by Rachel Hauck
“First of all, it would be an amazing gift if that’s what you want to do. But isn’t the core of forgiveness that the debt is paid? You don’t owe the offended anymore.”
“I guess.” Beetle Boo wandered back and curled at her feet. “They said I could be involved. We’d tell her the truth from the beginning, but I see complications ahead. I’d have to fade from the picture.”
“Can you raise her and have Hunter be her dad?”
“Yes. They want him to be a part of her life. But, Bruno, Gaynor was special. I can’t help but think maybe she would be best for Baby Girl. It’s weird, because now I have some money. I could raise her on my own, but when I saw them together . . . Shoot, even Beetle Boo likes her.”
“Whoa. What’s your cop sense telling you?”
“It’s all jammed up on this one.” She laughed softly and brushed a slow trickle from the side of her cheek, then sobered, seeing compassion in his eyes. “Tell me what to do, Bruno.”
“I can’t. But I’ll stand by you no matter what you decide. I will.”
“Then I think”—she breathed deep and squeezed his hand—“I’m going to let them raise her.”
Bruno stood and pulled Beck into his arms, and she dropped her burdens there as tears washed her decision through the cracks and crevices of her heart.
* * *
Don
June 1960
Fernandina Beach
“Well? What do you think?” George walked the length of the downtown Fernandina Beach space they’d rented over the haberdashery.
With fresh paint, rented office equipment, and a state-of-the-art phone system, the first phase of the Granger & Callahan Insurance Brokers was underway.
Don stood in what would be his office area, separated from George by a partition. The scents of salt and pine blew through the raised window.
“The new secretary starts next week. She’s just out of school so I think she’ll be perfect for us. We can grow in this together.”
Don checked his watch. “I have a Realtor appointment at one. And don’t forget, I’m heading to Texas next week to close out my apartment.”
“You think your folks will ever get over it?” George seemed fascinated with a new pencil canister and a box of yellow No. 2s.
“Eventually. It’s like Mr. Christian said, I have to trust my father’s love.”
Dad’s parting words cut deep.
“Insurance? What kind of man sells insurance for a living? A huckster, that’s who. It’s a shell game, son.”
“Not what I’m doing, Dad. I want to help guarantee an accident or disaster doesn’t leave anyone destitute. And sure, make a little money.”
“Cars is where it’s at, Don. Everyone needs a car.”
“Everyone needs insurance. For crying out loud, we have one of the largest insurance companies in the South right in Waco.”
Words, words, words. By the time he headed east for Florida, Dad refused to speak to him. Mom wept, wondered what they’d done to deserve such treatment. But she kissed him good-bye and handed over a basket of goodies for the road.
“I’ll work on your father.”
“What about Everleigh?” George said. Now he was sharpening the pencils with an electric sharpener.
“We’re talking every night. I can’t mention marriage, but I’m hopeful.”
“Women. Took me two years to win over Lila.” George clapped him on the back. “Come on, let’s grab some lunch before your appointment.”
After a quick sandwich and cold coke at the drugstore, Don walked two doors down to the Realtor, Jason Gill.
“You said you wanted something special.” Jason motioned for Don to walk with him. “That your girl lost her first home to a tornado.”
“She lost everything to a tornado,” Don said.
“I’ve got the perfect place right here in town. Built in 1895 with expert craftsmanship, it’s in good condition. Sure to win your bride’s heart.”
“I’d like to do a bit of that myself.”
Jason laughed. “Send her pictures of this place. She’ll change her tune. Got a nice yard. Oversize lot. Lots of trees.”
Don slowed his steps as they approached an historic Victorian. Two stories with a large wraparound porch, gables, and turrets. It was lovely. But if he couldn’t convince Everleigh to marry him, he’d have to rattle around that big ol’ place by himself.
“Number 7 Memory Lane. What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.” Don said. But now that he was standing here, on Memory Lane, he wondered if he’d gone too far.
Everleigh and Rhett were going to build their house on a Memory Lane. Would she see this as his attempt to replace Rhett, wipe out her memories?
“The seller is eager so I think we can get a good price. Didn’t you say you have a cash down payment?”
“Y-yes.”
“Let’s take a look at her. There are two floors. Living rooms on both. Downstairs can be more of a parlor. Upstairs more of a family room, what with every Tom, Dick, and Harry having a TV nowadays. Sometimes more than one. There’re four bedrooms with a servant’s quarters off the kitchen and a butler’s pantry. Each bedroom has its own bath, which you didn’t see when these beauties were being built. There’s a small third-floor turret, which would be perfect for you.”
“What’s the asking price?” Don swerved around a little boy of about six or seven riding his tricycle at top speed. “Whoa there, tiger.”
“My feet start pedaling so fast I can’t stop.” He offered Don a toothless grin.
“Used to happen to me too.” Don crouched down and rang the tricycle bell. “Do you live here? In this big house?”
“I live there.” He pointed to a ranch style with a pretty awning across the street. “I’m Lou Jr.” He offered Don a firm little-boy handshake.
“Nice to meet you.” Don regarded him for a second while Jason showed his impatience with a throaty, “Ahem.”
There was something about the boy he recognized. Something familiar.
“Lou Jr., you know you’re not supposed to cross the street.” A woman stepped from the porch of the ranch house, dishtowel in hand. “I hope he’s not bothering you.”
Lou Jr. took off pedaling. “Coming, Mama.”
“He was no bother—” Don walked toward the edge of the yard. “Aimee?”
“Mr. Callahan?” Jason called, his Realtor smile fading. “Do you want to see the house or not?”
“I so appreciate your patience, but that’s my cousin.” Don jogged toward the street. “I didn’t know she was here.”
“Don?” Aimee met him in the quiet, narrow lane with a hug. “What a small world.” She wiped her hands on her apron, eyes glancing toward the boy. “Lou Jr., don’t ride too far. Yes, the edge of the sidewalk like Daddy told you.”
“You live here?”
“We do. Moved here six years ago. Lou got a job with the naval yard. What are you doing here?” She glanced back at her son. “Very good, sweetie. Come back this way now.”
The boy whipped the bike around and raced toward home, making motor noises as he sped past them.
“I’m starting an insurance business with George Granger. Do you know his family? He had a relative offer him some space downtown—”
“You’re leaving Callahan Cars? Your dad must be beside himself.”
“He’s not too pleased with me, no. But he merged with Dewey Motors in Dallas and Mom is getting her dream house in Castle Heights.”
“Very posh.” She watched as Lou Jr. dumped his tricycle and ran into the house. “W-where are my manners? Would you like to come in? I just made cookies.”
Lou Jr. walked through the front door, carrying two cookies in each hand. “Here you go, mister.” He raised his right hand to Don.
“Why, thank you.”
Aimee brushed her hand over his blond hair. “LJ, this is your mama’s cousin, Don, all the way from Texas.”
“I used to live in Texas.”
; Aimee peeked at Don with a slow smile. “Daddy and Mama used to live there, that’s right. He was born here but he gets confused.”
“Mr. Callahan!” Jason said. “Please, you’re not my only client.”
“Of course, how rude of me. Aimee,” he said, handing the cookie back to LJ. “I need to look at the Victorian, but could we meet later? I’d love to catch up and actually eat one of your cookies.”
A few years older than Don, Aimee was the daughter of Mom’s cousin, Roberta. She married while Don was in high school, and between the war and college, he knew little of her life other than tidbits Mom shared from a Christmas card.
“How about dinner? Lou would love to see you. Is seven too late?”
“Seven it is.” He felt kissed by the divine to run into family in this small, faraway community. It felt like home already. “I’d better go see this house.”
“It’s beautiful. You’ll love it. Oh, could we end up neighbors?”
Don crossed his fingers. “I hope so.”
The house was spotless, in excellent condition, with upgraded electrical and plumbing. And he’d be across the street from his cousin.
“The seller’s asking fifteen thousand, but she’ll consider your best offer,” Jason said as they walked into the spacious, bright master bedroom. “I’ve got a full set of photos in my office if you want to show them to your intended.”
Don gazed out the bedroom window into the green yard, the wind twisting the swinging Spanish moss, then across the road to Aimee’s place.
This was home. He knew it. Seeing Aimee was the cherry on top. One day Everleigh would know it too.
“I’ll take it, Jason,” he said, offering his hand. “Make an offer for fifteen thousand.”
chapter twenty-four
Everleigh
The shop was quiet, not even the radio playing, as Everleigh and Connie hovered over the workbench, finishing up a large wedding order.
The groom’s father was scheduled to pick up the arrangements at nine a.m., but the bride had changed the order one more time late yesterday afternoon.
To Everleigh’s relief, Mr. Reed had coaxed the bride back to her original order, because getting the orchids she wanted would’ve taken all night.
“Speaking of weddings,” Connie said. “What’s going on with you?”
“What makes you speak of weddings and me in the same breath?” Everleigh reached for a rose and pricked her finger. She snatched her hand back and wiped the blood on her apron. “Did you get Mr. Childers’s order done? We may have to send them on the delivery truck. I’m not sure either of us has time to run by there today.”
“Waiting in the cooler. And don’t avoid my question.”
“Nothing is going on.” Though she kept Don’s almost daily letters tied together with a ribbon.
“I still can’t figure why you didn’t run off with him.”
“I’m still figuring why I told you he tried to propose. You keep bringing it up. Are you done with the bridesmaids’ bouquets?”
Ever since Don rescued her from the cold, muddy ground, she woke up thinking of him, eagerly awaiting the day’s mail to see if he’d written.
On Saturdays when he usually called she paced anxiously about the kitchen until the phone rang.
She couldn’t help it. But she was also desperately trying to cling to Rhett and everything she promised him the day she laid him to rest.
I won’t forget. I won’t.
Connie set one of the mother’s corsages in the cooler, then leaned on Everleigh’s work table. “So why aren’t you chasing him? You fixed up your hair and makeup, bought a new wardrobe. Purchased that car—”
“So I made a few changes. Doesn’t mean I want to run off and get married.” Everleigh tied a silk ribbon on the bride’s bouquet.
“Surely you’re not planning on living with your mother the rest of your life.”
“What about the flowers for the altar?”
“You saw me working on them this morning. You can’t avoid me.” Connie tapped her on the shoulder. “Why do you have one foot in the grave?”
Everleigh slapped her hand on the work table. “Because that’s where my husband is! Why can’t people understand that? If he’s done living, then so am I.”
Connie pressed her hand over her open mouth. “Oh, Ev, he wouldn’t want you to think that-a way. Not a’tall. You can’t live half dead.”
“It’s the only way I know how to be. And I’m not half dead because I don’t want to marry Don Callahan. Please, just drop it.” Everleigh filled a bucket with soap and water and reached for the washcloth. “If you’re done with the corsages, let’s get this place cleaned up.”
“Fine, I’ll drop it. But I have one question. Do you think if you died Rhett would be living like you do? No sir, he’d be remarried by now and raising a family.”
“You don’t know anything about Rhett or what he’d do.” The volume of her reply pushed Connie into the workbench. “Just leave me alone, please.”
At work, Connie pushed, tried to get Everleigh to step out and change. At home, Mama pulled, pulled, pulled. Wanted her to stay the same, keep the routine. Join the old-girls club.
“The girls were wondering if you wanted to join us for bridge? I was in a club at your age.”
“Ev, I signed us up for the Christmas committee. First meeting is Tuesday night.”
Mama entangled her tighter and tighter into her world. Then she came home two nights ago to find Mama had set out Everleigh’s wedding photo on the breakfront next to hers and Daddy’s. She snatched up the picture, staring at two people she didn’t know anymore.
“Mama, what’s this?”
“I was just missing your daddy and Rhett. That’s the only photo we have of your wedding and I thought, why hide it away?”
That was all it took to draw Everleigh back to her old self. Into the familiar ruts.
Connie returned from the utility room with the mop and bucket. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave it. I’m your friend. Why do you think you can’t move on? Really now. It’s not just about Rhett being dead or forgetting him. There’s more to the story. Come on, Ev, dig deep and tell ol’ Connie.”
“Will you shut up?” She tossed a discarded rose at her coworker, beaning her square in the chest. Soft red pedals fluttered to the ground. “I am done talking. This is my life, Connie. My decisions. Do you hear me?”
Everleigh crashed through the shop’s back door and into the alley, careening into the chest of the man himself, Don Callahan.
Shaking, she stepped around him to exit the alley for the street. “Oh my word, you scared me. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Florida?”
“I came home to close out the apartment. I told you in my last letter. Everleigh, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Why would anything be the matter?”
He fell in step with her. “Did you see the pictures of my new house?”
“Yes. It’s lovely. I hope you have a happy life there.” At the corner she wasn’t sure where to go. When she started to cross the street, Don gently restrained her.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” She pulled free from him. “Connie’s wrong. Mama’s wrong. You’re wrong. I don’t have to move on. Why can’t I just stay here in my own world and live the way I want? Why do I have to let go? Why do I have to fall in love again? Who says being a wife and mother is the only way to go? You know one day Mr. Reed will make me a manager.”
The street lamps had just started to shine through the dusty remainder of the pink summer sunset.
“That’s great, Ev.” Don leaned against the exterior of the bakery next to the flower shop. “But only if it’s what you want and not what you fear.”
“This is what I want.” She folded her arms, watching the traffic drift through the yellow stoplight.
“Okay, then . . .” He started to move away and she wanted to cry out, but she wrangled her voice into silence.
“Just know my feelings haven’t changed. I love you. I bought the house for you. It seemed meant to be when I heard the address was Memory Lane.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Not at all. Not at all. And I don’t mean to replace Rhett. Just seems maybe the good Lord is giving me a chance to pick up where he left off.”
At the curb, he looked both ways and stepped off.
“I can’t betray him again, Don. I can’t.”
He returned to her, the scents of coffee and baking bread wafting on the soft breeze.
“What are you talking about?”
She tightened her jaw, resisting the shivering. “Our child.” The confession echoed against the red brick. “I gave him up, Don. This is the kind of woman you say you love. Weak and selfish. He was born early with complications, and someone suggested to Mama a nice two-parent family would be better for him. A couple who was in a good place instead of being raised by two crushed widows.”
His eyes narrowed. “You said someone suggested—”
“Your mother, Don. She was the one who said we should let him be adopted.”
He slapped his hand to his chest. “My mother?”
“She recommended an agency. No one would ever know. The records are sealed. Don, I don’t even know where he is or how he fares. Rhett’s boy. I gave his living legacy away. That is why I must maintain his memories.
“You’d think maybe I’d gotten myself sideways with drink or pills in the aftermath of it all. But no, I work and wear sensible shoes. This is my coping mechanism. To just exist. You still want to marry me now?”
“I think I want to marry you all the more.” He tried to hold her, but she held herself aloof.
“Out of pity?”
“Pity? You think my love is so conditional that when a financially strapped, lonely, hurting widow allows her child to be adopted by caring parents, I’d walk away? For Pete’s sake, Everleigh, I never met a woman who tried so hard not to love or be loved.”
“I let him go, Don. I let Rhett’s son go.” The sorrow of regret burned more than any other kind.
