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THESE LETTERS MAY BE hard for you to read, but someday you will ask who your father was. I have to explain why things turned out this way.
I didn't want a child. Your mother did, and I did whatever she wanted. I'm sorry to say but the woman is a shrew. I know that only begins to explain things, and it's not an excuse. But she drives me to the brink. I look in your eyes and I see some spark of me, and that's the spark I want to keep alive. When you turn sixteen, I hope to take you on a long-distance hunting trip, to understand why I need to get away periodically.
In life, we have chances for freedom. These trips are mine, and maybe someday they will be yours. "Follow your bliss" is the way of Buddha, and it's what I've committed to doing...for both of us.
~*~
EVERY DAY I HAVE THE same lunch: a tuna sandwich with lettuce and tomato on wheat. By the time I get to it, the lettuce and tomato have sufficiently sogged up the bread. I add to that a bag of sour cream & onion chips and a Cherry Coke from the vending machine, then throw any notion of healthiness to the four winds.
"You pregnant again?" Charlotte peers over the appointment desk at the Crystal Mountain Spa, where I've laid out all my food items.
"Nope...you have a problem with my menu?" I wink up at Charlotte, and she flutters her exotic eyelashes, two kisses of coal dust sweeping her high cheekbones.
"No judgments from me, Tess." She motions to her own lunch: a bag from Wendy's that doubtless contains a cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate Frosty.
I shove my lunch back in my tote. "Hey, let's go outside today. A breeze in July—not often we get weather like this."
She nods and stalk-walks to the side door, her long-legged gait the opposite of my own. My dear husband Thomas has informed me that I can't walk without natural hip action. The more I slow to adjust my walk, the more my hips determine to swing of their own accord.
"Deep thoughts?" Charlotte holds the door until I reach the stone-paved porch that encircles the log cabin-style spa.
"Not particularly."
"Good. Let's keep it light. My mom—it's hard seeing her that way."
Miranda Michaels, Charlotte's mother, is one of my best friends. Her insight helped me stop a killer a couple winters ago. But since then, she's had another heart attack and her health has rapidly deteriorated. And now a private nurse stays with her round the clock. We all know it's a matter of time.
Thank goodness Charlotte took a one-year leave of absence from teaching pottery at West Virginia University. She's camped out in Miranda's old house, which has shaped up nicely with more than a little elbow grease. Having Charlotte nearby has only cemented our friendship. I dread the day she decides to return to Morgantown.
When the sun hits our faces, Charlotte bursts into her customary three sneezes. Not one, not two, but always three sneezes for the sun. I snicker.
"I have no clue why you find that so funny." She curls into a faux leather chair. It's nothing but class for the Crystal Mountain Spa.
"Because you're literally allergic to sunlight, that's why." I perch on the stone wall, so I can better observe any wildlife in the ferny forest just beyond. "But getting back to your mom...does she know who you are?"
"Not anymore. But funny thing: she was calling for Mira Brooke the other day. She knows..."
Charlotte's voice cracks and I look back to the woods, knowing we're both on emotionally fragile ground. Miranda stayed lucid enough to understand Thomas and I named our firstborn daughter, Miranda Brooke, after her last June. We call her Mira Brooke. I take comfort that Miranda was able to hold her namesake in her thin arms at least three times before she lost her strength. But no amount of hoping can restore the Grande Dame to full health now.
The spa masseuse, Teeny, peers out the door at us. "How you doing, Charlotte?"
Teeny is a man with a wildly inappropriate nickname. He looks more like someone who should try out for the Mr. World contest. But he answers to nothing but Teeny. He also has a burning crush on Charlotte that will never in this universe be reciprocated.
"Doing good." Charlotte angles her legs and body away from Teeny, a clear sign he needs to give up.
He doesn't take the hint. "Your muscles feeling tight? I'll give you fifty percent off a half-hour neck and back massage."
His deep-set eyes fixate on her, as if he's unaware his co-worker is sitting right here.
I clear my throat, dropping the final scrap of tuna sandwich in my bag. "Pretty sure Dani said you shouldn't do that, Teeny."
He lumbers out on the patio toward me, like a Saint Bernard noticing a rabbit. "Do what?"
Our boss, Dani Gibson, has made it very clear that Teeny can't cut discounts or hit on possible clients. Sadly, Teeny is the best masseuse around and he can get away with anything he likes.
"That. What you just did. With Charlotte."
He wags his head back and forth slowly, like a pendulum. A new thought hits him.
"Tess, did you see the backhoes? They drove in this morning. Out back."
I feel like I'm talking to my brother-in-law Petey, who's only fourteen. "No—why are there backhoes here, Teeny?"
"Dani wants a pool. I mean we have the indoor pool but it's time for an outdoor one, she said. They were digging this morning before you came but they stopped early."
He shakes his head, befuddled, and heads back to his massage room. Apparently he has radar for when Charlotte enters the building, because he rarely emerges any other time.
Charlotte stands, peering around the side of the patio. "Another pool? Where does your boss get her money?"
"Well, you know this spa charges top dollar. I'd say there's not another spa like this in three counties."
"Yeah, full of incense and crystals...it's a wonder anyone from Buckneck darkens the door."
I secretly agree with Charlotte. The success of Dani's spa is astonishing, as no one in our small town seems inclined to get their energies balanced or to catch up on the latest in chakras. The only thing I can figure is that Dani snagged the best and brightest masseuse, hairdressers, and nail technicians for miles around. I only took the job because I wanted part-time hours and I've been a receptionist before. Correction: Administrative Assistant.
We polish off our food in the sunlit, hazy silence. This is what I love about Charlotte: we don't have to talk. We can just be.
A clattering of high heels sounds on the flagstones. Dani, an enigmatic mix of nature-lover and trendy fashionista, rushes our way.
"Tess? I've been buzzing your desk for the past half hour! What are you doing? You need to be manning the phone!"
"I'm on lunch break. Remember? I get one hour?"
"Well, not today." She nervously pulls her long blonde hair into a makeshift bun, a tribute to her California surfer-girl roots. "I need you at the front desk. I'm afraid this will leak to the press."
I stuff everything in my bag, standing. "What are you talking about?"
"The bone." A sigh wracks her body, belying her well-disguised forty-plus years. "They found a human bone out back."