Page 63 of Presley's Christmas Catch
“You okay?” I ask. She’s been quiet most of the drive.
She smiles over at me. “Yeah. Seeing Thomas brought up alot of stuff about when Aunt Shannon died. Just contemplative.” She holds up our hands, which have been enjoined on the console. “Is this us just being friends?”
I chuckle. “No, but let’s get you home and then talk?” I don’t want to make this confession in the car, while I’m driving, when I can’t end it with a kiss. My grand gesture has been ruined, but I’m hoping to salvage at least part of it.
She eyes me. “Good talk?”
How she can wonder that at this point, I don’t know, but I have been purposefully vague about our relationship status. “Good talk,” I assure her.
She leans her head over to rest it on my arm, then she dials her parents on speaker phone. She’s texted them that she’s fine and headed home, and they know the story from Agent Stahl. He told me to call him Thomas, but I can’t bring myself to. He knew before her parents did that Presley had been arrested and told them not to come down to the police station, that he would handle everything. I should have gone and talked to them as soon as the policeman took Presley outside, but I was sprinting out to get the car from the valet to follow the police car since they wouldn’t let me ride with her. Luckily, the valet let me take the Tatums’ vehicle, and someone from the party gave them a ride home, since they just live a few blocks away from the Westcotts.
“My mom will sleep better if she hears my voice,” Presley whispers to me as the phone rings.
Her mom answers before I can say anything. “Why didn’t youtell meshe left you the ring?” she says instead of hello.
Presley sighs before she answers. “I knew you’d tell me to turn it in, and I wanted to figure out a way to return it without getting Aunt Shannon in trouble.”
Mrs. Tatum huffs. “Shannon called me that night.” Her voice gets tight. It would have been one of the last times she’d spoken to her sister. From my conversations with Presley, I know that her aunt died the next evening sometime. “She told me Thomashad a ring, that she’d seen it. We argued, because I told her to accept it. She said she was thinking about it.” She pauses, and Presley squeezes my hand. I don’t know if she even realizes it. “She said she was putting it in Thomas’s box to make sure it was safe, and they’d talk about it when he got home.”
“Then how did it get in my box?” Presley asks.
“I don’t know, sweetie. But she was having episodes with her eyesight too, and when I got the boxes from her closet, yours and Thomas’s were next to each other. She probably mixed them up.” I hear a long intake of breath from Mrs. Tatum. Presley’s eyes were red and puffy when she emerged from the interrogation room with Agent Stahl. I think this whole family has been reliving those awful hours after Shannon Cox died suddenly. “If you had just told me…” Mrs. Tatum finally sighs.
“Honestly,” Presley says, “I should have called Thomas to ask for his advice, and then everything would have been fine.”
Mrs. Tatum laughs. “So, you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m going home to sleep … probably.” Presley tilts her head to look up at me. I shrug, trying not to smile. Her going to sleep isn’t in my plans. Not for a little while, at least.
“You with Brock?” Mrs. Tatum asks.
“Yeah, he’s driving me.”
“Mmmm, okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, sweetie.” Mrs. Tatum’s voice breaks a little, and then the call clicks off.
“Seems that telling my mom I was with you ended that call a lot sooner than I expected…” She sits up to eye me.
“Interesting.”
“My parents were in on whatever was going on tonight, weren’t they?”
I laugh but don’t say anything else.
“You’re going to tell me, right? What you were about to do when the police hauled me off?”
We’re stopped at a traffic light, so I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “I promise.”
When we getto Presley’s house, I tell her to stay in her dress and then sit her on one of her kitchen island stools in the middle of her living room. Thanks to Landon, I have “For the First Time,” the karaoke version, cued up on my phone. The texts have quieted from the group for now, but there are several unread messages that I scrolled past. The guys are begging for information on the night. When I asked for the link to the song, that quieted them. I’ll have to fill them in but they’ve obviously deduced that all is not lost yet.
I take a few steps back from Presley. I don’t sing often in front of people, not since I was younger for church or school, but my voice is good enough for this. That’s why we settled on this particular grand gesture. I start the song. She squints in concentration as the notes play, probably trying to place where she knows it from.
I come in, singing softly, the words about seeing someone in a way you didn’t before. By the time I’m to the chorus, I’ve come to stand next to her, taking her hand, and pulling her up from the stool to dance with her.
“Brock,” she says breathily. “Your voice…!”
