A Good Measure, page 3
“Okay,” Quinn said. “Maybe I’ll see if he’s on Facebook yet—I used to check, but he never was. If he is, I’ll send him a message, but if he isn’t, maybe you can get his address from Mrs. Tennyson, so I can send a note.”
“Okay,” Ames said. “I’m sure he’d love to hear from you. He really did give a nice eulogy for Jack . . . and he’s as handsome as ever.”
Quinn smiled, remembering her friend. “He’s definitely a looker.”
Ames nodded but didn’t say anything more, and after they’d hung up, she wondered why Quinn and Chase had lost touch—they’d been inseparable when they were growing up. They’d even gone to their prom together. Ames always thought they made a cute couple, and she’d secretly hoped they’d end up together, but then Frank had dashed her hopes by telling her about a conversation he’d overheard them having on the front porch. Frank was constantly eavesdropping, and that was one thing Ames didn’t miss about him: he was a nosy busybody . . . and a gossip. But she now knew—thanks to the eulogy Chase had given—that her husband had been right.
She washed and rinsed the smoothie maker and set it in the dish drain, and for the millionth time, prayed, with a mother’s heart, that some handsome fellow—who loved hiking and kids and dogs—would come along and sweep her sweet daughter off her feet. More than anything in the world, she wanted Quinn to be loved by a man who would put her first in his life. It was something she never had.
4
CHASE TENNYSON LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR AND SLOWLY SWIPED HIS FINGER through the condensation on his glass before downing the last of his iced tea. He licked his lips, savoring the fresh lemon, but wished it was something stronger . . . and it would be, if it wasn’t for Liam.
“The least you can do is wait till after five,” Liam had teased when he’d come home early the day before and found Chase sipping a vodka tonic.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Chase quipped. “And it’s not an everyday occurrence,” he added defensively. “Besides, we’re living on the beach now . . . we should enjoy it.”
“Mm-hmm,” Liam replied, squeezing his shoulder.
Chase shook his head. “I can’t help it—the tick-tock’s moving too damn slow. I keep thinking about the sun sinking, like it did when we were in Mykonos.” He smiled at the memory of the trip they’d taken to Greece the previous year. “Hey, Alexa,” he called to the speaker on the counter, “play ‘Day Drinking’ by Little Big Town.” And as the playful party song filled the kitchen, he eyed Liam. “You want one, don’t you?”
Liam glanced at the clock. “What the hey,” he replied with a grin.
Chase laughed, knowing it didn’t take much to convince him. He also knew, deep down, that his partner was right to call him out on his lack of self-discipline—he was absolutely capable of overdoing things. Liam called it his “devil-may-care” attitude and said he “tended to push the envelope.” Both were valid observations, but Chase always countered by saying he was just embracing life . . . seizing the day. And besides, he hadn’t always been this way. Growing up in the shadow of five older brothers, Chase had known, early on, that he was different. His mom said he had a gentle way about him. She called him her old soul and told his dad he had his own song to sing. She said he’d been born with a tender heart and an extra dose of compassion. On report cards, his teachers noted his affinity for befriending and fiercely defending his less popular—and often bullied—classmates. They called him the little boy with the big heart, and when he graduated from elementary school, he was given the much-revered “Good Citizen Award” because he always helped—without being asked—his friend Cashen Childs, a classmate with autism who struggled with the rigors of school. On the farm, Chase also took under his wing any animal—mammal or fowl—that was being neglected by its mother or in the case of Happy—the little freemartin calf that was almost turned into veal by his father—by becoming her advocate, savior, and best friend.
But as he’d grown taller, Chase had known there was something else. With piercing blue eyes, a shy gentle smile, and long dark lashes that were the envy of every woman he ever met, he was constantly drawing the attention of girls in school, and although he dated a couple of times, it never felt quite right . . . and then, as his world grew wider—and wilder, Chase grew wiser. He discovered how unkind and unjust the world could be, and out of necessity, he became keenly aware of everything happening around him. He learned to be cautious and to keep things to himself. At the same time, under the watchful eye of his protective and mischievous older brothers, his wry, fun-loving, devil-may-care attitude had blossomed . . . and it was accompanied by a good deal of country boy partying around backwoods bonfires. After all, life was too short to waste time worrying . . . or waiting on the damn tick-tock!
He glanced at the time on his laptop now and wondered what was keeping Liam. He was just about to close out when he heard the screen door bang and a deep voice call, “Chase, can you come grab this . . . quick!?”
Chase pushed back his chair and hurried to the front door in time to see a catastrophe unfolding that would’ve been funny if it didn’t involve two bottles of wine. “Whoa!” he said, grabbing the paper bag that was slipping from Liam’s grasp. “Are you against making two trips?” he asked, eyeing the laptop, two full grocery bags, and gallon of milk Liam was juggling.
“It started raining and I thought I could manage, but then it all started to go awry.”
“I guess,” Chase said. The screen door banged again, and he stepped out onto the porch to close it. “I hear there’s a nor’easter coming up the coast and Tybee is right in its path.”
“I think it might already be here,” Liam said, unloading his arms onto the kitchen counter.
“Were they able to fix your laptop?”
“Yes. They said the last update messed up my mail app. I don’t know how they fixed it, but everything seems to be working.”
“Did they know why it affected your phone?”
Liam shrugged. “No. Just a weird glitch, I guess.”
“Well, it’s time for a new phone anyway. That thing is a relic!”
Liam nodded. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I need to catch up on my emails—people probably think I’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”
“I doubt that. They’ve still been able to reach me, and the website says we’re moving, so they probably think we’re just busy.” He began to unpack the groceries, and when he pulled a container of ice cream out of the bag, he shook his head. “Man, I miss my family’s ice cream. Tennyson’s Rocky Top is the best flavor on the planet!”
“So I’ve heard,” Liam replied, “but I still haven’t had a chance to try it.”
“Did you look for it? They’re supposed to be carrying it.”
“I did look, but sorry, mate. No joy.”
“Well, we’ll just have to take a trip to the farm—it’s the creamiest coffee ice cream you’ll ever taste and it has chunks of the most decadent chocolate brownies. Man, oh, man—it’s to die for! Besides, we haven’t seen my mom since Christmas, so we’re long overdue.”
While he had the freezer door open, Chase filled his glass with ice. “You want a cocktail . . . or the whole rooster?” he asked, looking up with an impish grin.
Liam glanced at the clock. “I think I’ll just have a glass of wine.”
“Suit yourself,” Chase said as he poured a generous amount of Tito’s into his glass and splashed tonic over it. He squeezed a lime into the still-fizzing bubbles and then reached for a corkscrew. “Red or white?”
Liam looked up from his laptop. “Red,” he said, continuing to scroll. “Sheesh! I have at least three hundred emails.”
“You’re a popular guy,” Chase teased as he opened one of the boxes stacked in the corner, looking for a wineglass. “We really need to start unpacking.”
“Mm-hmm,” Liam murmured distractedly. “I bet ninety percent are business related.”
Chase finally found a glass, poured the wine, and set it on the table. “And you thought we wouldn’t do well, but here we are, two years later, buying a house on the beach.”
Liam looked up. “You’re right, but I should’ve known, with you at the helm, we’d have nothing but success.”
Chase grinned and took a sip. “Not just me—you have the business sense.”
“Business sense will get you nowhere without someone who’s a genius at marketing,” Liam countered, taking a sip of his wine.
“Do I hear a trace of sarcasm in your voice?” Chase quipped, eyeing him.
“Me?! Noo . . .”
“Ha! Well, it was a good idea.” Chase leaned back in his chair, slowly swiped his finger down the side of his glass, and thought about the business outline he’d been working on that afternoon to promote their new office in downtown Savannah. He felt the relaxing sensation of the alcohol and as he watched Liam tap away on his keyboard, his mind drifted to the first time they’d met . . . and how they’d come up with the idea for their business.
The syllabus for Advance and Advantage—affectionately known to the business majors as Entrepreneurship 101—stated that the goal of the required course was to: Find a unique need and fill it. The bulk of the work (after coming up with that unique need) involved outlining a marketing strategy: from advertising that included a website and social media pages, and pinpointing an audience to financing and projecting annual income and expenses. At the end of the semester, students—who had the option of working in teams—were expected to present their business at a symposium attended by professionals . . . and potential investors.
On the first day of class, Chase had sat in the last row of the small lecture hall, recovering from a presemester blowout and waiting for Dodgy Doug—the old codger who’d taught the class since the beginning of time—to waddle in, but when a tall, slender boy with sun-bleached chestnut-brown hair sat in front of him, Chase couldn’t help but notice. At the end of class, he’d slung his backpack over his shoulder, and the boy had stood, too, and turned to look back. “Ole Doug is a piece of work,” he remarked, shouldering a leather satchel.
“He is,” Chase agreed.
The boy extended his hand. “Liam Evans.”
“Chase Tennyson,” Chase said.
They’d chatted as they stepped out into the late summer afternoon and continued to talk about the amount of work the class entailed. Finally, Chase, on a whim—and suspecting they might have more in common than the pursuit of a business degree—suggested they work together. “Divide and conquer,” he’d said with a grin, and Liam, to his surprise, had agreed.
That night, over a six-pack—because Chase said beer-storming always produced better results than “plain ole brainstorming,” they’d come up with an idea for a travel agency that would specialize in finding safe, friendly, and welcoming destinations for the LGBTQ community. They worked long and hard on their project, growing ever closer as they did, and ultimately their hard work paid off—Pride Travel was a huge hit at the end-of-the-year symposium, and their professor, seeing its potential, introduced them to one of the professionals in attendance who had deep pockets. The young woman had given them her card and said to absolutely call.
That was nearly five years ago now! Chase sipped his drink and felt his stomach rumble. He looked over at Liam. “What did we say we were having for dinner tonight?”
Liam looked up. “I thought we were getting pizza from that place Gage and Maeve recommended. Huca something . . .”
“Oh, yeah,” Chase said, his face brightening. He opened his laptop and began searching for the website of the restaurant his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law had recommended. “Huc-A-Poo’s Bites & Booze,” he said, finding it. “My kind of place.” He sipped his drink as he perused the menu and read the pizza options out loud. “Here’s one,” he said. “The Omnivore . . . The garbage can of pizzas served with a bunch of meats and veggies.”
“Perfect!” Liam said, taking a sip of his wine and looking out at the rain. “Do they deliver? Because I really don’t feel like going back out.”
Chase consulted the website again. “They do,” he confirmed. “Is a large enough?”
“Sure,” Liam replied, turning his attention back to his emails.
Chase tapped the number into his phone, ordered, gave them the address of their beach cottage, and hung up, looking dismayed. “Forty-five minutes! I don’t know if I’ll last that long.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Chase got up to freshen his drink and then clicked on his Facebook page and noticed a new “friend” request. He had never been a big fan of social media and only had a few “friends.” The catalyst for joining had been the need to promote Pride Travel, and it was only later that he’d made a personal page.
He clicked on the request and the name that popped up brought back a rush of memories. “Quinn Fin,” he murmured, smiling wistfully. “Hmm . . . I don’t know.”
Liam looked up quizzically.
“An old classmate sent me a friend request.”
“How come you don’t know if you can accept?”
Chase took a sip of his drink. “Something that happened . . . but if I could’ve ever fallen for a girl, it would’ve been Quinn Finley.”
Liam watched curiously as Chase scrolled down his friend’s page.
“Pretty as ever, though. Blond hair, blue-sky eyes, tan, athletic . . . and the kindest person you’ll ever meet.” He looked at Quinn’s information. “My mom said she moved to San Francisco after college . . . I wonder if she lives near your parents.” He continued to scroll, looking at her pictures, and then stopped and laughed. “Oh, wow! You have to see this picture!” He turned his laptop so Liam could see a photo Quinn had posted several years earlier. It was of two ten-year-old towheaded kids with their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, holding blue ribbons and grinning from ear to ear; behind them were two big brown-and-white cows with eyes the color of melted chocolate. The caption read: TBT! BFFs with our bovines and blue ribbons. #crossmyheart
“Wow! Is that you?!”
Chase nodded.
“What were the ribbons for?”
“4-H—it’s a youth agriculture program we were in when we were kids—they say it’s to help develop leadership skills, but we just had fun raising and showing our cows at the fair.” He smiled. “Now, look at this one . . .” He clicked on a second picture and Liam studied it with a slow smile. It was of a high-school-age Chase wearing a dark gray suit with his arm around the girl—now grown up and wearing a long dark blue dress. The caption read: My sweet prom date! #crossmyheart
“I didn’t know you went to your prom.”
“Yep,” Chase confirmed. “Damn,” he said wistfully. “I haven’t seen Quinn in years.”
“What’s with the hashtag?”
“Just something we used to say to each other.”
As he said this, a notification of a new message popped up and when he clicked the icon, the drop-down bar showed it was a message from Quinn. Liam nodded. “Looks like she wants to reconnect.” He looked up. “Does she know?”
Chase nodded. “She knows—she was the first—and only—person I . . .” But before he could finish, the doorbell rang, and he pushed back his chair. “That was quick!”
5
WHEN LIBBY WALKED ALONG THE MOSS-COVERED STONE WALL THAT FRAMED their farm, she always imagined an old farmer working in the hot sun, carefully choosing each stone before setting it in place. Stone walls took planning, and this wall—which had stood the test of time—was a testament to the farmer’s skill and care. She also wondered, as she walked, what worries he might have had and what prayers he had prayed. If he’d had children, he would’ve had plenty to pray about. She considered the stones, too, each one spotted with pale green curls of lichen—and realized that many of them had probably never been touched again. She also loved to listen to the chipmunks scolding her as they scampered through leaves and scooted into crevices, only to peek back out and watch her pass. She watched the chickadees and warblers, too, light on the uppermost wall and sing breezy summer songs or warn the others of her presence. In one direction, the wall ran the entire length of the road. In the other, it rolled up and down the hills of their six-hundred-acre farm, occasionally interrupted by white wooden gates that could be swung wide so the herd could move from one pasture to another.
In front of the wall, at the end of the driveway, was where Jack had planted their mailbox. For years, Bill Wright, the mailman, had tried to get Jack to move the box to the beginning of the road—which had no outlet—so he wouldn’t have to drive the extra mile every day just to deliver a bill or two and the monthly American Dairymen, but Jack had never obliged. Even Bob Garret, who delivered the Knoxville Daily Sun, took up the cause for a while, saying Jack . . . or Libby . . . or one of the boys drove, rode, or walked past the box at least twice a day, but Jack wouldn’t budge. He paid his damn taxes and the least the damn government could do was deliver his damn mail to his damn box . . . and the same went for his damn newspaper!
But now Jack was gone, and when Bill mentioned it to Libby, she had Matt moving it the very next morning.
“How come Grandpa never moved the mailbox?” Ellie asked as they planted blue blotch, true blue, and deep orange pansies around the new cedar post.
“Why do you think?” Libby asked as she pulled cube-shaped clumps of pansies from their plastic trays and handed them to her granddaughter.
“Because Tennysons are as stubborn as the day is long,” Ellie said, using the phrase her mom used when she talked about the Tennyson side of the family.
“Precisely,” Libby said. “Let’s just hope you missed out on that trait.”
“Dad says I did not,” Ellie said as she brushed dirt from her hands. She stood to admire their work. “I love orange and blue together.”
“That’s because they’re opposites and they complement each other, like red and green or purple and yellow.”
