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“I actually love shrimp and grits.”
“Good. Then you’ll love this more. Now dig in.”
Tess took a deep breath, wary of the way her stomach had rebelled all afternoon. One sniff of the spices and the buttery shrimp, though, and she was surprised to find that she was kind of hungry after all. “This smells really, really good.”
“I know.” Maria beamed. “My brother says I make the best polenta in Hamlet. I tell him, it’s because we’re the only Italians in the whole village so of course mine is the best.” Nudging a fork toward Tessa, she nodded. “Go on. Eat.”
Maria waited until the other woman picked up her fork and stuffed the first tomato slice into her mouth before taking up her own fork and sitting down across from the outsider.
There was something different about her today, Maria decided. The dark circles under Tessa’s eyes were more pronounced, though her golden eyes seemed vivid and bright; no longer glazed and dull, like they had been when Maria brought her the chicken pot pie last night. After she showered, Tessa had braided her hair out of her face and changed into a t-shirt and jeans that accentuated her tiny frame. She hadn’t put on any make-up.
This close, Maria thought she looked like a girl rather than a woman. At twenty-eight, she was barely older than Tessa, but she felt like she should take care of her.
Someone had to.
From Lucas, she knew that Tessa Sullivan was twenty-five, and that she’d been married to her husband Jack for a year before this tr
agedy struck. She couldn’t imagine how the newly made widow was handling all of this—Maria thought, if she was in her place, she wouldn’t have the strength to leave her bed.
And here was the poor woman, obviously distraught, terribly alone, and she was putting on a brave face to sit and eat with her hostess.
That was why Maria chose to make the polenta. The poor thing looked like she was skin and bones. It hadn’t escaped Maria’s notice that she barely touched the pot pie last night. It did her heart good to see half of the polenta finished before her guest started to pick at it with her fork.
She kept the conversation light, careful not to mention the dreadful circumstances that had the woman staying at Ophelia. Maria did most of the talking, in between eating her own supper and then clearing the dishes. She waved off Tessa’s offer of help, instead telling her another anecdote about living in Hamlet while she loaded the dishwasher.
It also didn’t get by her that the stories that intrigued Tessa the most all featured Lucas.
Maria was still chatting when she heard the dishwasher signal the end of the cycle. Startled, she looked over at the clock hanging next to the rangehood. Where in the world did the last two hours go?
She pushed away from the table. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Not that I don’t want to talk more, but I’ve got to be heading out to the market. I need to pick up a couple things for breakfast tomorrow.”
Maria hesitated. It had been so long since she had a conversation with another woman. Caitlin, she decided, didn’t count. She was more of a sister than an ex-sister-in-law and Maria knew perfectly well that Cait would rather eat her hat than engage in “chick chat”.
Tess hadn’t seemed to mind. With an impish shrug, Maria offered, “If you want, you can take the ride with me.”
“To the market?” Tess didn’t bother hiding her surprise. “There’s one in Hamlet?”
The laugh that escaped Maria reminded Tess of a twittering bird. It was a high-pitched trill, both sweet and incessantly annoying at the same time, and it seemed at odds with Maria’s normally throaty voice. “Yes, we have a market. It’s probably nothing that you’re used to, but it suits us. I’m not actually going to visit Jefferson’s market tonight, though. I’d planned to take the ride into town, hit the big grocery store they have. There’s more variety there.”
Tess almost accepted. Only the safety provided by the locks in her room, plus the sheriff’s orders, kept her from saying yes. She shook her head. “I think I’m gonna take another shower, maybe get some more sleep. Dinner was delicious, except now I feel like I want to pass out for a few hours. Food coma, you know?”
“Um… well, there’s more polenta in the fridge if you want it. And I don’t mind if you want to help yourself to a snack later. I’ll be back well before nine o’clock in case you need me.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Maria started to leave the kitchen before stopping by the refrigerator. She was torn. She’d promised Lucas she would keep an eye on the outsider. Then again, she was also the proprietor of a bed and breakfast struggling to find its legs after a short break. As much as she thought she should stay behind, it was kind of hard to honor the breakfast part of the agreement when she was fresh out of bread and eggs.
She lingered in the kitchen. “Mrs. Sullivan—”
“Tessa, please. Or Tess.”
Maria caught the woman’s small flinch, the same tiny frown pulling on her lips whenever Maria directly addressed her. It finally hit her. Of course she wouldn’t want to be called by her husband’s name. It had to be a stark reminder, a sharp stab every time she heard it.
She had thought it odd that Lucas seemed so comfortable with Tessa, calling her by her first name so soon after they met. It was a Hamlet custom, keeping outsiders on the outs by always using their last name when they addressed them. In this one case, she would follow Luc’s lead and buck tradition.
“Tess, then… would you mind if I ask you a favor?”
“You’re putting me up in your house, feeding me, helping me, and you think I’d mind doing anything you asked? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
