The Memory House

by Rachel Hauck

  Back to the stairs, she waited, listening.

  The bell rang again followed by, “Beck?” The masculine voice was muffled by the thick front door.

  “You should know I’m armed.” With a shivering dog, but still, it was something.

  “Armed? Beck, it’s me, Bruno Endicott. From yesterday. The memorial service?”

  She jogged downstairs and opened the front door to find Bruno on the steps with hands raised.

  “Is that your weapon? A quivering dog?”

  “He bites.” She petted his ears. “Sometimes.”

  He motioned toward the door. “Can I come in?”

  Beck regarded him for a second before stepping aside. He wore his dark hair short and loose, and he smiled easily. She liked that about him already.

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  She set Beetle down, and the dog hobbled toward the kitchen, disappearing under the table. She’d found him this morning hiding in the butler’s pantry, shivering for no apparent reason. After a life with Boudreaux, the poor thing was terrified of dust bunnies.

  In the week and a half she’d owned him, Beck had learned he distrusted strangers and downright hated men. He wouldn’t let Wyatt near him, and when he had to go potty, he’d rather fall face-first down the stairs than let Wyatt help him.

  “Miss Everleigh’s lawyer stopped by my office. A Joshua Christian?”

  “Please don’t tell me you inherited the house too.” Wouldn’t Mr. Christian have told her?

  “Too? You inherited this place?” Bruno inspected his seating options and chose the couch. “Mr. Christian told me you were here. Said he thought I’d like to know.”

  “Why would you like to know? And do you know him?” Beck sat in the wingback chair opposite Bruno.

  “I don’t, but maybe Miss Everleigh said something to him. You and I used to be friends back in the day.”

  “Friends, yes, of course.” Her words contained zero sincerity.

  “You don’t remember, do you?”

  She shook her head. “What did you think of Mr. Christian? Did he seem legit to you?”

  “I’ve only recently returned to Fernandina Beach after living in LA for eight years, and I’m on the road ninety percent of the time, so I don’t have a clue what goes on in this town, but he seemed solid enough. Had this quality, a—”

  “A je ne sais quoi.” So Bruno saw it too.

  His smile lit his expression and stirred Beck with something familiar. “I’d was going to say ‘vibe’ but yeah, a je ne sais quoi will do.” He leaned forward, arms on his legs, fingers loosely laced. “Tell me about inheriting this place. I didn’t know you were in touch with Miss Everleigh.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “But she left you the house?”

  “And her money.”

  “Wow, good for you. Miss Everleigh had some nieces and nephews in Texas, but I never saw them. I wondered who she’d leave the memory house to when the time came. I’m surprised she picked you but—”

  “Did you think she’d name you in her will?”

  “No.” He paused and laughed softly. “Well, maybe. Or my mom. She was like a grandmother to me.”

  “Are you going to protest the will?”

  He made a face. “If Miss Everleigh left the house to you, then who am I to challenge her? So, Beck, where have you been? What do you do?”

  “I’m a sergeant with the NYPD.”

  He arched a brow. “Like your dad?”

  “Something like that. And what do you do, Bruno? Endicott, right?”

  “Sports agent. Had a falling out with my boss in LA about the time Mom was in a serious car accident, so I came home to help her and start my own agency.”

  “How’s it going?”

  He sat back with a sigh and gazed toward the windows. “Not as well as I’d like.”

  “I can’t imagine this small town is the place to launch a sports agency.”

  “My location is not the problem. It’s my old boss. He keeps knocking my legs out from under me, spreading rumors. Beck, tell me, honest, why haven’t we heard from you since your dad died?”

  “Life wasn’t easy after 9/11. Mom and I were barely hanging on. But I grew up anyway, made a life for myself—”

  “You’re married?” He nodded to her slightly round middle.

  Beck stretched her top over her belly. “No.”

  She was just starting to surrender to his charm and sincerity until he noticed her condition.

  Suddenly he was on his feet. “Well, have you seen the car?” He marched through the living room toward the kitchen. “It’s a classic. Wish I had the funds to buy it from you. That is, if you wanted to sell.”

  “Car? No, I haven’t seen the car.” She followed him, their steps resounding over the hardwood in unison. “Doesn’t matter really, I don’t drive.”

  He stopped short in the arched kitchen walkway, a stray beam of light rising up from the porch boards and catching the hint of red in the short beard dusting his cheeks. “You’re a cop. How do you not drive?”

  “Okay, I can drive if I have to, but my partner loves being behind the wheel. Personally, I want to know who’s big idea it was to build a combustible engine and steer it with a teeny-tiny wheel while going seventy miles an hour?”

  “Beck, next to the light bulb and American football, the combustible engine is the greatest invention known to man.”

  “You want the car? Take it.”

  Bruno balked. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, take it.” From the butler’s pantry came a tiny growl. Beetle hovered against the cupboards, a suspicious eye on Bruno, who glanced at the dog, then at Beck, waving off her offer.

  “No, I’ll buy it. When I have the funds. Come on, you have to see this.” He headed out the door. Beck peered at Beetle and hurried after Bruno. There was something about him . . . What was it? Besides the fact he acted as if he knew her. As if she knew him.

  Down the steps and across the green grass, he talked. “Do you remember the time Miss Everleigh let me drive the car up and down Memory Lane? I was a month away from getting my permit, but did she care? Nope. She handed me the keys and said, ‘Young people should have fun.’ We drove up and down the lane, the top down, music blaring.” His laugh billowed.

  Beck smiled. She couldn’t help herself. It sounded fun. Real. A small ache twisted around her heart, a longing for her forgotten childhood.

  “Now that I think about it,” he said, “you didn’t want to drive back then either.”

  “I’m a New Yorker. We like being chauffeured.”

  Bruno walked past the garage-barn door to a birdbath, tipped it back, and retrieved a key from underneath.

  “This is the emergency key.” He worked the padlock, slid the door open, powered on a bare bulb with a pull string. “Isn’t she a beaut? A 1960 convertible Studebaker Lark. Three on the tree, V-8, 180 horsepower, leather seats, slightly worn as you can see, but this here is automobile royalty.” He propped his hands on the passenger door with a look of admiration that Beck envied. What did he see?

  She ran her hand down the length of the sleek vehicle. It was pretty for a car. And with the top down she almost yearned for a sunny afternoon drive.

  She glanced out the door. A day like today. The sun was high in a blue cloudless sky, and the temperature sat at a crisp sixty-something. And the breeze was fragrant and light.

  “Miss Everleigh kept the car in pristine condition,” Bruno said.

  “How much is it worth?” But could she sell it? What would Everleigh think? Or Mr. Christian?

  “Twenty grand or more. Can you hold on to it for me?”

  “Maybe. Until a better offer comes along.” She laughed. It was easy to tease him. As if they understood one another.

  “Beck?” Bruno walked around the car with intent. “You don’t remember any of this, do you? Me? Miss Everleigh?”

  She turned away from his inspection toward the door. He was too much of a keen obse
rver.

  “Do you live near here?”

  “I have a condo on the beach. My mom lives across the street. You must remember her, Natalie Endicott?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Liar.” He was next to her now. “What happened, Beck?”

  She tucked her hands into her jeans’ hip pockets, feeling the north Florida cold in the garage shadows. “I have selective amnesia. Happened after Dad died. Any memories he touched are gone.”

  “Amnesia?” Bruno looked incredulous. “Serious? Who gets amnesia?”

  “Me. I can’t remember him or this place.” Her gaze met his. “Or you.”

  “Wow. Well, I remember you.” Bruno walked past her into the yard. “I have a ton of summer memories of fishing on the river. I taught you to surf, you know.” He pointed to the house. “We used to crawl out the bay window and lay flat on the roof to keep from sliding off and counted stars.” He turned to her. “You were my first kiss at a music festival.”

  “I remember going to school, playing with my friends,” Beck said. “I remember my mom and the dog we had from the time I was one to twelve. But my dad? Nothing.”

  “How can you . . . I mean . . .” He squinted at her. “Do you want to remember?”

  “It’s been eighteen years, Bruno. I don’t know any different. This is my life.”

  The moment she spoke, a kerplunk resonated through her, and just over Bruno’s right shoulder, she saw an image unfurl, the light and shadow parting to reveal a girl laughing with her dad.

  “Come on, Beckster, you can do it!”

  “I’m not old enough to drive.”

  “We’re only going up and down Memory Lane. Now press in the clutch.”

  Her soft scream was followed by grinding gears. “Dad, this is cray-cray.”

  “Up and over for second gear. Straight down for third. There you go.”

  She stalled again, but Dad nodded his approval.

  “Look, you moved a foot. A hundred more times and we’ll be at the end of the lane.” Their laughter blended, deep man-cop with giggly teen-girl. “Here we go.”

  “Beck, you okay?” Bruno snapped his fingers. “I lost you there.”

  The vision rolled up, and the only sound in Beck’s ears was the song of a distant bird.

  “Sorry.” She shook her head and tried to focus on Bruno. “W-what were you saying?”

  “I asked if you wanted to take the car for a spin.” He bent over the driver’s side door. “Yep, the keys are in the ignition. Don’t know why she kept them in here but—”

  “Me? No, no . . .” What just happened? Where had that scene come from? “You go ahead.” She needed a moment to think. To process. “I’ll . . . go inside. Beetle doesn’t like to be alone.”

  Her mind had played a trick on her. The doctor told her it could happen. But this was a first. It was this place. Coming back here. It was Bruno and his stories. Her subconscious must be trying to conjure up some sort of matching sentiments.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Bruno had popped the hood to inspect the engine.

  “Maybe another time.” Or never. “Lock up when you bring it back, okay?”

  Inside the house, she slid down the closed door to the floor, the roar of the engine pressing against the glass. Beetle emerged from the pantry and crawled on her lap.

  Beck rubbed his ears, then buried her face in his soft fur. “I thought the house might be haunted, Beetle, but maybe I’m the one who’s haunted. I heard his voice, and he called me Beckster.”

  chapter nine

  Everleigh

  February 1960

  “Coming down like cats and dogs out there.” Connie tied on her rain cap, then opened the cooler door. “I’m off with Mr. Childers’s order. See you tomorrow.”

  Mr. Childers, a widower and long-time customer of Reed’s, maintained his beloved wife’s weekly flower order. Everleigh and Connie took turns delivering to him personally even though Reed’s owned a fleet of delivery trucks.

  “Drive safe. See you in the morning.” Everleigh finished counting the cash drawer and bundled the money for the safe. “Mr. Reed will be pleased. We’re having a banner Valentine’s week.”

  She was the store’s afternoon and weekend manager, working alongside the family for the past six years.

  “Do you have any fun plans this weekend? A date?” Connie paused at the office door, flowers in hand.

  Everleigh ignored her not-so-subtle probing. “The usual. Dinner and TV with Mama.”

  She set the cash drawer in the safe and twisted the lock.

  “All work and no play ain’t healthy, Ev.”

  “What do you and Rand have planned?”

  “The girls are fixing us dinner. They’re so cute. Gina is taking home economics, and I think she’s planning an ambitious seven-course meal. I’ll probably have to put out a fire or two, then eat burned meat, but it’ll taste like love.” Lightning cracked the window, causing Connie to jump. “I hate storms.”

  Everleigh peered outside. So did she. Time could pass into infinity and she’d never come to peace with a south Texas storm.

  “Well, I’m off. Ev, do something fun, will you?” Connie made her way to the back door. “Even if it’s the movies with your girlfriends. What about your friend Myrtle?”

  “We went to the movies last weekend. She’s gone to El Paso for her brother’s wedding.” Myrtle was the only other unmarried woman in Everleigh’s circle. While they liked each other well enough, it was kind of sad and depressing to step out together too often.

  “See you in the morning.”

  “Hey to Rand.”

  “Hey to your mama.”

  With the shop silent, Everleigh finished an order for three corsages, wrapped the stems in pink ribbon, and set them in the cooler.

  She cleaned the work area and swept the floors, then decided they needed a light mop before she locked up.

  As she finished up in the workroom, Mr. Reed appeared in the doorway, jiggling his keys.

  “Can I see you in my office, Everleigh?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her eyes followed him. He was straight and good as the day was long, but something in his voice . . .

  Wiping her hands, she checked her appearance in the mirror before joining him. Last year he’d talked of promoting her to buyer, but she was too timid to ask if he’d given the matter further consideration.

  “You’re embarrassing me, Everleigh,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You show up to work early, stay late. You double count the cash and recalculate the deposits. You clean even though we have a crew to do the job. I could invite the queen for tea this very moment and be pleased as punch to serve her off your clean floor.”

  “I like to keep busy.” The year after, well, everything she nearly went crazy, sitting at home with Mama like a mummy in pearls and low-heeled pumps.

  She needed to work to pay the bills but also to keep her mind occupied, to balance the emptiness of being a widow at the age of twenty-three. Working gave her simple little life a bit of meaning.

  After a year of mourning and starting to go stir-crazy, she’d tried to go back to Kestner’s Department Store but couldn’t make herself cross the threshold. It reminded her too much of Rhett, of their hopes and dreams.

  Then a friend put her onto Reed’s and six years later—

  “But I don’t pay you for all of this. I feel like I’m cheating you.”

  With such a confession, how could she not have the confidence to inquire about the promotion? “Have you given any thought to making me a buyer?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” He leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “Everleigh, I, well, hmm, I guess I’ll just say it. I’m promoting my son to buyer.”

  “I see.”

  “He needs to learn the business. One day all of this will be his. Besides, he’s useless in the store. Impatient with customers, sloppy with the cash count. And I know you rework all of his arrangements. He n
eeds to find something he’s good at or Reed’s will not survive.”

  “He’s a good kid, Mr. Reed. He’ll get the hang of it.”

  “I’m not sure he’s cut out for flowers.” He smiled. “He’s more of a dirt-and-shovel kind of man.”

  Everleigh nodded, holding her hands neatly in her lap. “Nothing wrong with that, sir.”

  Mr. Reed opened the middle desk drawer and passed her an envelope. “I am giving you a raise. Fifty cents more an hour. The envelope has a bonus check from Christmas. You deserve it.”

  “Fifty cents. Mr. Reed, sir, that’s very generous. I’m much obliged.” She pinched the envelope between her fingers.

  “My wife and I were talking about you the other night. Said how much we appreciate you, but can’t help but wonder if there’s something more for you.”

  “More? Like what? Mr. Reed, I’m very content here. This job has been a blessing to Mama and me.”

  “Everleigh, we value you very much.” He cupped his hand over hers. “But I hope you know there’s more for you than this place.” His tone was fatherly and sincere. “Now, get on home. Sleep in. I don’t want to see you until nine a.m. No, ten.”

  “Yes, sir. And thank you.” She held up the bonus. Whatever the amount, she would put it straight in the bank.

  As the sole breadwinner, Everleigh policed the budget with vigilance. After Rhett and the Applegates died in the ’53 storm, along with Daddy and about 130 others, she and Mama survived only by her prudence.

  Daddy left them a small savings, but not enough to get them through the years ahead. The ink wasn’t dry on his new life insurance policy that May day when the twister tore up Waco, so there was no payout.

  As for Rhett and the Applegates, they’d just mortgaged the ranch for expansion. They made plans for living, not dying.

  The bank owned the Circle A now. Everleigh drove by a couple years back, heartbroken to find the land wild and overgrown. She never went back.

  As for her job at Ketchner’s . . . she just couldn’t.

  As she buttoned her coat, Everleigh checked the weather through the back door. The wind drove the rain down Austin Avenue at a good clip, but it appeared to be letting up.

  The lightning and thunder had moved on when Everleigh called good night to Mr. Reed. But his words remained with her.