by Rachel Hauck
Hunter saluted Dad’s name, then faced Beck, asking if she wanted to sit on the benches.
It was too cold to have this conversation outside, but she felt the space and the sunlight were on her side.
“I guess I should say what I need to say.”
“We’ve been praying, anxiously awaiting.” Gaynor clung to Hunter’s arm.
“When you left Florida, I was ninety percent sure I would say yes. Gaynor, your memories of your dad really touched me. The way you talked about your family meant you had something I couldn’t give her.”
Hunter peered down at his wife. “I feel a but in your tone, Beck.”
“I wanted to let you raise her. I even told my mom and my friend Bruno. But I can’t. I’m already in love with her. Then, through a series of events, including a sports agent who geeks over old phones, I got my memories back. And everything changed. But . . . I want you involved. Hunter, you are her father.”
Gaynor glanced away, wiping her cheeks. “I was so hoping, but I understand, Beck. And yes, we want to be involved.”
Her eyes said what her words could not. She’ll be Hunter’s child but not mine.
“We’ll help you get into a place,” Hunter said. “Anything you need.”
“I don’t need help with a place. Miss Everleigh left me enough money.”
“Who was she again?” Gaynor sniffed, turning to Beck, her face more red from holding back her tears than cold.
“A very old family friend.”
“How did everything change?” Hunter said.
Beck explained about Mom’s box, the stuff from Dad’s desk, and the hateful messages Bruno pulled off Dad’s phone.
“I felt guilty so I chose to forget. But now I remember . . . and, well, so much has happened.” She patted her heart. God. Bruno. Baby Girl. “I want her to know her grandpa, Dale Holiday, one of twenty-three heroes of the NYPD who died in 9/11.”
Was she making sense? It was hard to explain how connecting with who she really was both on earth and in heaven changed everything.
Hunter nodded. “I think so. Thank you for considering our request.”
“Will you let us know when you go into labor? Can we come to the hospital?”
“Of course.”
Gaynor hugged her, no longer restraining her tears. “For what it’s worth, Baby Girl is very lucky to have you as her mom.”
“And I think she’s lucky to have you as her other mom.”
With nothing more to say, Hunter and Gaynor bid good-bye. Beck fell against the back of the bench, relieved but sad. Gaynor’s graciousness humbled her. If she hoped to be a decent mom to Baby Girl, she needed to take a page from Gaynor’s book. From God’s good book.
Baby Girl kicked and Beck patted her belly. “You’re going to be well loved.”
“Beck?” Hunter turned and walked back to her. She braced herself for another plea from a man who dearly loved his wife. “Did you say you heard the messages on your dad’s phone? The one in his box of returned things?”
“Yeah, Mom saved it for me. She came across it cleaning the attic and sent it down to Florida.”
“Was it a silver phone? A Nokia?”
“Yeah?” Where was he going with this?
“I was the officer assigned to clean out his locker and I found the phone.” He smiled. “Your dad was notorious for leaving his phone behind. Hated the idea that the department could get ahold of him anytime, anywhere. Never mind we didn’t use them back in ’01 like we do today.”
“Hunter, what are you saying?”
“He never heard your messages, Beck. If he had, we’d have found his phone on his body not in his locker.”
She pressed her fingers over her smile as the beautiful revelation dawned. He never heard her messages. Or her venomous hate.
He didn’t have his phone.
All those years of amnesia for nothing. Unchecked grief was an evil friend.
“Oh, thank God. Thank God. Hear that, New York? He didn’t hear the messages!”
She ran to the kiosk and pressed her lips without a care over his name.
* * *
Everleigh
She awoke drenched in sweat, stiff from a night on the hard floor in the butler’s pantry. It was the most interior room in the house. And in her mind, the safest.
She pulled blankets and pillows from the one bed upstairs and made herself a thick pallet. Then waited.
Don had stocked the pantry with water, bread, and peanut butter, candles and a flashlight. So she didn’t feel quite so alone when the electricity finally blinked off for the last time.
She had the light to keep her company.
Reaching for her watch, she listened. The silence was a sweet refrain from the hammering winds. Then she blinked at the time. Eleven a.m.
Kicking the blankets aside, she reached for the flashlight and aimed it on the door. She’d not wait to be rescued this time. She’d emerge from the dark and face the aftermath.
She’d driven a thousand miles into a storm for love. She’d embraced her son, then watched him drive away with his mother. And she’d spent the night alone while a hurricane passed by.
And when she awoke, she had peace. What could she not accomplish if she let faith overcome her fear? Why had she ever been so locked down? So chained to the past?
A slight twist of the knob and light angled over her foot. A little more and she peeked into the kitchen. Golden rays streamed through the old glass windows and filled the room.
With relief, she clicked off the flashlight and stepped from the hot, stuffy pantry into the wide, sunny kitchen. Opening the back door, she inhaled the stiff, wet breeze blowing through the screen.
Tree branches and leaves littered the lawn. An electrical wire dangled from a distant pole. And the houses stood in defiance of Donna, and Everleigh stood in defiance of everything that had ever held her back.
Out the front door, a small stream raced along the lane’s edge. Frogs belched their continuous song.
“Take that, Donna!” She raised her fist before turning back inside, a laugh bubbling up.
Joy comes in the morning.
Gathering the pallet from the pantry, she folded the bedding and carried it back upstairs, opening windows where she could, replacing the dry, stale heat with a fresh, damp one.
Already her skin glistened with moisture.
After dressing in a pair of shorts and sleeveless blouse, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, then pinned back her hair.
With the storm passing, the day brightened with sunshine, and Everleigh explored the grand house of Don Callahan’s.
It was charming with an old-world warmth. The stained glass transoms above the doors were beautiful. When the light hit just right, the stain tinted the living room with a rosy pink and gold.
She toured the empty upstairs bedrooms and peered out the bay window seat to the backyard. In the distance, sunlight flickered off the calm surface of the river. This space would be lovely for afternoon reading. She could watch Don mow the lawn.
Next she passed through an upstairs room large enough to be a family room or library. It appeared Don preferred this space to the one below. He’d set up a lamp and chair, along with a tiny television with tinfoil bunny ears on the antenna.
Exiting that room, she entered a small hall. She’d found the bedding she used in here. To her left was the telephone on a small table. She raised the handset with hope. But the line was dead.
From the bedroom window, she could see nothing but the windblown trees, a portion of the front lawn, and a clip of Memory Lane. If she stooped down she could see the house where Lou Jr. lived.
Slowly she sank to the floor. Don, where are you? Please come home.
On her feet, she decided to get busy, see what she might do to clean up the yard. Otherwise, panic might ensue, and she was too far from home to feel that alone.
Besides, she and Mama used to be presidents of the Waco Beautification Society. She spent many a Saturd
ay cleaning debris from the city streets and parks.
Passing from the master, she paused by stairs tucked in a small space between Don’s living quarters and the bedroom.
Tiptoeing up, she met a narrow door and turned the knob. Light flooded in through the windows and nearly overwhelmed her. The octagonal room with its thick, patterned carpet and leaded windows was magical.
Fresh paint covered the walls above a mahogany wainscoting. A red-and-gold upholstered settee was pushed under the front-facing windows. A cushioned bench fit along another one of the octagon panels.
On the opposite wall was an arrangement of framed photographs. One in particular drew her attention.
“Rhett—” It was their wedding photo. Everleigh stepped for a closer view, her eyes filling. He seemed so alive. So well. “Don, what have you done?”
This picture was her favorite from that day, and one of the few remaining. She’d left it at Mama’s to be framed. And now here it was, on the wall of Don’s house.
She raised her hand to Rhett’s smile.
“My wife, ladies and gentlemen.” With almost no effort, he had scooped her up with his strong arms and carried her down the church steps. She cradled against him, laughing. Joy, so much joy. Happiness ruled the day.
As the wedding guests showered them with rice, the last afternoon sun spilling through the church steeple, the photographer caught the scene.
“Rhett, darling, where would we be now?” she whispered.
There were more photos. Two on each side of the wedding shot. More of Everleigh’s favorites. Where did Don get these?
One was with Rhett at the country club reception, sitting on the steps outside the ballroom, Everleigh’s chin resting on his shoulder as he looked off and away, content, his hand grasping hers.
She always imagined he was gazing toward their future. But now she wondered if he was contemplating his humanity.
The second photo was a casual, everyday shot of life on the Applegate ranch. Everleigh leaned in to see the girl she’d been. Young, exuberant, hopeful.
Naive.
Standing on the bench, she traced her finger over Rhett’s handsome face, and her special moments with him paraded across her mind.
Their first kiss. How she giggled, ducking away.
His proposal on one knee at the club. He was so nervous he dropped the ring in the grass, twice.
The candlelight falling over his strong jaw as he gazed down at her on their wedding night.
The sweater she’d attempted to knit him for Christmas. How they laughed when he tried it on. It was so big Daddy Applegate cut it along the seam to use for washing ranch equipment.
The call from the doctor to confirm she was pregnant.
The house plans for Memory Lane.
The first flutter of life in her womb.
The dark clouds. The twister. A night in the cellar.
Everleigh stepped down from the bench. Everything afterward was shapes and shadows, a series of grays that defied light.
The sharp pains that came too early.
Hours of labor.
Weeping into her pillow when she’d given him away.
“I’m not finished.”
Everleigh whirled around at the sound of Don’s low, sweet voice. She flew into his embrace, drawing her arms tight around his neck. “I was so worried.”
“What are you doing here, sweetheart? Why didn’t you call? I was frantic on the drive home.” His arms gripped her so wonderfully close.
“The hurricane . . .” Tears flushed her voice, her whisper soft against his warm neck. “I was so afraid.”
“Of losing me?” Don lifted his head. “Ah, sweetheart, 110-mile-an-hour winds aren’t enough to defeat me. I have too much to do. I’d have been here sooner, but the traffic was murder.”
“Where were you?”
“Driving to Texas to see you. And Dad. It’s a long story.” He kissed her, pulling her into him with his presence. With his breath.
She gasped when he released her and faced the photos on the wall. “Don, what is this?”
“You said you didn’t want to forget him. That he deserved to be remembered. I decided if that was the only barrier keeping you from loving me, then I’d help you remember.”
“Where did you get them? Mama?” She shook her head. “Doesn’t seem like something she’d do. Well, and keep quiet about it.”
“Tom Jr.” Don knelt next to a box on the floor. “He sent these to me.”
“Tom? Where did he get them?” Everleigh sat next to him, examining the photos as Don pulled them out one by one.
“Not sure, but I figure this was a pretty good haul. I want to frame a few more, put the rest in an album.” He pointed to an empty wall. “Save that for our wedding photo and the life we’ll build. If you’ll have me.”
“Have you?” She rose to her knees and pulled him to her, kissing him until every fear vanquished. “I just drove a thousand miles into a hurricane to tell you I love you.”
He sighed with a grin. “You keep kissing me like that and we won’t make it to the wedding night. Everleigh, if I ask you again, will you say yes?”
She blushed. “Ask me again,” she said with a commanding force.
His arms encircled her, pulling her down to the floor with him as he toppled over. She yelped, laughing, as he rolled her over on her back. Gazing down at her, brushing her tangled hair from his face, his eyes searched hers.
“Will you marry me, Everleigh Applegate?”
“Yes, Don Callahan, I will marry you.”
He tried to kiss her but was smiling too wide, so he hugged her so hard she complained she lost all her air.
“When shall we get married?” he said, helping her to her feet.
“As soon as you want.” Seeing a picture with Rocco, she sat on the floor by the box. “I wanted to keep this little guy, but by the time we finished the funerals all four were happily embedded at Mr. Cartwright’s. He raised them all. Probably still has them.”
“Define soon.” He was kissing her cheek, then her neck.
“As legally possible.”
In the box there was a picture of her walking down the aisle with Daddy. Another of Tom Jr., Alice, and the kids. The bottom of the box was scattered with childhood snapshots and—horror of all horrors—her toothy elementary school photos.
“Really?” he said.
She peered into his chocolate eyes with the hazel flecks. “Really? I don’t need a big wedding or lots of guests. I just need you.”
He kissed her again until she saw the stars.
“We’ll have to wait for the county offices to open again, but don’t you want your mama here? My folks might want to come. If Dad decides to speak to me.”
Everleigh held up a handful of photographs. “You did this even though you had no idea I’d ever come.”
“That’s what love does, Everleigh.” Don traced his finger along her jaw. “Makes a man not care so much about himself.”
Everleigh shoved the box out of the way and, with a fistful of his shirt, kissed him with her heart and soul, then her lips.
“Can’t we get a license today?”
“Everleigh—” His breath brushed her cheek, and his heart pounded beneath her hand. “What about your mama?”
“Let her find her own man.” She kissed him again, enveloped in his fragrance and the strength of his arms.
They crumpled to the floor again, kicking the box aside, awakening love. Then somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed.
A child’s voice rose from the street, and Everleigh sat up, moving to see out the high window.
She couldn’t see him but heard his voice. “. . . ride my bike.”
“Not yet. The power lines are still down. Come help Daddy and Mama . . .”
From her third-floor perch, the expanding limbs of a live oak blocked her view, but she could see and hear Lou, Aimee, and Lou Jr. with her heart.
“Ev?” Don’s hand brushed her shoulder. “
What’s wrong?”
She turned to him, touching his strong chin with her finger. “Aimee’s boy . . .”
“Why are we being quiet?” He leaned to see out the window, then glanced at Everleigh. “Pretty wild to have her across the street. Lou Jr. is pretty cute. Precocious. Did you meet them already?”
“Yesterday. As they were leaving. But I’ve known Lou Jr. for a very long time.”
His eyes widened with revelation. “Ev . . . their son is—”
She nodded and fell back, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I had no idea.”
“Neither did I. Don’t know why, but Mama actually tried to tell me before I came here. She showed me a picture, and I recognized him when I knocked on Aimee’s door.”
“Ah, this is making sense now. I told my mom I bought a house across from the Holidays.” He lifted her gaze with a finger under her chin. “She knows I love you so she must have called your mom.”
“It was supposed to be a closed adoption. To a family we didn’t know.”
“But Sher Callahan got involved? Wouldn’t be the first time.” He lifted her up, his arm firm on her waist. “I-I don’t know—Are you all right? Was it weird seeing him?”
“No, it wasn’t. He felt like a long-lost relative. He’s so cute. I thought he looked like Rhett, but now that I think about it, his smile is so like Aimee’s.”
“He talked my ear off when I had dinner with them.” Don turned to the picture wall. “I’ll call the Realtor tomorrow. Put the house up for sale. We can find a new place over on Amelia Island. Get some distance—”
“Why? What will that change? I already know he’s here.” She gripped his arm. “Besides, you already hung my memories on these walls. The boy I gave as a gift to another couple lives across the street. He’s loved and healthy. It may sound crazy, but I’d love to see him grow up. Be a friend, maybe even be a voice of wisdom in his life.”
Don made a face. “Everleigh, that sounds noble and I love you for it, but could you bear it? When Aimee calls him to dinner, it will be to her house, not ours. You’ll have no right to speak into their lives about how they raise him. You can’t be on their doorstep every day just for a chance to see him. He’ll get suspicious. They have a life to live that’s not yours. Or mine.”
