Christie Transforming Tessa

A Midlife Moxie Novel
1. Auflage 2026
ISBN: 979-8-31783088-5
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 332 Seiten

Reihe: Transforming Tessa

In 'Transforming Tessa,' newly widowed Tessa Adams is struggling to find her way in an unfamiliar life since the death of her beloved husband. No longer Jack's wife, sixty-five-year-old Tessa is on her own, trapped in her grief and unable to imagine an existence that might still hold happiness and fulfillment. As she gradually begins to rebuild her life and make new friends, Tessa finds herself offering encouragement and support to the women she comes to know, including recently divorced 60-year-old Deanna and Juliana, a young mother trying to escape from her abuser. But will Tessa be able to overcome her own fears and build a new future for herself?

Nancy Christie is the award-winning author of eleven fiction and nonfiction books. They include four novels-'Transforming Tessa,' 'Moving Maggie,' 'Finding Fran,' and 'Reinventing Rita'-as well as four short story collections-'The Language of Love,' 'Mistletoe Magic,' 'Peripheral Visions,' and 'Traveling Left of Center'-and two books for writers: 'Rut-Busting Book for Writers' and 'Rut-Busting Book for Authors.' Additionally, she has written an inspirational essay collection entitled 'The Gifts of Change.' Her short stories and essays have appeared in numerous print and online publications. Christie is the creator and host of the 'Living the Writing Life' podcast and is the founder of the annual 'Midlife Moxie Day' and 'Celebrate Short Fiction Day.' She teaches workshops at libraries and conferences and offers presentations on various topics to groups and organizations. Christie is also a member of the Women's Fiction Writers Association and the Florida Writers Association. Currently, she resides in Ohio.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Christie, Nancy

Leseproben

Chapter 1

“Tessa, I am so, so sorry.”

Tessa looked up from her plate where she had been pushing around a slice of meat loaf. Not eating any of it though. She wasn’t hungry. Hadn’t been hungry since…

Evelyn’s coat sleeve grazed the small pile of mashed potatoes cooling on the plate as the woman leaned down to give Tessa an awkward embrace. Not that it mattered. Tessa wasn’t going to eat the potatoes anyway.

“Fred would have been here, but he had to pick up our son at the Cleveland airport. He’s coming in for Christmas, you know,” Evelyn added as she stood up and straightened her scarf. “I still can’t believe it. We were all together for dinner barely two weeks ago, and now Jack’s gone.”

Tessa bit back her response. Ever since Jack died, she had found herself feeling anger, rage even, at the smallest thing. The paper being late. The December snow that covered the walkway she had to shovel. The stack of last-minute donation requests from organizations she’d never heard from before and doubted Jack had ever donated to.

And the endless sympathy cards that she had received and would have to respond to when all she wanted to do was crawl in a hole and forget about everything.

“Anyway,” Evelyn went on as she pulled her gloves from her handbag, “call me if there’s anything you need. Or if there’s anything I can do. Or… well, anything.”

Tessa just nodded.

“Your husband was a wonderful man, so kind and generous and thoughtful,” Evelyn said. “Well, I’ll be in touch then,” and she turned away.

That’s what everyone was saying—that Jack was so wonderful. Compassionate, one person told her. Always there when you needed him, someone else mentioned.

Well, maybe so, but he’s not here now, Tessa thought angrily. She needed him, and he wasn’t there. What kind of husband dies in the middle of the night and leaves his wife all alone?

It was the same question she’d been asking herself ever since it happened. She’d been sound asleep, and when Jack said her name, she thought at first it was part of a dream.

“Hmmm?” She had moved closer to him, wondering sleepily why he was calling to her in the middle of the night. Jack was always such a sound sleeper.

“Tess, something’s wrong. I don’t feel…” and then he stopped talking.

That’s all there had been. No last words for his wife of thirty-nine years. No chance for her to tell him that she loved him. No chance for her to do anything more than turn over and grasp his hand.

Sudden cardiac arrest, they said. Nothing could have been done, they said.

Four years ago, the cardiologist had warned them both that the arrhythmia that was part of Jack’s cardiac disease could unexpectedly cause his heart to beat out of its normal rhythm with a potentially fatal result.

“But that’s the worst-case scenario,” the doctor had said as he handed Jack a summary of the medications that had been ordered for him along with instructions for lifestyle changes. “Our goal is to keep you around so you can enjoy your upcoming retirement.”

So, Jack faithfully took the medications that were prescribed, lost those fifteen extra pounds he’d been carrying for the past twenty years, and stopped having his evening glass of wine. Not that any of it had mattered in the end.

Because Jack died anyway.

Tessa gathered her hat and coat, told her daughter and son-in-law she was leaving, and went out to the parking lot. She didn’t care that people were still there at the mercy meal, no doubt wanting to offer their condolences. All she wanted was to go home.

***

“The good news is that your heart is just fine. You have nothing to worry about on that score, Mrs. Adams.”

Tessa looked up as Dr. Braxton entered the room, her chart in his hand. His words should have reassured her, but they didn’t. Maybe they missed something. Maybe there was something wrong and tests just didn’t exist yet to find it. There must be some reason why, every now and then, she could feel her heart pounding so strongly that it caught her attention. Or was she just imagining it?

She pushed her hair back from her face, surprised at how greasy it felt. When had she last washed it? Yesterday? Two days ago? Last week? And it had gotten much longer. Maybe she should call Livi for a hair appointment. She hadn’t had one since before Thanksgiving.

“Mrs. Adams?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You were saying?”

“I’m concerned about your overall health. You’ve lost at least ten pounds since I saw you last month after Jack’s—well, last month,” he amended. “And you don’t look well. Have you been eating?”

“Of course,” she answered, and she had been. Just not the dinners she used to cook for the two of them. Her freezer was full of food: steaks and sausages, chicken and salmon. But it was too much trouble to cook for just one person, so more often than not, she ate cold cereal in front of the television, watching game shows or old movies before finally going to sleep.

But not in their bed—now too large for just her. Tessa had taken to sleeping on the couch, sometimes in her clothes, not showering until the next morning or, if she didn’t have to go anywhere, the next night.

“Grief affects people in different ways,” Dr. Braxton went on. “Not just emotionally but physically as well. You might have trouble sleeping or experience problems with your digestion. Are you having any difficulties in those areas?”

Tessa shifted on the examination table. She didn’t want to hear the litany of all the ways her body might fail her. Clare, the hospital bereavement counselor, had already gone through that when she met with Tessa two weeks after the funeral. Recalling that conversation reminded her that tonight was the meeting of the twice-monthly support group. Clare had left her a message yesterday about it, encouraging her to come, saying it would do her good to meet with other people who had lost loved ones.

“Sometimes we feel like we’re the only ones who have buried spouses or partners,” Clare had added. “But when we come to meetings like ours, we realize that others are grieving as well, and it helps.”

Helps how? Tessa had wondered when she listened to the message. Helps remind us that we’re alone?

“Mrs. Adams? Tessa?” Dr. Braxton’s voice brought her back to the room.

“No, I’m fine. Everything is fine,” she said automatically although she knew everything wasn’t fine. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. How could he understand what it was like to be alone after decades of being with someone you loved? He was barely thirty. What did he know about loss and grief and loneliness, about being on the wrong side of sixty-five and envisioning the rest of your life as a widow?

“Okay, then. I’ll see you back in six months when you’re due for your bloodwork. In the meantime, make sure you’re eating properly and watch your sugar intake. Diabetes can be an issue in people over sixty-five. And get out of the house—go for a walk. Or maybe not a walk,” and he laughed as he looked out the window where snow was coming down again. “But go out anyway. See people. Don’t just stay in your house.”

That was easy for him to say, Tessa thought. January had started with a blizzard, and it seemed for the past two weeks that every few days there was more snow. Or if not snow, then sleet or icy rain. While it was typical weather for northeast Ohio, that didn’t make it any less challenging. Tessa had taken to ordering her groceries online to avoid going out and risking a fall. The only time she left the house these days was to go to Gwen’s every Monday and Wednesday to watch the twins while her daughter went to work.

“Maybe take advantage of an exercise program that’s available to seniors. Go to a gym to work out. Or—”

Tessa interrupted him. “Thanks, Doctor. I’ll see you in July, then.” She got up and took her coat from the hook.

Dr. Braxton gave her a look that reminded her of Jack and how he would look at her when she didn’t want to hear what he was saying, and she flushed with embarrassment.

“I appreciate your advice, and I’ll think about the gym, too,” she added even though she had no intention of doing that and suspected he knew it, too. “But it’s getting late, and the roads are, well, you know,” she said, using that as an excuse for cutting the...