He pulls out.
Tess and Istandin the wrecked doorwayof her cabin with alistof contractors,a paper bag of sandwiches,and the specific, small-town silence ofpeople wholooked at us,made a decision, and walked away to give us space.
“Sullivan.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you all right?”
I look down at her. She looks so small in my flannel, her eyes careful as she studies me, seeing way more than anyone else ever has.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m all right.” My voice cracks. I clear it. “I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“How fast people show up. When you let them.”
Shedoesn’tsay anythingtothat. She steps in close and puts her cheek against my chest and stands there for a long moment.
Icradlethe back of her head, and we breathe.
The trouble startstwo days later.
Tess wants to drive into town to pick up a few things: plywood I ordered at the lumberyard for the second roof patch, a drum of kerosene, and more tea because my houseguest—who’snowinformed me thatshe’smywoman—tells methat stale Liptonisnottea,it'san apology.
We take her box truck,whichrumbles down the switchbacks. She drives becauseshe’smore carefulon the turns than I would be.Irideshotgunand try not to think about how shemoaned my namean hour ago, my mouthbetween her thighs, her handsfisted in my hair. The drive is forty minutes long. It is going to be a verylongforty minutes.
Granger’s. The lumberyard. The hardware store. We are loading the truck behind the lumberyard when a man in a black wool peacoat and Italian shoes that are utterly wrong for this town comes around the corner of the building and stops short at the sight of Tess.
He looks at her.
He looks at her the way a man looks at a piece of property he thinks he’s owed.
“Tess,”he says, clipped and smooth.“I thought it was you.”
Tess goes still.
She goes still in a way I have only seen her doonce, whenthe casement let in the cold draft and I asked her if she felt it.
“Marcus.”Her voice is flat.“What are you doing in Hollow Peak?”
“Following up on a property.”His eyes flick to me dismissively, then back to her.“There was a misunderstanding two months ago about an offer my associate left with your aunt’s executor. A generous offer. Youhaven’treturned my calls.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Tess.”He laughs softly. The laugh is wrong.“You’re beingunreasonable. The market for distressed properties in this corner of the San Juans isvery specific, and the window will not be open forever. We are prepared to be more flexible than the original offer.”
He takes a step toward her.
He puts a hand on her arm.
I don’t remember moving.
Idon’tremember the distance between where I was standing and where I am now.I’mbetween the man in the peacoat and Tess,his wrist in my hand.While crossing the seven feet separating us,I decided thatthiswouldn’tend well.
“Take your hand off her.”
He looks up at me and recalibratesquickly.“I’m sorry, who are you?”
