Page 46 of Every Heartbeat After

“I can’t help it! You just have the cutest little butt.” Mom elbows Tess gently, and winks. “I’m sure you agree.”

Tess presses her lips together, cheeks flushed pink, and nods while holding back laughter. Satisfied, Mom goes back to flipping pages. Tess meets my gaze and widens her eyes in an expression that screams,You owe me one.

We spent the first thirty minutes trying to convince them we weren’t a couple. I’m not sure who gave in first, realizing resistance was futile, but soon artificial honey coated our voices and increasingly ridiculous pet names started slipping out. It’s a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of the morning. I convince myself that’s why Tess is going along with it—to make me feel better. Not because she enjoys pretending it’s real even the tiniest bit.

It’s me. I’m the one enjoying it.

The inside of the house remains largely unchanged. A red brick hearth dominates the living room, even though it’s rarely ever cold enough in southern Mississippi to justify a fire. Folded TV trays are stacked against the wood-paneled wall by the opening that leads to the kitchen, and the vague scent of Pine Sol clings to everything, even the cat.

Bringing Courtney here was different. Her family came from a well-to-do area just outside Atlanta. They had more money than they knew what to do with, and spent a metric ton of it on their three children. My ex-wife was the youngest, and spoiled as such. Whenever she stepped foot in my childhood home, she kept her nose turned up till we left. Too dusty, too dated, too dark for her. Even before the divorce, my visits home had grown infrequent at best, between work and her distaste for it all.

But I feel none of that uneasiness with Tess. She snuggles beneath the threadbare afghan Mama draped over their legs to keep warm, while the window unit works hard to keep the room at subzero temps. Her fingers are buried in Petal’s butt fluff, which has the calico purring like mad. This couch is as old as I am, covered in a floral design that would announce its age even if the holes in the arms didn’t. Tess pays the exposed padding no mind. Or if she does, she’s good at hiding it.

“So what have you two kids been up to? What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Dad asks as he settles back into his recliner with a grunt and the hiss of an opening can of Bud Light. Age is creeping up on him in a way that pictures didn’t convey. His skin folds easily. His arms are littered with sunspots. He still has all his hair, but it’s more salt than pepper these days.

I open my mouth to answer, but choke on the lump in my throat. I’ve missed him. Missed both of them so much. And now that I’m here, it’s hard to imagine why I stayed away so long. I’d built up in my mind that there’d be a lecture waiting for me about the sanctity of marriage. An accusation that I didn’t try hard enough to save it.

It could still be coming. They may not want to say anything in front of Tess. And while it’s probably pathetic, I’m happy to use her as a human shield for as long as I can.

“Kit came with me on my annual summer vacation. I’m originally from a small town in Alabama, and I grew up visiting a spot on the Florida panhandle every year.” Tess reaches over to pat my knee. Her drawl is thicker than it’s ever been, drawn out by my parents, who have the dialect of two people who’ve never been farther north than Memphis. “We made a deal that if he came with me, I’d come to see y’all with him. Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

Oh, she’s good. My mouth curves into a grin even as I’m shaking my head nearly imperceptibly. “Sure is, teapot.”

Teapot?she mouths. I shrug.

“Oh surely y’all aren’t driving all this way just for lunch from greasy old McNamara’s?” Mom asks, eyebrows drawn tight around the wrinkle between them.

I rub my palms over my knees to dry them. “Actually, if it’s all right with you, we were going to stay the night? Spend a little time catching up?”

Mom squeals and claps so loudly, Petal darts from beneath Tess’s hand and disappears under the solid oak coffee table. Dad raises his can in a toast. “Of course you two can stay. I’ve got a butt roasting in the smoker. Plenty of food for everyone.”

Eyeballing the wrought-iron cross hanging over the mantel where a TV would go in anyone else’s home, I say, “Okay, great. Tess can have my old room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Dad clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “No can do, son. Couch is my domain.”

“Since when?”

“Since he refuses to get a CPAP for his apnea. Keeps me up all GD night,” Mom says. She’s the only person I know who uses initials instead of curse words, like she’ll get to heaven on that technicality alone. She nudges Tess, who laughs politely. I can see the panic in her eyes. The tightness at the corners of her mouth. But Mom goes on, completely oblivious. “I’m sure your parents know all about that, Tess. Getting old is for the birds.”

Tess’s lips cinch together, and her gaze drops to her hands where they rest in her lap. “Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded.”

Mom’s gaze cuts from Tess to me, a question in her muddy-water-colored eyes that are nearly identical to mine.

I grab Tess’s hand on instinct. “Tess’s parents passed when she was in high school.”

“Oh, Betty!” Dad chastises, though Mom had no way of knowing. Still, my mother flushes scarlet and looks halfway to tears.

“It’s really okay.” Tess glances up, locking eyes with my mom and then Dad in turn. “It’s been a long time. I’m all right.”

“Hon, my mama passed when I was thirteen. Cancer. She was gone so quick I could hardly believe it.” Mom takes Tess’s other hand in hers. “I am so sorry. You don’t ever have to be okay ’round me. I know that hurt doesn’t go away. No matter how long it’s been.”

Tess meets Mom’s gaze for a long beat. I can only see her profile; the slight warble of her bottom lip and the tears that dampen the corner of her lashes are all that gives her away. Finally she whispers, “Thank you,” in a fractured voice I’ve rarely heard from her.

Damn. Less than an hour, and my mom has broken through to a part of Tess she guards like it’s a matter of national security. I squeeze the hand I’d been holding, willing her to look at me. And she does. But not before the happy mask slips back into place.

“So anyway,” Dad says, clearing his throat. “Gage’s room is now our home storage unit. But we put a queen in your room, so you ought to have plenty of space for the two of you.” He narrows his gaze when I turn to look at him, and adds, “Just no funny business, you hear me?”

Tess cackles, startling all of us. “Oh, sorry,” she says when we glance her way. “It’s just—we promise. No funny business. Right, Kit?”

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