CHAPTER TEN
The next day, Mrs. Schriever was buried. With her broach.
There had been no sleeping in on Saturday morning, and Tess had desperately needed it after spending a majority of her Friday at the Clip n’ Curl, and the rest of it keeping herself preoccupied while Deacon worked shirtless in her bathroom. When he’d finally come downstairs sometime after ten, covered in sweat and dust and looking just a little bit frustrated, she was sitting on the bench seat in the kitchen trying her hardest to concentrate on her crossword puzzle book and wondering if she’d be able to button her pants the following morning if she went ahead and ate all the cookies that had been left over from the viewing the night before.
The look in Deacon’s eyes when he’d seen her sitting there had made her feel hot all over. And a little afraid. There was a lot of passion in his gaze. She wasn’t used to that kind of intensity when it came to physical matters, and for a split second she wondered if he was going to pounce.
He’d taken a deep breath, tossed his shirt over his shoulder, and then walked straight up to her and given her the sweetest kiss right on the forehead. It had taken her completely off guard. He’d whispered good night and then left her sitting there without a thought in her head.
Saturday morning, Tess had sighed at the memory and forced herself out of bed and down to the kitchen for coffee. Esther Schriever had chosen a nine o’clock funeral, which meant Tess had to be up at five thirty and dressed by seven.
She had a slight moment of panic when she got to the bottom floor and remembered she didn’t have a jacket to wear. But the worry was short-lived when she walked into the kitchen and found a new suit jacket in a hanging bag lying across the table.
She unzipped it and there was a note pinned to the lapel that said: “It’s not too fancy. I hope this one ends up on the floor too. ~S”
She found herself smiling before she took her first sip of caffeine, and she stroked the collar. And then she realized there wasn’t just a jacket inside, but an entirely new pantsuit.
There was another note attached to the pants. “Scowling will give you wrinkles. It came as a set. The size should be right since I had the chance to measure you at length. By the way, when can I get my hands on you again? ~S”
“Incorrigible,” she muttered. “And charming. Good move, Deacon.”
She had taken her coffee and the suit halfway upstairs before she remembered that her bathroom was a construction zone, so she headed back down to the large bathroom next to the embalming room. In all honesty, this one was much nicer than the one she was used to upstairs. The downstairs bathroom had been completely remodeled, with travertine tiles and heated towel bars. And the walk-in shower had so many shower heads she felt like she was in a car wash.
Her mood was pretty darn good by the time she got out of the shower and toweled off. She slathered herself in cream with the light lemon scent Deacon had commented on and then pulled on plain black underpants and a matching bra. And then she stood there staring at the suit hanging on the hook on the back side of the door.
Deacon had said it wasn’t too fancy, but from where she was standing it looked like the fanciest thing she’d ever laid eyes on. There was no label, and that was a bit worrisome, because she’d read in Cosmo one time that clothes without labels were really expensive. She stroked her fingers down the lapel and bit her lip. It felt really expensive.
“Here goes nothing,” she said, and pulled it from the hanger before she could talk herself out of it.
She put the whole thing on before she looked at herself in the mirror, but just the feel of the material against her skin was a new sensation. And when she turned around, she almost didn’t recognize the body in the mirror. She had . . . curves. And what looked like cleavage.
“Holy smokes,” she said, turning so she could see her butt in the mirror. She’d never thought much about her butt before, but after seeing it like this she decided it wasn’t half-bad. The jacket was form-fitting and emphasized her breasts and the smallness of her waist.
“It’s like a magical suit,” she said in awe. And if she could manage to make it through the day without getting it dirty or tearing a hole in it, she’d consider it a success.
Friends and family came to lay Delores Schriever to rest. The rain had started up again sometime during the night, so everyone huddled under the tent as the preacher gave the CliffsNotes version of her life. Jo Beth had a freshly colored and styled mane of hair, and she looked an awful lot like Peppermint Patty from the Peanuts gang, only the wet had made the whole thing fall flat so she looked mousier than ever. But Tess had a new respect for Jo Beth after hearing her opinions on Henry the day before. And no one would ever hear it from her about the mechanical bull or the lap dance.
Delores had had a good and fulfilling life, and Tess guessed that, in the end, that’s all you could ask for. She waited until the crowd dispersed and then gave Axel and Elias the go-ahead to lower the casket into the grave and fill it with dirt. She left them to the job and then drove the Suburban from the cemetery back two blocks to the funeral home. By the time she finished up the final paperwork and put on an old pair of sweats and her University of Texas T-shirt that was so worn and thin it was indecent, it was well after three o’clock.
That’s when her best friend, Miller Darling, showed up with two bottles of wine and her emergency bag of supplies. The emergency bag included a cookie mix, binoculars, chocolate-covered almonds, nail polish, The Breakfast Club, and a forty-eight pack of condoms.
“Emergency” was kind of a loose term where the emergency bag was concerned. It might be brought out for anything from a bad breakup, to PMS, to having weird hairs show up on your body that had never been there before. It was an all-around emergency bag. And Tess hated to even think about how long that forty-eight pack of condoms had been in there unopened. The rest of the supplies had been refilled as the years passed and the movie changed from time to time.
“My God, would you look at that?” Miller marveled as she peeked out the window of the kitchen. With binoculars. “You think they do that on purpose?”
Miller was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a sleeveless black shirt that draped open in the back, showing the tattoo of an open book on her left shoulder. Her hair was dark brown with several lighter shades woven in—at least for now, since she tended to change it like underpants—and she had it pulled up into a loose ponytail that looked beachy and arty at the same time.
Miller had been Tess’s best friend since the first grade, when her family had moved to Last Stop. The Darlings were still considered outsiders, which was probably why she and Miller had hit it off so well. They’d both been outcasts. And Miller had given Libby Barlow a fat lip when the bully had thrown Tess’s sandwich on the ground during lunch.
“Do what on purpose?” Tess asked, opening the oven door to check on the cookies. “Are they supposed to be black like that around the edges?”
“No, black isn’t good for cookies. Take them out.”
Tess opened the oven door and black smoke billowed out. The smoke alarm shrilled, but she didn’t see any flames, so she figured that was a step above the last time. Miller glanced over and sighed before opening the kitchen door and letting some of the smoke out. Then she went back to watching through the binoculars. Apparently the view was much more appealing than burnt cookies.
“Damn, they’re leaving,” she said. “Do you think they exercise like that on purpose? With their shirts off and bodies gleaming all seductively?”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s all very intentional,” Tess said sarcastically, grabbing the hot mat and pulling the cookies out of the oven. “I’m sure that’s all part of their devious plan as they work out inside their private gym. They take their shirts off and wear those shorts that hang down low on their hips. And then they slick their bodies up with fake sweat and pose seductively, hoping above all hopes that the creeper staring at them through binoculars might come fulfill their every sexual fantasy.”
Miller put down the binoculars and gave her a droll stare. “I see what you did there. And I don’t think I care. If they really wanted privacy, they’d close the blinds.”
“Ahh, the Peeping Tom credo.”
“Shut up and give me a cookie. I can tear off the black parts. And it’s not like I didn’t notice you sneaking little peeks too.”
Tess pinched her lips together and didn’t bother denying it. She’d done nothing but think about kissing Deacon again. It had been almost forty-eight hours since his lips had touched hers, and she was going through withdrawal. She hadn’t told Miller about their kisses, and she wasn’t sure why. They told each other everything. But kissing Deacon had been different, and she wanted it to be something that was just hers.
She and Miller made an odd pair, but maybe that’s why they’d always meshed so well. Tess was the more introverted of the two, preferring to spend her time with dead people, and also the fictional people in the books she inhaled like oxygen.
Miller was the exact opposite. She loved people—their quirks, habits, facial features, and conversations. She studied them like a scientist would a bug under a microscope. She asked them questions and wanted to know everything about them, and she was genuinely interested in their answers. She said it was all research, and Tess guessed she could get away with that excuse because Miller was a romance novelist. Which was ironic, because Miller was pretty much the most unromantic person Tess had ever met. She was logical and straightforward, but Miller liked to say that it was cutting through people’s bullshit that made her write such great characters.
When she’d hit thirty, Miller had had one of those freak-out moments where she was afraid her body would immediately start going south and that her chances of marriage were all but in the toilet. And like with most things, she took it to the extreme. So now Miller was one of those CrossFit junkies who showed up at six-in-the-morning workout like it was church and posted the WOD—or the Workout of the Day to non-CrossFit folk—on Facebook every day. The only reason Tess knew about WODs was because one time Miller had dragged her to one of those god-awful classes at the crack of dawn. Tess hadn’t been able to sit for three days afterward because her body hadn’t bent in the places it was supposed to. CrossFit hurt. Which was why she did yoga.
Miller was what the guys liked to call “packed.” The transformation in her body since she’d started working out only made Tess a little jealous. She’d kill for those arms and shoulders. And probably her ass too. And she was really envious that Miller could go out in the sunlight without burning to a crisp and come away nice and bronzed. Tess had freckles for a reason.
Tess consoled herself by remembering that women’s bodies were all built differently—blah, blah, blah—and that one day she was going to be grateful for her willowy figure and the fact that she had no boobs to worry about sagging. She never had to count calories or forgo cheesecake. Or burnt cookies. And Deacon had seemed more than pleased with her body. Either that, or it really had been his hammer pressing into her stomach the night before. Either way, it was an impressive hammer.
Miller put the binoculars on the table and then went to get the wine from the little fridge under the island and two wineglasses from the cabinet.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Are the cookies salvageable?”
Tess paused mid-chew. “Yeah, the middle tastes fine. I think there’s something wrong with the oven. There’s no reason for the oven to smoke like that.”
“I hate to be the bearer of truth, but I’m pretty sure it’s you and not the oven. Something always goes wrong when you cook. Like when those kabobs caught on fire.”
“I didn’t know you were supposed to wet the sticks first,” Tess protested, using a spatula to put the rest of the cookies on a plate. She set the plate in the middle of the table and waited for Miller to uncork the wine. “Why don’t they ever tell you stuff like that in the recipe books? It’s amazing anyone ever learns how to cook.”
“People have different gifts. Cooking just isn’t yours.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what’s my gift?”
“You’re really great at embalming people.”
“That’s my job,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m supposed to be great at it. I mean what am I great at other than my job? I feel like I’m in this perpetual rut. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Is this one of those midlife crisis moments?” Miller asked. “You should go shopping. It always makes me feel better.”
“That requires putting on clothes and going out in public.”
“No way. I do all my shopping online now. I think the UPS man thinks I’m trying to seduce him, because he literally delivers packages to my door every day. He keeps looking at me expectantly, and I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m just excited because he’s delivering my new waxing kit.”
“Waxing kit?”
“I’m part Arabic. I wax everything,” she said. “Now, stop trying to change the subject. You’re amazing. You’re good at lots of stuff that has nothing to do with your job. Except cooking. You’re terrible at that. And you could use some wardrobe help, but that’s only because you hate your body.”
“I don’t hate my body,” she said, surprised. She replayed the scene from the night before when Deacon had told her she was hiding behind the ugly jacket. “It’s just a body. Clothes are used for covering it. Because it’s illegal to be naked.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying no one in Last Stop is going to stone you because you’re not wearing an oversized man’s shirt. You’re not your mother.”
“For that, we give thanks,” she said.
Miller had poured them glasses of wine that were full almost to the brim, and they toasted each other with that statement.
“You’re excellent at yoga,” she said. “You can do all those bendy moves that I can’t because my boobs are too big.”
“Yes,” Tess said wryly. “That’s making me feel much better.”
“No, seriously. You’re like a pretzel. Men love that in bed. They’d much rather have creativity and athleticism than boobs. At least after things get going.”
“This is a weird conversation. Maybe move onto the next topic.”
“You’re funny, you’re really good at Jeopardy, you speak Russian for Pete’s sake, and you can play pool like a boss.”
“It’s all geometry.”
“Which does me no good since I’m a writer.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” Tess said, taking a cookie and snapping off the burnt edges. “I feel better about myself now.”
“You’d have done the same for me.”
Tess took a deep breath, needing to share what had been on her mind more and more the past few days. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to move,” she said at length. “Away from Last Stop.”
“O-kaaaaay,” Miller said after a long pause. “Where are you moving? You’ve got a pretty sweet setup here. Think of all the gas you save not having to drive to work. And there’s no mortgage payment.”
“I need a change. I’ve started sending my résumé out to a few places, just to put some feelers out.”
“Whoa!” Miller’s dark brown eyes were wide with surprise. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack. It’s time to make my escape. This place will never be mine. And I just need some distance. I want a chance at anonymity. Or at someone getting to know me first without knowing the infamy of my mother. I want to get married and have children, and the pool is very, very small in Last Stop.”
“Thank you,” Miller said. “That’s making me feel much better about my own circumstances.”
“I’m all about harsh realities today.”
They sipped their wine in silence for a few minutes, and Tess opened up the chocolate-covered almonds.
“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Miller said at last, topping off their wine.
“You do?” Tess asked. “Really?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I’ve always thought you needed to escape. You’re not like me. You’re a romantic at heart. And though you don’t particularly like people, you crave family. Probably because yours was so abnormal growing up.”
“Thank you for the armchair analysis, Doctor Darling.”
She grinned, unfazed. “You’re welcome. A change of scenery might be good for you. A little adventure, a little romance. I can work from anywhere, so I can visit anytime. Unless you’re thinking of moving really far away; then we’ll have to reevaluate. Because if you have an emergency, it’ll take me too long to get there to water your plants or take care of your kids.” She picked up the binoculars again and looked back toward the gym.
“I wonder where they went,” she said. “That Elias guy is an interesting character. He’d make a fabulous hero for one of my books. He’s sexy and funny and always has a clever word. But you can tell he’s got some baggage. There’s a broodiness to him when he doesn’t feel like he has to be ‘on’ in front of people. He’s got some pent-up aggression for sure. I bet he’d be fabulous in bed. Or on the couch or in the shower. There are some men you can just tell by looking at them that they don’t need a map to find a clitoris.”
“Henry couldn’t have found one with a GPS and a personal guide,” Tess said. “But I don’t know about Elias. He’s a good guy, but you seem to gravitate towards guys with baggage.”
“They’re just so much more interesting.”
“But one day maybe you should try sizing up a guy for potential relationship material instead of potential fictional character material.”
“Again, my characters are so much more interesting than real men. Real men leave the toilet seat up and can belch the alphabet. At least with Elias I’d know what I was getting into. He’s got a hot body and exudes sex appeal. And sex is all I need. I can fulfill my emotional needs by watching Dr. Phil and Fixer Upper.”
“That show makes me have all the feels,” Tess said. “If I get my own place, maybe they’ll come do a show on me.”
“And maybe one of the carpenters will be a hot ticket with a tool belt and a million-dollar smile.”
An image of Deacon dressed very much the same flashed through Tess’s mind, and she shoved another cookie in her mouth.
“Where’d you find Elias, anyway? I know he’s from Texas, but I always find it fascinating that anyone would end up here when there’s so many better places to be.”
“You ended up here,” she said. “And I’m here.”
“We’re here because of our parents. And I stay here because moving is a pain in the ass, my house is dirt cheap but still awesome, and I can travel all over the world and not have to worry about someone breaking into my place while I’m gone for weeks at a time. But why would anyone seek out Last Stop on purpose?”
“Beats me,” she said, shrugging. “Eve sent him to me.”
Miller swirled her wine around her glass. “I wonder if she’s got a catalog of sexy men she orders from. What do they do around here?”
“They stay busy enough,” she said. And then she thought of the new guy who had appeared on her embalming table. Deacon had said he’d be sticking around too. Maybe Eve did order them from some kind of catalog.
“I think I’ve ruined myself,” Miller said. “No man could possibly live up to what I’ve created in my head. Besides, the last few guys I’ve dated have seriously left me questioning where the future of our society is heading. It’s not normal that three out of the four of them still lived with their parents. Their mothers still folded their laundry and set it neatly outside their doors, and made their lunches for them before they went to work every day.”
“Sounds like a pretty sweet deal,” Tess said. “I’d probably stay too. But you want to avoid those kinds of men. They’re going to be looking for a wife who will fill the role of their mother.”
“Yes, I know.” Miller nodded sagely. “Considering I’m not particularly interested in shooting out a small person from my loins in a painful manner, I certainly don’t want to adopt a man-child through the guise of wedding vows.”
“Maybe you should get a cat,” Tess said.
“I’d rather watch you settle down and have babies so I can spoil them. That way my loins stay intact and I can leave when I get tired of your kids. But you’re doing your best to avoid any potential relationships.”
“Henry pretty much cured me of that,” she said.
“Henry was a horse’s behind. I told you that from the beginning. He kept looking at my ass.”
“You do have a great ass,” Tess admitted. “I sometimes stare at it too.”
“Thank you. And I probably won’t have to do extra squats to burn off these cookies since they’re so bad. I don’t even think they qualify as dessert.”
“Yet you’re eating them anyway.”
“It’s a weakness.” Miller took a bite out of the center of her cookie and then chased it with the wine. “You’ve got to get out of this house. The only men visiting you in here are the ones you’re filling with weird chemicals and gluing their eyes shut. They’re not interested in you. Come out with me tonight. Your funeral is all done for the day, and you’ve got nothing better to do than sit here, finish off these cookies, and watch a Murder, She Wrote marathon. Though if I were you, I’d spring for some night-vision goggles and see what else you can see in the carriage house after the lights go down,” Miller said, waggling her eyebrows.
“They have a right to their privacy,” Tess said primly, though her cheeks heated.
“Oh, she blushes,” Miller said, chortling. “Tess likes a bo-y,” she said in a singsong voice. “Who is it? You didn’t put money in the pot at the Clip n’ Curl, did you?”
“Of course not!” she said. “It’d be a waste. I don’t stand a chance with a man like that.”
“Because I’m such a keen observer of human nature, I just noticed two things. The first is that you said you don’t have chance with a man like that. Meaning, you have a very specific man in mind. The second is that you are truly clueless when it comes to your looks. For heaven’s sake, Tess. You’ve got a mirror. You also have a hairbrush and concealer for those dark smudges under your eyes, so maybe work on that part. God wouldn’t have invented that stuff if he hadn’t wanted you to use it.”
“I’ll make sure to tell Father Murphy that the next time he preaches on vanity.”
“This is Texas. People here don’t go to the Dollar Store without their full hair and makeup done. Half the congregation left during the middle of that sermon, and the only reason the other half stayed is because they were men.”
Tess laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. “Stop it.”
Miller grinned, flashing the lone dimple in her cheek. “Seriously, Tess. Henry did a number on you, and I hate him for it. He stripped away all your self-confidence when it came to your looks and your God-given talents. All he wanted was for you to fill the role of ‘his’ wife. Like it’s some big deal to be the wife of the only dentist in Last Stop. Whoop-de-friggin-do.”
“Tell us how you really feel,” Tess said, arching her brow.
“He’s an idiot, and you should thank the good Lord every day that Tammy got stuck with him instead of you. He had a twelve-step program for everything, from doing the laundry to wiping his ass. You would’ve ended up strangling him in his sleep, and then you’d have gone to jail and we wouldn’t be sitting here drinking wine and eating bad cookies.”
“You’re a good friend,” Tess said, wiping her cheeks.
“Damn straight I am. You’re gorgeous. And I say that with no bias whatsoever. Your looks are just a little more subtle than some women’s. You’ve got that wholesome, girl-next-door thing going. Like those Ralph Lauren models. Men like that.”
“Which men?”
“Well, the sheriff for one. I heard at the grocery store and while I was filling up the tank that Cal has been all over you like white on rice.”
“Yeah, that was a little weird,” Tess said. “Surprised the hell out of me. He didn’t seem too brokenhearted about the rejection though.”
“I wouldn’t think so. He’s been banging Mandy Simmons for the last few weeks, but she’s been yapping about marriage to anyone who will listen, so my guess is he’s ready to move on. Probably a good call on turning him down.”
“Thank you,” Tess said. “Not to mention that I’m not the least bit attracted to him.”
“But you are attracted to someone. You always get that dopey look in your eyes when you’ve got the hots for someone, and I could tell you were thinking about him earlier when I mentioned the guy in a tool belt.”
“That’s ridiculous. I do not get a dopey look on my face.”
Miller rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say. But take my advice, don’t ever play poker. Now, tell me which one you’ve got your eye on. If it’s Elias, I’d pretend to play the martyr and let you sleep with him, but I’d probably hate you forever. And then I’d immortalize you in a book and probably kill you off somewhere along the way.”
“I appreciate your non-sacrifice,” Tess said dryly. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to sleep with any of them. I’m moving. Remember?”
“That’s why it’s so perfect,” Miller said excitedly. “It’s like one last hurrah before you go.”
“I don’t just sleep with men for hurrahs, no matter how great they might be at hurrah-ing.”
“Okay, okay,” Miller said, holding up her hands in surrender. “It’s part of that girl-next-door thing I guess. You’ve always been that way. I’m not even sure you’ve ever had a real orgasm before. I worry about your sex life.”
“Very comforting to know. And I have too had a real orgasm before,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Just never with an actual man.”
Miller’s mouth dropped open and a piece of cookie fell out. “Remind me to send Henry’s Tammy a card with my condolences. I’ll send it with flowers to his office since she’s a hygienist there. Poor thing probably spends all day sitting on one of those electric toothbrushes.”
Tess snorted out a laugh. “She certainly has my sympathies. But sex with Henry was one of the most productive six minutes I had every Tuesday and Friday.”
“Your sex schedule was the same as trash pickup?” Miller asked drolly.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t too bad. It was just enough time to figure out what was for dinner the next night and to mentally pick out my clothes for the next morning. And having it on such an exact schedule was pretty nice. Foreplay always lasted from eight twenty-five to eight thirty, and then we wrapped up the grand finale by eight thirty-six. Henry spent the next twenty-four minutes checking his work emails before lights out at nine o’clock, while I adjourned for a twenty-four-minute shower that involved that Christmas gift you got me in 2004.”
“Geez, I don’t actually think you’re supposed to keep them that long. Seems like it might short-circuit or be a fire hazard at this point. I’ll get you a new one for this Christmas.”
Miller pulled out her phone and made a note, seemingly satisfied with herself. Tess stifled a laugh. This was classic Miller. She was one of those people who ordered gifts all through the year and put them in a closet somewhere so she’d be prepared, because she almost always had a deadline right before Christmas and didn’t have time to think about the holidays.
“Don’t think I’m going to let you ignore my question,” she said, putting her phone down. “Which one is he?”