3. Tessa
T essa flung another blouse into her open suitcase, the fabric barely landing inside before Lacey snapped it back out.
“What are you doing?” Lacey demanded, grasping the garment with two hands and pressing it to her chest like the top was Tessa herself. “You don’t need to leave, Tessa.”
Tessa pivoted into the closet, scooped an armful of hanging clothes, and tossed them on the bed. “Lacey, you’re sweet, and I get that you don’t want me to go. But what your Aunt Crista just accused my father of is completely unacceptable.”
“First of all, she’s the family drama llama and doesn’t even deny it,” Lacey said. “Second, how could your dad be responsible for my grandfather’s death? He died in prison of a heart attack. Your father had nothing to do with it.”
Tessa’s throat grew so tight, she couldn’t respond. Forcing herself not to replay the words, she slid a dress from its hanger with trembling fingers.
“Tessa, even I know the family’s history,” Lacey said. “My grandparents and your parents never spoke again after that last summer. There was a hurricane and this house—or what it used to be—got wrecked. No one except Uncle Eli even knew until a month ago that my Grandma Maggie owned it.”
“There was a reason for that falling out,” Tessa said.
“But my grandfather didn’t die until a long time later. They had a fight, is all. People do.” Lacey dropped on the bed and put a hand on the suitcase. “You can’t leave.”
The true ache in her voice touched Tessa, and echoed exactly how she felt. “Well, I sure can’t stay.”
“Aunt Crista’s just trying to get her way, which, nine times out of ten, is Grandma Maggie’s way. She does anything my grandmother tells her—it drives my mom crazy sometimes. And Crista’s always looking for attention. Classic baby of the family, you know?”
Well, she certainly got attention tonight.
“There has to be some foundation for what she said,” Tessa said, gnawing at her lip. “Maybe he testified against Roger and that’s why she thinks he’s responsible.” She thought about that for a moment. “He was a legal ethics professor. He’d be a powerful witness.”
“Would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “He would only do the right thing—that’s what drove him in life.” Unlike Roger , she thought bitterly, unwilling to say it out loud to Lacey. She couldn’t help the crimes her grandfather had committed.
“Even if he did testify against him, it’s ancient history,” Lacey said.
“Not to Crista.”
“Remember who you’re dealing with.” Lacey looked skyward.
Tessa let out a dry laugh, though it did little to ease the ache in her chest. “Yeah, I can remember more than a few of her meltdowns from when she was little.”
“See? It’s just the way she is, although she has been a lot better since Nolie was born. This was over the top, even for her. Listen, I can’t stand it if you leave, Tessa.” Lacey’s voice cracked. “We’re starting a business. You’re so much fun. You can’t…”
Tessa zipped the suitcase with a sharp tug. “Maybe I’ll stay around town, if she goes back to Atlanta. I’ll find something to rent.” Even as she said the words, she knew she wouldn’t.
This was it. This was her end to Destin. It was time to run. She knew the feeling like she knew her name, like she knew breathing.
When the going gets tough, Tessa gets going…to her father.
Because that’s where she always ran—to the arms and strong shoulders of the one person who truly believed in her.
But he was gone. And she had no one to turn to, really. Although judging by the look of pure love on Lacey’s face, she could turn to her.
“I can’t imagine how much it hurt you to have his name smeared,” Lacey said, proving that look was genuine.
Somehow, this young woman—about half her age—deeply understood Tessa even after only knowing each other for a month. Or she wanted to, and that was touching, too.
“Hurt beyond description,” Tessa said, taking a step toward the bathroom to pack her cosmetics.
“But if you leave, Tess, it’s like you’re saying you agree.”
She froze. Oh. She hadn’t really thought of it that way.
“Right?” Lacey said, hope lifting her voice when Tessa didn’t move. “Stay tonight. Stay in your room, right here. I’ll sleep down here if you want—I’m sure I’m getting booted out of Kate’s room and back in with my mom.”
Tessa smiled. “It did become Kate’s room pretty fast,” she said. “And this…” She looked around the guest room, one of the smaller bedrooms in this monstrous house and devoid of any furniture but a bed, a cheap temporary nightstand she’d bought, and a chair she’d found at Target.
Vivien was going to make this a pink room—Tessa had insisted—when she got around to staging the extra bedrooms. But even without a professional’s touch, this little space felt like home.
Every morning, Tessa woke up feeling slightly more healed than she had the day before. She’d get her coffee, and feel her grief one ounce lighter than the day before. She’d step out on the deck, look at the sky, and know Dad was up there, watching out for her.
Well, he hadn’t seen this coming. Unless…there was some truth to the accusations.
She turned and looked at Lacey. “What if he is somehow responsible for Roger going to prison? Directly or tangentially?”
Lacey angled her head and gave an “are you serious” scoff. “Tess, my grandfather, may he rest in peace but probably doesn’t, committed a slew of white-collar crimes. No one is responsible for Roger going to prison except Roger. He was greedy, selfish, and believed himself to be above the law.”
Tessa nodded, having had this conversation around the bonfire with Eli, who carried a lot of pain from his father’s bad decisions.
“And there was nothing and no one my father hated more,” Tessa said, “than someone who thought they were above the law.”
The air in the room seemed to still as Tessa’s mind flooded with memories of her father. His warm smile, his patient guidance, the endless hours they’d spent learning and loving each other whether it was over a textbook or on a fishing boat.
Artie Wylie wasn’t just her father; he was her hero, the person who’d made her feel like she could do anything. He’d swooped in on more than one occasion and helped her out of her darkest places.
Losing him seven months ago was the single hardest thing she’d ever had to bear. But she had been healing—slowly and steadily.
Staying and listening to that wild-eyed woman rant lies about him would take her back to square one. And if Eli and Vivien thought their sister was right, then…
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t be here anymore, Lacey. I just can’t.”
“Tessa, drag your beautiful brain back to the fantastic event you managed today.”
She gave a dry laugh. “Was that party today? It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Today, this very morning, you were ready to quit when Garrett’s wife appeared and rocked your boat.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” She pointed at Lacey. “You’re only good for one pep talk a day, young friend.”
“Well, it’s almost midnight, so I’m counting this as tomorrow.” Lacey stood. “Don’t run, Tessa Wylie.”
Tessa stood stone still, closing her eyes, hearing the words, remembering all the times she’d chosen the easy way out.
“You can’t just run away when things get difficult,” Lacey pressed. “You know he’d hate that.”
She didn’t have to ask who he was. She smiled and looked at Lacey, placing her palm on the young woman’s cheek, a splash of old feelings bubbling up.
“Where’d you come from, sweet girl? How’d you get to know me so well?”
Lacey put her hand over Tessa’s. “What are you so scared of?” she whispered.
Tessa turned away and grabbed the edge of the open suitcase. “I… I don’t know.” She knew it was a lie, but, oh, it was late, and she was way too wiped out for a shrink session.
Plus, if she dug too deep, she’d get to…things she didn’t talk about. And Lacey, for reasons she’d never understood, had a way of pulling the truth out of Tessa.
“Yes, you do know,” Lacey said. “And if you don’t want to tell me, fine. But you have to be honest with yourself.”
Tessa swallowed hard, feeling the old, familiar shame rise in her throat. She’d spent years running—not just from situations, but from herself. From the mistakes she’d made, the things she couldn’t fix, the decisions—one in particular—that had broken her in ways no one could see.
But she always had her standard explanation at the ready.
“You know I’ve always felt a little…not smart,” she said on a laugh.
“Dyslexia,” Lacey said.
“I struggled to read. I battled my eyes and brain that refused to work like other people’s. I got by on my looks and when people start to see through that?” She shrugged. “I take off.”
“Tessa, none of that is at the heart of this issue. You have as much right to be here as Crista, who is probably leaving in the morning, if she hasn’t already. Plus, I can’t plan that Bat Mitzvah alone.”
“Yes, you can. Anyway, there’s plenty of time.”
Lacey stepped closer and placed strong hands on Tessa’s shoulders, looking her right in the eyes.
“How about this? I don’t want to,” Lacey said. “I want to do this with you! You’re my mentor, my boss, my new auntie, my second mom—and if you tell my first one, she probably would agree.”
Tessa tried to laugh, but her throat and heart betrayed her and it came out like a sob. Lacey had no idea what she was saying or how it touched her. Folded her. Darn near broke her in two.
“I’m not kidding,” Lacey powered on. “You are the first person who helped me see my real future. Showed me a business and a path that feels right and real. You did that, in one month. Imagine where we’ll be in a year. Unstoppable! You did that!”
Tessa just sighed, searching the young, dear face in front of her—the baby blue eyes, the sweet complexion, the wide and easy smile of a twenty-four-year-old.
“Please don’t leave,” Lacey begged. “I need you.”
Tessa sank onto the edge of the bed, letting out a noisy sigh.
“That’s funny,” she whispered, looking up at Lacey. “Because apparently I need you, too.”
Lacey smiled, sitting next to her. “Then stay.”
“Tonight,” she finally said. “But I need to think about this, Lacey. I need to figure out what’s best.”
Lacey exhaled, relief washing over her face. “Okay. That’s all I ask. Just think about it.”
Lacey reached over and hugged her tightly. Tessa closed her eyes, letting the embrace ground her.
She was truly like a daughter…like a child she’d never had.
Tessa closed her eyes and squeezed Lacey a little tighter.
* * *
The next morning, Tessa sat at the dining table, a steaming cup of coffee next to her open laptop. The house was quiet, the first light of dawn glimmering on the Gulf, the sky pink toward the east.
She tore her gaze from the beautiful view to one that was ugly, strained, and wiggling.
Yes, today was a wiggly day on the computer, which might have been a function of the light. She highlighted the text and changed the font to Arial, which was always easier.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she started writing a step-by-step guide for planning the Bat Mitzvah in case she decided to leave. But every time she tried to focus, her mind drifted back to the night before.
From the weight of Crista’s accusations to the balm of Lacey’s proclamations to her own dark night of bad dreams, Tessa had yet to make a decision about what to do.
She squinted and waited for the voices in her head and the visual noise on the screen to quiet so she could read. But the screen wasn’t cooperating, so she picked up her pen and decided to go the old-fashioned way. She wrote down the words “understand mother’s vision for Naomi’s Bat Mitzvah” in large but neat writing.
Before she started point one, she heard footsteps upstairs. Was Eli up, or Vivien? Or…
Oh, boy. Here we go.
Crista came down slowly, wearing white pajamas with long pants and sleeves—wildly wintery and fancier than the sleep pants and T-shirts the other residents of the Summer House usually favored. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Did she sleep like that? It looked uncomfortable. As she reached the landing, her sharp dark gaze landed on Tessa, and she froze.
The two of them just looked at each other, silence stretching out a few too many heartbeats.
“Don’t shoot till you see the whites of my eyes,” Tessa said, squinting at her. “And after last night? You might just see red around mine.”
Crista didn’t smile, but Tessa could have sworn her tight jaw loosened a bit.
“I’m unarmed,” Crista said dryly. “Unless there’s no coffee; then there might be a problem.”
Ah, so an actual human resided under all that precision. Tessa pointed to the kitchen. “Pot’s made. Knock yourself out.”
She hesitated, visibly trying to make a decision, but clearly the need for caffeine won over all her principles.
Silent, she walked to the kitchen, found a cup, filled it, tore exactly one sheet from the paper towel holder, wiped a drop Tessa hadn’t actually seen fall, then opened the fridge and repeated the entire thing with creamer.
She folded the paper towel and tucked it under the holder, presumably for the next wayward droplet.
Through the whole process, there was nothing but awkward silence.
Standing in the kitchen, Crista stared out at the water, slowly bringing the cup to her lips for her first taste. As she sipped, she closed her eyes and let out a nearly imperceptible moan.
“You always liked coffee,” Tessa mused, suddenly transported a few decades in the past.
Crista turned and looked at her, a question in her eyes. Because Tessa had dared converse, or because of the odd comment?
“I remember that when you were little,” Tessa said, “maybe eight or nine? You wanted coffee like the grownups and your mother wouldn’t let you have it.”
“But yours did,” Crista said through her teeth, as though speaking pained her but the memory was too strong to ignore.
Tessa didn’t reply as she waited to see what direction this conversation would take.
“When my mother would go out for her morning walk on the beach, Aunt Jo Ellen would give me half coffee, half milk, and way too much sugar.” Crista let out a soft sigh. “I always liked your mother.”
Tessa blinked, certainly not expecting that admission or…civility.
“I think she understood that I didn’t have a friend like all the big kids, and she taught me how to play solitaire,” Crista continued. “She called it Beat the Devil.”
“To this day, still her favorite card game.”
Crista took another sip, then put a hand on her stomach as if the coffee wasn’t sitting well.
“Is she okay?” she asked after a few seconds. “Your mother, I mean.”
“Not really.” Tessa put down her pen and leaned back, eyeing the other woman mostly because she had no idea when she might turn into Xena: Warrior Princess and whip out her sword.
“Is she sick?” Crista asked.
“She’s, um, heartbroken.” She swallowed, knowing the rest of the story could cause trouble. “My father died very suddenly of rapidly growing pancreatic cancer seven months ago,” she said. “Turbo cancer, they called it.”
Crista made a face. “Oof.”
“One day he was fine, had a doctor’s appointment, and five weeks later, he was gone.” She took a shaky breath. “It’s been difficult for her. For all of us.”
Crista just nodded, then lowered the cup and took a breath to speak.
Tessa held up her hand. “Listen, don’t say anything bad about my father. Take up your beef with Eli and Vivien, but I worshipped that man. And I’m still mourning his death.”
Crista looked down at her coffee, her face softening. “I already said what had to be said,” she whispered, turning to the kitchen. “And I think I’d rather have tea.”
“There’s a selection in the pantry,” Tessa said. “You’ll have to heat the water with the microwave.”
While Crista busied herself with a change in beverage, the silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t as heavy. She came back with the same cup—washed and dried—the string from a tea bag dangling over the side.
Tessa expected her to go outside or upstairs, but she stood near the dining table, checking out the obvious signs that it was being used as an office.
“I heard something about you and Lacey starting a business,” she said. “Is this where you work?”
“Eli uses the office down the hall, so we set up here. We clean it up before dinner most nights.”
“What do you do, exactly?”
“Event planning,” Tessa told her, surprised she’d showed even that much interest. “And we have an actual client who wants us to plan a Bat Mitzvah. I’m making a list for Lacey in case I, well, because you want me to leave.”
Her eyes shuttered. “It’s what my mother wants and I…I can see her point.”
Tessa looked away, her gaze falling on the document that really seemed wiggly now. “It’s a shame, all of it.”
“No kidding,” Crista scoffed, taking a few steps closer to the table, her gaze landing on Tessa’s short list. “What does that mean, ‘understand the mother’s vision’?”
“Exactly what it says,” Tessa replied. “Before I plan an event I want to know what the client sees when she closes her eyes and imagines she’s walking into the room the moment the party starts. The colors, the textures, what Lacey would call ‘the vibe.’”
“Mmm. That sounds like a fun job.” A whisper of a wistful smile pulled. “You were always fun.”
“I do place a high value on a good time,” Tessa confessed. “Life’s too much of a struggle to not have fun.”
Crista searched her face, an intensity in her espresso eyes.
“I can’t imagine you struggling over anything,” she said. “I mean, look at you. Always the prettiest girl for miles and the center of attention.”
Tessa managed a wry smile. “Oh, I struggled.”
“Eli had such a crush on you.”
She chuckled. “I’ve heard. Well, now he’s…” She caught herself, instinctively guessing that Eli might have kept his budding romance with Kate from his younger sister. Anyway, the relationship was too new to even classify it as anything but friendship. “He’s over that,” she said instead. “And trust me, people do struggle on the inside even if you don’t see it on the outside. I’m sure you know that.”
Crista took a sip, her expression dubious.
“I mean, look at this mess.” Tessa gestured to her notes. “The awkward writing of a dyslexic.”
Crista almost spit her tea as she blurted, “What?”
“Oh, I never made a big deal out of it,” Tessa said quickly. “But yeah. The words, they wiggle.”
“You’re dyslexic? How do you function?”
“Quite well. It’s not a death sentence,” she replied with a quick laugh. “It’s just a challenge to manage, but I do fine most of the time.”
Crista just stared at her, so hard Tessa could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Then she set the mug on the table, pulled out the chair across from Tessa, and sat down.
And no one could have been more surprised than Tessa.
“How did you know?” she asked. “And when? How old were you? How did it manifest itself? When did you learn to read? Did you have to be held back or?—”
“ Whoa .” Tessa held up her hand at the onslaught of questions. “Where did this all come from?”
“I just…I’m curious and I want to…” She blew out a breath, closing her eyes. “I think my daughter might be dyslexic.”
“ Ohhh .” Now it made sense. “Okay. Well, like I said, not a death sentence. Just a roadblock.”
She snorted. “Feels like way more than a roadblock to a seven-year-old.”
“Oh, yeah. Rough year. Second grade?” Tessa made a face. “Maybe the toughest year of all, if I’m being honest. But now? There are so many programs, even technology that can help her. The tricks of the trade, my—” She was going to say “my father called them” but caught herself. “I call them,” she said instead.
“What are they? How do you find them? Where do parents go?”
“Relax. She’ll learn to manage.”
Crista looked like she didn’t know how to relax as she leaned closer. “It’s a mess, though. My husband wants to teach her morning, noon, and night. Always forcing her to read, making her power through.”
“That’ll only make her hate reading—and him.” Her own father had exhibited the patience of a saint when Tessa was seven, determined to help as only he could—by making it fun.
“I’m afraid she already hates to read,” Crista said. “And my mother refuses to believe that anything is wrong. ‘She’s a child! Let her play! She’s perfect!’ It’s driven a wedge between Anthony and my mother, which is…”
“Not nice for you, I’d imagine.”
She grunted. “You have no idea.”
“No, I don’t, but I absolutely promise you she’ll figure it out,” Tessa assured her. “But second grade is this weird time when the good readers and the not-so-great readers really get separated and that kind of stigmatizes and categorizes them for the rest of elementary school.”
“Yes!” Her eyes flashed. “You know that?”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “My twin sister was a miniature Mensa candidate, and I could hardly see Spot run. Yeah, I know.”
“It’s downright discriminatory!” Crista exclaimed. “And I might have to hold Nolie back and have her repeat second grade.”
Tessa winced. “That’s tough. But it might be best for her, I don’t know. What does your husband want to do?”
“Summer school. Private tutors. Timed reading exercises. Whatever it takes to get that child into third grade in the fall. Certainly no play time, no summer dance classes, no fun camps. And no lollygagging in the garden with her grandmother, who says the tests are wrong and Nolie is purely perfect.”
Tessa inched back, mostly from the vehemence as Crista blew out her personal storm.
“With all due respect, Crista, you’re her mother. Maggie’s the grandmother, and, well, does she really get an opinion on… No. Never mind. I remember the woman.”
“Maggie doesn’t just get an opinion, she rules the roost.” She muttered the words, but Tessa heard.
“ Your roost?” Tessa lifted a brow.
Crista looked like she regretted the comment, covering with a sip of tea.
“Whatever,” she said after setting the mug down and turning the handle to a precise forty-five degrees. “I need to get Nolie help, and figure out what to do this summer.”
“Maybe I can help you,” Tessa said, the words out before she really had time to think about whether or not that was a great idea.
“How?”
Tessa shrugged, carried back years to another dining room table, another little girl who went to war with words.
And Artie Wylie had dropped in like an angel to help her.
Wouldn’t her father want her to pay that forward, no matter what Nolie’s grandmother had said about him? Wasn’t that the ethical and right thing to do?
“I could, um, teach her some things I’ve learned over the years—changing the font on a computer, using different backgrounds, memorizing certain words by their first letter, and even using colored highlighters. I know dozens of writing and reading tricks. Give me three weeks with the kid and I’ll have her working at grade level. Or close.”
Crista’s whole face lit up, then instantly fell, like she’d thrown a wet rag at the wall which slid down to the floor. “I…I…I don’t know about that.”
“Right.” Tessa smiled. “We forgot I’m Public Enemy Number One.”
Her expression softened. “It’s a complicated situation.”
“Clearly. And if Maggie got wind of it? Yikes.”
Crista closed her eyes and stood slowly, sliding the chair behind her. “I’m going to take a walk before I get back in the car and drive to Atlanta.”
Tessa nodded, then leaned forward to add, “I’m not your only option, of course. I’m sure there are tons of specialists and tutors who could help you at home.”
“There are,” she said, taking her cup into the kitchen and rinsing it, using that folded paper towel to dry the edges of the sink. “I just haven’t found the right one yet.”
She walked back to the stairs, pausing at the bottom before she turned and looked at Tessa.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For the offer to help and the encouragement. It’s nice to know you’ve conquered the situation.”
As she disappeared to the second floor, Tessa fell back in her chair and stared at the screen. Only this time she didn’t see the wavy words. She saw Crista’s face and a flicker of hope in her eyes. And she saw her dear father, who would probably be very proud of his daughter for that offer.
Even with him gone, she wanted to honor his memory.