Mind Fields

Preface

Even before Tessa saw it, she knew it was a gun: so cliché, so typically male, so utterly final. She wanted to laugh. This is how men punctuate a difficult situation, she thought.

Peter, ex-husband, was stumbling to his feet, breathing in gasps at the vicious kick he’d taken. He looked up at Tessa, his face pained, confused, angry. She wished she could help. She had so many things to say to him, but now was not the time. She looked into the barrel of the gun, and took a step back, as if that extra three feet might be enough to slow the bullet down to a speed that wouldn’t pierce her skin, her flesh, her heart.

She tripped on the heavy wool rug, bunched up and disturbed. She caught herself, small consolation as her killer stepped forward.

This is over, he growled. I am done playing.

And Tessa’s skin, clammy and stretched already, felt like the blood had drained from it, retreating deep within her. She felt nauseous, but she would see this through. She swallowed hard, and tasted panic setting in. To her left, dark movement caught her attention. She turned. Outside, three crows flew by. Beyond them, dirt swept up in isolated puffs as workers picked tomatoes, unaware of the double murder about to occur.

The birds, so black with beaks long and shiny, seemed to have arrived to escort her to whatever was next. She turned back. The open barrel of the gun as black as the crows.

They flew free, but Tessa prepared herself. She would soon be free too.

Chapter 1

Tessa Johansen paused in the middle of her morning lunch preparation, took a deep breath, and yelled up at the pale yellow ceiling.

Cal! Elizabeth! I need you down those stairs now!

Two muffled voices called back. Coming.

Tessa turned to her mother, sitting like she always did in the morning at the small, circular breakfast table, one hand on her forehead, the other hand lightly fingering the handle of her coffee cup like she was playing some new musical instrument. She didn’t react at all to the loud voices. She never did. Her doctor said that it was partly due to hearing loss, but partly due to the Alzheimer’s. It took Nana a while to get going in the morning – no surprise there – but Tessa’s mother always seemed to come to a lower plateau of awareness when she did get going. She was like a yoyo at the end of the arm of a bored child. The toy would fall and return, but never reach the same point, until it stopped. Tessa put her hands on her hips, tearing her gaze from her mother.

Coming means you are not here. I need you here. Now. It’s 7:20. We leave in ten minutes. I will not have you late this morning. I’m meeting with my boss at nine. I can’t have any of us late.

Sid Waterman, director of Bay-Tel’s software development group, had sent Tessa an email late last night asking her to be in the office at nine. Bay-Tel was that state’s largest telecommunications equipment manufacturer. Last month, Sid had promoted Tessa from project manager to people manager. Her responsibilities moved from tracking software releases as an individual contributor to managing a team of five project managers. The promotion had come unexpectedly – like a puff of San Francisco’s famous fog that could suddenly condense and magically appear overhead – and the nerves that came with the new job had rapidly been overtaken by pride. Promotions happened to others, and she knew she deserved one too.

You don’t need to yell, said Cal, appearing through the kitchen door, his black hair parted on the side falling across his forehead and down. His black shirt hung loosely from his thin shoulders. We’re right here.

Tessa huffed, fighting an urge to tell him his black jeans were much too tight. But you weren’t here, and you never are, unless I scream bloody murder at you. And that black t-shirt will not be enough, young man. It’s going to be freezing today.

Cal sat next to his grandmother. Hey Nana, he said, his voice light and pleasant. She looked up at Cal and smiled. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

Elizabeth walked to the table, but stopped, looking over her mother’s shoulder. Tessa looked up, then wagged the knife in her hand, tuna sitting on the end. Not a word from you, young lady, unless you want to be making your own lunch from now on, which I still don’t know why you can’t. She pushed a loose strand of hair from her face, then glared at her daughter.

Jeez, mom, the girl said, rolling her eyes. Just looking. Elizabeth, thin like Cal, had a tighter, athletic build than her brother. She outweighed Cal by a few pounds, and had been able to wrestle him into submission since she was five. Sports were her life. Theater was Cal’s. Elizabeth looked like her mother – many people said so – and both children had their father’s body type.

Sit down and eat something. We leave in, Tessa said, pausing, seven minutes. And don’t forget. Soccer practice is at 3:30 this afternoon. Your dad will pick you up right after school.

Tessa finished the lunches, then put them on the end of the counter. She looked at the table. The two children flanked their grandmother, who was now looking at Elizabeth, a smile stretching across her face.

You’re very beautiful, Nana said. Elizabeth looked into her grandmother’s eyes, her mouth slightly open.

Tessa paused and held her breath a moment, the air seemingly thicker. She looked to Elizabeth, then to Nana.

Behave. Behave. Behave.

A memory forced its way out. A year ago, Nana asking her granddaughter again what her name was, and Elizabeth staring at her as if she’d just been asked to expose herself.

The silent Elizabeth continued to stare, her body gradually beginning to shake. Then she burst out.

Elizabeth! My name is Elizabeth! I’m your granddaughter. Why can’t you remember my fucking name, you old witch!

Tessa, at the sink, had turned, unable to comprehend how her daughter could be so cruel to the woman who’d read Goodnight Moon to her every time she’d visited her as a young girl.

Tessa still remembered that frustrated tone, so angry, so mean. But it was Nana’s response that hurt more.

Oh, Nana had said, meek, shocked, afraid.

Elizabeth’s voice pulled Tessa away from the painful memory.

Thanks, Nana. It’s your genes. I had little to do with it. She smiled, then looked at Cal, then back to her cereal.

Tessa pushed the bad images away, telling herself there were more good memories than bad, but grateful – not for the first time – that Nana’s disease had ensured that she wouldn’t ever have to dwell on Elizabeth’s outburst, and wonder when it might happen again.

Nana looked up to Tessa, who sighed and melted as she looked in her mother’s face. She is beautiful, mom. You’re right.

What grade are you in, young lady? Nana asked.

Elizabeth looked at Tessa, then Cal. Cal mouthed, Your turn.

Eighth grade, Nana. I’m in the eighth grade, like yesterday.

Elizabeth, Tessa said under her breath, and both her children looked up at her. She glanced at the clock, and her face scrunched.

I’m going to get my shoes. When Consuela gets here, we’re out of here. Do you hear me?

Both children nodded, and as if on cue, the door bell rang.

There we go, Tessa said, pointing. Five minutes. Do you hear me? Five.

Without looking up from their bowls, Cal and Elizabeth both said, Five, in unison.

What happens then? Nana asked. Tessa looked at her mother for a moment with the glazed resignation she tried hard to avoid, then turned to her children. Tessa held up her hand, fingers splayed. ‘Five,’ she mouthed.

Although Consuela Juarez had cared for Tessa’s mother daily for the last year – when Nana’s Alzheimer’s had begun to really take hold of her mind – Nana often didn’t remember her daily companion. The two women were introduced to each other, five mornings a week, and Consuela always pretended she was meeting Nana for the first time. Tessa sometimes tried to comfort Consuela that her mother’s lack of recognition was nothing personal, but Consuela assured Tessa that comfort was unnecessary. Consuela, a retired nurse supplementing her pension by providing home care, had worked with several Alzheimer’s patients. She knew it wasn’t personal.

Ten minutes later, with introductions made and Consuela settled in, Tessa put her coffee in its cup holder. She backed her silver SUV from the driveway, then turned onto Folsom Street. The two children sat in the back seat, Elizabeth’s tired eyes staring out her window at the waving elm trees that lined the street, full and in need of their annual pruning. Cal bent forward and stared at something in his lap.

As usual, Tessa would drop Elizabeth at Hoover Middle School, before heading next to the High School of the Arts, for Cal.

Despite the car being a year old, Tessa could still pick up the new car smell that came with the price tag, but every morning, it was relentlessly blanketed by a delicate, comfortable aroma. Tessa glanced down at her coffee. It would be cold by the time she got to work, but she’d reheat it there. In the morning, the smell of coffee won out, but in all other cases, it was the new car smell that gave Tessa satisfaction.

Better than the dusty Cheerio smell that permeated the cars that she and Peter had driven when the children were little. Every car trip back then had included a small Tupperware bowl filled with the cereal for both Cal and Elizabeth, easy for them to grab with their pudgy toddler fingers. Their developing hands had ensured that they dropped a fair proportion to the floor and between the car seats, as they tried to maneuver the tasty circles into open mouths. Tessa could still hear the tick-tick-tick of escapee Cheerios as she vacuumed them up every weekend.

Peter would never take the time to remove them. He’d always said the same thing.

They’re just going to spill more tomorrow. What’s the point?

At the time, his response had seemed just a lazy man’s response to domestic labor. On the other hand, that smell never did seem to leave the car, no matter how often she cleaned. More than once she’d thought,

So what is the point? God, Peter isn’t right, is he?

Tessa glanced in her rear view mirror. Elizabeth, you have your history, correct? The girl nodded. I’ll call your father to remind him to pick you up today for soccer, okay?

If he makes it. He’s always late, you know. She looked out her window. It’s annoying.

I know, Tessa said. And he’s got a new car you know.

Tessa’s shoulders dropped. Another one? She shook her head. That man.

And this one is fast, Elizabeth continued, her focus still outside. Looks expensive. You’d think he could be there on time.

Tessa’s jaw tightened. She glanced in her rearview mirror to respond, he noticed Cal’s head down. Cal, what are you doing?

Cal looked up. Nothing. Sorry. Tessa tried to see into Cal’s lap from her rear-view mirror, but couldn’t make out what the boy was doing. She looked up to his face, which moved rapidly from guilt to pleading.

He’s texting, Elizabeth said. Tessa rolled her eyes.

Calvin, turn that phone on silent. You’ll get it taken away at school if it goes off in class.

Mom, for crying out loud. Anyway, I wasn’t texting. Cal’s eyes shifted from Tessa to Elizabeth, then back to her.

The SUV stopped at a light, and Tessa turned back. Don’t be defensive, young man.

He’s on the Internet, Elizabeth said, looking around Cal’s arm as he tried to block her view.