Chapter 86
Someone had tipped off the newspapers, and now Tessa sat on a new wicker stool in their new yellow kitchen, her laptop open on the counter, reading the “breaking news” about this morning’s “shocking” events.
A shadow flickered in her laptop screen.
She turned, surprised. Who was that? Everyone else was upstairs.
The flicker again. She turned. Waited. The light from outside fractured through the swaying sugar maple behind her, and in through the shutters, making an intermittent shadow.
She’d seen that shadow before. In Henry’s FaceTime backgrounds. And decided it was a person. Not simply a person, but a sneaky, predatory, seductive neighbor. Usurping her place with Henry.
A tree. The shadow flickered, then disappeared.
So much for that story line, Annabelle said. Let’s not mention it again.
A commotion from the stairway, then Henry, Zack, and Linny crowded in behind her.
“That’s quite the headline.” Henry pointed to the screen. “‘Stranger Than Fiction: Bestseller Nabs Real-Life Blackmailer.’ Has your publisher seen it?”
“Is she going to jail?” Zack asked. “She seemed nice. Her mac and cheese is awesome.”
“You’re an idiot,” Linny said. “She’s a criminal. She tried to make Mom pay for a lie. Isn’t that right, Mom?”
“We’ll see what the court says, honey.” Tessa turned away from the computer, faced her kids.
“It’s very ugly, and very sad, and someday I’ll tell you everything about it.
But greed is an evil destructive thing, and envy is, too, and some people feel that the world has been unfair to them, and they’ll do anything to get what they want. ”
Tessa had a moment, then, of connection with her unique and exquisite children. This was part of what parents were for, she thought, to persevere through the tough times, and teach them life lessons. Her own mother had done her best, whatever her failings, and Tessa would, too.
“Can we still get a dog?” Zack said. “And can I get a phone?”
Henry’s laughter was the most comforting sound Tessa had ever heard.
The newspaper had printed the whole story, mostly correct, that Barbara Willoughby and her late husband, Sheriff Malcolm Owen, had extorted Tessa’s family for years, falsely accusing a teenaged Tessa of being involved in a fatal hit-and-run accident.
“Did you see your socials?” Zack put his laptop next to hers. “Everyone’s going crazy. There’s, like, a justice for Tessa hashtag. You’ve got like a million new likes.”
“Your sales numbers have skyrocketed, too,” Henry said.
“You looked at that?”
“What can I say? Husband of a bestseller, that’s my job. King of the home front.”
“The doorbell!” Linny said. “I’ll get it.”
“Speaking of your job , king . Nellie Delaney and Blytheton, what was the deal with that?” Tessa had decided Nellie was simply a congenial neighbor, and had handled Linny with compassion, not competition.
And from the way they’d chatted at the bookstore coffee shop, Zack and her son Tris were apparently soulmates.
“Her family’s had a summer place there forever. I told you that. She’s younger than you, of course.”
Tessa punched him in the arm.
“But she told me,” he went on, ignoring her, “that the librarian up there recognized you on the book cover, remembered you’d once been a summer person, and put two and two together.”
“Emily and I did go to the library. Back then.” Tessa nodded, envision ing it. “But I was so freaked out over her. Nellie, I mean. And you. I imagined—”
“Mom! Look!” Linny’s voice came from behind a massive bouquet of frothy hydrangeas. “Who’re they from?”
“Let me carry that thing,” Henry said, putting the flowers on the counter. “This must be all the blue flowers that ever existed.”
Tessa took the card, opened it. “With massive love from Team Tessa,” she read out loud. “FaceTime us when you get this. Big news!”
“What’s that about?” Henry asked.
“Let’s find out,” Tessa said and tapped the keyboard, and DJ’s face appeared. She was standing at her desk at Waverly, tall stacks of books behind her, Olivette and Sadie Bailey flanking her.
“Hey, rock star,” DJ said. “We sent flowers instead of cheese. We’re all here cheering you on.”
“They’re gorgeous, see?” Tessa turned the screen to show them. “You understand why I couldn’t explain all the—”
“Totally. Difficult to tell your publicist that you have a demented blackmailing stalker from the past, I get it. We’ll talk about that later, okay? But for now—Ollie, Sadie, want to do the honors?”
“What honors?” Tessa exchanged glances with Henry, and felt Zack and Linny clinging to her.
“There’s someone we want you to say hello to,” her editor said. “Remember we told you we had some good news that we couldn’t tell you yet?”
Tessa did, vaguely, a conversation that seemed an infinity ago; a promise long since smothered by bad news.
“Um, sure.”
“Well,” Sadie said, “here it comes. And I’m the one who gave him your address.”
“Huh?” Tessa looked at Henry, bewildered. “Address?”
The women had moved out of the camera’s range, and a man’s face replaced them.
“Tessa?” the man said.
Tessa leaned closer to the screen, as if that would help her see more clearly, and then sat up straight.
“Sam? From 3A?”
“You remembered.” Sam’s blue eyes twinkled even through the FaceTime.
“I sent the postcard as kind of a joke, of course. I’m sorry to have—well, not been straightforward with you.
Meeting you at the airport was a happy coincidence, because I’d only planned to come to ReadRunner to see you in action.
We don’t want to work with someone who isn’t confident in public, or a team player. ”
“You’ve lost me,” Tessa said.
“I hope not,” Sam said. “We want to put Annabelle on the big screen as soon as we can. And you’ll talk to Sadie here about details. If you’re interested. And Annabelle approves.”
I have another good book idea, too, Annabelle said. Just so you know.
“I think we can make that work,” Tessa said.
Tessa heard applause and cheering in the background, and then applause and cheering in her new yellow kitchen, as the people in her digital life and the people in her real life combined into one happy glorious moment in time, a place where hard work and good luck—and love and trust—all came together.
Emily, too, was back in her life. And storytelling had brought them all here.
And such a relief, too, that her nemesis hadn’t been an impassioned fan or an envious rival author. Although Barbara Willoughby, who’d created her fictional story to amass fraudulent wealth, had almost succeeded in weaponizing admiration.
Hours later, snuggled under white sheets and her body pressed against Henry’s, the darkness surrounding them, and with the sound of her husband’s gentle breathing, Tessa envisioned her mother and tried to understand what she had sacrificed for her.
In the thrall of greedy manipulation, and to her own peril, she had protected Tessa, simply out of the power of love for her. Would any mother have done the same?
I would, I promise . Tessa wished she could tell her in person. Even, strangely, thank her.
A branch battered against the side of the house, not scary, not suspicious, only the still-unfamiliar sounds of their new home.
This is my one life , she thought. So much had changed.
But some things, she hoped, would never change.
Stories could change lives, and stories could inspire.
And Annabelle, smart, kind, innocent Annabelle—Annabelle could have more than one life now.
She could thrive and succeed, and, living in readers’ imaginations, could inspire them into their own power.
And you have given that to me, Annabelle said. Thank you.
And with that, Tessa could almost feel the scales of justice tilt back into balance, as her precarious world righted itself. She’d never thought about it quite that way—but Annabelle was correct. She, Tessa, had—in fiction—given Annabelle more than her one life.
Or maybe they had done it for each other.
Henry had turned over in the dim light of the almost darkness, and now traced a finger down her cheek as he’d done from the day they met.
“You’re home,” he whispered. “I can’t believe it.”
“Me either. Sweet dreams.” Moms with dreams, she thought. Her own mom had a dream, too, that Tessa would be safe. And now she was.
“Safe safe, darling . ” Henry propped himself up on one elbow. “Love love . ”
“Always always,” she said, moving closer. “Always always.”