The Memory House

by Rachel Hauck

  “I hope you know there’s more for you than this place.”

  What did he mean? More for her? No, there was nothing more for her. She’d walked her rainbow path only to find destruction at the end. Not a pot of gold or happily ever after.

  Hurrying across the two lanes of traffic to her car, Everleigh moaned as her foot landed in a cold puddle. The water sloshed over her shoe and soaked her stockings.

  Isn’t this just the way?

  But she kept moving, shaking off the rain, shaking off Mr. Reed’s comment, and climbed inside Daddy’s old DeSoto.

  After cranking the engine, she moved the heat lever all the way over and drove, shivering, down the avenue toward Lauderback’s.

  Mama had called that afternoon with a shopping list. She typically had them delivered, but she wanted a pie, and the last time she ordered dessert the delivery boy turned the cake upside down.

  Everleigh parked by Lauderback’s entrance and dashed inside. Snagging a shopping buggy, she dug Mama’s list from her bag and moved slowly down the first aisle.

  Potatoes, carrots, green beans, apple pie, and ice cream.

  It was Thursday, and in the Novak-Applegate house that meant pot roast. Everleigh would be too late with the potatoes and carrots. Mama could live with mashed potatoes this week instead of roasted. And who needed carrots? Everleigh didn’t like them as a kid, and she didn’t like them now.

  In the past six years, she and Mama had developed a sensible routine. Everleigh worked; Mama ran the household.

  Mondays she did the laundry and made some sort of chicken dish—fried, baked, roasted, fricasseed.

  Tuesdays they ate fish.

  Wednesday morning Mama had bridge club, so dinner consisted of sandwiches or scrambled eggs before they headed off to evening church, where Everleigh sang in the choir.

  Thursdays Mama volunteered at the library, and dinner was pot roast. Also the only night Mama allowed them to indulge in dessert.

  “We’ll be two fat old widows if we’re not careful.”

  Everleigh resented the notion. It was one thing to be a widow at thirty-one. It was another to be lumped in with her fifty-eight-year-old mother. And to be called fat.

  Glancing around to see she was alone, she peered down at her belly. It was rounder than seven years ago. And she had a collection of pretty dresses she could no longer wear.

  Maybe she should skip the ice cream on her pie tonight.

  Fridays Mama conquered weekly household chores and ran errands. She dropped Everleigh off at Reed’s in the morning and picked her up that night. Dinner consisted of leftovers or dinner at Elite Café downtown, where so much had changed since ’53.

  A phantom thought from that day floated through her. The morning started out so beautiful and peaceful. She would never be free of the tornado. It’d permanently marked her life. Changed her course forever.

  Everleigh paused by a new cereal on display at the end of the aisle. Heart of Oats. She dropped a box in her buggy.

  Where was she? Oh yes, on Saturdays they dined on pizza. A new dish Everleigh discovered in Good Housekeeping. It became a fast favorite.

  Sundays after church she and Mama splurged, eating at Lavender or White’s cafeteria.

  “Pardon us.” Everleigh glanced around as a young couple tried to pass. She’d stopped dead center in the canned goods aisle.

  “I’m so sorry.” She shoved her buggy aside as they went by, laughing, touching, being in love.

  Connie was right. She needed to get out and have some laughs. Except for Myrtle, all of her girlfriends from high school and college were married with young children. The single men in town her age were single for a reason. Heaven help her. Not that any of them came calling.

  In a blink, Everleigh Applegate was old before her time, lost in a tunnel of grief with the ruins of what should have been.

  Two more women passed, their hair bright and shiny, styled in the new bouffant way.

  Everleigh touched the tight hair knot on the nape of her neck. It’d been months since she’d gone to LuEllen. Months. Honestly, a year. Yes, it’d been that long. Well, of course, the Christmas before last, when she sang the lead in the cantata.

  She turned the buggy down the toiletries aisle and slowed before the shelves of Miss Clairol.

  “Everleigh?”

  She whirled around and peered into a million-dollar face with high curved cheeks, a lean jaw, crystal-blue eyes, and a crisp, sincere smile.

  “It’s me, Don Callahan.” He offered his hand. “I was friends with your brother in high school.”

  “Yes, of course.” She hesitated, then shook his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you?”

  She fixed on his face, remembering. Names and faces came to her easier these days, while events and past dates remained a struggle. If she concentrated hard enough, she’d find a thread to pull.

  “I’m well. Still in Dallas working for Dewey Motors. Your brother keeps in touch. Well, his wife sends Christmas cards.”

  “Alice is good at correspondence. I call her the perfect woman.”

  “They do seem happy. Tom Jr. is doing well with his job.”

  “He’s a born salesman.” Everleigh’s attention lingered on Don’s face, then drifted down his immaculate coat to the crease of pressed slacks and the shine of his polished shoes.

  She remembered him sitting with Tom Jr. at the dining room table working on various school projects. He was always so nice and polite. And very cute. Linda Taylor found a reason to come over whenever Don was at the house, pretending her mother needed a cup of sugar or cooking oil. Which she invariably left behind.

  Mama used to play bridge with Don’s mama. But it’d been a while since the name Sher Callahan was spoken in the Novak-Applegate house.

  “What are you up to these days?” he said.

  “I’m a florist at Reed’s.” The flower shop was a Waco staple. Nothing more needed to be said.

  “I bought my prom date’s corsage there.”

  “I just finished up three for a Valentine’s dance.”

  “Are you married?” he said. “Rather, remarried, I guess.”

  Her hands twisted around the buggy handle as she shook her head, lips pinched. But when she looked up, their eyes met and said more than mere words.

  Sorry about Rhett.

  Me too.

  “I’m not married either,” he said with a soft laugh. “Much to my mother’s consternation.”

  Everleigh was suddenly conscious of her old, faded work dress, the matronly bun on the back of her head, and the squeak in her soggy shoes as she adjusted her stance. “Mama’s waiting dinner. I’d better go.”

  “I hear you. Mom sent me on an errand for coffee. I’m thirty-two and live in my own home in Dallas, but that doesn’t stop her from ordering me around.” He laughed and joined step with Everleigh as she walked down the aisle. “Know what? I still can’t get used to all the parking lots around here where businesses used to be.”

  “You’re not in Waco enough, I suppose.”

  The F5 twister rearranged Waco forever. Beyond the lives lost, buildings collapsed and the owners moved on. The town cleared away the rubble and paved the barren places into parking lots.

  “I’m in town for my niece’s dedication,” Don said, still walking with her. Didn’t he have a mama chore to attend? Surely Everleigh held no interest for him. “Pearl’s daughter, Mia.”

  “Pearl has a daughter?” The news soaked in. Don’s sister, two years younger than Everleigh, had a daughter.

  “She has three actually. The latest is six months old. Has her uncle Don wrapped around her pinky already.” He chuckled. “They all do.”

  “Three daughters?” How did she not know? She must’ve heard but forgotten.

  Nevertheless, her friends, her classmates, her cousins, the world had moved on while she remained rooted in a soil she could not escape.

  “You’ve never met them? Don’t our mothers still play bridge? Come
by the house Sunday afternoon. The family would love to see you.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then you should definitely come. Dad has a new grill, and I know he’ll make more hamburgers and hot dogs than we can eat.”

  “Don, thank you, but we couldn’t intrude.” Everleigh pushed the buggy with intent. She must be going.

  Don’s exuberance and charm, the way he looked at her, rattled her. What was he seeing? Did he feel sorry for her? Consider her existence sad and pitiful? Lonely?

  “If you change your mind, we’re still at 21 Whitehall Road. It was nice to see you, Everleigh.”

  “You too.” She rounded the end of the aisle before glancing back. Don had not moved and watched her with a measure of intensity.

  When he smiled, she ducked her head and raced toward the bakery. What in the world? Another day, another time, another woman, and she’d say he was flirting.

  She asked Marla at the bakery counter for Mama’s pie—forget the ice cream—then made her way to the checkout, her heels in a rhythmic click-squish against the floor.

  Unloading the groceries, she settled down, the routine of the checkout counter grounding her in her small but familiar world.

  Quite a charmer, Don Callahan. He must sell a lot of cars up there at Dewey’s.

  Getting out her checkbook, she caught her reflection in the store’s darkened pane glass.

  She looked old with the baggy shirtwaist and her brown hair pulled tight. Two weeks ago she noted a deep V between her eyebrows along with dark circles under her eyes. She looked like a creature from the Black Lagoon.

  But to be fair, though—and who didn’t want to be fair when the assessment was so bleak?—the dress was a work dress. As were her shoes. She wiggled her toes against the damp leather. And if she didn’t wear her hair back, it fell around her face and neck all day.

  Frankly, it was a miracle Don even recognized her. She looked nothing like her former days as a vibrant high schooler then college co-ed.

  “How’re you doing, shug?” Madeline greeted as she rang up the groceries. “How’s your mama?”

  “She’s well. I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

  Mama . . . Not How’s Rhett? or How’re the kids? You know my Jimmy’s in class with your oldest.

  No, it was “How’s your mama?” That was Everleigh’s world. Not a husband. Not children. Not even a career. But her mama.

  “Did you get everything you need?” Madeline said.

  “No, Madeline, I didn’t.” Everleigh started filling out the check. “Sadly, I probably never will.”

  “What? You just tell Mr. Lauderback and he’ll get it in.”

  “I don’t think Lauderback’s sells what I’m looking for.” Mr. Reed’s same sentiment echoed as she handed the check to Madeline.

  Was she looking for something more? Since when?

  Madeline prattled on as she bagged the groceries, handing the single brown paper sack to Everleigh.

  “Be careful with the pie now. Keep that bag upright.”

  When she arrived at her car, Don stepped out of the dark folds between the exterior lights.

  “Mercy, you scared the what’s-it out of me.” Anxiety throbbed in her throat.

  “Sorry.” He reached for the grocery bag, opened the passenger-side door, and set the groceries inside. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ll set the pie on the seat so it doesn’t get smashed.”

  Everyone was so darn concerned about that pie. Forget the pie. What did he want?

  “You best get on home with your coffee. Your mama will have your hide.” She fumbled with her keys, dropping them to the wet asphalt.

  Don bent for them and walked her around to the driver’s side. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” He opened the door as he handed over her keys.

  “T-tomorrow night? I-I don’t know. Leftovers and television with Mama.”

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “Dinner? With you?” Her nervous laugh betrayed her.

  “The Ridgewood has a nice menu on Friday nights. Some of the old big bands come play. Do you dance?”

  “Dance? Yes. But don’t tell my pastor.” She chortled with a nervous energy. “He doesn’t know Jesus approves.”

  Don’s laugh was a song. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Seven? Well, okay.”

  Neither one of them moved. Did she just say yes?

  She ducked into the car, exhaling only when he closed the door.

  “See you tomorrow night at seven.”

  Fingers shaking, she slipped the keys into the ignition. What are you doing? What would be the point? Tell him you can’t go.

  She was a mess. Dull hair. Chipped nails. She’d have no time to visit LuEllen’s, and the last time she tried on one of her party dresses from the Korean War era, the side seams ripped.

  Ridgecrest had a high standard. She couldn’t possibly go to the country club in one of her old frocks with a metropolitan man like Don.

  Besides, it was the place where Rhett proposed and she’d not been back since—“Don, wait.” She crashed open the door and stepped out.

  He turned, walking backward, arms outstretched. “It’s just dinner, Ev. A steak and nice baked potato. You like steak, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Don.” Her voice echoed across the parking lot. “I didn’t say yes.”

  “You just said, ‘Well, yes.’”

  “Followed by a but.” She would win this mini debate.

  “No, no,” he said with a shake of his head, flashing his gleaming smile. “I accept no buts.”

  “Can we please stop yelling ‘but’ in the public parking lot?”

  He laughed his merry laugh. “Then just say yes.”

  chapter ten

  Don

  As a kid, Don Callahan wanted one thing. To make his dad proud. So he worked hard, got good grades, starred on the football team, did his stint in the army, then graduated Baylor with honors.

  At his father’s request, he moved to Dallas to work for Standish Dewey of Dewey Motors, to learn firsthand from the larger-than-life businessman how a big, successful dealership worked. One day, when Dad beckoned, Don would usher Callahan Cars into the modern age.

  So far, so good. He’d made Dad proud. Especially when Standish Dewey called to say he thought Don might be his heir apparent and the perfect match for his one-time beauty-queen daughter, Carol Ann.

  That’s when Dad started talking merger.

  “I think we can make it work. Standish has been after me for a couple of years now.”

  So Don had done well. Performed his duty. But lately—

  The status quo was cutting off his air. He had ideas of his own. His life was becoming a replica of his father’s. But at the dawn of a new year and a new decade, Don had a new opportunity. Yet if he told Dad what he was thinking . . .

  He turned up the radio as he passed by the old Waco silos. Someday someone should buy those things and do something great with them.

  He passed the paved lots where buildings once stood. Drafted in ’48, he had been in Korea when the tornado tore through downtown.

  The Callahans were spared death and destruction, but many of their friends suffered loss. Like the Novaks. Like Everleigh. He couldn’t imagine what she’d endured.

  Turning into the Callahan driveway, he parked his new Corvette behind Dad’s Impala. Coffee in hand, he stared at the lights of his childhood home.

  The large plate glass, framed the family gathered in the living room, the fireplace crackling. In his mind, he could hear them all talking at once—Dad and Mom, his sister, Pearl, and her husband, Mamaw and Papaw, Aunt Florine and Uncle Doley.

  He loved them all, and except for his time in the army, he’d never missed a holiday, birthday, or family barbecue. Not a baptism or dedication.

  But lately he chomped at the bit for something more. To go out on his own without
disappointing them. Especially Dad. How could he be his father’s son while bursting to be his own man. He’d been to war, for crying out loud.

  At first he dismissed his itching for adventure as a wild thought. Crazy dreams. Why leave Dewey when he had everything a guy could want?

  Success. A beautiful girlfriend. A solid future. All he had to do was stay on the straight and narrow.

  When George Granger, a college buddy, approached him about starting an insurance business, he brushed it off at first. Then he could think of nothing else. Now he believed he’d explode if he didn’t try.

  Don walked around back to the kitchen, where the aroma of roasted meat and baking bread made his senses tingle. In the far corner by the toaster, the radio was tuned in low to KBGO, the Big Go.

  “Mom, coffee’s here.”

  She bustled in. “Where have you been?”

  “Took the long way home. Drove by the old silos.”

  “When you knew I was waiting for coffee?” She dug the can opener from the big drawer and hooked it over the lid.

  “I ran into Everleigh Applegate at Lauderback’s.”

  Rhett hit the jackpot when he married her. She was beautiful ten years ago and still was beneath her plain appearance and faded dress, beneath the death that tried to steal her shine.

  “Did you tell her about Carol Ann?” Mom scooped coffee into the percolator.

  “Why would I tell her about Carol Ann? ‘Hi, Everleigh, I know we’re in the middle of Lauderback’s shopping, but can I tell you about my girl?’”

  Mom grimaced, swatting at him. “Don’t sass your mama. I just meant in the course of how-are-yous, did you mention you’d be engaged soon?”

  “No.” His folks believed a proposal was imminent, but Don wasn’t sure he’d ever drop to one knee for Carol Ann Dewey.

  “Well, there’s time.” Mom raised the lid on the boiling potatoes. “Go change if you want. I’ll whip these up while the rolls and coffee finish. And we have cake from Mrs. Keaton’s.”

  Don started down the hall to his old room, slipping out of his sport coat, then stepped back to ask a question before he lost his nerve. “What happened between you and Mrs. Novak, Mom? You two were thick as thieves once. Everleigh didn’t know Pearl had three girls.”