The Memory House

by Rachel Hauck

  She took a tissue on the receptionist’s counter and made her way to the chairs.

  “Let’s just see what the vet says,” he said, sitting next to her, ignoring his pinging phone.

  “Take that call,” she said, blowing her nose and tossing the tissue in the trash. “You don’t want to miss Calvin Blue telling you he’s finally signing with you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

  “Bruno, I know you have to be somewhere.”

  “It’s just Stuart. If I don’t respond, he’ll take off without me.”

  “You’re not going to tell him where you are?”

  “Maybe I should.” He reached back for his phone. “We were going up to Michigan and Indiana.”

  “Bruno, don’t miss your meeting on account of me. Go.”

  “And leave Beetle Boo to drive home with you?” He tapped out a text. “Can’t do that to another guy. You know I can teach you to drive. The kid at Michigan isn’t going to sign with me anyway. He only took the meeting because the pro liaison is a friend of mine.”

  She peered over at him. “You’re going to get Sports Equity off the ground, Bruno.”

  “Still wrestling with the idea of being a nothing. I woke up hearing Dad yelling, ‘You’re nothing!’ When I left Watershed, Kevin yelled it across the office, over fifty heads, as I walked out. I think his ‘You’re nothing’ hooked up with Dad’s and they’re having a baby.”

  “Stop.” She grabbed his chin and turned his face to hers. “Say it. ‘I’m something.’ Stop believing in the words of broken, wounded men. If your dad were alive, he’d have a whole different attitude about you.”

  He brushed his hand over her cheek. “I believe I’m something when I’m with you.”

  “Bruno—”

  “I know.” He released her and sat forward, turning his phone between his hands. “You’re leaving. Yet I can’t get you out of my head. Or those kisses. They were pretty amazing.”

  “I thought maybe I could have a short, three-week romance with you, Bruno, but I can’t. I’m barely surviving my life. I can’t worry about your heart while I’m at it.” She nodded toward the double doors. “What are they doing in there? Do you think he’s okay?”

  “It’s only been a few minutes.” He pressed his hand to hers. “Funny how they get under your skin—animals, babies. New York cops.”

  “Who can’t give you what you need.”

  “How do you know what I need?”

  She tipped her head to one side. “A woman who lives here is a start. A woman not bearing another man’s baby. Bruno, seriously, don’t get tangled up.”

  “You know I invented complicated.”

  “Ha, you wish.”

  “Beck, I’m not sure I can let you go again. You smooth things out for me, not complicate them.”

  “Bruno, I never expected to find someone like you here. You’re the best surprise, but the previously stated list still applies.”

  He didn’t answer, but she believed, hoped, he heard before he got in too deep. They sat quietly for the better part of an hour until the vet, Dr. Brannon, emerged with a somber expression and pulled a chair around to sit in front of them.

  “He has a perforation in his stomach, probably from the drugs. We’re prepping him for surgery, but thanks to your good care, he’s strong and should pull through.”

  Bruno asked questions as the doctor explained the surgery, then waited while Beck signed papers and paid the bill. They’d keep him overnight and told Beck to call tomorrow afternoon about picking him up.

  Then there was nothing to do but wait. The receptionist promised she’d call with an update the moment he was out of surgery.

  Bruno suggested lunch and drove the Studebaker through Fernandina Beach’s quaint downtown to the Happy Tomato.

  “The Happy Tomato,” Beck said as she closed her car door and stepped over the curb. “Are all of the tomatoes happy? ’Cause if mine is sad, I’m leaving.”

  She walked with Bruno toward the patio, slowing as a black Mercedes turned the corner and eased along the curb. Same one she saw this morning. She angled back to see the plates and froze. New York.

  Bruno forged ahead, talking as if she were right next to him, while she made a mental note of the number. It didn’t hit on any of the dozens of license plate numbers she’d stored there in the last year.

  The driver stepped out of his car, buttoning his jacket. A businessman. Nothing more, nothing less. Beck was just restless. Imagining things.

  “Beck, did you hear me? I said your tomatoes will be dancing the Charleston.” Bruno grabbed her arm and led her to a table on the patio.

  “The Charleston? Perfect.” She sat with an exhale, trying to focus on Bruno.

  “He’s going to be okay. I can just tell.”

  “Who’s going to be okay?”

  Bruno made a face. “Beetle. Who else?”

  “Of course . . . Yes! He has to be.” Tears dappled her eyes. Forget the stupid car. You’re not a cop in Fernandina Beach. “I might have to ugly cry if he’s not.”

  “It’s okay to ugly cry. I did with you that day under the bed.”

  “You were on the phone, not in public with happy tomatoes.”

  “An ugly cry is an ugly cry.”

  “One of my first nights on the force, the calls were nonstop. It was like the city went crazy. But I was tough, a new cop, eager to prove myself. Then we went on a call to an apartment where a one-year-old baby girl drowned in the bathtub. The mother was beside herself. I’d never seen anyone so distraught. Made my problems seem minor in comparison. It was an accident, but she blamed herself. It was my job to talk to her while my partner took the report from the father.” She blinked back her tears. “I ugly cried that night. My partner pulled over in an alley and just let me go. He is a good guy. Hogan.”

  “Caring is what makes you a good cop, Beck,”

  The waitress, Treena, came by with menus and waters. After they ordered, Bruno made a few calls, rearranged his schedule, his conversation quick and laden with lingo.

  “I’ll be down tomorrow, Ryan. Ten o’clock. Yeah. What are his times? The forty? What’s he bench? Really? And his vertical? I can work with that. Who else is talking to him?”

  The air had a winter chill, so a few customers on the patio moved inside. Beck liked the freedom of the open space and the sun on her shoulders.

  She breathed out the tension of the morning, grateful to be here with Bruno. When she looked around to capture the charm of the Happy Tomato, the Mercedes driver stepped onto the patio.

  His dark, expensive-looking suit spoke of money and influence. With a quick glance around, he sat at the table behind Bruno and ordered black coffee from Treena.

  Since Bruno was still on his phone, Beck took a second to observe the man. Clean shaven. Clipped haircut. Manicured hands—unless pregnancy hormones had dulled her powers of observation. Everything about him said money.

  He kept his head down, constantly running his hand over the back of his head and down his neck.

  But when Treena came to pour his coffee, Beck caught his eye. He quickly glanced away.

  Bruno finished his call and tucked his phone into his shirt pocket with the Polo logo instead of Sports Equity.

  Beck propped her arms on the table and leaned into the slant of sun falling through the trees. “What do you love about being a sports agent?”

  “Everything. The players, the negotiating, I love helping a kid reach his dreams. And, if I do the job right, the money. In LA I had a condo in the hills. Drove a Porsche.”

  “But here you have your condo on the beach. And your mom.” She sat back as Treena brought out their food. “I bet she likes having you around.”

  “When I came home to take care of her after her accident, I stayed in my old room and did everything but bathe her for six weeks.” He inspected his sandwich, removing his tomato.

  “What’s wrong with your tomato? Is it not happy?”

  “It�
��s very happy.” He winked at her, and she felt it to her soul. “Not to be eaten.”

  “I bet. So, you came home to help your mom?” Beck focused on her lunch, trying not to engage the man behind Bruno.

  He was probably a just businessman. A shy one. Nevertheless, she felt tense, on the alert.

  “I shopped, cleaned, took her to physical therapy. She was so grateful, always telling me to get back to work and not worry about her. But I realized no one had ever looked out for her. Her parents divorced and her mom worked all the time. Her dad traveled so he was never home. Then she married my louse of a father.” He reassembled his sandwich.

  “I had an offer from another agency last year but I couldn’t leave,” he said. “For once in her life, Mom deserved to have someone a phone call away. As luck, or God, would have it, I ran into Stuart Strickland right after I decided to stay, and he offered to fly me anywhere, anytime.”

  “You’re a good son, Bruno.”

  “What about you? Once a cop always a cop?”

  “‘Maybe. It gets in your blood. There’s no thrill like being on the job. You live it, breathe it. Even when you’re not working, you notice things civilians don’t.”

  He laughed. “Thanks for using your cop vibe to help me.”

  “Anytime.” She glanced past Bruno’s shoulder. The man was gone. “But now, I don’t know. Everleigh has given me options I didn’t have before.”

  “Bruno Endicott!” A Fernandina Beach police officer with the stars of a chief on his collar popped Bruno on the shoulder.

  Ah, so this is why he left. Tailored Suit Guy spotted the cops before Beck.

  You’re slipping already.

  “Chief Bedell.” Bruno rose to shake his hand. “Long time no see. Beck, this is Chet Bedell, chief of police. Chet, meet Beck Holiday, an NYPD sergeant. She inherited Miss Everleigh’s place.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” Chet said. “NYPD? What precinct? I have a friend up there. Works in Brooklyn, I believe.”

  “I’m with the Ninth. Alphabet City.”

  “So you inherited Miss Everleigh’s place. My wife will be jealous.” He flipped Beck his card. “We could use another good cop around here.”

  “I’m not looking to move, sir.” Nevertheless, she tucked the card in her bag. Just in case.

  “Well, if you change your mind—” Chet’s lunch partner arrived, and they found a table inside.

  Beck picked at her sandwich and glanced at her watch. Beetle had been in surgery for at least forty minutes.

  “Think he’s okay?”

  “I do.” Bruno finished his sandwich and pushed his plate forward. “I was thinking last night how different everything would be if you hadn’t forgotten.”

  “I used to wonder what life would be like if Dad hadn’t been killed. It was his day off. He wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  Beck jumped when her phone rang. “It’s the vet. Hello?” He was okay. Her sweet, sweet puppy. “Thank you so much.” She smiled at Bruno. “He came through with flying colors. He’s going to make it.”

  Yes, he was going to make it. The little piece of her soul she carried in her arms two weeks ago was going to make it.

  chapter nineteen

  Everleigh

  April

  “Walt Disney Presents looks good tonight,” Mama called from the living room. “Of course Maverick is on.”

  “You’ll have to watch without me.” Everleigh clipped on a pair of pearl earrings. “I’m having dinner with Don.”

  He’d been in Waco every weekend since he helped her buy the Studebaker. Since he kissed her under the car lot lights.

  She’d squirreled away enough money for a little more shopping and spent yesterday at Goldstein-Migel.

  Tonight she wore her new blue linen suit with matching sling-backs and a beaded clutch.

  “Don again?” Mama rose from her chair, removing her glasses. “Is this getting serious?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s in Dallas, I’m here. I enjoy his company.”

  “And attention.”

  “He’s a handsome man, Mama. Who wouldn’t?”

  “You are clearly more than friends, Ev. Is that a new suit? Friends meet for coffee. Maybe a slice of pie at Diamonds, but not fancy dinners every weekend with fancy duds. New shoes too?”

  “You knew I went shopping yesterday.”

  Mama sank down in her chair. “One glance at him in a Lauderback’s aisle and you’re dying your hair like a Hollywood floozy and trading in Daddy’s old DeSoto.”

  “I said I was sorry about the car.” Everleigh sat in her chair next to Mama’s. The one that used to be Daddy’s. “I shouldn’t have traded in the DeSoto without consulting you.”

  “That was the last car Tom bought. He was so proud.”

  “It was hard for me to say good-bye, but, Mama, Daddy is not coming back. Neither is Rhett. Seeing Don again made me realize I’m not an eighty-year-old widow.”

  “What are you saying? I made you live like an eighty-year-old widow?”

  “No, Mama, please.” She touched her arm. “This is not about you or me—”

  “It is every bit about you and me. We’re partners, Ev. I care for the home and everything that goes with it. You work, pay the bills, and apparently buy the cars. You are a chip off your father, that’s for sure. What happens to me if you run off and get married? You cannot leave me here, alone, rattling around this big ol’ place. And I hate to bring it up, but there’s the little matter of . . .” She looked at the TV, unable to say “the baby.” They never talked about it. It was their unspoken pact. “How do you think Don will respond when you tell him?”

  “What’s to tell? As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I never had a child.” Everleigh hated the coarse tone in her voice, but if she was going to walk upright in the world and have some semblance of a life, she couldn’t get bogged down with guilt, regret, and sentimentality. It would not serve her well. “Mama, you’ll not be alone. I-I won’t leave you.”

  She was forever bound to Mama. As a daughter, as a grieving widow, as a hurting mother. They’d been to hell and back together, which, whether she liked it or not, knotted them in an unbreakable bond.

  Still, it didn’t mean she had to live in her mother’s shadow. Didn’t mean she couldn’t buy a new dress now and then and go out with a handsome man.

  “I’m not opposed to you marrying again,” Mama said when Everleigh returned to the living room. “I’m not as cruel as all that. But Don Callahan? Can’t see us tied to that family the rest of our lives. What happened to his fancy girlfriend?”

  “Apparently she broke off with him. But he was going to if she didn’t. She met someone else, one of the coaches for the new Dallas football team.”

  “I see.” Mama lips were pale and narrow. “Is he coming back to work at Callahan Cars?”

  “Callahan merged with Dewey. But Don has other plans for his life, and I don’t think they include Waco, or even Texas.”

  “Then why are you wasting your time with him?” Mama sighed, shaking her head. “Your life is here. Always has been, always will be.”

  Asked and answered. No use going around that mountain again. “I was going to heat up the coffee. Do you want some?” Everleigh turned for the kitchen.

  “With cream but no sugar. I’m cutting back.”

  Everleigh plugged in the coffee pot and took two cups from the cupboard, dropping a dollop of cream in Mama’s cup along with two teaspoons of sugar. Cutting back, my eye. She’d complain bitterly if Everleigh handed her a cup of creamed coffee with no sugar.

  She gazed into living room where Mama waited for her show, knitting under the light of the floor lamp.

  Yes, she’d like to marry one day. When she was ready. But could she love another man the way she loved Rhett?

  How would a new husband feel about her loyalty to his predecessor? Everleigh owed it to Rhett, to his parents, to remember them. If she didn’t, who would?

  What scared he
r was the unknown of falling in love again. Could she love someone else and Rhett at the same time? To be fair to a new love, she’d have to box away her loyalty to her memories, and she just wasn’t ready to do that.

  Still, she enjoyed Don’s company. He was sweet and charming, loyal and kind, with a wit that made her laugh. She felt at home with him like she’d never felt with anyone. Maybe not even Rhett.

  Everleigh mulled over this realization as she carried in Mama’s coffee with a plate of cookies.

  “Mama.” Everleigh handed the items to Mama. “Why’d you fall out with Sher Callahan? After everything she did? How she helped us?”

  “We simply have other interests.”

  “Wasn’t she your bridge partner?” Everleigh sat in her chair, cup and saucer in her hand. “But now she’s not?”

  “She cheats.”

  “You’ve known that for years.” Everleigh sipped her hot brew. “You used to come home singing her praises.”

  “The good Lord convicted me.”

  “Sure took you long enough to listen.”

  “Hush.” Mama pointed to the TV. “Disney is coming on.”

  Everleigh moved to the window when she heard a car door slam. The McAllisters two doors down had four teenagers. One car or another was always pulling up to their curb.

  But it was Don. She carried her coffee to the kitchen and primped in the hall mirror as the doorbell rang.

  “Come in, come in,” Mama called.

  “Mama.” Everleigh swatted at her as she hurried to open the door.

  Don stepped in and filled the house with his masculine presence, making Everleigh’s heart flutter when he kissed her cheek.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “Evening, Mrs. Novak.”

  “Don.” Mama hovered over her coffee and cookies like some miser counting her pennies.

  Don assisted Everleigh with her new spring coat, then held her hand as he walked her to the Corvette. Closing her door, he walked around to the driver’s side and started the engine. But instead of shifting into reverse, he turned to Everleigh.

  “I have to say it or I’ll burst.”

  She turned to see his face in the dashboard lights. “You sound serious.”