Tessa saw the shock on Ian’s face, and knew her own features must look equally as startled. “You - you knew me?” she whispered in bemusement. “When? I mean, how? I don’t remember you, I’m sorry. And my mother never mentioned your name.”
Glen shook his balding head sadly. “No, I don’t suppose she did. As for your not remembering me yourself, that’s not really a surprise either. The last time I saw you was just before your fourth birthday, and it was right after that when you and your mother disappeared. I tried to find you for years, but unfortunately Gillian was very, very good at vanishing into thin air when she wanted to. And, hard as it is to imagine now, there was no internet or cell phones twenty-odd years ago. Not like today, when it’s much easier to locate someone.”
Tessa clutched at Ian’s forearm to steady herself, totally overwhelmed with this revelation. “We moved around a lot. And it probably started right around the time I was four or five years old. Sometimes we moved three or four times in a single year. Mom was - well, pretty unstable by then.”
“I’m aware,” replied Glen, sighing. “I tried so hard with Gillian, did everything I could short of having her committed, to get her help. She’d stay on her meds for awhile, promise that everything would be different this time. And then she’d decide whatever pills she was taking were stifling her creativity, or making her feel like an alien in her own body, and she’d flush them down the toilet. It was usually a day or two later when she’d pack up her things, take you, and disappear in the middle of the night.”
Ian, as he always did, was extremely attuned to Tessa’s emotions, and slid an arm around her shoulders to silently offer his support. “Mr. Rockwell,” he began quietly, “you’ll have to forgive Tessa if none of this sounds familiar. Gillian apparently never liked to discuss her past, never divulged much information about her life. We’ve been trying to piece bits and pieces together over the past year, including a visit to Oak Grove just last month. It was - disturbing, to say the least.”
“I can imagine,” said Glen sympathetically. To Tessa, he inquired “You’ve read the other books, haven’t you?” At her nod, he hesitated before continuing. “And I assume after your visit to Minnesota you’ve realized that the books were about your mother’s life? That the character of Chelsea was really Gillian.”
“I know,” replied Tessa in a low voice. “And I also know now that my grandmother was abusive, that all the scenes in the first two books actually happened. It was - upsetting to realize that everything was based on real life. But, please. Will you tell me what you know about my mother? And how you knew me? Ian’s right. I have very few memories of my childhood, not even any photos or other mementoes. Everything was lost in a fire ten years ago. Including my mother.”
Glen closed his eyes, a visible shudder passing through his slightly rotund body. “So she’s dead then.” It was more statement than question. ‘I figured as much. Your mother - when she was manic, it was like watching an entire fireworks display going off on the Fourth of July. She had so much passion and energy, so much love for life. But someone who pushes herself that hard, who refuses to stop and take a breath every now and then - well, that sort of passion tends to fade rapidly. ‘She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too bright for this world.’ I always think of Gillian whenever I read that quote.”
Ian nodded. “Wuthering Heights. And, yes. From what little I know of Gillian, I would say that was probably a fitting description. Would you possibly have some time to spend with us, Mr. Rockwell? I know Tessa would be incredibly grateful to learn whatever she could about her mother. As she said, there was really nothing left after the fire. That’s why we’ve been searching for more than a year to complete the collection of Gillian’s books. Until we found a hardcover edition with a book jacket, Tessa didn’t even have a photo of her mother.”
Glen brightened. “Well, I can help you there. Back in my office I’ve got an envelope stashed away somewhere with old photos of your mother. Even ones of you as a baby and a little girl, I believe. Look, just let me close up the place, it’s about that time anyway, and we can sit in my office and chat for a bit. Give me just a few minutes. Oh, and before I forget.”
He walked behind the counter where the cash register sat, and reached for something on a shelf. “This is what you came here for, I believe.”
Glen handed her a nearly new paperback copy of the long sought after fourth book Gillian had penned. Tessa stared at it in disbelief before hugging it close against her chest.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ve wanted to read this so badly. Needed to know how her story continued.”
Glen smiled at her sadly. “It’s different than the other books. More upbeat, more positive. But there are also a number of chapters and passages where her writing became erratic, and almost muddled. I remember having to make an awful lot of edits just to get it published. It didn’t sell nearly as well as the others, which is probably why you’ve had such a difficult time finding a copy. But I won’t spoil it for you, dear. It’s - well, I think you’ll be pleased overall, especially with the way it ends. Now, let me lock up and we’ll go have a good long chat in my office.”
Tessa was hardly able to contain her excitement as she clutched Ian’s arm. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she murmured happily. “To not only find the book, but someone who actually knew my mother? And me! And he has photographs, Ian! Ones of me as a baby. I can’t believe this.”
Ian grinned down at her. “I can. After all, didn’t you realize that today’s a Wednesday? And only good things happen to you on Wednesdays now.”
She laughed in delight, and began to flip through the pages of the book they had tried to find for so many months. “Well, I hope you don’t have too much work for me this evening, Mr. Gregson,” she teased. “This book doesn’t appear to be as long as the other ones, so I might be able to get through half of it tonight.”
“Hmm.” He pulled her into his arms, bending down until their foreheads touched. “I don’t have any spreadsheets or letters that need to be done until tomorrow. But I do have other - ah, needs that require your attention, Ms. Lockwood.”
Glen shook his balding head sadly. “No, I don’t suppose she did. As for your not remembering me yourself, that’s not really a surprise either. The last time I saw you was just before your fourth birthday, and it was right after that when you and your mother disappeared. I tried to find you for years, but unfortunately Gillian was very, very good at vanishing into thin air when she wanted to. And, hard as it is to imagine now, there was no internet or cell phones twenty-odd years ago. Not like today, when it’s much easier to locate someone.”
Tessa clutched at Ian’s forearm to steady herself, totally overwhelmed with this revelation. “We moved around a lot. And it probably started right around the time I was four or five years old. Sometimes we moved three or four times in a single year. Mom was - well, pretty unstable by then.”
“I’m aware,” replied Glen, sighing. “I tried so hard with Gillian, did everything I could short of having her committed, to get her help. She’d stay on her meds for awhile, promise that everything would be different this time. And then she’d decide whatever pills she was taking were stifling her creativity, or making her feel like an alien in her own body, and she’d flush them down the toilet. It was usually a day or two later when she’d pack up her things, take you, and disappear in the middle of the night.”
Ian, as he always did, was extremely attuned to Tessa’s emotions, and slid an arm around her shoulders to silently offer his support. “Mr. Rockwell,” he began quietly, “you’ll have to forgive Tessa if none of this sounds familiar. Gillian apparently never liked to discuss her past, never divulged much information about her life. We’ve been trying to piece bits and pieces together over the past year, including a visit to Oak Grove just last month. It was - disturbing, to say the least.”
“I can imagine,” said Glen sympathetically. To Tessa, he inquired “You’ve read the other books, haven’t you?” At her nod, he hesitated before continuing. “And I assume after your visit to Minnesota you’ve realized that the books were about your mother’s life? That the character of Chelsea was really Gillian.”
“I know,” replied Tessa in a low voice. “And I also know now that my grandmother was abusive, that all the scenes in the first two books actually happened. It was - upsetting to realize that everything was based on real life. But, please. Will you tell me what you know about my mother? And how you knew me? Ian’s right. I have very few memories of my childhood, not even any photos or other mementoes. Everything was lost in a fire ten years ago. Including my mother.”
Glen closed his eyes, a visible shudder passing through his slightly rotund body. “So she’s dead then.” It was more statement than question. ‘I figured as much. Your mother - when she was manic, it was like watching an entire fireworks display going off on the Fourth of July. She had so much passion and energy, so much love for life. But someone who pushes herself that hard, who refuses to stop and take a breath every now and then - well, that sort of passion tends to fade rapidly. ‘She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too bright for this world.’ I always think of Gillian whenever I read that quote.”
Ian nodded. “Wuthering Heights. And, yes. From what little I know of Gillian, I would say that was probably a fitting description. Would you possibly have some time to spend with us, Mr. Rockwell? I know Tessa would be incredibly grateful to learn whatever she could about her mother. As she said, there was really nothing left after the fire. That’s why we’ve been searching for more than a year to complete the collection of Gillian’s books. Until we found a hardcover edition with a book jacket, Tessa didn’t even have a photo of her mother.”
Glen brightened. “Well, I can help you there. Back in my office I’ve got an envelope stashed away somewhere with old photos of your mother. Even ones of you as a baby and a little girl, I believe. Look, just let me close up the place, it’s about that time anyway, and we can sit in my office and chat for a bit. Give me just a few minutes. Oh, and before I forget.”
He walked behind the counter where the cash register sat, and reached for something on a shelf. “This is what you came here for, I believe.”
Glen handed her a nearly new paperback copy of the long sought after fourth book Gillian had penned. Tessa stared at it in disbelief before hugging it close against her chest.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ve wanted to read this so badly. Needed to know how her story continued.”
Glen smiled at her sadly. “It’s different than the other books. More upbeat, more positive. But there are also a number of chapters and passages where her writing became erratic, and almost muddled. I remember having to make an awful lot of edits just to get it published. It didn’t sell nearly as well as the others, which is probably why you’ve had such a difficult time finding a copy. But I won’t spoil it for you, dear. It’s - well, I think you’ll be pleased overall, especially with the way it ends. Now, let me lock up and we’ll go have a good long chat in my office.”
Tessa was hardly able to contain her excitement as she clutched Ian’s arm. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she murmured happily. “To not only find the book, but someone who actually knew my mother? And me! And he has photographs, Ian! Ones of me as a baby. I can’t believe this.”
Ian grinned down at her. “I can. After all, didn’t you realize that today’s a Wednesday? And only good things happen to you on Wednesdays now.”
She laughed in delight, and began to flip through the pages of the book they had tried to find for so many months. “Well, I hope you don’t have too much work for me this evening, Mr. Gregson,” she teased. “This book doesn’t appear to be as long as the other ones, so I might be able to get through half of it tonight.”
“Hmm.” He pulled her into his arms, bending down until their foreheads touched. “I don’t have any spreadsheets or letters that need to be done until tomorrow. But I do have other - ah, needs that require your attention, Ms. Lockwood.”
