Chapter 18 #2
Frankly, considering Roman Matteo’s personality and upbringing and outcome, she’d done the right thing giving him up for adoption.
But other times in life—when a man got too serious, when a job wasn’t the be-all and end-all, when she could have made a commitment—she ran. There’d been so many times she could have taken the marriage and motherhood path, and she so vehemently and desperately took off in the other direction.
Why?
She’d always said no man could hold a candle to her father, but was that just an excuse for a girl who had been too wild, too impulsive, and too addicted to a good time?
She hadn’t been stupid or careless. She’d made the best decisions she could with what she knew at the time. And she chose pleasure over responsibility.
But standing here now, listening to Dusty laugh softly and talk about the evils of crusts on bread, she felt like she’d missed the real pleasure in life.
Was there anything worse than regret?
Letting out a groan, she leaned against the dresser, breathing through the sadness, reminding herself—again—that those emotions wouldn’t change history.
Normally, she didn’t give a second thought to her decision to remain childless. She had a niece and nephew, and now she had Lacey, who was like a daughter. She had Jonah’s little baby to scratch that infant itch and she had—
A car pulled into the driveway.
She had run out of time.
She walked to the window and looked down to see a small blue compact car and, a moment later, the driver’s door opened and a young woman stepped out.
Morgan looked much better than she had when she’d dropped Olive off—straighter, stronger, cleaner. Ready to take her daughter away.
Not away. Home.
And Tessa had to face the fact that this brush with faux and temporary motherhood was officially over.
She pressed her hands together, blinked away tears, and walked toward the hall at the sound of footsteps coming up the outside stairs.
Loving Olive had been worth every second. Even this one.
Tessa walked into the living area just as Morgan knocked. Dusty was at the sink rinsing a cup, sleeves pushed up, sunlight catching in his hair. He turned at the knock, and the look that passed between him and Tessa was brief, but it said everything: This is going to hurt.
Olive looked up, eyes bright with surprise. They didn’t get a lot of visitors here.
“It’s a happy surprise, Double O.” Tessa’s voice came out practiced and strained.
Olive beamed at her beloved nickname, then returned to her crustless sandwich and blueberries.
Dusty dried his hands on a dishtowel and crossed to the side door, with Tessa a few steps behind. She didn’t know why, but her whole being wanted to stay close enough to feel his steadiness and let him lead. Her heart hammered.
When Dusty opened the door, Morgan stood there with her car keys in her hand and a tote bag slung over her shoulder, hair brushed and down. She wore a simple T-shirt dress and sneakers, looking more like Olive’s older sister than her mother.
She did not look awful. She looked like a young woman who had been told, very firmly, to drink water, sleep, and try to present as stable.
But her eyes gave her away.
They were too shiny, too wide, like she had rehearsed herself into a version of calm and could feel the seams splitting.
“Hi,” Morgan said in a quiet, controlled voice.
“Hello, Morgan,” Dusty replied, gentle but solid. “Come in.”
Morgan stepped inside, and the moment she crossed the threshold, her composure wobbled. Her gaze flicked past Dusty, scanning the large, open floor plan, then landed on Olive at the kitchen table.
Olive paused mid-chew, blueberry-stained fingers hovering. She stared with a stunned stillness that made Tessa’s stomach drop. Instantly, Tessa remembered the moment Olive had collapsed when her mother left and how she’d cried when the ocean “stole” one of her flipflops.
Olive hated sudden change. How could they forget that? She should have been warned but—
“Oh, my…baby.” Morgan covered her mouth with one hand. “Hello, sweet girl. Hi, my Olive.”
Olive did not answer, staring at her mother as if Morgan were a stranger wearing a familiar face.
Morgan took one shaky step forward and then stopped.
“I…I don’t know,” she whispered. She glanced at Dusty, then at Tessa, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to just…take her. I don’t want to scare her. She looks like I’m—she looks like I’m—”
Dusty took a step closer and she recoiled. Her shoulders folded inward, breath catching, tears spilling out.
“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I did this so wrong. I did this so wrong.”
Tessa stood frozen, a dozen competing instincts fighting for control—protect Olive, comfort Morgan, disappear into the back bedroom and scream into a pillow, rewind time, bargain with God, beg for one more week.
“Morgan,” Dusty said gently, “look at me for a second.”
Morgan tried. She blinked hard and lifted her face, tears tracking down her cheeks.
“You are here,” he said, firm and reassuring. “That matters. Your brain is telling you that you are failing because everything feels intense. That does not mean you are failing. It means you are feeling it.”
Morgan let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “I feel like a child. I feel like I need an adult.”
Tessa watched in awe. Dusty could steady people the way that her dad used to steady a boat—hands sure on the rope, eyes on the horizon, no drama, no flinching.
He put a light arm around Morgan. “Let’s go up on the roof and talk for a moment.”
By “talk,” Tessa assumed he meant “do therapy.”
Morgan wiped her face with the back of her hand, then looked at Tessa with a desperate sincerity.
“I’m not good at hard things,” Morgan said on a hushed note. “I just found that out. I guess I run. I shut down. I disappear. I am trying not to do that now.”
“You’re doing great,” Tessa said, her chest aching at the rawness of it. She had to remember that this young mother had done nothing wrong. She’d been in a hospital bed holding a newborn when her parents and husband were killed on their way to get her.
Who could judge her for anything?
Morgan kept her gaze anchored on Olive, who had gone unnaturally still in her booster seat, eyes wide and fixed on Morgan.
Morgan swallowed. “Hi, Olive,” she tried again, softer. “I’ve missed you, angel girl.”
Olive’s mouth opened slightly, like she might speak—then her jaw closed again. She looked at Tessa, and in that look was something so sharp it nearly cut Tessa in half.
Are you letting her take me?
Tessa forced herself into motion.
“Okay,” she said, brighter than she felt. “I’m going to go get her things. I already started packing, but I need to grab her favorites.”
With an approving nod from Dusty, she crossed into the kitchen and easily lifted Olive from her booster seat with hands that were steadier than her heart. Olive didn’t resist. She just let her body go limp in Tessa’s arms.
“Come on, Olive Oyl,” Tessa murmured, pressing her lips to silky blond curls. “Let’s go get your treasures while Dusty and Mommy talk.”
As Olive dropped her chin on Tessa’s shoulder and they passed him, she whispered, “Dusting.”
Tessa didn’t dare look at Dusty to see how that hit. Instead, she walked Olive back to the bedroom in a warm and solid grip. There, she lowered her to the floor, but Olive’s small fingers tightened in Tessa’s shirt. “Stay, Tess.”
The words were like a two-by-four to the heart.
She turned so Olive didn’t see her tears, looking at the sunlight spilled across the pink comforter and three rows of stuffed animals. Olive’s suitcase was open on the bed, half-filled with neatly folded clothes and pajamas and tiny socks rolled into perfect little donuts.
Tessa sat on the edge of the bed and Olive scrambled onto her lap, glassy-eyed as she gazed up.
“It’s okay,” Tessa said softly. “We’re just getting your things.”
Olive’s lips trembled. “Mommy…mad?”
“No,” Tessa said immediately, even though she had no idea what Morgan felt. “You know Mommy loves you. She’s not mad. She’s just been…away, like I told you. But she’s back now.”
“She sad.”
Oh, this child was bright.
“Yes,” Tessa said, smoothing Olive’s wavy locks. “Sad like when your sandcastle falls down. But you build again.”
Olive stared at her, absorbing, trying to understand with a two-year-old brain what grown-ups could barely understand.
“Scared,” Olive whispered.
Who was? Morgan or Olive? At this point, what difference did it make? They were all scared.
Tessa reached for the stuffed bunny with the floppy ear Olive had gotten attached to the past few nights.
“Okay, first things first,” she said, in that cheery, practical tone she used on the rare occasions Olive was upset. “Bun-bun goes in. Very important.”
Olive sniffed, watching as Tessa tucked the bunny carefully into the suitcase.
“Dino Star,” Olive said, voice wavering.
“Yes,” Tessa said quickly. She grabbed the green dinosaur and set it beside the bunny. “Dino Star is absolutely coming. Dino Star is not staying behind.”
Olive let out a tiny, shaky breath that sounded like relief.
“And Goodnight Moon,” Tessa continued, reaching for the book on the nightstand, their absolute favorite. “This is coming, too. Mommy will read it with you.”
Olive’s face crumpled. “Tess read.”
Oh, please, child, don’t make this harder. “I know,” Tessa whispered, kissing her temple. “I know you like when I read.”
Suddenly, Olive’s arms tightened around Tessa’s neck and a sob escaped.
Tessa held her, rocking slightly, letting her cry without trying to stop it too fast. She hated change. Tessa could feel the fear in her bones.
“Olive, listen to me,” Tessa whispered, voice low and sure. “You are going to be okay. You are loved so much. You are loved by Mommy. You are loved by…a lot of people. You are loved by me.”
Olive sobbed quietly. “Stay.”