Chapter 14 Tessa
Tessa sat on the edge of Olive’s toddler bed, the small lamp on the dresser casting a circle of light over the bedding and the stuffed animals lined up like an audience.
Olive—freshly bathed, already in pajamas—sat near the pillow, calm and watchful, her attention fixed on the open book in Tessa’s hands.
Ten days and she’d yet to say one word.
On the floor, Dusty leaned back against the low bed rail, close enough to see the pages. One arm rested loosely across his bent knee, the other reaching up now and then to point at a picture.
Tessa swallowed something tender in her throat, looked down at the cover of Goodnight Moon, their final read for the night.
Of course, she had no idea if Olive had ever seen the book before, but she’d bought it at a used bookstore a few days earlier.
The spine was worn, the corners soft from years of loving use by children whose names Tessa would never know.
She traced her thumb along the edge for a moment before opening it.
Pajamas. Bedtime. A book.
By now, they’d developed a routine—Dusty cleaned up after dinner while Tessa gave Olive a bath, then they read her a book and said goodnight.
He seemed perfectly comfortable with Olive’s silence, certain that at some point she’d speak, always assuring Tessa that she wasn’t doing anything wrong.
Tessa so hoped he was right because with each passing day, she doubted herself more.
Even silent, Olive was sweet and enchanting.
She rarely cried. She slept all night. She wasn’t remotely potty-trained but seemed fine with the pull-up diapers.
She did everything with precision and care, as if she didn’t trust the world around her.
And that just broke Tessa’s heart.
“Okay,” she said softly, more to herself than to Olive. “Ready?”
Olive didn’t respond, but her gaze followed as Tessa opened the book.
“‘In the great green room,’” Tessa began, her voice low and gentle, “‘there was a telephone…’”
She pointed to the picture as she read, tapping lightly so Olive’s eyes could track the movement.
“Which doesn’t look like any telephone I’ve seen lately,” Dusty cracked, smiling up at them.
Tessa laughed and continued, “‘And a red balloon.’”
Dusty leaned back and looked at Olive. “That balloon looks like it’s about to get into trouble,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.
Tessa smiled despite herself. “‘And a picture of…’ What do you think that is, Olive?”
Silence.
“‘The cow jumping over the moon,’” Dusty finished quietly, pointing.
Tessa paused again, leaving space the way she’d learned to do, just from gut instinct that developed while caring for a little human who did not, under any circumstances, respond with words. Looks, gestures, nods and headshakes, but no speech.
She glanced at Olive, hopeful, searching.
Olive’s eyes stayed on the page and Tessa kept reading.
She noticed the way Olive’s gaze followed her finger, and the way her breathing stayed even, the way her body remained relaxed but alert.
Still, she longed for something—any word from her tiny ward. As much as she told herself not to push, the hope lived there anyway, pressing against her ribs.
As she read, she allowed the weight of the moment to sink in. Reading to Olive, especially with Dusty beside her, felt deeply…domestic. Like something she should have been doing for years—even now, when she was nearly old enough to be a grandmother.
The realization hit slowly, then all at once. She’d never done the parenting thing, unless she counted visits with Kate’s kids when they were little.
She’d always been off chasing a good time, thinking this was the definition of boring and slow. Yet, here it was, anything but boring or slow. Well, Goodnight Moon wasn’t exactly riveting, but hanging on to the hope that Olive would whisper something sure was.
Still, she had never experienced these nightly rituals. These quiet, ordinary moments that stitched a family together over time.
Her brain wandered back to Roman—the child she’d never raised—imagining him as a two-year-old.
She knew she’d made the right choice in giving that little baby to a set of parents who’d longed for one. She had never doubted that. But that didn’t erase the ache that came in these quiet moments with Olive.
“‘Goodnight kittens,’” she read. “‘And goodnight mittens.’”
“Have you ever owned mittens, Olive?” Dusty asked, holding out his hand. “We don’t wear them much in Florida.”
Olive stared at the page.
Tessa caught Dusty’s quiet sigh confirming that even his marvelous patience was wearing thin. Didn’t matter—he had top-notch Dad skills, something she added to the growing list of things she really liked about Dusty Mathers.
Tessa pointed to the moon on the page. “Moon,” she said slowly, clearly. “Do you see the moon, sweet Olive?”
She nodded, proving she understood so much.
As the story neared its end, Olive’s body began to soften. She leaned back slightly against the pillow. Her eyes blinked slowly, lids growing heavy. Her breathing deepened, and Tessa watched her alertness give way to sleep.
She finished the book quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“‘Goodnight noises everywhere.’” She closed the book gently and set it on the nightstand. She smoothed the blanket over Olive, tucking it carefully around her small body. Olive’s eyes fluttered, then stilled.
Tessa leaned in.
“Sleep tight, little Olive Oyl,” she whispered, so softly it felt like a secret.
For just a moment, she let herself hope again. But Olive didn’t respond. She drifted off, her face relaxed, her body slack with sleep. Tessa stayed there longer than necessary, watching her breathe.
Dusty’s hand came to rest on her back, warm and steady, like he understood exactly what she was feeling without needing her to explain it.
The ache returned, sharp and familiar—the motherhood she’d never experienced layered with this new, fragile affection for the child sleeping inches away.
Dusty nodded gently toward the door, and they moved carefully out of the room, letting him snap the baby gate into place. Tessa leaned against the wall, troubled and wistful all at once.
“You’re doing a great job,” Dusty said quietly.
“Maybe we should take her to your friend, the expert,” she said.
“Not yet. Give it some time. She knows she’s in a safe place and that is all that matters now.”
Tessa swallowed, emotion welling. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It is,” he said, his tone steady and sure. “I promise you.”
“Moments like that are hard for me,” she admitted. “Because I never got to be a mom.” She took a breath. “And now I have this chance to be…something. And I keep thinking her silence means I’m failing.”
Dusty shook his head. “That’s not what it means.” He grazed her cheek with his knuckles, his touch sure and loving. “She feels your care. Even if she doesn’t say it.”
Tessa let out a small, shaky laugh. “No wonder you’re such a good therapist.”
His mouth curved into a soft smile. “This isn’t therapy.”
She looked up at him, sensing the moment deepening between them. It had been a long time since they’d had a midnight wine on the roof or shared a meal punctuated with kisses or even walked the beach at sunset, hand in hand.
In the time since Olive arrived, their rhythm had shifted to something very different, something she genuinely enjoyed, despite her concerns for Olive.
“What?” he asked, searching her face.
“I was just thinking how much I like you,” she confessed. “Right here, in the hall, on the heels of Goodnight Moon.”
“That’s funny,” he said, lowering his face to brush her lips with his. “I was just thinking how much I…”
He didn’t finish and Tessa didn’t breathe. Instead, she held his gaze, forgetting everything else in the world but this kind and good and wise man.
“Yes?” she prompted when he didn’t finish.
“I like you, too,” he finished, then laughed. “Which sounds lame.”
“Not to me.”
“C’mon, Tess.” He cupped her cheek, drawing her close. “I sailed past like a while ago.”
“You did?” Her heart tumbled all over the place. “And where’d you land, Dusty?”
Closing his eyes, he leaned in and kissed her lips. “Right here,” he murmured against her mouth. “With you, the woman I…” He chuckled and sighed. “I’m as bad as Olive.”
She inhaled and pressed against him. “Just say what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking that I’m falling in love with you, Tessa.”
She melted, tightening her grip. “Does that terrify or thrill you?” she asked on a whisper.
“It shocks the life out of me,” he said. “I didn’t…think I’d…”
He didn’t expect to love again after his wife died two years ago.
“I didn’t, either,” she finished for him. “To be perfectly real, I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.”
Smiling, he kissed her forehead and she leaned into him, frustration fading into contentment.
Tessa was dead asleep when a completely unfamiliar sound cut through the silence of her home. Was that…an animal outside? A kid in the street? A—
She snapped awake so abruptly her heart slammed against her ribs before her mind caught up. For a second, she lay there, disoriented, her body tense, listening.
The sound came again.
A cry.
Sharp. High. Frightened.
Olive.
Tessa was out of bed instantly, not thinking as she shot toward the other bedroom, the cry pulling her forward like a physical force. The hallway blurred as she rushed down it, bare feet silent against the floor, her focus narrowing to one thing and one thing only—to help Olive.
The crying grew louder, more desperate, and Tessa’s chest tightened as she reached the doorway and fumbled with the gate, the movement turning on the nightlight.
Olive sat upright in the toddler bed, hunched over, bawling. She looked up and her face was flushed, her breathing uneven and shaky little gasps breaking through the sobs. She looked lost in it, overwhelmed, her small body rigid with fear.
“Oh, Olive, honey!” Tessa breathed.