You a student or something?”

  “Yeah.” I take the map from him. “Something.” I continue down the concrete walkway, passing buildings and benches and the occasional human, until I spot Lassen Hall. Stepping inside, the temperature drops another good fifteen degrees, and goose bumps skitter up my bare arms.