Tall Again Among the Redwoods

Chapter One

“The house, Mo? Of all the decisions you’d make on your own, selling the house—really?”

Mo, cradling her phone between her ear and shoulder, pushed her lanky frame through a crowded hotel elevator before responding, “It’s a seller’s market, Bud. Stop freaking out.”

“A seller’s market?”

“That isn’t my issue, and you know it,” Bud Pepperidge practically yelled in her ear, causing her to fumble with her phone.

“This isn’t like you had an unused beach house or were finally getting your act together and selling your sailboat.

That pile of sticks and stucco was y’alls—I mean, your home. Where are you gonna live?”

This was not the conversation Mo wanted to have on her way to another lonely hotel room.

If she had even a semblance of control over the universe, she would have avoided telling her old friend at all.

But selling a home she had owned for over a decade was a huge step.

Mo knew the new homeowners would not know what to do if a giant teddy bear of a man like Bud showed up, confused and shouting, on their doorstep.

Even if it would have bought her the precious alone time she had been yearning for.

“Mo?” Bud interrupted her thoughts just as she reached the last door at the end of the long hallway. “Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Mo shuffled her bags in an attempt to free up a hand, her work laptop dropping from underneath her arm onto the floor with a crack.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m a bit preoccupied.

I have a one-on-one with my supervisor in…

” Mo checked her watch, the long hand sitting firmly on the three. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Jesus Christ, man.”

Mo ignored him, tapping her card against the reader while simultaneously snatching her poor laptop off the grubby carpet.

The door popped open with a few familiar electronic clicks, and her eyes adjusted to take in the less-than-inviting decor, indicative of any run-of-the-mill beige hotel room.

She moved her bags just inside the entryway before reaching back to lock herself inside.

Mo’s laptop must have remembered the Wi-Fi to this particular hotel, as the Slack video call jingle made her jump forward.

“God, I hate that sound,” Bud droned in her ear. “Nothing productive comes from it. So…are you, like, in trouble?”

“Eh, I don’t know and I don’t care,” Mo responded lackadaisically, placing her laptop on the hotel desk before popping in one of her wireless headphones. “I’ll even let you listen in.”

With a press of her fingerprint to the small unlock scanner, her home screen popped up, bright and familiar.

Too familiar. An ache spread across her chest. Even after all this time, Mo had failed to change her computer’s background photo.

Her right hand quickly danced across the touchpad to answer the Slack call before maximizing the window to fill her screen.

“Are you really having a meeting with me still on the phone?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Reeves.” Her boss’s voice, stern and plain, crackled electronically through her computer’s less-than-stellar speakers. “You’re late.”

“Neal,” Mo sighed, her arms reflexively crossing over her chest. “Sorry, the move took a tad longer than I thought.”

“What move?” Neal questioned as Mo watched the older, paler man fingerstyle his thinning salt-and-pepper hair to better cover his balding head. “Forget it. I don’t have time to be playing games with you. Do you remember that discussion we had about a year ago…with Victoria?”

Mo closed her eyes, already tired of this conversation. “Victoria Goodman from billing or Victoria Taylor from HR?”

Neal’s annoyed sigh was emotive enough for Bud to mumble, “Oh, you’re like actually fucked.”

“Winchester Bank Financial prides itself in being the leading financial institution for Americans, whenever and wherever they are.” Neal adjusted himself in his seat, pride beaming from his crooked lips.

“An integral part to every Winchester client experience is our state-of-the-art fraud protection, making sure that their money stays safe and accessible.”

“I’ve seen the commercials.”

“You, Mo Reeves, used to be one of the best fraud investigators on our team. Even fresh out of college, the data you could collect and analyze—breathtaking. You were a three-man team wrapped up in a one-woman show.”

“Thanks.”

“Used to be.” His voice was now seething.

“Your productivity over the past four years has declined. It’s so bad that I’ve had to take some of your client load and distribute it amongst other investigators, some of which don’t even have the luxury for remote work.

A reward which you have squandered. When you, Victoria, and I sat down a year ago, you made a promise to be more present and productive at work, and frankly, that has not been the case. ”

“Okay,” Mo replied dully, her fingers already hovering the cursor over the end call button. She knew she had become a terrible employee, and she didn’t need Neal getting any more satisfaction out of firing her then he already would be.

“I have spoken with Victoria, and I am annoyed that she wants to give you another chance. Even after you have proved, time and time again, to not have pulled yourself out of your…funk.”

“Funk?” Bud questioned protectively in her ear.

Neal blew air through his nose before leaning closer to the camera. “Victoria thinks you need more bereavement. But I…I talked to upper management. My condolences for Annie’s suffering, but the dead wife shtick isn’t going to cut it anymore.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bud bristled. “Who does he think he is—”

But Mo’s own heart was too numb to care about Neal’s snide comment, so she stayed silent, hoping he would hurry up and get to the point.

“I’m sorry, but Winchester Bank Financial has decided to part ways with you. We will be sending a severance check, along with your last paycheck, for your…unfortunate circumstances.”

Mo could hear Bud’s continued yelling in her ear, but her mind refused to translate it into anything beyond white noise.

Neal, whose lips she could see were moving, was probably also adding some sort of half-assed thank-you or maybe even another insensitive jab.

Anger would be instinctive, but instead she felt nothing but relief.

Another responsibility lifted from her heavy shoulders.

So instead of fighting it, Mo just gave another simple, “Okay,” before ending the call.

The window minimized, leaving behind the previously ignored background.

The brightness of the photo made her eyes strain, but she kept staring.

She was suddenly entranced, feasting on every detail like it was water and her eyes hadn’t drunk in weeks.

The only thing she wanted to do was stand up and climb inside, just to relive the moment the photo had captured.

But Bud’s annoyed jabbering was still rattling around in her ear, while a tiny voice in the back of her head was reminding her that photos were just memories.

“I’ll call you later.”

“Wait a second—” Bud tried to reason, but Mo ended the call.

Now alone, Mo leaned back, fully taking in the details.

It was her favorite wedding photo of her and Annie, blissfully happy on the bow of Mo’s sailboat.

Mo recognized the unadulterated glee that was evident across Annie’s attractive features.

Lightly olive skin, strong cheekbones, soft lips, and blue eyes one could drown in for hours.

Annie’s straight, dirty-blond hair was styled in an intricately braided bun, fallen wisps lightly touching her athletic shoulders.

Mo smiled as she remembered how beautifully the bone-white mermaid wedding dress hugged Annie’s body, the feeling of silk chiffon as she held on to her.

The memories continued to flow in, and she briefly closed her eyes, remembering each moment like it was happening all over again.

The feeling was unfortunately short-lived and Mo’s eyes opened, straying to her own face.

The boyish butch grin was accented by her hazel eyes focused fully on Annie in a dopey but loving gaze.

A wind-worn blush stained her pale complexion, highlighting the large number of freckles she had scattered across her lean cheeks and nose.

She kept her light, almost blond, brown hair short.

Well known for allowing it to lie styled in a lazy fluff on top of her head, she kept the sides cut in close.

Mo had always been extremely lanky, her five-foot, ten-inch frame barely filling out the tailored black tux she was sporting.

After a while of studying the photo, it was apparent that Annie’s focus was on the photographer, but Mo’s was on Annie.

Annie had always been the center of Mo’s world.

Abruptly, Mo reached forward and slammed the monitor down hard, pushing away from the desk.

She stood, tumultuous emotions rapidly welling up in her sinuses.

But she didn’t feel like thinking about Annie right now.

Instead, Mo turned toward the window, pulling back both sets of shades to reveal a view of downtown San Jose.

The city was pretty unremarkable compared to Palo Alto, but this hotel had a view that was far more sentimental.

Besides, a good amount of space between her and Bud was ideal too. All Mo wanted was to be alone.

With a quick turn she grabbed a pillow from the bed, tossing it onto the armchair that sat in the corner of the room.

Then she pulled the chair right up to the window before sliding over and down the arm, plopping onto the cushion with a crinkling sound.

Mo propped the pillow behind her head and looked down at the afternoon rush, her position giving her just enough of an angle that she could see the other side of the main street.

The hustle and bustle brought her a meager helping of calm, as the people down below had no inkling of her existence.

They didn’t know why she picked this hotel.