With Crayons and Love (Romantic Suspense) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 1 - Unexpected

Entry 1

There's a certain finesse to memories. You have to make certain that you only remember what will benefit you at the moment, otherwise you will find your head spiraling out of control. I'm telling you this, Journal, because I feel as if someone other than myself should be blessed with this theory.

Here's a light example: Sometimes I still find myself remembering my sixteenth birthday, when I had found a hungry cat under my mother's laundry basin.

I never liked to remember that time and think about how the cat had been nearly starving to death under my nose. No, that only depressed me. Instead I preferred to remember how that lonely, poorly fed, abandoned cat had found its way to me in the first place, and that because of my generous soul it hadn't gone to kitty heaven.

I think memories are controversial. Some things you want to remember, some things you don't. Some things you only want to remember partially.

As I do. There is a certain part of my life that I prefer to keep completely omitted, and remember nothing about, feel nothing about. Sometimes I actually can. I won't even take the time to write about that part of my life down in this virtual journal of scattered thoughts and notes, which I have finally attempted to write (let's see how long that lasts).

Journal, my name is Tessa S. O'Brien, and I won't tell you what the 'S stands for.

I'm unstable and flighty. Damaged. A true artist to the very bone of me. How I remember to religiously pay the bills really does amaze me, and the fact that I have a "cleaning routine" only makes me more astounding.

I hate the sound of telephones. And static. And loud random noises that terrify me without mercy. I hate it when things ring like there's no bloody tomorrow. And I'm only telling you this because I am trying to express my rage in a more civil manner, like writing about it. Even now as my phone is ringing, and I am fighting the urge to throw a vase as it.

I closed the laptop and stood from my desk. I must have forgotten how utterly crucial it was for me to put the thing on vibrate after I finished working in the studio. So I got a bit angry and walked to where it lay, on the couch where I had been reading Anne Rice.

"Hello?" It was a snarl.

"Tessa, honey. Was something ringing again?" My mother's laughter was jubilant on the line.

"No." But I laughed.

She let out a sigh, the gears in her brain turning. "Tomorrow's Saturday, right? You're free for lunch, I'm sure." She paused. "Honey, say you're free for lunch."

"I'm free for lunch, ma. Jeez. Just ask next time."

Lunches with my mother called for meditation. My mat, which I kept under the living room, beckoned me. I slipped it out and put in a random yoga disk, then did my best toward reaching a calmer state of mind.

A bubble bath followed, with some scented candles. Sweet Serendipity, they were called, but they smelled like chamomile and jasmine.

Some heavily sugared Twinning's tea and I knocked out in my bed just seconds after. I dreamed of dragons and flowers. My mother, though well loved, was the dragon.

***

My mother was a spontaneous woman. Expect the unexpected, and vice versa. So I just looked around with skeptic brows when she grabbed my hand and took me inside a fancy hotel.

"This isn't lunch."

"It is!"

"Is this the announcement to some secret wedding you had over the weekend? I will tell dad."

"No! I love your father, as you know. Shut up."

I laughed at her. She took me to a coffee shop, where I bought myself a prosciutto panino and a caramel latte.

"How was your morning?" I asked, taking another bite.

"Dandy. Just dandy." She wasn't looking me in the eye. Instead her gray eyes were hooded by the bangs of her bouncy red bob.

"Rianne O'Brien. You're hiding-"

"Yes, yes I am."

"Oh." That was easy. "There's always rehabilitation."

My mother whacked my arm from across the table as I grinned at her.

"Your cousin John. Remember him? Red hair, bright green eyes."

I nodded, sipped. "Of course I remember him, ma. He's remarkably sweet."

My mother's head bobbed awkwardly, and she smiled at me. But her bottom lip warningly started to quiver. "He and his wife Cheryl were in a car accident last weekend." She looked down at her lap. "They're at rest now."

My eyes widened. Dear God. The knot in my stomach couldn't get any tighter. I was not one to take death lightly, especially if it was in the family. No matter how limitedly I had seen John and his wife, who had lived in Boston, it still hurt me, troubled me. Death could come so unexpectedly, and to people so young.

They had a baby. They were in love.

"There it is. That look in your eyes. You've always had such a big heart. You've just never seen it." A tear fell down her face, and she took the time to regain herself. My heart twisted painfully for her, for the loss of her nephew and his family.

"Well." She shook her body, wiped the moisture away. "This is a long shot but I have to try, for our family. John and Cheryl's daughter, Stella, is being cared for by her aunt for a good two weeks. The woman isn't willing to take the girl, poor child, under her wing for any longer than that. And no one else is able to care for her from her mother's side. But we- we can. O'Briens do it the old Irish way; no family gets left behind." She smiled, hope in her baby blue eyes.

"Who will take care of her after those two weeks?" I drank some coffee, terrified.

"We don't know yet. I'm going to cut the crap and tell you what I wanted to tell you in the first place. I can't take care of Stella, my sister can't either. We're not so young, honey. I'm forty-eight, and a five year old will kill me. Can you take care of Stella, while we look for a home for her? In the family? I would die before I gave her away to another family. It just won't do."

I stared, dumfounded. Terrified. I had never been so stupefied before in my life.

"You want me, a twenty-three year old pottery artist and erratic journalist, to take care of a five year old girl."

"Yes. Temporarily."

"Mother. Sometimes I forget to feed myself."

"That's the beauty of you, child. You're selfless enough to forget yourself, but others never go unnoticed."

"I don't even know how to feed a person, let alone change a diaper."

"She starts kindergarten in two months, Tessa. And she's potty-trained."

"This is a child, ma! Not a state-of-the-art life-sized doll."

"Tessa, please. Just tell me you'll think about it."

I took a colossal bite from the panino, gulped coffee and took my satchel. The door couldn't seem farther.

"Okay, okay. I'll think about it. And I'm sorry about John." I kissed my mother's cheek and fled.

___________________________

Ahhhhhhhhh! I posted. Oh lord. So I'm experimenting to see what I commit to and post for you all! I have two ideas and this is one of them. Let's see what happens. I'm excited and scared. Let me know what you think, please!

Song in the links, and a picture of Tessa.

Thanks to @kimbasgirl for making me a cover!