Page 86 of Where You're Planted

Later, after Amy and Omarwent home and Tansy helped Jack gather and load the dishes into the dishwasher, she closed the dishwasher door, slid in front of him, and lowered to her knees.

“What are you doing?” he asked, catching her cheeks in his palms but not stopping her hands on his belt buckle.

“Tonight was perfect. And I don’t want to go the whole week without getting to do this,” she said.

She was beautiful, her golden-brown eyes big and rich, looking up at him through her lashes. Her cheeks flushed from laughing all evening. On herkneesfor him, wanting him.

“Tansy, you don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

He wanted to tell her there didn’t have to be a time limit. She didn’t have to fit this in before the deadline.

But how could he say that when he didn’t have an answerto any of the practical questions she’d ask next? When could they be alone again? When would she not only beableto make that time, but alsowantto—at the expense of Briar?

She opened his belt and undid his pants, and when she glanced up at him again, silently asking for permission, he nodded, swallowing audibly in the quiet kitchen.

25

Tansy

On Sunday evening, Tansy was putting the finishing touches on Briar’s bedroom before her final night with Jack. He’d helped her set up her new garage sale finds—a bed, nightstand, and lamp—but he’d left ahead of her to buy groceries for dinner.

Seeing Briar’s beautiful room at Charlie’s house had compelled her to get this done. She’d be lying, though, if she said this last week with Jack hadn’t also provided a push. Being back in her empty house after practically moving in with him had her entertaining hypotheticals. If Tansy had her own room, her own bed, if she had some healthy separation from Briar…

She recognized that she and Jack had been playing house these past few days, swimming in the deep end of lust and comfort. She was tempted to play out the fantasy a little longer, to ask if he’d consider continuing on in a similar way. Stillno strings. Nothing to spook him. If she were a little braver, she’d do it.

But regardless of all that, Briar needed a bedroom. Even if Tansy never invited Jack or anyone else into hers, this was still an essential, overdue step toward normalcy.

She turned off the lamp and repacked her overnight bag. She was already a half hour later than she’d meant to be, already feeling the rushing loss of time with Jack, which was so at odds with the part of her that couldn’t wait one more day for Briar to come home. She packed and unpacked her laptop, deciding that work could wait. She would just check her email once and put it out of her mind.

Dear Ms. Perkins,

Thank you for your application for the Fullton Recovery Grant. We know how much this funding is needed by so many deserving nonprofits across Houston, and we wish we could fund every project submitted. Unfortunately,…

—

“Hey. Where’ve you been? Iwas getting worried,” Jack said, stooping to block the gray tabby cat, Winston, from darting out the door.

Tansy didn’t answer. She was numb. She’d sat on her deflated air mattress, reading and rereading the email, looking for an explanation for how she’d failed to present her case, an avenue for appeal, a consolation opportunity. But it was a form rejection. Her application hadn’t even made it past the first round of consideration.

She almost hadn’t come at all, gripped with urgency to throw herself into damage-control mode, to formulate a newstrategy. Library admin would review her branch’s stint in the gardens in justtwo weeksand potentially call off this whole experiment. But every time she’d scrolled to Jack’s name in her phone, she couldn’t bring herself to call and cancel. Shewantedto be with him.

Jack closed the door behind her and leaned in for the casual kiss he’d begun to greet her with. He stopped short. “What’s wrong?”

Tansy burst into tears.

He immediately pulled her into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her, resting his chin atop her head. He stroked her hair, her back, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, every gesture a question, a worry. “Tansy, sweetheart…”

“I didn’t get the grant.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his shirt. She tried to slow her breaths, to regain control of her voice, to maintain the steadiness she’d had to have all these months. But every attempt ratcheted her up further. She couldn’t fight it. Weeks of frustration, of worry, of feeling inadequate and unworthy, of doing her best and failing. It all broke over her at once.

“Breathe,” Jack said in her ear, his voice low and steady. “Tansy, come on. Take a breath. Do it with me.”

That made her cry harder.

She had let herself get complacent. Yes, she’d busted her ass these last few months. She hadn’t given up on the work. But with so little agency to change the library’s circumstances, Tansy’s mental game had shifted. The festival numbers hadn’t impressed admin. Their increased program engagement, despite the location challenges, hadn’t persuaded them. The turnaround in patrons’ feedback, the hits on their socials, the nearmiraclesshe and the other librarians and even Jack had achieved hadn’t moved the needle at all. In the face ofa total lack of power, she’d realized the money was the only thing that could possibly change their fate. So she hadn’t entertained the possibility of not getting it. It was essential and, therefore, went her logic, inevitable.

But itwasn’tinevitable. And her foolishness in counting on it—counting on a rescue, once again—filled her with the familiar leaden weight of shame. Every bit of fortitude and resilience and hope crumbled around her.

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