The Memory House

by Rachel Hauck

  If she wanted him to just walk away because something was complicated . . .

  “I can move to New York, Beck. There’s an agency there who will take me on.”

  “What about Tyvis and Calvin? All the good stuff happening for Sports Equity? What if you move and we don’t work out?”

  “Beck, all I need to know right now is if you love me. Do you?”

  The seagulls leaned into the wind and clustered at their feet, their dark eyes pleading for a bite.

  Her eyes glistened. “Yes, Bruno, I think I do.”

  chapter thirty-two

  Everleigh

  Saturday, September 10

  The road to Fernandina Beach was all but deserted. The road out was bumper to bumper.

  She’d tried Don’s office and home number just outside Jacksonville, but there was no answer and the gravity of her decision began to weigh on her.

  What if he’d yielded to her plea and drove to Waco? Surely he would’ve called.

  A little after four p.m., she turned down Memory Lane, the wind gusts pounding the car and scattering horizontal raindrops over the windshield.

  The radio announcer called them rain bands, and Jacksonville and the beaches were expected to get hit with the outer edges of the weakening Hurricane Donna.

  Everleigh recognized the Victorian home from the picture Don had shown her—7 Memory Lane. She parked along the curb and stepped out of the car.

  The house across the street was buttoned up, the awnings lowered over the windows. A car sat under the carport with the trunk raised and the car doors open.

  Don’s place was dark, but the windows weren’t boarded. And there was no sign of his car.

  Another gust of wind drove thick raindrops into her blouse and slacks. Everleigh ran toward the porch, stepping in a puddle of muddy water that covered her white sneakers.

  “Don?” She rang the bell. “Don! It’s me, Everleigh.”

  Cupping her hand around her eyes, she peered through the sidelight. The dark foyer and living room showed no signs of life.

  Running around back, she slipped in the wet grass, crashing to the soft ground. With a moan, she pushed up.

  “Don?” She jiggled the kitchen door handle, then seeing the barn-like garage, she tried to slide it open. But it was padlocked.

  “Don!”

  Back at her car, reality began to sink in. She leaned against the driver’s-side door, trembling, exhausted, hungry and weak, her stomach bloated from too much coffee.

  She’d driven a thousand miles to see Don, to tell him she loved him, and he was not here.

  When a door slammed behind her, she turned to the house with the awnings. Maybe the neighbors knew where he’d gone.

  “Hello? Is anyone home?” Everleigh knocked on the carport side door. “Hello?” She exhaled relief when the door opened.

  “Can I help you?” The woman on the other side was pretty, her house dress covered in a large apron and her hair wrapped in a kerchief.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you but—” Everleigh squinted at the familiar face. “Aimee? Aimee Holiday?”

  Her eyes flickered with recognition. “Everleigh Applegate?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Aimee, what are you doing here?” The wind whipped under the porch, rattling the window’s tin coverings and chilling Everleigh to the bone.

  “I-I live here. What are you doing here?” She glanced behind her, then pulled the door close, blocking Everleigh’s view of the house.

  “I’m so relieved to see a friendly face. And all the way from Texas. I came to be with Don. Do you know where he is?” She made a face. “Wait, you live across the street from your cousin? He never mentioned it.”

  “And you’re his girl? At dinner the other night he said there was someone but—”

  “I’m sort of his girl. He’s asked me to marry him, but I turned him down.” Everleigh flipped the collar of her blouse against her neck, the air cool and wet. “The storm made me realize . . . I suppose it’s a long story. But I had to tell him I love him. Do you know where he is?”

  “Mama, who’s here?” A boy with eyes the color of a summer Texas sky peeked around Aimee’s legs. “Hello.”

  “Just a friend from Texas.” Aimee patted him on the head. “Now, do as I asked and pack your suitcase. Your clothes are on the bed.”

  Everleigh glanced from the boy to Aimee, then at the boy again. His face. She’d know it even if she hadn’t stared at the picture during a gas stop ten hours ago.

  He smiled and said, “I was borned in Texas,” before dashing away.

  “Let me in, Aimee.”

  “No.” Aimee blocked her entrance, her stone posture refusing to yield. “You just go on back where you came from. You shouldn’t be here. I can’t believe this. Go. Just go.”

  “Aimee, let me in. Please. I have to see him.”

  “No, you don’t. It’s been seven years, and I won’t allow it.” She pressed the door against Everleigh. “You made this decision. Now keep your word.”

  “Please, Aimee. I won’t say anything to him. Can I just see him?”

  “He’s settled. He’s peaceful. We are all he knows.”

  “I’m not going to tell him.” Everleigh stepped back. “Mama just told me yesterday that she knew who had adopted him. But she didn’t give me a name. Only a picture of him from a few years ago. I never wanted to know about him. He wasn’t mine any longer.” She gave Aimee a weak smile. “Is he a good boy?”

  “Very good.” Aimee slowly stepped aside. “His room is down the hall.”

  Everleigh hesitated, then crossed the threshold and found the boy in his room, packing. She sat on the edge of his bed, studying his face, every detail.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Louis Carter Holiday Jr.” The little guy closed his child-size suitcase. Aimee stood at the door, hands clasped together, her eyes rimmed with red and steel. “This is my teddy bear. Where I go, he goes.”

  Everleigh reached for the brown bear, the once-soft fur matted from seven years of use. She’d given this to the adoption worker after she signed the papers.

  “So I’ll always be with him.”

  “It-it’s a beautiful teddy bear.”

  “Beautiful?” His high-pitched child’s laugh drowned out the storm’s bucking winds. “Bears aren’t beautiful, are they, Mama? They’re ferocious.”

  Aimee stood in the doorway. “That’s right, son.”

  Her arms moved of their own volition, and Everleigh swept the boy off his feet, bringing him to her. He was warm and sweet, everything she imagined he’d be. And squirmy.

  “Hey, you’re squeezing me too tight.” He pushed against her shoulders and arched back. “I can’t breathe. Are you crying?”

  Everleigh loosened her hold but studied every inch of his face. He was the miniature version of Rhett, with the same mischievous glint in his eye and the same saucy smile. And the same thick frame.

  She brushed her hand over his hair and down his soft cheek. “I never thought I’d see you—”

  “Hey, little bug, run get the sandwiches for Mama from the refrigerator. Be sure the door is closed tight, okay? I need to talk to Mrs. Applegate.”

  With a curious glance at Everleigh, he dashed out of the room. “Women.”

  Everleigh laughed, the weariness from her seventeen-hour journey fading for a moment. “Where did he hear—”

  “Lou. He’s always teasing me with it.” Aimee sat on the bed with the yellow bedspread that matched the walls. “Don’s mother came to us when she heard you gave birth prematurely. You were still in a bad way after losing your family. She thought we could adopt him. We’d been trying for a child for five years with no success. Lou had just signed on here at the naval yard, and we were set to move within a month of your delivery. I said yes without hesitation. Everleigh, he has Novak and Applegate blood. How could we go wrong?”

  “You must imagine I’m some horrible mother to give up her child. To be so weak.”

&n
bsp; “No, I imagine you gave us an incredible gift.” Aimee hesitated, then squeezed Everleigh’s hand. “I never thought I’d be able to thank you in person. But thank you.”

  “He seems well. Tell me, does he like school? Does he play outside? Is he healthy?”

  “He’s the tallest boy in his class. The smartest too.”

  Lou Jr. bounded into the room. “Are we ready? The wind is really loud.”

  “Yes, we are.” Aimee smiled and tousled his hair. “Get your suitcase. Mr. and Mrs. Carroll and little Tommy will be so happy to see us, won’t they?”

  Everleigh snatched Aimee by the arm. “Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to stay with friends in Jacksonville. Lou was supposed to be here with us but got called into work. Now he wants us to leave so we’re not home alone.”

  “Tell me, where’s Don?”

  “I’ve not seen him, Everleigh. But there’s a spare key to the house under the birdbath. You can let yourself in.” Aimee started down the hall. “LJ, let’s go. The winds are making Mommy nervous.”

  “What if he’s doesn’t come home?” Everleigh gripped Aimee’s arm. “Should I go with you?”

  “Everleigh, you know you can’t.” Aimee peeled away her tight grip. “I’m sorry. Why did you come during a hurricane?”

  “Because—I couldn’t lose another man I loved in a storm.”

  “Then you must really love him.” Aimee passed through her kitchen, placing bread, peanut butter, and a jar of water into a cooler. “There will be a lot of wind and rain, and the electric lines will go down, but you should be safe in Don’s place. Lou Jr., get in the car, please.” She carried the cooler to the car and settled her son into the passenger seat. “It was good to see you, Everleigh. I’ve always wanted to thank you.”

  Everleigh caught Aimee at the trunk of her car. “Do you and Lou love him, Aimee? With all your heart? That’s what I wanted for him. A mother and father who love him.”

  “More than the air we breathe.”

  Aimee and Lou Jr. pulled out of the driveway as another rain band swept over the coast with thick, cold drops.

  Everleigh dashed across the street to her car. Her little boy was happy and loved. If that’s all she gained from this crazy trip into a storm, then it was well worth it.

  * * *

  Don

  He made good time until his car broke down outside of Tallahassee in a little town called Chipley.

  He spent the night sitting up in a truck-stop diner waiting for the mechanic shop to open.

  It was almost noon before the slow-moving grease monkey got to his Corvette, dinking around the engine while Don paced, finally coming out from under the hood to announce, “Your fuel filter is clogged.”

  “Great. That’s a five-minute fix.”

  “Naw, got to drive to Tallahassee to get the part. And that’s if I can find it. Sit tight, won’t take but a couple of hours. Three, four tops.”

  “Four? Listen, I need to get on the road to Texas.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a wad. I’ll hurry.”

  Yeah, Don would really like to know his definition of hurry.

  It was almost seven before he got on the road again, foot heavy against the gas.

  The more time he had to sit and think, the more he wanted to see Everleigh. Dad’s deal was just the “good excuse” he needed to head west again.

  He decided to stop for the night outside of Biloxi a little after ten. After checking into a cheap motel, he ran across the road to a diner where the Ds in the neon sign were burned out.

  OTTIE’S INER

  The place had a jukebox but no radio. Some yahoo at the counter kept loading the thing with nickels and selecting the same song over and over.

  He ordered a sandwich with fries and a glass of water while Johnny Cash’s “Second Honeymoon” put him in mind of Everleigh all the more. Absence was doing a bang-up job of making his heart grow fonder.

  The car radio informed him every hour that Hurricane Donna was blowing toward the northeast corner of his new home state, wobbling between Jacksonville and Daytona, winds still at category two strength.

  The outer rain bands would be hitting Fernandina Beach about now. He was relieved not to be there, trying to sleep in a hot, airless, closed-up house while every knock and rattle kept him awake.

  “Refresh your coffee?” The waitress, Liza, hovered over his table with a full pot of black joe. Don slid his cup over. “Where you heading tonight?”

  “Texas.” He sweetened his coffee with a large drop of cream.

  “Better than Florida.” She reached for his empty sandwich plate. “That Donna is an angry thing.”

  “She’s taking a toll, no doubt.” Don gave her a dismissive smile. His neck was sore from sitting up all night and frankly, he was too weary for chitchat.

  “My Dwayne has his ear to the radio constantly. Says it’s one of the worst hurricanes since the ’28 Miami storm, and he’s scared half to death she’ll do a one-eighty and come blowing over us.”

  “Not likely. She’s heading into the Atlantic.”

  “Times like these make you want to hug the ones you love, you know?” Liza moved on with a, “Have fun in Texas,” but the truth of her comment rustled up Don’s courage.

  Call Everleigh. Tell her you’re on your way.

  He didn’t know why he hadn’t called sooner. Maybe he wanted to surprise her. Or maybe he needed the long drive to decide if she would ever succumb to his overtures.

  Plus, how was he going to break the news of Standish to Dad?

  Dumping the change from his pocket onto the counter, he hoped he had enough to make a quick one-minute call. He did. Barely.

  At the pay phone, he slipped the coins in the slot and dialed her number. On the first ring he realized the late hour. Ten fifteen. He was about to hang up when someone answered.

  “Hello? Everleigh?” Mrs. Novak sounded startled. Fretful.

  “Mrs. Novak, it’s me.” Don cleared his voice. “Don Callahan. Sorry to call so late.”

  “Don!” She sounded fully alert. “Where is she? Is everything okay? Tell me she’s with you. Dear Jesus, she didn’t even tell me she was going, just left a note.”

  “Who’s with me? Everleigh? I’m on my way to Waco.”

  “You mean she’s not with you?”

  “Why would she be with me?”

  “That blame storm. She was terrified it’d take you from her so she left here Friday night on the hunt for you. Did I tell you she didn’t even say good-bye but left a note?”

  He shot to his feet, banging his head against the top of the low phone booth. “But I’m on my way to Waco.”

  “Oh my word, you mean my girl drove straight into a hurricane for nothing?”

  “I’ll find her.” Don was about to hang up when he pressed the phone to his ear again. “Mrs. Novak, why did Everleigh go to Florida?”

  “Because she loves you, you dolt. Now turn your car around and find my girl. Find her!”

  He slapped the phone on the cradle and tripped out of the booth. Tucking a five under his plate, he nodded to Liza and made long, eager strides toward his car.

  As he fired out of the diner’s narrow parking lot heading east, Don Callahan swore he’d spend the rest of his life making Everleigh Applegate the apple of his eye.

  chapter thirty-three

  Beck

  March

  East Flatbush, New York

  Before she started her Sunday-afternoon shift, she’d arranged to meet Hunter and Gaynor at the World Trade Center Memorial.

  The day was bright, cold, and filled with emotion as Beck found Dad’s name on the north pool kiosk with the rest of the brave souls who died in the North Tower.

  Midtown South Dale Holiday

  She placed her hand over his name. “Hi, Dad, it’s me. Your baby girl.”

  Beck’s own Baby Girl woke up at the sound of her voice, kicking and stretching, wanting to see what was going on in the world. />
  She pressed her hand on her belly, and Baby Girl pressed back. It’d become their routine the past few weeks. Mini high fives.

  Tourists gathered around her, reading the names, wondering what it must have been like to die in such horror, pausing every now and then as if in prayer.

  Beck started her soliloquy to Dad until a couple stepped in front of her. She let them pass before starting again.

  “Dad, I know it’s been eighteen years, but it’s never too late to say I’m sorry. Which I am. Terribly sorry. For what I said to you on your phone, the messages I left. I was a stupid, selfish kid who had no idea what you were running into that day. I tried to punish myself by forgetting you, and for a long time, it worked. Then Miss Everleigh died and left me her house, and it set me on a journey. Mom found your old phone and sent it to me. Bruno Endicott, remember him? I’m sure you do. Anyway, he broke into the phone and found my messages. It crushed me hearing how I spoke to you. If I could talk to my fourteen-year-old self now . . . But, Dad, I miss you every day. You were the best.” She kissed her fingers, then pressed them over her father’s name. “Please forgive me.”

  “Beck?”

  She turned as Hunter and Gaynor approached, hand in hand, an anxious reflection in their eyes.

  Gaynor touched Beck’s belly. “She’s grown. The baby I mean, not you.”

  “We’ve both grown. In several ways.”

  “I can tell. You look even more beautiful.”

  Hunter motioned to one of the security guards. “Did you see ol’ Sergeant Lopez? He works security here now.”

  “Sergeant Lopez?” Beck glanced back at the memorial building. “I’ll have to say hi. I rode with him for six months a few years ago.”