Free The Secret of Everything by Barbara O'Neal Page A

made huge mistakes.
    There was the black hole. Nothing she could say, nothing she could do would ever justify it or make it right. Lisa had died directly because she had entrusted herself to Tessa’s care. Lisa headed out to save them because Tessa told her to, and she died.
    Lying very still in the center of the bed, with the bells ringing and ringing, Tessa let the weight press her down, smother her. It was so unfair that she was still on the planet, walking around, while Lisa’s mother was probably breaking down over a kitchen sink somewhere, her hands in rubber gloves, the forks falling back into the water as she bent over, crying.
    So unfair.
    Lisa was gone for good. Forever. Because, plain and simple, Tessa did not do what she should have done. How did a person ever make that okay?
    She didn’t know. Wallowing would be too easy and would only add to her sins, trying to get sympathy for the crime of hubris.
    “Enough,” she said aloud, and pulled herself out of bed.
    Slightly sweaty even in the skinny cotton tank and gray shorts she slept in, Tessa washed her face, brushed her tangled hair and pulled it into a scrunchie, and made some hot water for tea. While the water heated, she opened the French doors to the plaza to let a breeze in, thinning the stale overnight air in her room. It smelled of spruce and possibility, and she breathed in gratefully.
    Here I am
.
    A waft of a dream came to her as she stood in the doorway, arms crossed loosely. Tasmania. She’d been dreaming of Tasmania, where she had lived for six happy years, four of them with the man she had believed she would marry. The happiest she had ever been in her life. Something about the air here, halfway around the world, made her think of Glenn and the town of Hobart, where they had lived between a towering mountain and the sea. It must have been the market yesterday, reminding her of the Salamanca Market on Saturdays in Hobart.
    It was in Tasmania, while living with Glenn, that she had become accustomed to drinking strong Australian-style tea, made the English way with milk and sugar. She carried English tea bags with her whenever she traveled in America.
    While her cup brewed this morning, she checked email andthen started working with her photos again. She selected a few to send to her boss and then pulled up the little girl watching the dancers at the cantina the other night. Idly, one foot tucked under her knee, tea steaming at her elbow, Tessa cropped it, bringing the focus to the chubby little fingers, the falling-down sock.
    The photos of Vince were there, too.
Mama mia
. He was freaking gorgeous. A soft wash of red light illuminated his throat, caught in his hair, along the curve of his lip. His chest, one sturdy thigh.
    A quiver of lust moved through her. She wasn’t usually attracted to such big men, but something about his giant legs and giant hands was working on her libido.
    Search and rescue, she thought. How appropriate.
    She heard herself humming “Rescue Me” under her breath, and snorted. It broke a little of her dark mood, and she took a sip of tea, laughing at herself.
    Maybe she was just horny. It had been a fairly long time since she’d had a man in her bed. Only a couple of times since she broke up with Glenn, which was probably a good thing. She really had not wanted some big rebound thing. Too much drama.
    She clicked forward, found the picture of Vince looking into the camera, long lashes and direct gaze, and a distinct zing worked its way through her belly.
    Anyway. She clicked the photo closed.
    A plan for today.
    There was no big hurry—she had decided last night that she wanted to spend more than a week here. She’d find a cheaper room in a few days, allow herself the time and pleasure of exploring the town that so charmed her, follow whatever linksmight come up to help her piece together her shattered memory.
    She did need to get organized, however. She wanted to meet with the woman who ran 100 Breakfasts and visit