Page 46 of Tell Me Goodnight

“I know you’re worriedabout what might happen if you say yes, and I don’t blame you for that. It’sscary and it’s a big risk. But you’ve waited a long time for something likethis to happen, Jon, and I think that passing it up simply because you’rescared would be foolish. I think you owe it to yourself to at leasttry, and if you can’t do it foryourself, then do it for Beth. Because I know that’s what she’d want for you,and for what it’s worth, it’s what I want for you, too.”

I sighed, knowing alltoo well that she was right, and replied, “Then, I guess I’ll give Devin a calltomorrow.”

Her face split with aslow-moving grin. “Good.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TESS

He wasopening to me, his soul gaping and revealing the misshapen absence within. Ilonged to mold that space to just my size, so I could fill it with everything Iwas starting to feel for him and his children. I could be what he needed, but Iknew he didn’t want me. He wanted a distraction, he wanted to forget, but hedidn’t want me.

AndI wanted to be wanted.

***

“Grandma?”I walked quietly toward therecliner, stationed in the center of the living room. I watched the motionlessform of my grandmother, looking for the telltale rise and fall of her chest,and crossed my fingers that today wasn’t the day I’d find her dead. “Hey,Grandma?”

Harriett lifted herhead and outstretched her paws onto the arm of the chair. I extended my hand topet the cat formerly known as mine, only to experience a close call with herdistended claws.

“Thanks, you littlebrat,” I grumbled as she jumped from the chair and scurried away.

Grandma remainedsilent, and my heart began to thunder in my chest as I took my shaking hand andlaid it over her arm. “Grandma.” I added a little more volume to my voice andshook her gently. “Grandma, wake up.”

Just as the worry beganto branch out toward something closer to fear, Grandma’s eyes fluttered openand settled on me. “What the hell’s your problem, Tessa? Can’t you let mesleep?”

I pressed my hand overmy heart. “I’m sorry. I just …” I sucked in a deep inhale and shook my head.“Jesus Christ, I thought you were dead.”

She grumbled somethingunintelligible as she struggled to get herself out of the chair. I offered myhelp, as I always did. Which she refused, asshealways did. I stayed close though, ready to catch her if shefell, but after a few moments of painful effort, she managed to steady herselfon legs that always threatened to give out. Without another word, she shuffledtoward her room and closed the door.

Still in the livingroom, I groaned and pressed my hand over my eyes.

I had such amazingmemories of my grandmother. The things we did when I was younger. Conversationswe’d had and summers spent together. Hell, it wasn’t eventhatlong ago she was giving me writing advice, butnow? I couldn’t remember the last timeshe’d asked me how my book was coming along, and it hurt. It hurt that she wasrapidly fading away and I felt the need to run away.

So, I went to my room,left the door open a crack—just in case—andsat down at my computer.

It was funny. Not long ago,I was barely getting the words out. But now, they were all I had some nights,to stop me from completely losing my mind the moment I stepped through thedoor.

***

I awoke with the satisfaction only broughton by another successful writing session. It was addicting. My chosen drug. Iloved that energy as it pumped through my veins and fed my heart and soul. Whenhad I become such a junkie for this? When had I become such a slave to thecraft? And when had it started to feel sogood?

Stretching my armsoverhead, I sat up in bed. For just a second, the world felt right and exactlythe way I wanted it to be. I was heading somewhere with my writing. I mean, whoreally knows if it would take off or amount to anything, but I waswriting, for crying out loud. I couldn’twait to see Jon’s girls later, and I couldn’t wait for Jon to come home afterwork, to have tea with him. To smile and listen and pretend that I didn’t haveto come back here, to Grandma’s house where Richard Dawson was better companythan the old woman I lived with.

But my reverie wasbroken when something in the house shattered and Grandma uttered one of herfavorite four-lettered words. I bolted out of bed and ran, in my t-shirt andunderwear, to find out what had happened. And there, in the kitchen, I foundher bent over at the waist, attempting to scoop up the broken pieces of acoffee mug.

“Grandma,” I sighed,dropping to my knees. I hurriedly collected the ceramic shards in the palm ofmy hand as she protested, insisting she could handle it herself, and just likethat, the proverbial threads holding my patience together snapped. “Obviously,youcan’t!” I shouted, staring ather, wide-eyed and angry.

She slowly pulledherself up, leaning heavily into her cane, and scowled down at me. “Don’t youdare yell at me, Tessa. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

“Ihaveto yell at you! You won’t listen to me otherwise!” I scrambledto my feet and threw the jagged pieces into the trash. Clenching my fists, Iturned back to her. “Youneedto letme help you, Grandma. That’s why I’m here, remember? That’s why I moved in.”

“Oh, bullshit,” shebarked, waving one arm in an arc over her chest. “You don’t want to help me.”

“Yes!” I shouted withexasperation. “That’sallI want!”

Iwanted to be wanted.

Grandma scoffedbitterly. “You don’tcareaboutmeanymore, Tessa. You only care aboutthat damn computer and those damn kids.”

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