The Memory House

by Rachel Hauck

  “Everything’s going to be all right.” When he held her this time, she let go. He rocked her side to side, holding her as she wept.

  When her tears finally dried, she patted the wet spot over his heart and took the handkerchief he offered.

  “I made a mess of your shirt.”

  “You can ruin a dozen shirts if you’ll just say you love me. Will you give me a chance?”

  She shook her head. “I feel so conflicted.” She pressed his hanky under her eyes. “Don, if I said yes I’m not sure what I’d do if I lost a man I loved. Again.”

  “They don’t have tornados in Florida.”

  “Then a plane crash or a car accident. Sickness. I couldn’t bear it, Don.”

  “You won’t lose me. And, Everleigh, I think you just told me you loved me.”

  * * *

  Beck

  Beck pulled her clothes from the dyer, scooped Beetle into the basket, and carried it upstairs. He wagged his tail as he dug into her warm clothes.

  He was on the mend. She had a final vet appointment for him before flying home.

  One week from today and she’d be back on the job, in the gray and cold.

  Her conversation with Bruno about Hunter and Gaynor lived in her psyche. She’d made her decision and decided to tell them after she arrived home but wanted to tell Mom before.

  Today’s big to-do was Call Mom.

  Since deciding Hunter and Gaynor would raise Baby Girl, she felt relieved. A burden lifted. Which made her confident in her decision.

  Dumping the basket onto the bed, Beetle frolicked through her clothes until she set him down on the floor.

  “I need these folded, not wrinkled.”

  His claws clicked over the hardwood and he moved to his bed in the little hall.

  Bruno’s Happy Tomato question had surfaced often in the last day.

  “Why did you forget?”

  Putting her clothes in the dresser, Beck mused over the only answer that made sense. The amnesia protected her from something ominous.

  At the bedroom window, she peered down to the yard, glancing between the garage-barn and Natalie’s. Her car was in the carport, a sight that always put Beck at ease.

  The rest of Memory Lane appeared normal. No dark Mercedes. Which reminded her. She’d not heard back from Hogan.

  She’d made a point of meeting Mr. Colter one afternoon. He was not the man she saw at the Happy Tomato. Or on the lane. And Mr. Colter’s Mercedes was blue.

  Laundry done, Beck sat in the rocker, propped her elbow on the sill, and dialed Mom.

  “Beck? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine, don’t sound so worried.”

  “I’m an ER nurse. I worry. Are you ready to come home? Did you open the box?”

  “I meant to but haven’t had the chance.”

  “I imagine you’re busy doing nothing.” Mom sarcasm was shallow. “Are you tan? How often do you go to the beach?”

  “Not tan. Beach once. I don’t know why I haven’t open it yet and by the way, I’m pregnant.” Just rip the Band-Aid right off.

  “Hunter?”

  “W-what? Hello, Mom?”

  “I’m here. I asked if Hunter is the father. I knew you were pregnant. I’m a nurse, for crying out loud.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “How’d you know it was Hunter?”

  “I’ve been around the NYPD my entire adult life and I’ve never heard of a lieutenant calling to check on the address of a cop on vacation. Especially when he can text or call her himself.”

  “He showed up here with his wife the day Dad’s box arrived.”

  Mom’s gasp said it all. “That must’ve been something. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, well, all things considered. They want to raise her. I-I think I might take them up on it. They are a good couple and—”

  “It’s a girl?”

  “Yeah, a girl.”

  Mom was silent for a long moment. “Are you sure you want to give her up?”

  “I’d be involved just like Hunter would be if I raised her and married someone else. But, Mom, Gaynor would adopt her.”

  Beck recounted the Ingrams’ desire for children and lack of success and how Gaynor’s faith journey led her toward forgiveness.

  “I’d be giving her a huge gift.”

  “I’ll say. But, Beck, this is your child.”

  “And Hunter’s. Why can’t the father raise her as well as I can? He has a wife. I have a dog.”

  Mom was silent. Then, “This is breaking my heart, Beck. My first grandchild.” She sighed. “But if you choose to let them be her primary parents, then I’ll support you. I love you.”

  “I’ll be involved, which means you’ll be involved. She’ll have more family than she can stand.”

  “True, and if you include Flynn’s side, she’ll be sick with aunts and uncles and cousins.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Once I’ve had time to think about this . . . Beck, your father’s first grandchild.”

  Beck sat up. She hadn’t considered that angle. “Yeah, I guess so. You know, Bruno asked me something interesting. He said, ‘Why do you think you forgot?” Not why don’t I remember, but why did I forget?”

  “How’s that different?”

  “Not remembering feels more accidental. But forgetting is purposeful. Was there anything going on with me after he died?”

  “We’ve been over this, Beck.” Dishes clattered in the background, followed by the sound of running water. “Nothing more than usual for a young teen girl who’d just lost her father.” She heard Wyatt in the background, looking for something to eat. “Beck, I honestly have no idea, and I’ve got to get dinner. This is my night to cook. But you call me if you need anything. Seems I taught you to feel like you have to handle everything on your own. I’m sorry.”

  “You taught me independence. I love you, Mom. Tell Flynn and Wyatt hi for me.”

  “I love you too. Now open that box. Text me what’s inside.”

  “Will do.” She’d retrieved the box from the bedroom floor and paused by the narrow third-floor stairs when she got a text from Hogan.

  Got a name on the plate. Call me.

  chapter twenty-five

  Everleigh

  It was much too hot for a garden party. Even in September. But Mama insisted she attend.

  “It’s for Hampton Bing. Your old classmate. Can’t you support his town council run?”

  “I planned to vote for the other candidate.”

  “I don’t care who you vote for in the booth, you’re attending his party. You can’t let all that blonde hair go to waste. Wear your pink dress. Leslie Bing will be dressed to the nines.”

  Of course, the former Waco High head cheerleader and wife of a rising politician would look the part. Leslie was born for it.

  Everleigh didn’t know whether to envy or pity her.

  Envy, because she still had her husband and child. Pity, because she was destined to share Hampton with the public the rest of her life.

  She showered because it had been so warm in the shop, then tried to pick something garden party–like from her closet.

  The pink dress was ruined. She’d worn it the night Don scooped her up from the mud and rain. If she dwelled on it, she felt his arms under her legs, his shoulder under her head.

  The blue dress would have to do. Or she could put on a pair of shorts and go to Cameron Park and read a book.

  “Everleigh?” Mama peeked in as she searched for a pair of stockings. “Just wanted to make sure you were getting ready.”

  “Will you ground me if I don’t go?”

  Everleigh sat on the edge of her bed, hooked her stocking to her girdle, and stepped into the dress.

  At her dressing table, she reached for her brush, knocking over the bottle of perfume that held Don’s letters against the mirror. He’d been writing all summer. His latest letter
from two days ago sat on top.

  . . . I’ve not given up on you, but George’s wife set me up with a friend of hers. Sweet girl, but I couldn’t get more than two words out of her. She made an art out of batting her eyes. How are you? What’s going on in your world? How’s the flower shop? Did I tell you I’d been in touch with Tom Jr.? He’s thinking of vacationing here. I miss you and think of you daily, Ev. Write soon.

  Forever,

  Your Loving Don

  Her hand trembled as she slipped the letter into the envelope. When she looked up, her reflection revealed her regret. But she’d made her choice. Now she’d live with it.

  She put on her heels and started out of her room, then circled back for Don’s letters, clutching them to her chest as she passed through the kitchen.

  “I’m off, Mama.”

  “All right.” She got up from her chair. “Don’t you look nice. Cinda is picking me up for dinner in an hour, but I’ll be home early. Do you want me to press your white linen for church tomorrow?”

  The white linen, the one that made her look like a bride?

  “I’ll just wear my brown suit.”

  “You wore that last week.”

  “Good-bye, Mama.” Everleigh started out the back door. “Have fun with Cinda.”

  “What have you got there?” Mama met her by the table and tugged on her arm, angling to see the letters.

  “Trash.”

  “Aren’t those Don’s letters?”

  “You’ve been snooping in my room again.”

  “Goodness. I see them against your mirror when I’m dusting. Mind your tone. I don’t appreciate being called nosey.”

  Their eyes met. Mother and daughter. Partners in widowhood. “I’m throwing them away.”

  Mama released her. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  At the tin can by the garage, Everleigh dumped the letters without watching them fall. When she slammed down the lid, she sealed her action. Sealed her decision.

  Don Callahan was not the way forward. She’d write him, encourage him to move on, find another woman to live in the house on Memory Lane. Take more dates arranged by George’s wife.

  Leslie Bing was the first to greet her at the senior Bing’s lush and sprawling estate. Daisies, fan flower, and bitterweed flourished in the garden while large ornate pots around the pool hosted Mexican sunflowers.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “Please, my mother-in-law is a flower magician. She can make weeds bloom. But look who I’m talking to. Mama Bing won’t order from anyone but Reed’s and she prefers you do her arranging.”

  “That’s quite a compliment.”

  “There’s Devon Murphy.” Leslie waved. “Doesn’t she look adorable? Expectant mothers shouldn’t be so cute. I was the size of a barn.” She touched Everleigh’s arm. “I’m glad you came. You are just the bees knees with your Kim Novak hair.”

  “Les, darling, come meet Agnew Smith.” Hampton beckoned his wife with a nod toward Everleigh.

  “On my way, sweets. Everleigh?” She motioned to the crowd. “Enjoy.” Then she leaned close. “Welcome back. I thought we’d lost you forever after, well, everything.”

  Leslie buzzed away, chatting to every soul she passed while Everleigh walked free and clear to the punch table.

  “Make mine a double,” she said to the stiff, formal server behind the crystal bowl.

  Then she stood between three conversations. To her right, a group of men comparing golf scores. To her left, three women comparing potty-training techniques. In front of her, two couples discussing the weather. A storm was brewing somewhere.

  Storms were Everleigh’s cue to move on.

  She circled the crowd, recognizing only a few faces. Most of them were business types wanting to get their hooks into Hampton early in the game.

  “Everleigh Novak, as I live and breathe.” Porter Pyle clapped his arm around her.

  “Applegate. It’s Everleigh Applegate.” She twisted away from his embrace.

  “Where in the name of all that’s good have you been hiding?” Porter shot her an Elvis-like grin to go with his Elvis-like pompadour.

  “Porter, I sold you a bouquet of flowers last Valentine’s. For your mother, I believe.”

  “Naw, naw, that was a dowdy-looking gal with a thing—” He stuck his hand on the back of his head. “Like my granny.” He leaned back to glance at Everleigh up and down. “She sure wasn’t you.”

  Porter’s attention attracted other men at the party. Unattached men. She was about to retreat when a guitar picker and his singer hopped on a makeshift stage and started singing.

  Porter grabbed her around the waist and yanked her into a two-step, his clodhoppers just barely missing her toes.

  Willie Davenport offered his arm for the next song, then Artemis, whose last name Everleigh couldn’t remember.

  When she’d danced with every single man at the party, including Hampton’s ninety-year-old widower grandpa, who tried to kiss her, she grabbed her handbag from the coat room and ran out the front door.

  “You’re home early,” Mama said. “How was it?”

  “I was the token single gal. Danced with every unattached man, including Hampton’s granddaddy.”

  “Well, at least you had fun.”

  Did she? Have fun? “I’m off to change for bed. Want some popcorn while we watch Bonanza? How was dinner with Cinda?”

  “Fine, but she’s got every ailment under God’s golden sun. She went on and on about so many aches and pains I started to feel them myself.” Mama followed Everleigh down the hall, chatting, hanging up her blue dress as Everleigh slipped into her pajamas. “Do you think any of them will call for a date?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Why not? It’s good to go out once in a while.” Mama eased the closet door shut. “I’ve not said so lately, Everleigh, but I want the world for you. I want you to be happy. We’ve been a team for a while now and—”

  “We make a good team, Mama.”

  “You are my good girl.” The phone rang and Mama darted down the hall. “Mrs. Bentley might need a ride to church.”

  Everleigh sat at her dressing table to remove her earrings, pausing when she saw a bundle tucked between the mirror and her bottle of perfume, bound by a thread of Mama’s pink yarn.

  Don’s letters.

  “Oh, Mama.” Everleigh pressed the bundle to her heart, listening as Mama assured Mrs. Bentley they’d be along to collect her in the morning in plenty of time for church.

  chapter twenty-six

  Beck

  Sitting on the narrow steps up to the third floor, Beck texted Mom the contents of the box.

  One pencil canister with a dozen pencils and pens.

  Six Happy Meal Toys. Mostly Fred Flintstone.

  One picture of Dad, you, and me on Miss Everleigh’s porch. (I look about twelve.)

  One Nokia cell phone.

  One bottle of aspirin.

  One really old package of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum.

  One pair of scissors.

  One ancient Walkman and headphones.

  Beck held up the picture of the three of them. Dad’s eyes were blue and kind, partnered with an easy smile. Mom, so young and pretty, and completely unaware of what awaited her.

  Beck’s happy expression would change in a few short years as well.

  Setting the picture back in the box, Beck carried the phone to her spot in front of the TV. Bruno was flying home from Mississippi today, and the phone would be a nice icebreaker for the news Hogan delivered yesterday.

  * * *

  Bruno

  She waited for him on the veranda with Beetle Boo curled in her lap. He stepped out of his Honda, a hitch in his step as he made his way toward her.

  She was beautiful. Not just the way her hair fell over her shoulder or the curve of her breasts through the blue hoodie. But the softness in her face and the way she mothered that dog.

  And how the steel in her ey
es the night of Miss Everleigh’s memorial had become a feather.

  But he had to watch himself. She insisted on going home. Insisted her life was too complicated to consider loving him.

  “Kind of cold to be sitting outside, isn’t it?” He sat next to her, his lips buzzing to kiss her but mindful of resistance to any further intimacy.

  So instead, he attempted to scratch Beetle behind the ears, but the pup would have none of it. He raised his head and snarled.

  “You think he’ll ever like me?” Bruno said.

  “Sure, the day before I leave. Speaking of, will you and Natalie keep an eye on the house for me?”

  “Of course. Does that mean you’re coming back? I’d like it if you lived in the house.”

  She grinned, tapping him shoulder to shoulder. “How was Mississippi and Tyvis?”

  “Good actually.” He picked a dry leaf from the porch step and crumbled it between his fingers. “He’s very grateful. So am I. He said to tell my partner thanks.” He glanced over at her, holding up his phone. “And I just got this—”

  “I’m not your partner. I just offered to help a kid out.”

  “Sure you’re my partner. In fact—” He reached into his shoulder bag and took out a newly minted Sweat Equity shirt. “I got you a large for now. After the baby I’ll get you a new one.”

  “Bruno—” Surprise blended with tenderness molded her expression. “Thank you, but I’m not really your partner.” Said with more truth layers than Bruno wanted to admit. “Besides, you said you were paying me back.”

  “I know but, Beck, why not be my partner?” Why not marry me? Make my fourteen-year-old-boy dream come true? “Instead of paying you back, I’ll give you a percentage of whatever Calvin earns.”

  She tipped her head in surprise. “Calvin?”

  “Read.” He tapped the phone’s screen.

  “‘Bruno . . . my man . . . ,’” Beck read aloud. “‘I’m in. After what you did for Tyvis—’”

  “He signed?” She threw her arms around him. “See? You showed Tyvis kindness—”

  “You showed him kindness.”