by Laura Abbot
Ben’s eyes were heavy with the toll of experience. “One minute, one hour, one day.”
Nell’s palms felt moist on the arms of the chair. “I have to tell him, don’t I?”
Ben leaned forward. “You know the answer to that question as well as I do.”
“Soon?”
“Now, Nell.”
Long after Ben left, Nell sat at her desk arranging and rearranging her pencils and pens, knowing she should have been open with Brady from the beginning. And fighting her fear. She’d had enough rejection and humiliation to last a lifetime. But Brady’s judgment mattered more than she’d ever thought possible.
Please, God, let him see who I’ve become, not who I was.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS ONE OF THOSE idyllic California Saturdays travel agents and Chamber of Commerce executives dream about—cloudless skies the soft blue of a baby’s blanket, the whisper of a breeze rustling through palm fronds, temperatures in the low 70s. Golf courses smelled greener, tennis balls bounced higher, swimming pools glistened Caribbean-turquoise in the morning sunlight.
Brady hated it.
At every turn was a reminder that years of his life amounted to no more than discarded film on the cutting room floor. He hadn’t meant to drive by Nicole’s school or the beauty salon where Brooke had her hair done. Nor could he understand how he found himself slowing his rental car in front of their former home, now occupied by strangers, trying to ignore a girl’s bicycle lying temporarily abandoned in the yard.
Stone-faced, he rolled on through his old neighborhood. Already the house at the corner had been repainted a different color and, in two yards, grass had been replaced by crushed rock and desert plantings. Hell, why should he expect anything to remain the same when his entire world had been blown apart?
Yet as he drove farther past Starbuck’s, streetside cafés, wine boutiques and other upscale merchandisers, memories of the Arkansas landscape dimmed, the way a vivid dream fades like wisps of fog in the early morning sun. He’d phoned Nell Thursday evening after he got settled at the hotel. Since then, however, he’d realized he wouldn’t feel right about calling her again until he dealt with the heartache he experienced everywhere he looked. From the first moment he’d walked into his corner office at L&S TechWare and seen the familiar photographs on his credenza—Nicole at her first horse show, Brooke in a stunning cocktail dress at a charity gala, the three of them, suntanned and grinning, on the deck of their sailboat—he’d known Nell was right. He had run away.
But that knowledge didn’t make coming back any easier. He’d gone through the motions with Carl, making decisions, signing documents, nodding his head sagely. He’d exchanged greetings with old friends and colleagues without remembering ten minutes later what he’d said. Today, he’d driven down memory lane with the premeditation of a sadomasochist.
Bottom line? He wanted to run away again.
But he owed more than that to Nell. To Brooke’s and Nicole’s memory. And to himself.
The funeral was long over. Now he’d arrived at the moment of truth. It was time to bury the dead.
With clear-eyed detachment, he made an abrupt U-turn and headed for the cemetery.
BECAUSE OF THE NUMBERS of older patrons who had wanted to attend the adult forum on death and dying, Nell had rescheduled it for late Saturday morning when more of them would be able to drive to the library. The speaker had done a sensitive job of anticipating the questions and assuring the audience that death was a natural process.
Nell envied those who had been given the opportunity to say goodbye to their loved ones. She had tortured herself after her father had died so suddenly. Had he known how much she loved and appreciated him? What were her last words to him? She couldn’t remember and that missing link plagued her. He’d seemed so jolly at Christmastime that year, making his traditional toasts, greeting everyone with a bear hug, laughing uproariously at Abby’s antics. Then, a mere three days later, he was dead.
As the speaker responded to a question about medical directives, Nell found herself reliving the days that followed. Rick had been out of town for a New Year’s bowl game. When she’d finally reached him at the team hotel, a woman had answered. In the background, a party was clearly in full swing. Just before Rick picked up the receiver, she heard him give the punch line of an off-color joke, followed by raucous male laughter. No matter how many times she looked back on the next minute, she could never explain what had caused her to ask the question, why she hadn’t immediately told him about her father. Instead, her first words were, “Who was that woman?”
“What woman?”
“The one who answered the phone.”
“Hey, babe, lay off, will you? We’re just having a little fun down here, that’s all.”
And in that moment, she knew. She didn’t know how. It made no sense, but she’d never been surer of anything in her life. When she’d called their travel agent the next morning, any lingering doubt had been removed. Rick had left town with a Clarice Townsend.
“…decide whether you want a Do Not Resuscitate order.” The speaker was giving valuable information, but Nell couldn’t concentrate.
In a single week she had lost her father and learned of her husband’s unfaithfulness. In hindsight, she should have kicked Rick out then, but for Abby’s sake, they had tried to salvage the marriage. Or rather she had. Rick gave mere lip service to the effort. Over the long months, his vacant stares, secretive phone calls and late nights “at work” took their toll on her self-esteem. Weary with disillusionment, a sense of abandonment and self-hatred, she sought solace in the soothing depths of a bottle. A little vodka in her orange juice to get her going in the morning, rum in her soda to see her through midday, a pick-me-up to lighten her mood before Abby came home from school, two martinis to get through the awful twilight hours when husbands and fathers traditionally returned home from work, and, of course, a nightcap before bed.
At first she’d made excuses, claiming the stress of her father’s death, playing the betrayed wife to the hilt, but after a while she didn’t worry about excuses. Her only concern was where she would get the next drink. And the next.
God knows what she’d missed, whom she’d hurt. Poor Abby. She’d lost both father and mother in that cruel time. As long as she lived, Nell knew she could never make up that loss to Abby. All she could do was make each new day a good one.
Nell raised her head when a burst of applause indicated the conclusion of the question and answer period. She made her way through the departing patrons to thank the speaker, then as soon as she gracefully could, headed for home.
It was a gorgeous late September day, mild, but with the hint of a cool breeze. The dogwoods and some oaks already sported their autumn finery. Maybe Abby would want to go for a walk with her.
She entered the house through the kitchen door and immediately spotted the note on the counter. Gone with Tonya and her mother to the mall. Back about four. So much for a companionable walk with her daughter. She put a kettle on to boil for a cup of tea and rummaged in the pantry for a can of tuna to make a sandwich.
In the quiet of the house, she could no longer avoid thinking about Brady. He’d called Thursday to tell her of his safe arrival, but it had been a short, unsatisfactory conversation. She’d second-guessed herself ever since Monday night. What on earth had made her accuse him of running away from his problems? It didn’t take a professional psychologist to know that act was akin to throwing the gauntlet where a man was concerned. He’d made the boundaries very clear. Why had she crossed them?
When the answer surfaced, she sank down on a kitchen stool. She loved him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. To do that, she needed to know everything about him, just as he needed to know all about her.
The shrill whistle of the teakettle intruded on her thoughts, and she poured water over the tea bag in her cup and slapped some tuna, mayonnaise and lettuce between two bread slices. As she chewed on a bite of sandwich, sh
e wondered for the umpteenth time since yesterday, why she hadn’t heard from Brady again. He’d promised to call back. Was she fooling herself? Did California hold a bigger attraction for him than he’d let on?
She was cleaning up the kitchen when the phone rang. Finally. It had to be him. She dashed to the wall phone and picked it up, her voice alive with expectation. “Brady?”
A sardonic laugh she’d know anywhere was the first thing she heard, followed by, “Not hardly, Nell. It’s Rick.”
“Oh.” Why had she done a dumb thing like assuming the caller would be Brady? Was she that far gone?
“Not who you were expecting, I gather.”
“No.”
“Who is he, Nell?”
“Who?”
“The man Abby told me about.”
Glancing out the kitchen window, Nell wasn’t at all surprised to see a dark cloud glide past, obscuring the sun. It figured. She fought panic. What had Abby told her father?
“Cat got your tongue? I gather his name is Brady.”
Nell willed herself a solid backbone. “Yes. What concern is that of yours?”
“That’s rather obvious, isn’t it? My ‘concern’ is Abby. I hope you’re being discreet.”
That was rich! It was all she could do to bite her tongue. “Abby’s welfare is uppermost in my mind, and you can rest assured I’m not doing anything you need to worry about. After all, I am entitled to a social life, aren’t I?”
“I want Abby to be happy, and if circumstances there are uncomfortable for her, I’m sure we could agree on other arrangements.”
Was the man saying what she thought he was? Nell’s blood boiled. He was actually suggesting Abby live with him and Clarice. Gritting her teeth, she carefully made her voice neutral. “We share in common the goal of Abby’s happiness. I don’t expect either of us to jeopardize that again as we once did.”
“Clarice and I will be looking out for her welfare.”
Nell blinked away angry tears. “So will I, Rick, so will I.”
After she hung up, Nell bolted out of the house, oblivious to the gathering storm clouds. Fury propelled her down the street, through the park and up the steep hill on the other side. When she reached the top of the ridge, she stopped, lungs heaving, gasping for breath.
Dear God, what had Abby told her father?
Worse yet, what was he prepared to do?
THE GRAVES WERE on a slight rise, sheltered by a flowering bougainvillea. A prime spot, the cemetery director had said. At the time, the remark had irritated Brady. Even in death, for materialistic Californians, location mattered. Brady kicked at a tuft of grass. Well, it certainly didn’t matter now.
He studied the inscriptions on the headstones—the bare facts, the ineffective hints of who Brooke and Nicole had been. What they had meant to him. He wanted to feel something. In this place, surely, he would find a connection with them.
But the scene was too perfect to have any relevance. Manicured grass, carefully trimmed shrubbery, discreet directional markers sectioning up plots of ground. An elaborate filing system for ghosts that didn’t take into consideration the all-too-human imperfections—the mole at the base of Brooke’s neck, Nicole’s funny, long toes and chipped front tooth.
He knelt, hands on the ground, bracing himself, hoping the sensation of grass and earth beneath his fingers would awaken raw emotion. He needed to feel their presence, damn it.
Nothing. Far in the distance he could hear the hum of traffic on the freeway. Here, aside from the occasional trill of a bird, it was quiet. Too quiet.
Ultimately, with an urgency he couldn’t explain, he found himself talking. Telling them about the blur of days following the accident, about selling the house, taking time off from work, leaving California. About his desperate cross-country odyssey, his loneliness, his hopelessness. About the gaping hole surrounded by the bone and tissue that was his body.
He placed a hand on each grave, still slightly rounded beneath his palms, and poured out his anger and grief, not even pausing to wipe away tears he was helpless to control.
After a while he rocked back on his heels, drew a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. From the bell tower, a carillon chimed the haunting notes of “Amazing Grace.” Unsummoned, the words came to him from a time long ago when his mother, in her soft, true alto, would sing the hymn to him at bedtime. Yet even as the familiar words formed in his mind, he wondered what could possibly save a wretch like him.
When the final note echoed in the silence, he heard in his heart the answer. Nell.
Then, in a hoarse whisper, he told Brooke and Nicole about Nell. About the chance for a new life with her in Arkansas. “I will always love you, my darlings, but I have a decision to make. To live or merely go through the motions. I didn’t look for this to happen, didn’t seek it exactly, but I think I’m ready to love again. Please understand.”
Slowly he stood, knowing he wouldn’t receive a response, yet craving one anyway. He waited, hands in his pockets, reluctant to leave. Avoiding a parting that he would initiate this time.
Then, without warning, a strong breeze blew across the open space and pink rose petals from a nearby gravesite settled at the foot of Brooke’s and Nicole’s markers. Whether it was a sign or not, he couldn’t say.
All he knew was that he felt their presence—and their blessing.
Drained of emotion, yet more peaceful than he’d been in months, he nodded in acquiescence.
He would choose life.
And Nell.
ABBY SQUIRMED. The way her mother was looking at her made her feel funny. Like she’d done something wrong, but she didn’t know what. “I didn’t spend any money at the mall, if that’s what you think.”
Her mother glanced at the kitchen table where bills were spread out in neat piles as if that explained everything. “I’m not angry, Abby. Just preoccupied.” She set down her pen and with a weary sigh said, “Did you have a good time?”
“I guess. Mrs. Larkin treated us to lunch and a movie.”
“That was nice of her.”
Her mother’s worry lines grew more pronounced. Whenever she paid bills, it made Abby nervous. Like maybe they were having financial troubles. Abby nodded at the invoices. “Do we, uh, have enough money?”
“Don’t you worry about that. We always make do, don’t we?”
Well, yeah, but there sure wasn’t a lot extra for stuff like getting a new school wardrobe the way Tonya did every year. “I suppose.”
“Do you have a minute?”
Oh great. “I was going to my room to read my book for English.”
“This won’t take long.”
Realizing her escape route had been cut off, Abby settled on one of the kitchen stools. “What?”
“First of all, understand I’m not trying to pry.”
Right.
“It’s about your last weekend in Texas at your dad’s.”
“What about it?”
“You’re aware, of course, that Brady Logan’s friendship is important to me. Can you remember exactly what you told your father about that?”
Crap. She’d known the minute she’d said anything to her dad that she should’ve kept her mouth shut. He’d acted outraged. Like he was threatened or something. Which was a crock because he had Clarice, so what did he care about Mom? He’d left them, not the other way around.
“All I said was that you were up in Missouri with your boyfriend.” Bad answer. Her mother’s shoulders drooped like they always did when she was disappointed in Abby. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Telling the truth is never wrong. It’s just I wouldn’t want you making too big a deal of my relationship with Brady.”
“But you like him a lot, right?”
When her mother answered, Abby almost had to look away. The longing in her mother’s eyes scared her. “Yes, honey, I do.”
“Okay, then.” Before her mom could go on about stupid Brady, Abby jumped up and fled, only stopping for br
eath when she reached the refuge of her room. She was no dummy. She’d seen that look before. In the movies. Or sometimes when Tonya’s mother looked at Mr. Larkin.
Cripes. She didn’t care what her mother said about Brady Logan. It was clear as anything—she was in love with him. Gross.
TONIGHT COULDN’T come soon enough. All day Tuesday at work, Nell walked on air. Brady had called her early Saturday evening from California. With an openness that caused her heart to soar, he’d explained his experience at the cemetery and assured her he was eager to get back to Arkansas—and to her. With low chuckles and playful innuendo, he’d reminded her that their trip to Missouri was only the beginning. She had stopped short of confiding that her newly awakened body had reminded her more than once since that she missed and needed him. Sometimes, out of the blue, she found herself giggling like a schoolgirl. She’d had no idea lovemaking could be so satisfying or so addictive.
She glanced at the clock over the checkout desk. Three more hours and he’d be home. More than once, Reggie Pettigrew had teased her about her daydreaming. If he only knew.
Finally the minutes crept by and it was time to leave work. Driving home, she pictured Brady deplaning, arriving at his condo, maybe taking a shower. Blushing, she lingered over that image. His body was leaner, firmer than Rick’s and, with a single caress, could make hers hum. She wanted tonight to be about reunion and easy affection.
Beneath the surface, though, lay a deeper concern—telling him, as she must, about being a recovering alcoholic. She never wanted him to accuse her of duplicity. So now she must face the consequences of her choices and actions. She would tell him. When the opportunity presented itself.
She just hoped that wasn’t tonight. She didn’t want anything to spoil his homecoming.
BRADY COULDN’T STOP grinning from the moment he left Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport. The air was rich with a hint of wood fires, and the unending foliage took him by surprise after California. Traffic was so light, compared to the coast, that he shook his head in disbelief. It took him all of thirty minutes and a mere three stoplights to reach his condo. He’d told Nell he’d arrive at her place about eight. That would leave him just enough time for a shower and a quick sandwich.
