Chapter Three
TESS
I’m at work for the afternoon, but I can’t stop thinking about what happened in church this morning.
I can’t believe Novak did that. How could he have had the gall to throw caution to the wind and cause a commotion in the church over something so meaningless?
It’s as if he wanted to announce to the world that he’s screwing his sister.
Step-sister. Whatever. It’s the same thing at the end of the day. It carries the same weight and stigma since we’ve been sharing a home for the better part of three years now.
What will people think? How would they react if they found out about us? Would they care? The world is such a self-absorbed mess, it’ll probably be swept under the rug and forgotten about, because who gives a shit about two nobodies living in rural Wisconsin?
It doesn’t stop the dirty glances I’m getting from the patrons stepping into Birchwell’s clothing store, after Novak’s outburst. Many of them were in church this morning, while Novak was arguing with Pastor Dyer.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought we were Devil-worshipers sent to stir up a commotion in our local church.
He always finds a way to make my life hell.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to Birchwell’s,” I say to the woman who has just entered the store. “Can I help you find anything special today?”
I’ve seen her face around town, but I can’t put a name to it. If I was told it once, it’s been lost deep in the recesses of my mind.
“Hello, dear,” she says. “Yes, maybe you can.”
She doesn’t elaborate but continues to scan the rack of blouses in front of her.
“Are you looking for something for a special occasion?” I try gently guiding her to saying what she would like.
“I’ve got a work function coming up in a couple of months,” she says. Then she surprises me, “But I guess you know that, about the party, I mean.”
I allow my surprise to creep into my voice when I splutter, “A party, I’m… I’m not sure what…”I trail off without really saying anything useful.
She looks apologetic then, “Oh I am sorry, dear. I thought you might have remembered me. I’m Jeannie Berneson. I work with Will, Will Christianson. I am the bookkeeper over at the mill.”
Ah! My step-father Will Christianson runs the lumber yard in town, a profitable and popular local business.
“I guess you were quite young and everything when we met. I think it was at the mill’s summer picnic, just after your mom married Will. You’re Tess, aren’t you?” She smiles.
“Mmmm,” is all I can manage and then I realize I am being rude. “Oh,” I say “I am sorry that I didn’t remember you.”
“Never you mind dear,” she says. “It was some time ago. I am getting ready for the dinner-dance your daddy’s planning for the fall.
The mill will be celebrating a hundred years in business, going right back to when Will’s daddy cut down the first tree.
” She smiles at the memory, as if she had been there herself, handing him the axe.
I bite back a smile. “Well then, we have to find you something special,” I say instead.
Jeannie pulls out a black shirt with a low riding V-neck and holds it against herself. She scans it, and a faint smile forms on her lips. “Maybe if I was twenty years younger.”
“You’ve gotta try it on, at least,” I urge her.
She giggles and crow’s feet form around her narrowed eyes and lips.
“Maybe if I would have had a blouse like this when I was twenty years younger, your daddy would have noticed me more. But he chose the right woman in the end.” She blushes.
“Oh listen to me going on about old crushes, to you the daughter of that woman. I am so sorry Tess. I must be embarrassing you with my silly high-school romance stories.”
To be honest, she is kind of oversharing and it’s making me feel uncomfortable. But at the same time, I am certain she doesn’t mean it in a weird way. It’s more like those things people say when they want you to feel connected to them.
“Shall I get this blouse in your size?” I offer, as much for something to say as any real offer.
“No, no,” she declines, hooking the hanger back onto the rack. “My husband would be mortified if I left the house looking like a two-dollar hussy.”
I laugh, because I don’t know what else to do.
“Maybe a dress then,” I gesture towards them into the shop’s interior.
“Maybe, yes,” she responds.
We walk over to the dresses and pick a few out.
I’ve gotten accustomed to people shopping at Birchwell’s and after even this brief encounter, I can tell what she’s after.
Subtle yet elegant. Sleek yet flattering.
Something that won’t draw any attention her way, but enough to tell those who do see her I’m in charge here.
This impression was reinforced by our conversation.
We settle on a simple black dress and a checkered button-up jacket somewhat reminiscent of a woman’s power suit from the ’80s.
“Thank you for the help, Tess, dear,” she says, when we’re finished tallying up and paying for her new outfit.
“It’s Birchwell’s Pleasure,” I say, as instructed by the owner’s son, and my manager, Dale Birchwell.
Out of the three stores they’ve set up across Wisconsin, Dale’s found his place here.
His brother runs the bigger and more successful branch in Waupaca, and his sister has staked her claim on the store in Fremont.
An hour passes with little happening in the store. Very few people bothered shopping on a Sunday, and with the big game happening this weekend, most people are tucked away to enjoy their sports. The few strays that wandered into Birchwell’s are mostly just browsing.
“Hey, there Honey-bug,” a voice breaks my concentration from the Sudoku puzzle I’ve been struggling with for far longer than I care to admit.
“You actually did it,” I say, looking up at him.
“Ain’t no football game gonna keep me away from you,” Dale Birchwell says.
We’ve been an on-off ‘thing’ for a few months, now, edging into serious relationship territory.
Edging is all Dale is good for. He skirts around the conversation, going red in the face any time I mention getting serious.
We’ve only recently shared our first kiss, and I’m pretty sure he’s terrified about the idea of commitment.
Not that I can blame him. He’s a good, God-fearing, Christian boy, raised in a house of no sex before marriage. On top of that, I work in his family’s store. It’s ironic but I think Dale finds that somewhat smutty. If only he knew how dirty my other relationship really was.
Some part of me loves the dynamic, though. I get my sexual needs satiated at home, while getting an emerging emotional bond from a complete outsider. Someone who isn’t family!
“How’s the day going? You look to be the only one actually working.” His green eyes scan the empty store, where two of my coworkers are snacking on a packet of chips and laughing at their own terrible jokes. “I saw Mrs. Berneson on the way out and she said you were really helpful to her.”
“Great! Happy to help, now, I’m bored out of my mind, AGAIN” I groan.
“Well, I’m here to make it all better. I have something long and sweet that I would just love you to get your tongue around it…” Dale’s voice drops.
I wonder if the sexual innuendo is intentional or just in my head. What is wrong with me?
Dale slides a hand into his pocket and pulls out two chocolate bars.
Chocolate? Chocolate to pass the time? It hardly makes sense, but I’ll go with it. It’s the thought that counts. I tear the wrapper and nibble on one end of the bar.
“How are your parents doing?” I ask. Filler conversation with the person I’m trying to partner up with. That’s a red flag that this isn’t going to go very far.
Don’t get me wrong. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with Dale. He’s good boyfriend material; a nice man with a kind heart. But when you have a hunk like Novak Christiansen in your life, it’s easy to compare time spent with most other men to watching paint dry.
Dale’s timid where Novak is strong. Dale’s blond buzz cut doesn’t strike the same chord as Novak’s dark mane. He’s thin-framed and baby-faced, whereas Novak has the body of a Greek god, and always sports some sort of stubble on his chin. The only trait they share is their height.
“Yeah, the folks are good,” Dale says, in between chews of his chocolate bar. “My dad’s talking about leaving the stores far behind and going hunting in the winter.”
“Hunting?” He’s caught my interest, now. Maybe there is some badass hiding inside the timid guy he’s shown me so far.
“Big game.” He takes another bite from his bar. “He likes to stock up the old-fashioned way. He says we’re getting too used to the luxury of things at our fingertips.”
“Are you going to join him?”
“Me? Good Lord, no.” He shakes his head. “Someone has to literally mind the store. Plus, I don’t think I could eat something I’ve shot. Everything deserves the same chance at life as we do. We’re not big and strong shooting a buck from fifty yards when it can’t fight back.”
I sigh, disappointed.
“Now if I was hunting people,” Dale adds, “that would be a different story.”
Say what? I did not expect him to go off on this tangent. Dale is sweet, gentle, and soft, isn’t he?
“Huh?” I ask. Apparently I’ve forgotten how to form sentences today.
“Well you can never tell about people, can you?” Dale says in a matter-of-fact way. “I think people are driven by the same primal instincts as jungle animals. But they lie and cheat and many break God’s laws. So, I guess a person hunter wouldn’t feel that their prey was… well innocent.”
He looks at me without cracking a smile for nearly thirty seconds. “Ha ha! Gotcha!”
“Oooh Dale,” I say. “That was not cool.”
In my subconscious, I can almost hear Novak’s voice saying those words and it feels natural. Whoa! I mustn’t compare Dale to Novak. I should, instead, enjoy and embrace the man he is. But the more time we spend together, the more impossible the task feels.
I’m sure Dale Birchwell would be an incredible partner. He’d be a great husband, and he’s got the makings of a great father who would treat his children right. But I’m too young to care about any of that. I want to go through my fuck-up phase and experience the bad, long before the good.
What I’m doing is wrong. Keeping Dale on the hook when this will probably lead nowhere isn’t wise. He’s got expectations for the future, that I won’t be a part of, yet I don’t want to release him either. Not at the moment. He gives me what Novak can’t: attention and affection.
“Looks like we’re getting ready to close up for the day,” I say. It’s an excuse to get away from the awkwardness that’s building inside me.
“Ah, right. I’ll leave you to it.” He leans over the counter and plants a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll catch you next week.”
“Stay safe,” I say, as he departs.