The blue iris, p.15
The Blue Iris, page 15
Twinflower / Linnea Borealis
Conflicted.
TESSA
Twelve days of heat alerts had turned the city into a bulging water balloon. Tessa, armed with Charlie’s details about her mother’s flower request, had voluntarily worked all of them, even her days off, hoping to jog her memory. Summer was short; she was running out of time.
As for American bittersweet, the internet was highly conflicted. Some considered the plant a treasured cure-all, others a poisonous pest. Symbolically, it was said to represent bad luck, fidelity, and a call to war. Why did Beth want so much of it, and when it wasn’t in season? They were living in the tiny apartment on Morrow at the time, it didn’t even have a balcony. Shortly afterwards, they’d moved into the coach house, but there wasn’t a stick of bittersweet anywhere on Nano and Pop’s property.
Tessa’s stomach gurgled. She recalled her lunch, untouched in the cooler. It was too hot outside to eat. There was too much to think about.
Back-to-back shifts had also prevented Tessa from seeing Will since the night of the gala. Their conversations had taken on a detached edge, but neither had so much as hinted at what transpired after they left the Royal York. Tessa preferred never to relive it, and presumably, Will was too ashamed. Instead, he inquired exhaustively after every detail of her day, as though concerted interest in her job was his least awkward path forward.
Yesterday, with one day’s notice, he invited her to spend the Canada Day holiday on Lake Muskoka with his friends. Rowan would have given Tessa the time off, but Will’s never-ending questions and the tension crackling through their phones was wearing on her. After Charlie’s talk in the beer garden about energy and shields, Tessa recognized that a whole weekend of it, plus Hunter and company thrown in, would be too depleting right now.
Will, however, desperately needed a reprieve; he was under so much pressure at work, and it was obviously wearing on him. Tessa encouraged him to go have fun. Hopefully, it would act as a circuit breaker of sorts, a much-needed reset between them. Still, Will was miffed she’d declined to go along, and Tessa had felt off since the conversation. This morning, she drove to work in a daze, inadvertently running a stop sign.
Thankfully, the shop was quiet; the heat was keeping people away. The air hung like a wet blanket in her lungs. She peered at the clock, thinking she’d call Will right now, clear the air. But he’d be in a car full of people already, on his way to Muskoka.
A convertible rolled up to the curb. The driver, dressed all in white with a yellow sweater over his shoulders, fanned a wad of hundreds at Tessa like paint chips. “I need fifteen bags of soil delivered an hour ago.”
Tessa rolled her eyes; that much dirt cost around sixty bucks. “Truck’s out for today. Might be able to set it up for tomorrow?”
He reacted like she’d asked him for a kidney. The landscapers were at the house now, he was having a Canada Day party, he needed the dirt immediately. While he carried on, Tessa recognized him as a Sunday regular at Peter and Eleanor’s country club, along with his surly wife and three bread-tossing children.
After she’d convinced him his only option was to take the soil with him, he sat there, engine idling, air conditioning blasting from the open roof. Tessa fetched his change, moved his tennis gear, lined his trunk with plastic. Each bag she lifted grew heavier. Twice, she lifted her ball cap to wipe the sweat dripping into her eyes. She glanced around, hoping to snag help, but the guys were tied up, including Luke, “on delivery” for the fourth time this week.
Exactly how many times did it take to apologize to Olivia Thornton?
Tessa steadied herself against the skid as a wave of dizziness hit. One bag left to go. The driver, on the phone now, glared impatiently in the rearview mirror. An idea crept in, sparkling with guilty pleasure. Tessa hesitated. This guy definitely knew the Westlakes. But he’d never make the connection; Phil Taylor and Olivia Thornton hadn’t recognized Tessa here. He tapped his horn, hurrying her along, and that settled it.
“Trunk’s full,” she called, and before he could clue in, she flung the last bag into the car’s ivory interior, where it belly-flopped with the satisfying pop of a weakened seam. One that would blow the second he lifted it.
The car squealed off. Tony rounded the fence and saw Tessa propping herself against it. He hopped on a skid and lit a cigarette. “Everything okay, Tee? You don’t look so good.”
“A bit gassed, I guess.” She held out her hand for a drag. She still wouldn’t call herself a smoker, but the occasional hit of nicotine definitely took the edge off. “Loaded fifteen bags of top while that jerk sat and watched.”
“Who, the M-6?” Tony knew every customer by the car they drove, which he could identify just by hearing the engine. “That guy’s a piece of shit. I should totally fuck his wife.”
Tessa laughed weakly. “Maybe while he’s crying the stains off that ivory interior.”
Tony looked puzzled, then it clicked. “No . . .”
Tessa grinned.
“NO. A brown bomb? Inside the car?” He reeled backwards, laughing, then high-fived her like a dad on graduation day. “But fifteen bags, that’s a shitload in this heat, Tee. You should’ve tagged me in.”
“Better you finished watering before Darryl lost it.”
Tony stretched himself taller and puffed his chest. “HEYCH-two-OH, kids, or we might as well go into the SHELF business.”
Tessa chuckled; his impressions were dead-on.
“I’m about to start on the back,” he said. “Unless you’d rather do it? Leave the front lines to me and Flashy for a while.”
Tessa pressed her palm to her forehead, a dull headache emanating. “Perfect. Holler if you get swamped.”
In the yard, heat wriggled from the asphalt. Every leaf and bloom held still. Tessa dragged the hose to the shady corner way in back, working through the rows, her thoughts jumping to Will, and how much she wished things between them were back to normal again. To her grandparents, likely exhausted from all the upkeep on a house they’d have sold years ago if not for her. Finally, stubborn images arose of Luke’s thick, tanned arms pinning Olivia Thornton’s body to that daybed in her cabana. Olivia feeding him strawberries with her manicured fingers.
Tessa’s arm cramped up. The rubber hose in her hand turned to brick. Desperately thirsty all of a sudden, she twisted the nozzle and leaned over to drink. Next thing she knew, she was spread flat as a picnic blanket on the blistering asphalt, looking up through candied swirls of Summer Fantasy phlox into the vast lemonade sky.
That’s when everything went dark.
Tessa could hear their voices somewhere in the yard, but her own was stuck.
“How long ago?” Rowan asked.
“I don’t know, an hour?” Tony said. “She looked like shit, too.”
“So you sent her back here. Alone.”
“Take it down a notch, okay? I took over the heavy lifting as soon as I noticed. You’re the one letting her work two weeks straight in a heatwave.”
“She insisted!”
“You’re the boss, Rowan. Start acting like it anytime.”
Tessa shuddered, cold water from the hose gushing beneath her.
Rowan’s voice cracked like lightning. “TESSA!”
Luke now. “What’s up?”
“We can’t find Tess.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find her?”
“She came back to water an hour ago. Nobody’s seen her since.”
Tessa mustered a small gurgle. A shuffle of sneakers, then the cart she lay behind swung away to reveal her lying there, ponytail afloat in soupy soil, water darkening her clothes like bloodstains. Rowan screeched.
Luke pushed in front of him, dropping to his knees with a splash. “Tess. You okay?” He propped her to sitting. Tony shut off the hose. Rowan stared, paralyzed, as Luke pulled away her sunglasses. “Tess.” He snapped his fingers, the breeze of it grazing her nose. “Tessa.”
The world slid back into focus. She cleared her throat. “Yeah. Fine.”
The men exhaled in a single waft.
“What happened?”
“I was watering, and my legs gave out.”
Darryl waddled up behind them, a pepperette hanging from his mouth.
“Oh. I’m up there going where the fuck did every . . . whoa, what happened to you, Princess?”
“She passed out,” Tony said.
“I did not!”
“You weren’t answering us,” Luke said.
Darryl tore off a bite of sausage, jaw smacking. “Heat prostitution.”
Four sets of eyes squinted at him.
“You know,” he jiggled his hands in clarification, “heat prostitution.”
Tony sighed. “What are you talking about, man?”
Darryl finished gnawing. “As in, Princess here has been fucked by heat.”
Tessa’s head sank against her forearms, her body shaking weakly with laughter.
Rowan’s voice fell a few octaves. “Heat prostration.”
Darryl shrugged. “You want to keep jerking each other off, or get her some water?” Tony dashed out of the yard. Darryl stooped over Tessa. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“It was too hot. I will, after I’m finished back here.”
“No chance,” Rowan said, turning to Luke. “Get her to the Lodge, keep an eye on her. Give her lots to drink, and make sure she eats.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Tessa, you’re off the next three days.”
“What? But I’m fine!”
Rowan’s palm signaled an end to the discussion. Tony reappeared with water, and Tessa emptied the bottle in seconds.
Luke helped her to her feet. “All right, Lady of the Heatwave, you heard him.”
“Honestly, I’m good. I’ll just go home.”
“No way you’re driving right now.” He steered her up the Lodge’s back steps and through a sleepy screened-in porch. The cool air inside the house pricked her skin. She took in the tidy laminate countertops, the dish cloth folded over the tap. Much cleaner than the bachelor’s lair she’d been picturing. “Washroom’s there,” he said, pointing. “I’ll run to the cooler and grab your extra clothes.”
Shit. Tessa sighed at the ceiling. “I was so out of it last night, I forgot to reload my bag.”
Luke fetched a clean towel. “It’s okay. I’ll find you something.”
After smelling each manly bottle in the shower, Tessa scrubbed until the water ran clean. By the time she’d slipped into the T-shirt and sweats Luke left by the door, she felt almost normal.
In the kitchen, he handed her a smoothie and pointed to the living room. “Go sit down.”
“Mmm, this is great. What’s in it?”
“Coconut water, mint, celery and banana. Very hydrating.” Luke ushered her along.
“I’m totally making this. Was it a whole banana, or—”
“Sit!”
She looked at him. “You don’t have to be pissy.”
“And you don’t have to be a pain in the ass.”
Tessa traveled a few steps, then succumbed. Luke led her by the elbow as she gazed drunkenly around the living room; Maple Leaf blue paint. Bench weights. Two worn recliners and back issues of Men’s Health and Maxim. A giant flat screen. All stark and tidy as an art gallery. She sank into one of the recliners, already half asleep. “Not even a stripper pole.”
She awoke in the dark, a blanket tucked around her. Rain streaked the windows. Tessa followed her nose to the kitchen, where Luke stood plating food in fresh clothes. His black hair was wet, and wildly unkempt without its ball cap, but in a perfect, underwear-model sort of way.
He looked up. “You really will do anything to get out of closing.”
Tessa scrunched her face at him, then shivered in the air conditioning.
“The heatwave broke, we can eat on the porch if you want.”
Outside, the wet storage yard exhaled relief. Conversation was easy, the silence as natural as talking. Luke had become one of her closest friends. It bothered her that he was having an affair with a married woman and still didn’t trust her enough to tell her about it.
Tessa waved her fork at the penne sautéed in garlic, oil and chopped tomatoes. “How are you such a good cook?”
“I have to be. Tony would have us living on Corona and pizza pockets.”
Tessa looked up. “Where is he, anyway?”
Luke shrugged. “He’s been rushing out every night. Usually, I’d get the full rundown, but—”
“Weird.” Usually, they’d all get the rundown.
They looked at each other. Ainsley.
Tessa would use some of her time off to catch up with her friend, find out once and for all if Tony was a legend in his own right, or just in his own mind.
“Thanks for everything,” she said, finishing her last bite. She stood. “I’ll help you clean up, then get home.”
Luke’s face filled with alarm.
“What?” Tessa asked.
“Your bag. I meant to grab it when I went to help close up. But we were racing to beat the storm, and Rowan was rushing me back to check on you . . . mine’s still in there, too.”
Tessa frowned. Her phone, wallet and keys were inside the cooler. “Do you have a key?”
“To the shop, but not the cooler. Only Rowan has that, and—”
“He sleeps with his phone off.” Rowan was vocal about the effects of cell phone radiation.
Tessa chewed her lip. She could use the landline in the shop, but Will was still in Muskoka. She couldn’t put Nano or Pop on the road this late.
“Sorry, Tess. My spare truck keys are here, I’ll drive you.”
Luke had work in the morning. She’d put him out enough already. “It’s fine. I’ll crash here, get my stuff first thing and head out, if that’s okay?”
“Why do you think they call it the Lodge?”
Tessa smiled.
Luke forked his pasta. “You can have my room.”
She raised her eyebrows.
He lowered his. “You wish, Princess. I meant I’d take the recliner.”
“Sure, you did. Jackass.”
Luke grinned.
Tessa sat back, blissfully full. The temperature was perfect, the couch wide and worn. The green flock before her emitted a near-audible sigh, lulling her into a calm Tessa hadn’t felt in months. “Would it be weird if I slept right here?”
Luke chuckled. “Sam never slept anywhere else. Swore he could hear the flowers growing, and it was better than Ambien.”
Tessa glanced around the outdoor room. The more she learned about Sam, this troubled stranger she’d never met, the more she found herself really starting to miss him.
Viburnum / Tinus Lucidus
“I die if neglected.”
WILL
The boat’s deck was slick with coconut sunscreen and spilled Jäger. The lake sparkled. The bikini bottoms and bass gyrated as one. Will rapped on the bar top, prodding Hunter to keep pouring, his stomach pitching like walleye caught on a lure.
For as long as he could remember, envy hovered close. Guys strived in secret to be him, their girls vying in the open to be his. Like white noise, he never much questioned it. Tessa’s attention, her heart, was the first to invoke any real sense of need, and to this day, he’d do anything for it.
He just never, in a million years, anticipated having to beg.
The longer she held him off the more affronted Will became, her clinging to threadbare excuses like Pop’s care (Will could look after that with one phone call) or her job (temporary, of no consequence whatsoever), unwilling to spend even the occasional night at the penthouse.
He hadn’t helped matters by taking his mother’s bait at the gala. Will knew Tessa hadn’t done whatever Eleanor suggested, it was just that, by that point, it felt like he didn’t know her at all. The Tessa he adored was all pause-and-check, slow to warm up, attuned to his every twinge, and here she was neck deep in a whim of a job, light years from her comfort zone and skill set, bending over backwards for a bunch of strangers at precisely the time he needed her more than ever. Everything was subject to question.
And then, that one detail Eleanor mentioned cut him to the quick. The cheeky thumbs-up on Tessa’s left breast, in bold defiance of the shy modesty layered above it, was something of an intimate running joke. The sight of it evoked a tender sense of privilege, even now. It was unthinkable that some losers in his parents’ backyard were laughing about it. Laughing at him.
Jealousy catapulted Will outside himself. He had no words to explain what happened when the song finished that night; he wasn’t even sure he trusted his own recollection of it. All he knew was the long-muffled fear that he wasn’t enough—for Tessa, and without Tessa—dragged itself kicking to the forefront of his mind, and he’d been unable to quiet it since.
He should just tell Tessa what Eleanor overheard. Together, they’d applaud the creativity of the rumor, then dismiss it out of turn. But Will couldn’t lend breath to the words; acknowledging the possibility of being cheated on out loud was more than his pride could handle.
Instead, he set about some due diligence. Probed gently but thoroughly as she recounted each day, grid-searching for guilt fibers. Hunting for inconsistencies. As expected, he found none. Still, she could be here on this boat right now if she wanted. How could they put that awful gala behind them, when she consistently refused to meet him halfway?
Ashore, at the chalet, nightfall clung heavy to Will’s eyelids. Music and laughter blinked like a migraine aura. He clung to the back of a chair, scanning the room for Hunter. Will spotted his friend face down, red cup dribbling in his hand, a ping-pong ball knuckling his shoulder. Will muttered to himself, stumbling onto the deck, the square bottle still launched in his hand. He squinted at the yacht, glittering in its slip. Is something moving down there? The alcohol made it hard to be sure.
It’s then that he spots her, deep in the shadowy cavity of the boat. Rolling and fumbling with a formidable stranger. Her bedroom giggle skips across the water and Will’s pulse spikes with the same vengeance it did at the gala. In a telescope-turned-backwards sort of way, he understands his mind is playing tricks on him. Tessa isn’t actually there, making a mockery of him in front of all his friends. But like waking disoriented and panting from a nightmare, the physiology of it lingers, and for a moment, he loathes her anyway.
