The Memory House

by Rachel Hauck

  “Of course.” She forced a smile and tucked her phone away. “A work issue. So, what’s up with my dog?”

  “He’s in the pantry, hiding, growling at me and whimpering for you.”

  “He’s got issues.” The wind blew her T-shirt against her middle, and Beck tugged at the hem, pulling it away from her body.

  “Don’t we all?”

  “So, what’s up? Aren’t you off chasing some future NFL superstar?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. There’s a kid in Tallahassee who’s this close to signing. Calvin Blue. He has some free time this afternoon. Care to drive over with me? We could take the Studebaker, blow out the carburetor.”

  “Why would I want to drive over to Tallahassee with you? I’ve got the Gilmore Girls waiting on the big screen.”

  “Gilmore Girls? You can watch them anytime. I’m inviting you on a road trip.” He raised his hands and gyrated his hips in what might have been an attempt to dance. “Tallahassee is beautiful. And it impresses the players if I come around with a gorgeous girl.”

  “Ha, now you’re a lying sports agent.”

  “How’s that?” He jumped off the porch steps, heading for the birdbath and the hidden key. “You are, you know. Beautiful.”

  She tugged at her T-shirt again, he gaze following him.

  “What do you say?” He worked the padlock and opened the garage door. “I’ll buy dinner.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “Three hours.”

  “Can Beetle Boo come?”

  “We can’t leave him hiding in the pantry, can we?”

  “Do you think a sixty-year-old car can make the trip?”

  “When I took her out the other day, she drove like a top. This old beauty will be around another sixty years.”

  “Bruno, did she ever have children?” Beck asked, joining him at the garage-barn opening.

  “Not to my knowledge. Mom might know more.” He got behind the wheel and revved the engine. “Was that your boyfriend on the phone?”

  “No.”

  His stepped out of the car, leaving the engine to idle. “The baby’s father?”

  Her face burned with his direct question. “If we’re going to be friends, you need to ask less questions.”

  “How far along are you?”

  “Whatever happened to less questions?”

  “If we’re going to be friends, you need to trust me.”

  “I barely know you.”

  “You know me, Beck.” He gaze captured hers and she felt it. She knew him. She just didn’t remember him.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “All the more reason to have a friend on your side.”

  “Why do you care? Why do you want to know? I’m only here for a month. Then I’ll be gone and—”

  “Because you’re in all my favorite childhood memories. Because you own the memory house. Because, Beck Holiday, you and I shared our very first kiss.”

  Her first kiss. And she couldn’t remember. How should she respond? Lie. Obfuscate. Tell the truth. What would Lorelai Gilmore do? Better, what would Beck Holiday do?

  “The father is my lieutenant and he’s married. It was one stupid, stupid night, and we both regret it. He was on the phone, checking up on me.”

  “I see.”

  “You see? What, Bruno? What do you see?” She walked back into the house. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Beck, wait. I’m not judging you. Just taking it all in.” He followed her inside, jumping sideways when Beetle Boo snapped at his heels. “But for the grace of God there go I. I’m no saint. I’ve made plenty of mistakes.” When she stopped in the kitchen to pick up Beetle, he set his hand on her shoulder. “How can I help? What are you going to do?”

  She peered up at him and her heart released. Everything about the past five months flowed out.

  How she ignored the pregnancy until the baby made herself known. How she punched a perp and got suspended the same day she read Mr. Christian’s letter about her inheritance. How she never wanted to be a mother, but lately she’d begun to change, to wonder if there was more for her. A different path even.

  “Yet I bust perps for a living and I like it. I never saw myself raising a kid, much less alone. I miss my dad every day, especially because I can’t remember him. I don’t want a fatherless life for her.”

  “I hear you. My dad walked out when I was eight. He wasn’t around much. Then he died when I was fifteen.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I emailed you but.” He shrugged. “You never wrote back.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “I was a mess at fifteen.”

  Bruno raised his hand. “Double mess. But you know what? Miss Everleigh, this house, got me through some of the darkest days.”

  “Did you live here? Were any of the upstairs rooms yours?”

  “I slept in the downstairs bedroom if I stayed over. But at fifteen I was old enough to be home alone.” He leaned against the kitchen counter. “I came here after school for cookies and milk, maybe a sandwich. She made me do my homework before letting me go home to play video games.” He nodded toward the door. “Still want to go on a road trip. I promise, no more invading questions. All fun, all the time.”

  “Sure, why not. Let me get Beetle’s water bowl and some food. He’s on a special diet, so no sneaking him people food.”

  Ten minutes later they were in the car ready to go, the top down, Beetle curled on the floor by Beck’s feet, baring his teeth every time Bruno looked his way.

  “Just don’t try to pet him.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He’d just shifted into gear when he peered over at her. “I was going to marry you.”

  “Really?” She turned sideways in her seat, squinting at him through the sunlight, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, and the tension she’d been carrying released a bit. “Did you tell me?”

  “I wanted to but chickened out. We were fourteen, and it was your last night here before going back to New York. It took every ounce of my courage just to kiss you, never mind a marriage proposal. Plus, I didn’t have a job and had to finish junior high.”

  She laughed. “Tell me about this kiss? How was it?”

  His slow grin made her heart quicken. “Awkward at first, in that junior high way where you’re all lips and teeth.”

  Beck laughed. “Now that I’d like to remember.”

  “You think you’ll ever get your memories back?”

  “I stopped trying. Hey, thank you for telling me you wanted to marry me. It’s sweet.”

  “Thanks for keeping me company on this road trip.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for telling me your story. It means a lot.”

  “Why? Why does my story mean a lot, Bruno?”

  “Because it’s you. Beck Holiday.”

  She settled back and raised her hands into the wind. She didn’t entirely understand his answer, but for now, it was enough. They’d shared something special, and maybe in time, she’d understand.

  An hour later they were on I-10 West with Big Gulps and Pringles, the old AM radio tuned to an oldies station.

  The cold air passing through the open top at seventy miles an hour made her shiver, but oh, it was crazy, wildly freeing. She reached down to make sure Beetle wasn’t shivering. Bruno blasted the heater, and most of the air went to the floor. Yeah, the sweet dog was nice and toasty.

  They talked some, mostly chitchat. It was hard to hear with the wind ripping through, breaking up their words. Then a Bon Jovi song came on, and Bruno upped the volume and drummed on the wheel.

  At the chorus they leaned toward one another and belted, “Woah, we’re halfway there, woah, livin’ on a prayer . . .”

  She knew it was a reflex, but when Bruno snatched her hand as they finished the chorus, electricity fired through her, and for one blissful moment, she felt one with someone beautiful and grand.

  chapter twelve

  Everleigh


  Why hadn’t she canceled? Well, it was too late now. It was almost seven and surely Don was on his way.

  Since stuffing and buttoning herself into an eight-year-old evening dress twenty minutes ago, she had yet to take a long, deep breath. If she made it through the night without passing out or busting a seam, she’d claim a bona fide miracle.

  She paused for one last glimpse in her dressing table mirror and tried not to groan. She wasn’t twenty-two anymore, when this dress was flattering and elegant. Now her bosoms were smashed behind the tight bodice and the sleeves gripped her elbows so tight she couldn’t raise her arms.

  Since she didn’t have time for an appointment at LuEllen’s, she washed and set her hair with pin curls that night before. The style had been popular when she dated Rhett.

  But when she removed the pins this morning, she looked like Shirley Temple. However, the curls eased throughout the day, and by midmorning they looped about her face with a softness. She felt quite pretty.

  Then a flash shower caught her on her way home from a lunch and turned the curls into long, droopy puppy-dog ears.

  “Ev?” Mama came into her room, adding her face to Everleigh’s reflection in the mirror. “What are you doing? Why are you wearing that old dress? You look like a prom queen at her twentieth reunion trying to reclaim her glory days.” Mama picked at the strained seams. “I might be able to let it out a little. Not much. When do you need it?”

  “Tonight.” She’d not mentioned the date with Don to Mama.

  “Tonight? It’s leftover night. I saved the potatoes and gravy for you.” Mama held Everleigh by the shoulders and turned her around. “Everleigh, what are you doing?”

  “Going out.”

  “In that? Where?”

  Everleigh shifted her brassiere, hoping the movement would free her bosoms a bit, but they only looked flatter. “I’m dining at Ridgewood.”

  “With who?” Mama ripped a tissue from the box on the dressing table. “What’s with all the makeup? Your lips look like Rudolph’s nose.”

  “Mama, stop.” Everleigh swatted at her mother’s hands. “I look perfectly fine. Besides, he’s on his way.”

  “Who?”

  “Don Callahan.”

  “What? Last night you never said anything about dinner. Just that you ran into him at the store.”

  “He asked me to dinner. It’s not a big deal. Steak and a baked potato.” Everleigh brushed past her and down the hall. Mama’s contradiction battered her already weak confidence. But it was just dinner.

  Everleigh had repeated that phrase to herself throughout the day when she caught herself picturing Don’s handsome face and jocular ease.

  “You can’t wear that dress. It’s not decent.” Mama followed right on her heel.

  “It’s all I have.”

  “Then put on a Sunday dress. If people see you in that—”

  “A Sunday dress isn’t dressy enough. Shoot, half of mine aren’t dressy enough for church.” In the living room she grabbed a beaded clutch from the coat closet and took her driver’s license, a five-dollar bill, lipstick, and a handkerchief from her everyday handbag. She could feel the heat of Mama’s watching. Of her silence.

  “You know that’s where Rhett proposed.”

  Everleigh rose up, the clutch dangling from her hand. “You don’t say, Mama. I’d forgotten. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “I don’t need your insubordination.” She stamped her foot. “I demand more than ‘It’s just dinner.’ How long has this been going on? Have you been corresponding with him without telling me?”

  “No, Mama, for pity’s sake. I told you, I ran into him at Lauderback’s. He’s in town for his niece’s dedication. By the way, thanks for telling me Pearl has three little girls.”

  “I thought you knew.” Mama folded her arms, pressing one hand to her cheek.

  “You’re the one in the bridge club with Sher.”

  “I don’t see her all that much these days.” Mama sat with a sigh, then reached for her knitting. “So you’re going on a date?” Emotion weighted her voice.

  “Mama.” Everleigh knelt next to her, pressing her hand on Mama’s. “Really, it’s just dinner. I think he wants to talk about old times.”

  Mama’s eyes glistened as she managed a wide smile. “I suppose. He did spend plenty of evenings here when you all were in school.” Mama stroked Everleigh’s cheek. “Seems like yesterday. And you, you’ve not been on a date since—”

  “I know.” Everleigh stood, batting away her own tears. Losing Rhett would always draw sorrow from her well. “But it’s not like I’m going to marry the man. He’ll be back in Dallas on Monday and it’ll all be a pleasant memory.”

  Mama chuckled as she worked her knitting needles. “I hope if he wants to reminisce you’ll play along. Even if it’s a nod and a forced laugh. You’re horrible at reminiscing.”

  “I’m getting better.” Everleigh went to the kitchen for a glass of water. What if Don did want to reminisce? Or talk about Rhett and everything . . .

  After the funerals—Daddy’s, the Applegates’, and Rhett’s—Mama’s way of dealing with grief was to talk about everything. She pulled out the old home movies, the slide projector, and for a year took stroll after stroll down memory lane.

  Everleigh chose the opposite path. Silence. For almost a year she remembered nothing about Daddy, Rhett, or her life at Circle A. It was too painful to recall.

  Mama said the shock knocked the memories out of her.

  But on the anniversary of the tornado, the images came rushing back. And she was grateful. So much so she guarded the images, the sensations and emotions, the distant sounds of music and laughter, the timbre of a voice like treasure, speaking of them only when necessary. She hid them in her heart with all the associated affections and locked them away with the key of silence. To keep them from growing old, worn, and faded, she rarely visited.

  Over the years when she remembered, quietly and to herself, she knew the love she had for Rhett still existed. After seven years, she still wasn’t ready to let him go.

  Not all the memories were treasures. Some were hard and dark, yet worth keeping.

  The day her baby boy came into the world? She never worried about this one fading away. It would remain with her forever. She never discussed him with Mama, the only one in their social circle who knew.

  When it was all said and done, Mama held her as they cried and said, “It’s done. Over. For the best. Let’s leave it be and go on with our lives.”

  “What if he knows?” Mama’s voice jettisoned into Everleigh’s thoughts.

  “Knows what?” How could she possibly ask about that day when Everleigh was just thinking on it?

  “You know.”

  Everleigh sat on the couch, her back straight to keep the seams from tearing, and spread the wide skirt over the cushions. “You and I are the only ones who know.”

  “People talk.”

  “I can’t imagine who. I went to Austin for the last half of the pregnancy. I don’t think Alice put in her Christmas card, ‘It’s been seven years since Everleigh delivered her baby.’”

  “There’s no need to be snide.”

  “There’s no need to be paranoid either. It was a closed adoption. There’s nothing more to say. Can we just leave it?” But they’d wondered. Only Mama and Daddy knew she was pregnant, along with Rhett and his parents.

  And of course the doctor, who she’d not been back to since.

  “Well, if he brings it up—”

  “He won’t bring it up.” Everleigh glanced at the door, tense with anticipation. It was seven o’clock. The bell would ring any second.

  Mama’s needles clicked in rhythm to the clock. “You know Don is dating Carol Ann Dewey, Miss Texas runner-up.”

  The doorbell chimed, and Everleigh jumped to her feet. Mama motioned for her to sit down. “I’ll get it.”

  Don was seeing Carol Ann Dewey? What was he doing taking her to dinner? She sucked in her gut an
d adjusted her biting girdle.

  “Don, welcome to our humble home.” Mama stepped back as he entered, rolling her eyes at Everleigh, smiling.

  “Evening, Mrs. Novak.” He gripped his hat between his hands. “Everleigh, you look lovely. Ready?”

  “Yes, my coat is right over there. Mama, don’t wait up.”

  Don aided her with her coat, then walked her to the car with a light touch at her elbow. His cologne reminded her of summer nights by the river.

  Situated in the car, he tuned the radio to the Big Go and shifted into reverse.

  “I’m looking forward to this evening,” he said.

  “Don’t expect too much, Don. I’ve not danced in years.”

  “Then we’ll stumble around together.”

  A Ricky Nelson song came on the radio, and Don belted out the lyrics.

  “Well I’ve been thinking, whatcha gonna do little girl on our first date.”

  Everleigh pressed her fingers to her lips, hiding her smile, as Don’s off-key melody filled the car.

  But his unabashed joy put her at ease, and by the time he pulled up to Ridgewood, she was singing with him.

  At the door, the maître d’ bowed and called him Mr. Callahan, then led them to a table with a view of the water.

  “You’re smiling,” Don said, passing her a menu.

  “Am I?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “It’s impolite to ask a woman what she’s thinking.” Everleigh scanned the entrée options. She’d forgotten the women’s menu came without prices.

  “I thought it was impolite to ask her weight or age.” Don set his menu aside and took a sip from his water goblet.

  “Or if she colors her hair.”

  “Do I need to make a list?”

  Everleigh flipped her gaze at him as his smile widened, charming her. “I would if I were you.”

  She decided on a petite filet and a baked potato. Not that she could eat anything in this dress. “But beware the list does change. Perhaps you should resign yourself to the fact we are the mysterious sex.”

  “Mysterious, charming, enchanting.”

  Goodness, he was flirting with her. “Frankly, I’m surprised you men put up with us.”