Chapter 18
The beach was quiet early in the morning, before umbrellas bloomed like loud flowers and music played and kids ran around with footballs and Frisbees. That’s when Tessa took Olive for their “jewelry hunt”—also known as looking for shells.
The daily jaunt had become precious to Tessa and, she suspected, to Olive, who thrived on routine. So Tessa had happily arranged to do the same thing at the same time every day.
That kind of structure wasn’t Tessa’s style—but then, she’d never had a child. Every day with sweet little Olive Oyl, she learned to give up a bit more of herself for this child. And she loved it.
The pain of separation from her mother—who Tessa had made an effort to talk about with love—had completely subsided. Since her breakthrough, Olive talked like any other two-year-old, in single words, with R’s sounding like W’s, and exuberance for anything that delighted her.
Tessa had even taken her to the Summer House to meet all her friends, who’d been enchanted and politely asked few questions about her mother, all honoring Dusty’s professional code of ethics.
Olive hadn’t been silent there, either. In fact, she’d squealed at the sight of Jonah’s baby, Atlas, begging to “hold, hold” and Jonah let her, with great supervision.
But most days, after breakfast and “clean-up” time—there was a song for that, Tessa discovered from watching Olive’s favorite show—they put on beach clothes, sunhats, and flipflops, then slathered on sunscreen with much giggling.
Then Tessa threw a few sand toys, towels, and water in a small backpack, took Olive’s little hand, and crossed the street to the beach.
Sometimes on very sunny days, she’d bring an umbrella, but today there were some clouds, so they dropped their things, kicked off their shoes, and walked hand in hand, looking for shells.
The sand under her feet was warm and smooth. Too smooth for great shelling.
“No jewel-wy,” Olive muttered as they looked around.
“The tide is rising, though,” Tessa told her. “It’ll leave a treasure trove, but probably not until later. We can come back after naptime, okay?”
“’kay.” Then she gasped and let go of Tessa’s hand, running ahead and collapsing on the sand dramatically.
“What did you find, Olive Oyl?”
“Jewels!” She flattened her hand to the sand, then started digging. A moment later, she held up a shell, pale pink with a chipped edge. She turned it over in her small palm, considering it the way grown women examined diamonds.
“That is excellent jewelry,” Tessa said. “Very rare.”
Olive dropped the shell into the little crab-covered canvas bag she wore like a cross-body purse, then reached for Tessa’s hand again.
Her fingers were warm and a little damp, her grip confident and tight, a constant reminder of a connection that grew stronger every day.
Maybe too strong, considering she had only eight days, counting today, left with Olive.
Tessa grunted at the thought, but they walked on, the surf frothing around their ankles when they got close to the water.
Along the way, Olive pointed at birds and Tessa made up names for them—Isabella the Ibis and Samuel the seagull—making Olive giggle and say their names, waving as they flew away.
Olive set the pace—exceedingly slow—pausing frequently to study the bubbles in the surf or some rocks. Today, a dried palm frond was apparently important enough to warrant a full stop and inspection.
Every now and then, Olive let go of her hand to get a few steps ahead, then turned back, checking to make sure Tessa was there.
“I got you, girl,” Tessa called, getting a slow and genuine smile in response.
How was she going to let this darling child go? Tessa swallowed the thought and concentrated on the precious time she had left. She bent down when Olive stopped again and crouched beside her, both of them studying a cluster of shells half-buried in the sand.
“More jewelwy!” Olive exclaimed.
“So much jewelry,” Tessa agreed. “You’re going to need a vault.”
Olive looked up, a question in her eyes at the word.
Tessa smiled. “It’s a secret place where you keep all your most precious things,” she explained, having decided long ago that every question would be answered, no matter how big or small or if she’d even asked it out loud. Tessa knew—she spoke fluent Olive now.
At the thought, Tessa’s chest felt full, as if something inside her was expanding faster than it could be contained.
They passed an older couple, who grinned at Olive and gave a friendly nod to Tessa. Their gazes lingered and she presumed they were trying to figure out if Tessa was an older fifty-year-old mother or a young fifty-year-old grandmother.
But she was neither. Just a happy babysitter who already loved her little charge. But, oh, she wished she could claim mother or grandmother status. She wished in a way that made her ache.
“Tess!”
She straightened, squinting toward the house at the distant sound.
“Tessa!” Dusty jogged across the street in long strides, lifting a hand when he saw she was looking. His expression was unreadable from here, but he sure looked anxious to join them.
She slowed, letting Olive dawdle so he could reach them. While they waited, she crouched again, leaning close, her voice dropping into that conspiratorial tone she used only with Olive.
“Look who it is,” she said, nodding toward him.
“Dusting.”
She cracked up at the name that had stuck. “Yes, that’s our Dusting. He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”
Olive looked at him, silent, probably not knowing what handsome was anyway.
“And kind,” Tessa added, because it was important and they’d read a book last night about a kind kangaroo, so she knew Olive knew what it meant.
“And he makes good sandwiches. Also, he laughs at jokes that aren’t very funny, which is a fine quality in a man.
I say, find a man with a sense of humor, a good heart, and a decent toolbox and you’re golden, Double O. ”
Olive picked up another shell.
Tessa kept going anyway, because she needed to say it out loud, even if Olive had no idea what she was hearing. She had to give voice to her feelings and who better than this tiny bestie?
“You know, I think I’m falling in love with him,” she said softly.
“Girl to girl, I’m here to tell you, I think that’s what’s happening.
And I hope—when you’re big—you meet someone just like him.
Someone who is there when you need him, and even when you don’t.
Someone who looks that good when he runs. ”
She stood as Dusty reached them, breathless, hands braced on his knees for a second before he straightened.
“Hey,” he said, smiling automatically—then something in his face shifted.
“What’s wrong?” Tessa asked immediately.
Dusty blew out a breath, inching back away from Olive. “Morgan’s out,” he whispered.
Tessa blinked. “Out?”
“She checked herself out. Which she can do at any time. I got a call from a doctor who said she’d made some progress, but not enough. Still, they can’t keep her, so…”
Tessa’s stomach dropped. “When did she leave?”
“Break of dawn this morning. I called her and she said she took an Uber home and now she’s…on her way.”
“Here?” Tessa’s world tilted when he nodded. “I thought—we thought—I had another week.”
“I know,” Dusty said quickly. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t imagine she’d—”
“Tess?” Olive ambled over. “Jewel?” She held up a slimy black pouch that had probably once held a sea oats pod.
“Oh, I think a mermaid must have dropped her wallet,” she said, getting wide eyes from the little girl and a soft snort from Dusty. “Better leave it for her. And I have very exciting news about your—”
“Not yet,” Dusty muttered. “In case she changes her mind.”
Tessa nodded. “Dusting is making the sandwiches for lunch!” she said instead, her voice rising brightly. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head, looking from one to the other. “More jewelwy.”
“We’ll come back later,” Tessa replied, hating herself for lying but not as much as she hated Morgan for shaving a week from this bliss.
No, no, she mentally corrected herself. She didn’t hate anyone. Especially not Olive’s mother. But she wasn’t happy.
“Come on, princess. Let’s go get you lunch and I’ll…” She swallowed. She’d pack up her clothes and toys and…and cry.
She took Olive’s hand again, careful and cheerful while Dusty helped them gather their things. They walked toward the house talking about lunch and naps and how they’d put all the jewelry in one place so it wouldn’t get lost.
“A vault,” Olive murmured, proving that she listened and was smart as a whip and Tessa could try but she couldn’t love the child more.
Inside her chest, something cracked cleanly in two, the pain too deep to even make a fuss over Olive’s brilliance, which she usually praised.
Back in the house, Tessa moved with calm efficiency. She laid Olive’s clothes out on the bed, all of them neatly folded and rolled. From the kitchen, she could hear Dusty’s voice.
“Peanut butter and jelly, or just peanut butter?” he asked.
“Boff,” Olive said decisively.
“Good choice,” he said. “That’s also my choice. More is better. Or more is just…whoa. Not that much more.”
There was a pause, then laughter—Olive’s giggle, breathy and delighted. Tessa didn’t know what Dusty had done to earn that, but she could see his face, animated and playful, and Olive’s, beautiful and innocent.
Tessa pressed a folded T-shirt to her chest and closed her eyes, a loud voice echoing one question in her head: How did she miss this part of life?
The question came unexpected, sharp as a blade that sliced her heart in two.
But how could she not ask herself the obvious question? Why hadn’t she gotten this—the mess, the noise, the weight of loving someone who needed you completely? Why had she not chosen differently when she’d had the chance?
Not just Roman, though that decision was very deliberately safe and selfish at the time. She’d told herself she was choosing freedom. Possibility. A full life—and giving one to her newborn.