Here in My Heart: A Novella (Echoes of the Heart)

by DeStefano, Anna

  “Thank you,” she said, eyes steady, her smile almost convincing. It might have been a nice moment, if she hadn’t needed the better part of an hour to work up the nerve to face him again. “If you hadn’t been here tonight, I don’t want to think about how disappointed the kids and their families would have been.”

  “If I hadn’t been driving home, Travis would have found you someone else.” The older Dixon kids were still tight. They’d stuck together more than most real families Brad knew. “Thanks to the funding you’ve secured from local businesses, there are others on the Chandlerville force trained to do this. Your brother wouldn’t have let you down.”

  The outer edges of her lips curved higher. It was a parody of how beautiful she looked when she was genuinely happy. The kind of happy he used to be able to make her feel.

  “You’re very good at the demonstrations,” she admitted. “You put my students through their paces. You were great with Sally and with the younger kids. You handled the chaos like a pro.”

  He nodded. “We made a good team tonight.”

  He realized she couldn’t place him yet, the way he was now. Not when all she could remember was him and Oliver on one drinking binge after another their last year in town, and then Brad setting into motion the events that had driven her brother away. And she was entitled to know more about whatever she needed to: his association with radKIDS; the mess with Oliver and Selena; anything else it took for them to become a united front for Vivian.

  “Can I give you a ride to the house?” he asked, instead of diving headfirst into a discussion that would have to wait.

  She shook her head.

  “My . . .” She cleared her throat and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “My car’s right outside. The Y staff said they’d clean up the collateral damage from the party. I . . . I’m ready to go.”

  Her words trembled just enough for him to notice. She sounded more like the young girl he’d known than the strong woman she’d become. He accepted that as hard as it was going to be for him to face losing Vivian, watching Dru hurt this way might be his undoing.

  “I’ll meet you there,” he said.

  Once he stopped needing to hold her. Once he was sure he could handle what was coming, the way she and Vi needed him to. He’d been offered a second chance to do the right thing for both women, regardless of what he wanted. He wasn’t going to blow it this time.

  Weeks before the night Dru had kissed him, Oliver had warned Brad to stay away from his little sister. Brad and Dru had been spending more time alone—just as friends, Brad had insisted to her brother, talking and telling jokes, same as always, and sharing how worried they were about the effect Oliver and Selena’s problems were having on Oliver. But Oliver had guessed there was more—especially after catching Brad and Dru together at the spring dance. He’d said Brad was trouble, the kind his little sister didn’t need.

  And he’d been right, about everything. When Brad and Oliver had fought, the night Oliver had blown things with his foster parents for the last time, it had been over Dru as much as Selena. Brad had learned a lot since then about how long a man could pay for being a careless teen.

  He shouldered his bag.

  “It’ll take me two trips to get everything into my Jeep,” he said, keeping up the positive vibe between them. “And I want to shower first. Those pads always make me feel like I’m sizzling in a roaster, even in November. I’ll be a few minutes behind you.”

  He left, turning his back on the things he’d wanted to tell her for years. Things that didn’t matter tonight. He walked out of the gym and toward the men’s locker room, ignoring the impulse to explain how far he’d come since she’d really known him.

  She still wanted space. He threw his duffel onto the bench beside one of the curtained-off showers. He wasn’t heading to his childhood home until he was sure distance was exactly what he could give Dru.

  Chapter Four

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Dru asked half an hour later.

  Brad still hadn’t made it to his grandmother’s house. Which meant Dru was the only one staring at Horace Baxter as if he’d lost his mind.

  The distinguished lawyer with the carefully trimmed white beard sat in an overstuffed Queen Anne chair in the Douglas parlor. To his right perched a still-regal-looking elderly woman, hooked up to the perpetual IV of pain medication and fluids she’d been prescribed at Harmony Grove.

  “I think vodka is in order.” Vivian’s tone was as self-assured as ever. Her words were strained, but crystal clear.

  She seemed smaller somehow, propped up on the cushions of the red velvet couch that had always dominated the overdecorated room. But even in the loose gown and robe Vivian had worn for her trip from the hospice center, she’d accessorized with the pearl earrings and necklace that were her trademark. Her vintage purse sat on the table at her elbow. Her crazy collection of cuckoo clocks ticked perkily on the walls around them, still marking time. Two days ago, Dru had promised to keep each one going after Vivian moved to her room at Harmony Grove.

  “Vodka should mix just fine with your morphine drip.” Dru headed for the kitchen to pour her benefactor a glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge.

  “The nurse said to keep myself comfortable until she returns to fetch me.”

  “Comfortable, Vi.” Horace’s drawl was flawless Southern gentleman. “Not comatose. If being here is hurting that much, we should think about—”

  “Dying slowly hurts,” Vivian said. “The rest is just melodrama.”

  Her trademark honesty made Dru smile, even as she lost her grip on the water glass, barely keeping it from crashing to the ground.

  “Shoot!” Water seeped into her sweatshirt and dripped onto the floor at her feet.

  “Want a hit?” Vivian asked. When Dru returned with the glass, Vi was stroking the IV line running from the pole beside her to the veins in her hand, as if she were petting a cat. “You’re as nervous as a deer on the first morning of hunting season.”

  “The girl’s worried about you,” Horace said. “She didn’t expect you to be here to—”

  “To deal with my own business?” Vivian coughed. The scratchy sound had grown progressively rougher over the last month. She took the glass of water from Dru. “To deal with my own grandson? It’s still my life, even if my days are numbered.”

  “But why put yourself through this so late in the day?” Dru asked. “Brad could have driven to the hospice center hours ago, instead of coming to the Y first. You and Horace would have already finished with him, and you could be resting.”

  “Except I wanted to see you and Bradley together. Getting myself here on the sly, my dear, was the only way I could be sure I’d have you both in the same place at the same time. I knew you’d see my grandson safely here if you thought I was too ill to deal with my lawyer myself.”

  “So you lied.”

  “I’m entitled to a final manipulation or two, before I kick.”

  “Yes, you are.” Horace’s tone had grown suspiciously gruff. He walked to the couch and sat beside Vivian. He tenderly adjusted the oxygen strip beneath her nose. He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “But we could have done this at the center, the way Dru suggested. The kids would have come there if I’d asked them to.”

  “You mean”—Vivian coughed again—“the way they haven’t said two words to each other for the last seven years? My mind’s not that addled yet.”

  “You’re exhausting yourself,” Horace said as Dru took the gaudy chair that matched the one he’d been using. “Let’s get you back to Harmony Grove.”

  “No. I intend to deal with what’s left of my life somewhere besides where I’ve decided to die.”

  Vi had been at the house when Dru returned from the Y. Horace had met Dru at the door, worried about Vivian’s Harmony Grove team approving a last-minute, hour-long visit, and how it was already sapping her strength.

  He
walked now to the windows facing the side garden, putting a professional distance between himself and the woman rumors said he’d been sweet on since his wife passed more than a decade ago. He peered through the sheers at the dark world beyond.

  “I should let you two talk with Brad alone.” Dru stood as well, trying not to pull Vivian into a terrified hug the older woman wouldn’t want. Vi had never been one for physical signs of affection, and Dru wasn’t about to inflict her own need for reassurance on her friend.

  Vivian had lived a long life. A good, caring life, no matter how surly she’d often behaved toward people—including Dru, from the moment Vivian had offered her a full-time management job at the Dream Whip and a room to stay in at the Douglas house. And Dru would do just about anything for her, except play along while Vi used her illness to set up Dru to spend the evening with Brad.

  Vivian was clearly feeling well enough to deal with Horace and her grandson on her own.

  “I’ll wait upstairs,” Dru said, “until you and Brad go over your will and whatever else Horace is here to do. Or I could head to the Dream Whip and work on the holiday menu changes we discussed. You should be focusing on family matters tonight, Vivian. Brad and I saw each other at the Y. We got along fine. I’m sure we’ll be able to work together on whatever the three of you decide.”

  Vivian sipped her water and placed the glass on a hand-crocheted doily that had likely protected her mahogany coffee table since the dawn of time.

  Her hand trembled when she reached for Dru, but her grip was firm, stopping Dru from leaving. Vivian pulled until they were sitting side by side on her fraying couch. Every clock in the room seemed to tick louder, taunting Dru and her determination not to scoot even closer to the proud woman whose matter-of-fact generosity had helped shape her life.

  “You’re as much family to me now as my grandson,” Vivian said.

  Her revelation rang with uncharacteristic fondness. It was a lovely, cruel reminder of how little time Dru’s friend had left. Too much was changing, too quickly.

  “And I need your help,” Vi said, “for more than winding my clocks and making sure Bradley showed up to deal with my lawyer. I’ve asked Horace to discuss some things with the two of you, assuming my grandson hasn’t already beaten a path back out of town.”

  The front door opened.

  A chilly draft rushed across the room.

  “Hello?” Brad called. “Anyone home?”

  He stepped into the parlor from the entryway, looking even better than he had at the Y. He’d thrown on a light windbreaker over another T-shirt and jeans, his close-cropped hair damp and mussed. His guarded gaze tracked first to Dru, and then to his grandmother.

  “Vivian?” he asked. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  He hurried toward the couch. Dru had been fighting back emotion. Before it could spill over, she joined Horace at the windows.

  “I thought . . .” Brad hugged his grandmother as gently as a big man could. He sat and pulled her close again. “I came here first because Dru said—”

  “She said what I told her to say.” Vivian hugged him back. She pushed free and swatted Brad’s arm when he tried to reach for her a third time. “I knew it was the only way to get the two of you in the same room before you came to my funeral.” She looked back and forth between Dru and Brad. She took a shallow breath. “And I was right. Dru was just convincing herself to be somewhere else before you arrived. You’re so late, I was wondering if you’d show at all. Left to your own devices, you’d have driven up here, rushed straight to that Hotel California I’ve moved into, hugged the stuffing out of me, and raced back out of town, not caring a whit about the practical matters I need you and Dru to settle while I’ve still got my wits about me.”

  Brad skewered Horace with a glare, as if Vivian’s agitation were the lawyer’s doing. “I don’t give a damn about—”

  “What I want?” Vivian asked, reclaiming Brad’s attention.

  “You wanted me here,” he said. “I’m here.”

  He took in Vivian’s IV and oxygen tank. His gaze strayed over his grandmother’s shoulder to the dining room table Vi had preset for Thanksgiving before she’d left for Harmony Grove—knowing she wouldn’t enjoy another holiday dinner in the home she’d moved into sixty-five years ago as a bride. He made eye contact with Dru, and then his grandmother again.

  “I’d have been here sooner,” he said, “if you’d let me know. Now that I’m home, don’t even think about trying to boss me into not visiting you at the hospice center as often as your doctors will let me.”

  He jammed his hands into his pockets as he stood. He looked around the parlor again, at Vivian’s clocks, his attention swiveling to the paneled steps leading to the second floor. The walls of the stairwell were covered with framed pictures of Brad, his mother, his grandfather, and Vivian.

  “The rest of this,” he said, gesturing at their surroundings, “isn’t what I’m concerned about right now.”

  “Well, it is what I’m concerned about.” Vivian folded her hands in her lap. “I’m concerned about both of you, and what will happen with everything I’ve worked so hard to hold together.”

  Horace left the windows to stand near Vivian and the couch.

  “I’ve made some decisions,” she said. “And in that tragic excuse for a briefcase I’m pretty sure Horace has carried since he graduated from Emory Law, he has some papers to go over with you both. Now sit down, the lot of you. My neck’s killing me from looking up at you while you wait for me to keel over or something. That’s not going to happen, at least not tonight. The doctors promised I have a few more good days before my gray matter gives out. So let’s get cracking.”

  “Us both?” Dru asked.

  “Get cracking on what?” Brad added.

  Horace cleared his throat. “Just this: Do the two of you care enough about Vivian, if not each other, to keep the Dream Whip and this house going once she’s gone?”

  “What?” Dru and Brad said together.

  They sat, Brad beside his grandmother while Dru and Horace took the chairs. Horace spread out a stack of paperwork on the coffee table.

  “What does this have to do with me?” Dru was a boarder, an employee. She and Vi had helped each other a lot over the years. But Dru had made peace with needing to find a new place to live, and a new job if Brad didn’t keep the Whip—or if he wanted her out of the business once he took over.

  Vivian’s spine straightened.

  “I’ve had my wishes recorded in my will,” she said. “You’ll work together for as long as I have left on this earth to keep both the house and the restaurant going. You’ll prove to me and each other that you can coexist peacefully and partner to take care of what I’ll be leaving you both. If you refuse, Horace will sell my assets once I’m gone and divide the proceeds equally between you.”

  “I didn’t . . .” Half an hour later, Dru still couldn’t wrap her mind around Vivian’s real reason for asking Dru to have Brad come to the house tonight.

  She turned back to the parlor from where she was staring out the side windows again. Vivian and her nurse had left. Horace had excused himself to the kitchen, saying he’d give Dru and Brad a moment together to collect their thoughts. Brad, still sitting on the couch, had been just as silent as Dru since Vivian’s bombshell.

  “I didn’t know what your grandmother was up to,” Dru insisted. “I wouldn’t cause that kind of trouble between the two of you.”

  Vivian intended to leave the house to Dru and the Dream Whip to Brad—if they lived under the same roof and worked together successfully at the restaurant until Vivian’s death.

  What had gotten into the old bat?

  “This isn’t going to happen,” Dru pressed.

  As much as she’d miss working at the Dream Whip, Vi had gifted her with five years of managerial experience. Wherever Dru landed next, she’d be fine. And she suddenly realized she would be working somewhere else, whatever Brad dec
ided to do with the house and the restaurant. After her reaction to him at the Y, her working for him, their working together, wasn’t an option. Even if he still spent most of his time in Savannah and left her in charge of the Whip, he’d be back. And if she stayed on as manager, she’d have no choice but to deal with him in person every time.

  “I didn’t expect Vivian to remember me in her will,” she insisted. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you talk her out of it.”

  Brad stood up and walked toward her. His gaze was unfathomable. He could be furious, or feeling nothing. Dru couldn’t decide which would be worse.

  She held her ground.

  Barely.

  “I expected it.” He squeezed her arm. His touch was gentle. His expression was more than sad, nothing close to angry. Mostly, he looked . . . resigned. “Some of it, at least. I wondered if she might, a couple of years ago, after . . .”

  He shook his head and returned to the couch. He looked enormous, without Vivian’s frailness sitting beside him. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees.

  “After what?” Dru asked.

  Horace came back from the kitchen, a bar glass in his hand, sipping amber liquid from it. He’d helped himself to Vivian’s brandy stash—the bottle she kept behind the powdered sugar on the pantry’s baking shelf. He took the same chair as before and motioned with his glass for Dru to join him.

  “Vivian’s been planning this for a while.” Horace glanced at Brad. “I wasn’t under the impression that you were entirely in the dark about your grandmother’s intentions.”

  Dru stayed on the other side of the room.

  “Tell me you’re talking her out of this,” she said to the lawyer. “Tell me you’re not encouraging her.”

  “She thinks she’s helping.” Horace set his drink on the coffee table and opened one of his files. “She’s determined to help both of you.”

  “Vivian’s already . . .” Dru began to pace, keeping an eye on Brad, who sat still as stone. “Your grandmother made it possible for me to stay in Chandlerville. I have a life here because of her, when I was just one more kid working weekends at the Whip, dipping ice cream and dropping fries and whipping sloppy shakes all over her kitchen. I—”