Chapter 7
Tess
I can do this.
I can do this.
Maybe if I repeat this mantra enough times, I’ll finally believe it.
I, Tess Bachman, can and will brave the wilderness to find the man that I love. Is it love? I think so. But maybe I’m a fool to think it’s love. That light heady sensation I get whenever I think about him… it could be lust… infatuation… a schoolgirl crush.
All I know for sure is that ever since he left, all I’ve done is miss him.
I miss the way he smells. The way his voice sounds, how it carries through my home.
The way he slinks around, never ever wearing a shirt over that tattooed muscled chest of his.
The way his jeans hang around his hips. The way he has a clever retort to match every insult I swing his way.
That half-cocked smile spreading across his smug face.
The way I feel when he says good girl.
The cooking, the cuddling, the forehead kisses.
The way he rocks my body, making me lose my mind, turning me into nothing but the very sensation of pleasure.
Just the way he is.
I miss him.
Terribly.
And so, I must go to him. What I will say, what I will do, I have no idea.
First, I have to pack.
A deep sigh shudders from my chest as I look over the shopping bags that cover my bed.
I’ve bought everything I could possibly need out there.
Mosquito netting (West Nile virus, anyone?), bug spray (the good kind with the poisonous chemicals in it), sunscreen (SPF 70 for us fair-skinned redheads, no golden brown tan for me), moisturizer, deep moisturizer, hair conditioner, hair protectant (in case I should brave those shark-infested waters), hiking boots (snakes, scorpions, and who knows what else!), hats, sunglasses, cargo shorts (hideous but necessary), khaki upon khaki upon khaki (the guy at the store assured me that the clothing, albeit ugly, was weatherproof, waterproof, and wrinkle resistant).
And if all else fails, I’ve got plenty of the good stuff—my savior in any pinch—cold hard cash to exchange for shells or whatever form of money they use out there.
So I may not be looking fabulous on my trek, but at least I’m doing my best to ensure I survive the wilds.
I can do this.
My plane leaves in two hours. I’m trying to bypass the family gossip game of telephone, so I won’t be able to take the private jet. I’ll be flying commercial.
And I’ll be doing this all on my own. No help from anyone. I’ve made my travel arrangements and I’ll be my own travel guide for this trip. It has to be from me or my arrival, my efforts, my showing up there means nothing.
He has to see that I did this all on my own. For him.
I scurry to the bathroom to take what is sure to be my last shower for a very, very long time. Scrub my hair with my strawberry shampoo. Lather every inch of my skin with my lavender goat’s milk soap. Shave every single trace of hair from my body.
I emerge a hairless, squeaky clean, heavenly scented being.
But I’m running out of time. I twist my hair into a braid.
Run to the room to put on the cotton bra and panties I’ve deemed durable.
Pull on the khaki shorts—gah! Not only do they do nothing for my fair complexion, the hem of them ends at my kneecaps!
I pull on the safari style shirt I’ve purchased, buttoning it up to my neck and flattening the collar.
I take one glance in the mirror and burst out into laughter. I look like a ten-year-old playing dress up. One who thinks she’s going to make it big hosting her own real-life crocodile wrestling show.
I look ridiculous.
But it doesn’t even matter. Right now, I’d do just about anything for love… or lust… or like whatever state of being I’ve been in since the day Rockland picked me up in that damn monster truck.
I stuff the rest of my belongings into my waiting, opened suitcase. Throw my passport, the cash, and a map of where I think the Parish might be into my purse. Lug everything down three flights of stairs, by myself. Step out on to my stoop and close the door behind me.
I’m out of breath. Damp in the armpits from my exertion. But a feeling akin to pride wells in my chest.
Since joining the Village, I’ve never been outside of the city by myself.
Leaving my suitcase on the stoop for the driver to retrieve, I smile wide and head toward the car. I stop in my tracks as soon as I realize who’s in the driver’s seat.
It’s not my driver Frank, it’s John Bachman. His sleek black car is so similar to mine, I didn’t even notice it wasn’t mine. John gives me a smile and a friendly wave from behind the dark glass before stepping out to greet me.
I groan.
Damn this Village. Can’t anyone do anything without everyone knowing everything?
“Hey, John, what’s up?” I ask.
He shuts his door, leaning against the car. A handsome smirk grows across his face, getting broader by the second. “What have we got here? Dora the Explorer? Little orphan Annie off to find her real parents? Pippi Longstocking off on a traveling adventure—”
“Cut the crap, John. Why are you here?”
He raises a brow at my tone. I do not stand down. Instead, I cock my hip and throw my hand on my waist. He says, “I’m here to escort you, of course.”
I want to roll my eyes but don’t push my luck. “But I’m just off to the… ah… zoo. I thought this outfit would be cute to see the bears and tigers and such.” I do a little twirl. “Don’t you think?”
“Which zoo is that, exactly?”
“Ah… the big one?”
“Would that be the Bronx Zoo? Catskills Game Farm? Central Park Zoo? Seneca Park Zoo? Prospect Park Zoo? Buffalo Zoo? Stop me if I name it.”
“The third one you said. That one.”
“And the suitcase?”
“I was going to get a hotel. In case I needed two days to see everything. I’m quite the animal enthusiast, you know.”
“The only connection you have to animals is when you’re wearing their prints on your blouses or your five-hundred-dollar shoes. Get in the car. I’ll get your bag.”
“Seriously? Can I not go on a trip without a male escort? This is ridiculous.”
“Get in the car or you’ll not be leaving the Village. Your choice.”
Our gazes lock—a staring contest of wills. I, of course, lose and head to the passenger side of the car. Huffing and puffing my indignance all the way.
I slam the door, cross my arms over my chest, and wait for my escort.
When he gets in the car he gives me a long look. “What the hell was in that bag? You thought you were going to be able to check that thing? It must have weighed seventy pounds.”
“I need a lot of… equipment… for where I’m going.”
“And where it that, exactly?”
“Don’t you know? You’ve shown up at my doorstep at the exact time my driver was supposed to arrive. Where is Frank, anyway?”
“Gave the old fellow the day off. Thought he might need it after dealing with the likes of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. You’ve been a little—touchy? Out of sorts? Since, well… you know.”
“Since when?”
“Maybe for about a month now. I don’t know… since Rockland left?”
Silence settles over the car. I stare out the windshield. He’s turning onto Fifth Street. Headed for the tarmac where the jet will no doubt be waiting for us.
When John speaks again, his normal condescending tone has cooled. Almost tenderly, he says, “I’m happy to take you there, Tess. I know how much he means to you.”
I look down at my hands, picking at my cuticles. I haven’t bothered to do my nails since he went away. “You don’t have to do this, you know, John. I’d be fine on my own.”
“I know you would, honey. You’re as tough as a tiger. But this will be more pleasant. I can’t really picture Miss Tess Bachman flying commercial, squeezed between two overweight, sweaty men.”
“I was going to fly first class, at least.”
“I know, but even that probably wouldn’t be up to your standards. There’s a lot of people at the airport. And you’d have to go through security. They would go through your bags. Make you take off your shoes, walk you through a full body metal detector, maybe even have to pat you down—”
Anxiety rises in my chest, tightening my throat. “Stop—you’re right. This is much better.”
I give John a glance. He’s a sweet man. Kind to do this for me. I say, “Thanks, John.”
“You’re welcome, Tess. And just so you know, next time you’re trying to go AWOL, maybe don’t buy plane tickets on your credit card. The Brotherhood has those things flagged.”
“What else do you guys flag?” I should have known.
“I can’t tell you our secrets. Besides, after this trip, I don’t think you’ll be on your own too much time.”
His words light a fire of hope in my heart. Has Rockland mentioned something to John? Maybe that he misses me? I can’t ask so instead I manage the words, “Does he know I’m coming?”
“No. I left that part a surprise. I assumed by the travel arrangements you made, you wanted to surprise him, and so though I couldn’t let you fulfill all your wishes to go on this mission by yourself, I wanted you to at least have that.
To do it your way and show up unannounced. ” He shoots me a smile.
I smile back and say, “Thanks. I sure hoped I packed all the right things.” We arrive at our tiny airport and the jet comes into view. Nerves dance in my stomach, threatening to make me ill.
“I’m sure the Parish will have everything you need.” John pulls the car into a parking spot. We get out. I hear the rumble of engines. Watch as he pulls my enormous suitcase out of the trunk. An attendant hurries over to take it from him. John grabs his own bag—a small duffle—and closes the trunk.
I look curiously at his carryon. “Is that all you’re bringing? Don’t we need… supplies?”
He looks at me curiously, “What exactly has Rockland told you about the Parish?”
“Not much. I guess he wasn’t supposed to. I’ve just assumed that since it’s so remote and they live such a simple life, we’d need the kind of stuff I’ve packed.”
He side-eyes my outfit. “Ah, now the safari Barbie getup is making sense.”
I look down at my clothes, cursing my khaki. I say, “Well, what’s it like there?”
An amused look dances on his face. “I’ll let it be a surprise. Just like you.”