Home at Last Chance

by Hope Ramsay

  Sarah almost choked.

  “Are you?” the girl asked before Sarah could stop sputtering. “ ’Cause I heard Granny on the phone saying that even though you have no fashion sense and are a Pilgrim, she thought you might be perfect, except for the fact that your daddy is from Wyoming. Is Wyoming up north?”

  “Uh, no. And perfect for what?”

  Haley shrugged. “Don’t know, ’cause I only heard Granny’s side of the conversation. She was talking to Miriam Randall. Where’s Wyoming?”

  “Out west.”

  “So you’re not his girlfriend?”

  “No. Tulane and I work together.”

  “ ’Kay. So, do you have a boyfriend? Are you married to anyone else?”

  Sarah wasn’t sure where the little girl’s mind was moving, but she didn’t like the direction. “Nope.”

  “Really?” The girl’s eyes grew round. Clearly the little girl was too young to understand that a match between a northern Presbyterian and a Southern Episcopalian would be viewed in some circles in both Massachusetts and South Carolina as marrying outside the faith.

  “You wanna meet my daddy?”

  Oh, so that was her game. Daddy must be divorced.

  “Well, I—”

  “Daddy’s the chief of police,” Haley said, then leaned in like a conspirator. “He’s a widower, you know.” She leaned back and nodded in a way that suggested she’d been peeping at keyholes and listening to her grandmother gossip with the other ladies in town. Clearly, there was a move afoot to find someone for the widowed chief of police. Probably without much success given the fact that Last Chance, South Carolina, appeared to be a place where eligible females younger than sixty were scarce.

  Nevertheless, the fact that Tulane Rhodes, bad-boy stock car driver, had a policeman brother was pretty interesting news. His bio had failed to mention that very marketable fact. She wondered if Tulane’s brother was photogenic.

  “So the chief of police is your uncle Tulane’s brother?” Sarah asked, trying to confirm the family relationships.

  “Yes’m. And he’s a widower ’cause my momma is with Jesus up in Heaven. She died in a car wreck. Kinda like the wreck Uncle Tulane was in last weekend. Did you see him wreck? I saw it on TV.”

  Clearly little Haley wasn’t much troubled by the fact that her mother was in the arms of the Savior or that her uncle cheated death every Sunday. “I didn’t see Tulane wreck his car,” Sarah said. She didn’t explain that she hadn’t seen this event because she had never in her life watched a stock car race. The fact that she had written a marketing memo about stock car racing had nothing to do with the sport and everything to do with advertising and good market research.

  Oh yeah, and revenge against Steve for stealing her ideas on the Cuppa Java campaign. Of course, her revenge had backfired, proving that Mother was right: Sarah didn’t have much talent for the cutthroat business world.

  “I’m glad Uncle Tulane had a car seat, otherwise he might be with Jesus now, too,” Haley said.

  The little girl said the words “car seat,” and suddenly Sarah’s mind went off on a wild tangent. Her mind did that sometimes. “Car seat?” she said aloud.

  “Yeah, you know, like babies ride in,” Haley replied. “Granny said Uncle Tulane wasn’t hurt ’cause he has a special car seat. She said it was like the car seat I had when that no-account drunk wrecked Momma’s car.”

  Sarah’s heart squeezed in her chest. Good grief, Haley had survived the accident that took her mother’s life. The accident must have happened a while ago. Haley had no memory of it.

  Haley was also about as photogenic as a kid could get, even with her hair a mess and her dress stained. In fact, her grubbiness was completely adorable and real. Sarah felt suddenly queasy—the sort of queasy that gripped her when she was about to make a leap of logic and find a wickedly good advertising idea.

  Haley nattered on. “ ’Course, I didn’t have a car seat when Woody West, Jane’s boyfriend, crashed Granny’s car into Jesus down at Golfing for God. I got a big bump on my head that time. Daddy thinks I started hallinating when that happened, but he’s wrong about that.”

  Golfing for God? What on earth? Sarah was abruptly brought back to the conversation. Had she missed something important? “What?”

  “You know about hallinating, don’t you?” Haley said, and then launched into an explanation. “It’s when someone sees things that aren’t there. But I really do see the Sorrowful Angel.”

  “Oh, I see.” But Sarah didn’t see at all.

  Suddenly, Tulane was there on the porch with them. He swept down on the little girl, rescuing Sarah from the nonsensical conversation. He grabbed Haley by the hips and backside and boosted her up into the air. Sarah had been so intent on the ideas forming in her head that she hadn’t noticed Tulane’s return.

  Tulane twirled the little girl around on his shoulders and tossed her up into the air in a homemade thrill ride. He looked so utterly at ease playing with Haley. The image of Tulane with a child had seemed out of place this morning, but now it didn’t seem out of place at all. He was good with the little girl, and he had been surprisingly good with the babies and toddlers at the baby-changing event. All of which would be necessary for this idea that was starting to gel in her mind.

  Just then, a tan police vehicle pulled up to the curb, and Haley wiggled out of Tulane’s grasp.

  “Hey, Daddy,” she yelled as she ran down the porch steps, her wild hair bouncing. A large man in a buff-colored uniform unfolded himself from the driver’s side. He stepped onto the curb and picked Haley up for a somewhat less exuberant hug.

  Tulane’s brother was taller and wider through the chest. But other than that, you’d have to be blind to miss the family resemblance.

  Haley’s father set the little girl down on the lawn and headed up the path with that same loose-jointed gait that marked his younger brother. This man seemed more serious than Tulane and much more dangerous—packing a latent power along with his handgun. He gave little away in his glance, shaded by the brim of his uniform Stetson.

  Tulane introduced Sarah to his brother, Stone. She shook the policeman’s hand and said a few inane words of greeting. Inside of a minute, Stone excused himself and stepped into the house with Haley bobbing in his wake, talking a mile a minute like a little chatterbox.

  Stone Rhodes had a name that fit. But he was amazingly photogenic, which made him perfect for the idea that had just struck Sarah from out of the blue.

  “So,” Tulane said, once his older brother was out of earshot and Sarah had returned to her rocking chair. “I’ll bet Haley told you all about her momma being with Jesus in Heaven, didn’t she?” He picked up a long-necked Bud that he’d rested on the porch railing and sat himself down in the rocking chair next to Sarah.

  “Yes, she did. And I—”

  “Did she tell you about Golfing for God?” His voice sounded pinched.

  Sarah cocked her head. “Yes, she said something odd about a car crashing into Jesus. It sounded like one of those bad jokes about God and Jesus golfing with Saint Peter.”

  The corners of Tulane’s mouth turned down. “I wish it were a joke, honey.”

  “You want to explain?”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” she said, but her curiosity had been thoroughly aroused.

  He picked up his beer and leaned back in his seat. He took a long swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he rested the bottle on the rocker’s broad armrest while he rocked. Sarah found herself studying the hand that held the bottle: long-fingered, broad-palmed, with short square nails. His hand simultaneously conveyed strength and gentleness, power and dexterity. Her mind flashed on those hands caressing more than just a bottle. Her body flushed with the thought.

  This was dangerous. She needed to focus on her job and saving it. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When her heart rate slowed, she spoke. “Are you going to tell my bosses about how I humiliated myself?”

  He angle
d a glance at her. “No. Not if you keep my secrets.”

  She looked away. “I suppose I should thank you. But I figure they’re going to find out I fainted anyway.”

  “Yup, I reckon so. And I figure you’re going to find out all about Golfing for God. So maybe I should just tell you and have done with it.”

  “What is Golfing for God? A charity or something?”

  He let go of a bark of laughter. “I only wish. No, Golfing for God is an eighteen-hole miniature golf course just south of town. It’s a running joke in Last Chance. It’s filled up with fiberglass statues of everything from Eve to Goliath. And there’s a life-sized ark.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “So why is that a problem? It sounds like fun. Can we go play a round after dinner? I’d like to see a putt-putt dedicated to God.”

  Tulane stared at her as if she had dropped in to visit from Venus. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, why would I kid about that?” She met his stare, glare to glare, and she counted it as a victory when he finally looked away, out beyond the wisteria.

  He took a long pull on the beer and then turned back toward her. “Unfortunately, the place was damaged by a thunderstorm back in October. My mother’s car was hijacked during that storm by my sister-in-law’s moron ex-boyfriend. Haley was in the car when it was hijacked. The idiot hijacker crashed the car into a fiberglass statue of Jesus in the parking lot of Golfing for God. Jesus is all smashed up, and the place is out of commission. And that’s not the worst of it. See, Haley took a pretty good blow to the head, and…” His voice trailed off.

  “And?”

  “Well, the thing is, she says she sees angels.”

  “I see.”

  Tulane took another long sip of beer and continued, “Haley and her angel, not to mention Golfing for God, are off-limits. You understand me?”

  “Yes, I think I do.”

  Tulane shook his head. “No, I don’t think you or the people in New York really do understand. See, since I got the ride last year with Ferguson Racing, it’s like the world wants to know my life story and, quite frankly, I’m not interested in telling certain parts of it. I just want to drive cars and win races and have people take me seriously for my driving. So I would be obliged if you would forget about Haley and Golfing for God.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. But the thing is, she said something a minute ago that got me thinking.”

  “What part of ‘forget about Haley’ did you not understand?” He leaned forward in his chair and glowered at her.

  She held up her hand. “Please don’t get angry. Just listen, okay? Have you ever thought about using your position to support car seat safety? With your brother a policeman, it would…” She stopped midsentence. Tulane wasn’t happy.

  “Have you ever done this before?” he asked.

  “Done what, visited South Carolina? No, I’m afraid this is my first time. I’m a South Carolina virgin.”

  His cheeks colored, but she chose not to make any comment about it. Virgin was a perfectly fine word, but Tulane evidently found it titillating, which said a great deal about his maturity.

  “No, what I meant to ask is, well, who else have you advanced in your career at National Brands?”

  Uh-oh.

  “I can see by the look on your face that you are an advance-man virgin, too. And by that last comment, I’d have to say you are seriously deluded about stock car racing fans. Car seat safety? Are you kidding?”

  She brought her sweaty hands together. “Okay. You’re right,” she said. “I’ve never advanced anyone before. I’m mostly a researcher for the marketing and advertising departments. But, speaking as a market researcher, I’ve just come up with a good idea that will get you out of officiating at baby-changing races. Do you want to hear it?”

  She hoped he did, because she needed to stop the baby-changing thing. That had been one of her worst ideas ever.

  Tulane cocked his head. “You’re a researcher? You mean, like a librarian?”

  Something snapped inside her. This might be the last chance she would have to save her job and make something of herself. So, she gathered herself up and glared back at Tulane Rhodes. “Give me five minutes and I’ll explain why car seats might be the solution to your problems.” And hers, too.

  He nodded his head. She took that for a green light and started to talk a mile a minute. She figured if she had only five minutes, she would either make her point or crash and burn.

  Haley Rhodes pulled on her granny’s shirttail. “Hey, Granny, did you know Miss Sarah isn’t really a Pilgrim? She’s a librarian.”

  Granny was working in the kitchen, draining butter beans into the sink, but she paused and frowned down at Haley. “Haley Ann Rhodes, how many times have I told you that it’s impolite to eavesdrop on folks?”

  “Yes’m, I know, but I wasn’t eavesdropping, ’xactly. I was just playing in the living room, and Uncle Tulane and Miss Sarah were on the porch, and I just happened to hear them talking. And she told Uncle Tulane that she was a librarian.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound right. She works for the company that sponsors your uncle’s car.”

  “I know that. She was talking about how she worked in the library and did research on ladies with babies who buy diapers and other stuff like cribs and cradles and car seats.”

  “Did she now.” Granny opened the oven and pulled out her pot roast. The smell was mouthwatering.

  “Yeah. And she said pink was a good color because the diaper bunny is colored pink. I reckon Uncle Tulane shouldn’t feel so bad about the color of his car. After all, Barbie has a pink car. And doesn’t Mrs. Henrietta Charles over in Allenberg have a pink car that she got selling Mary Kay?”

  “Yes, but Mrs. Charles doesn’t have any babies, and your uncle is a man, Haley.”

  “Well, Sarah also said Uncle Tulane could help people with their car seats.”

  Granny frowned down. “Help them with car seats?”

  “Yes’m. She said that people would be interested in the fact that my momma was with Jesus, but that I was saved by a car seat. Uncle Tulane said he wasn’t ever going to talk about how a car seat saved my life, but after Miss Sarah talked for a while, he finally agreed that doing car seat safety checks would be better than having a race to see how fast diapers could be changed.”

  “Well that is an interesting idea, but I don’t think you can help.”

  “But, Granny, Miss Sarah talked really, really fast and she talked Uncle Tulane right into it. I know that on account of the fact that he used his phone to call someone in New York about it—someone she called the Dragon Lady.”

  Granny squatted down to be on Haley’s level. “Dragon Lady?”

  “That’s what Miss Sarah called her. But she’s not a real dragon, Granny. I heard Miss Sarah call her by another name I can’t remember.”

  “Are you sure you heard that?”

  “Yes’m. But Uncle Tulane said I was off-limits on account of the fact I can see the Sorrowful Angel. What did that mean?”

  “It means, young lady, that you should mind your own business.” Granny stood up. “Now go tell your daddy and sister that supper’s nearly ready.”

  Haley took one step toward the door and then turned. “But Granny, what if I want to help Uncle Tulane teach people about car seats?”

  Haley glanced toward the corner of the kitchen near the broom closet. The Sorrowful Angel was there, only she wasn’t very sad right now. The angel never spoke, but Haley had gotten the knack of figuring out what the angel was thinking. The angel had listened to the conversation between Uncle Tulane and the lady from New York just as hard as Haley had. The angel had dried her tears and nodded her head, as if she thought the idea was a real good one.

  That had to be a sign.

  “Haley, now is not the time to discuss this,” Granny said. “I think it might be a very nice thing for Uncle Tulane to use his position to promote the use of car seats, but I d
on’t think it would be right for you to be involved. And I know your daddy wouldn’t like the idea. Not one bit. Now you go outside and tell your daddy and your sister that supper will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  Haley turned and headed out to the backyard, pretending to mind Granny. The angel followed with a gleam in her sorrowful eyes.

  Granny prob’ly thought Haley was going to forget about the car seats. But Granny was wrong.

  Deidre Montgomery pressed her fingers against her temples. Tulane Rhodes could be impressively articulate for a redneck. And he’d just handed her an answer to two questions that had been plaguing her for some time.

  The first question was prosaic: What to do about Steve Phelps? The man was a huge problem. He was stupid, but the Board thought he walked on water. How he had ever managed to come up with the Cuppa Java campaign was a mystery. Deidre was sure he didn’t dream up that campaign all by himself. But she didn’t yet know who had helped him.

  The pink car memo was a different situation. That idiot idea had Steve’s name written all over it. Deidre had allowed the repainting of the No. 57 Sprint Cup Ford to go forward, with the conviction that the Board would soon discover the truth about Steve Phelps.

  Unfortunately, the pink car was selling diapers like mad.

  Deidre was going to have to take the program away from Steve, or her own position at National Brands would be jeopardized.

  Tulane Rhodes had just given her the means to regain control.

  The second question—well, it was one of those existential questions that she had been asking herself for more than a decade.

  She pushed herself up from her chair and walked across the deep carpet toward her credenza. She had purchased the cabinet when she made vice president and was given this corner office on the thirtieth floor of the National Brands Madison Avenue headquarters. It had been handcrafted by a cabinetmaker. She had waited almost a year for him to finish it.

  That thought always gave her a modicum of inner pleasure. For an impatient woman, she could be patient when she wanted to. Andrew had known this about her. Andrew had known all her secrets and all her weaknesses, and he had loved her anyway.