by Rachel Hauck
“The gratitude is all ours.” He leaned forward to squeeze her hand again. He was definitely flirting. Well, for one night she could go along with it. Pretend her gown fit. Pretend he wasn’t linked to an extraordinary Dallas beauty.
He seemed delighted in her, and she rather relished the feeling and gave in to the Cary Grant romanticism created by the flickering candles.
The waiter served them a house wine with a plate of cheese, then took their order. Don ordered a rib eye with a baked potato and the house salad. Everleigh, the filet.
Then Don regaled her with tales of his day with his nieces. Everleigh talked about the twenty bouquets she’d made for Valentine’s Day tomorrow. All the while, soft house music floated above, around, and through them.
“Did you come here with Rhett?” Don said without pause as he buttered a piece of bread.
Everleigh stared out the window toward the campus lights. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—”
“To be honest, Don, I don’t talk about Rhett or the Applegates. I don’t talk about Daddy either, much to Mama’s dismay. I lost my memories for a while after burying the loves of my life, and when those memories returned, praise God, I locked them away for safekeeping.” She sat back, adjusting her position so as not to strain against her dress. “I don’t want to lose them again.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
“Thank you, Don, but I don’t want to sound defensive or high and mighty, as if Everleigh Applegate has suffered more than anyone else. I merely mean—”
“To guard your heart.”
“Yes, exactly.” She smiled softly. “I almost canceled on you.”
“On Valentine’s weekend?” He slapped his hand over his heart. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”
“Look at me, Don.” She drew attention to her dress. “I’m ridiculous. My hair is a mess, and my dress is out of style and entirely too tight.”
His gaze roamed over her, intense and slow. Everleigh glanced away, the heat of passion rising on her skin.
“You look beautiful to me.”
“You’re too kind.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Don sat back as the waiter set down their iced teas and salads. Then taking up his fork, he caught Everleigh’s attention with a glance. “There’s a woman in Dallas. My boss’s daughter. Carol Ann—”
“Dewey. Runner-up to Miss Texas 1955. I watched the pageant.”
“We’re something of an item.”
“Mama may have mentioned it.” Everleigh stabbed at her salad, gritting her teeth as the tomato wedge tried to escape. “You don’t owe me anything, Don. This is just dinner.”
“I know, but I want to be upfront, Ev. You deserve that.”
“Don, it’s just dinner.” She stabbed another fork full of lettuce and cucumber, then tugged at her sleeves, hoping for a bit more wiggle room.
“Doesn’t feel like just dinner, though, does it?”
She froze, then slowly set down her fork. “But it is.” It must be. She was in love with her husband and would always be in love with him. She wiped the edge of her lips with her napkin. “So, tell me about you and Carol Ann.”
“What do you want to know? She’s Dewey’s daughter. We met at the dealership. Standish asked me to escort her to the governor’s balls, so I did. One thing led to another.” His tone dragged on as if recounting something humdrum, or unpleasant. “Everyone expects us to marry. Especially my folks.”
“I’m sure your parents are very proud.” Everleigh regretted all the fussing over her dress and hair when in fact tonight truly was nothing more than dinner. “You have a bright future.”
“Except it’s not the future I want.” He sat back with a glance at the bandstand. The musicians had returned and were warming up. “I have this opportunity . . . with George Granger. In Florida. Do you know the Grangers?”
She shook her head. “I don’t, no.”
“George is a great guy, smart, savvy. An entrepreneur. He called me a few months ago to invite me into an insurance business with him in Florida. The Jacksonville area. He’s got connections there, and the town is booming. It’s a real opportunity.”
Now his voice contained energy and excitement. A spark lit his blue eyes.
“How exciting.” Everleigh speared another tomato. “What about the car business?”
“Yeah, that’s the problem. I’d be letting Dad down if I leave Dewey. Callahan Cars is about to merge with him, and, Ev, you should hear him talk.” She liked the way he used her nickname. “I’m the heir apparent and the hope of all his dreams.” The color drained from his cheeks. “It’s too much . . . too much.”
“And they’ve already selected your queen?”
“Yes, yes, you get it, don’t you? Feeling trapped with no way out.” He slapped his napkin on the table and leaned toward her. “Tell me what to do.”
“Don,” she said with a swallow of tea. “I can’t be responsible for your life. Besides, if I tell you what to do, wouldn’t that make me just like your father and Dewey? You have to decide on your own and then talk to your father man to man. Me? No, I have enough just managing Mama. Don, I’m sure your father will understand. He’ll see what I see when you talk of this endeavor. Excitement with a spark of life.”
He winked at her, then grimaced. “Will you come with me when I talk to him? Ev, my entire life he’s preached one message to me. That I’m his hope and future. He built the car business for me to take over. He’s worked twelve hours a day for twenty years, six days a week, for me. His father owned a dealership and made Dad work for pennies, which he gladly did, thinking he’d inherit the business. But when Grandpa retired, he sold everything, took the money, and moved to Arizona. Dad had to start all over. So now, with me, he’s built something his son can just step into. But it’s not the step I want to take.” He spoke like a man who’d been holding in his thoughts for a long time. “Listen to me go on about myself.” He picked up his fork and inspected his salad. “What do you dream about, Everleigh Applegate?”
Dreams? She’d buried them on May 17, 1953. Even when she slept, she dreamed of nothing.
But nothing sounded so maudlin. “Shoes,” she said. “Sensible shoes.” She glanced up as the waiter refilled her tea glass.
“Sensible shoes.” Don’s eyes caught his laugh. “You dream big, Everleigh. Come on, you must have something you want, secretly hope for.”
She tapped her fork through her salad. “I’d wish for Rhett to be alive, living in the house we designed on his parents’ property. Well, our property, because he bought it. Our own piece of heaven right on Memory Lane with a pond and room for kids to run. Instead, he’s buried in Oakwood Cemetery next to his parents.”
Don’s fork clattered against his plate as he sat back, motioning for the waiter to clear the table. “I keep stepping in it, don’t I?”
“It’s all right. It’s just dinner.” Everleigh glanced toward the dance floor. “I can’t tell you what to do, Don, but don’t wait for someone else to give you what you want. Chase your dream, whatever it may be, because you never know when it all might end. When an F5 tornado might take it all away.”
“Come on.” He slipped his hand into hers as the band eased into a slow, soft rendition of “Starlight” and walked her to the center of the floor, taking her in his arms.
She resisted at first, holding herself stiff and awkward, the dress barely giving her room to rest her hand on his shoulder.
But as the music played, Don stepped closer and closer, and Everleigh leaned against him. Funny how her cheek fit nicely against his chest.
She closed her eyes as the melody hypnotized her and as Don’s heartbeat sounded in her ear.
In that moment she was not Rhett’s widow, nor Mama’s daughter and provider. She wasn’t Mr. Reed’s weekend manager nor the owner of a dozen dresses from another era that no longer fit.
In this moment, she was the Everleigh she used to be. Youn
g and hopeful. Beautiful. Her gown fit and her hair flowed over her shoulders like Lana Turner’s.
She knew true love would never come her way again, but for now, it was nice to have this one magical evening dancing and dining with a dear old friend.
chapter thirteen
Bruno
Just off the shoreline, a pilothouse boat motored north with a string of red, blue, green, and white lights left over from Christmas.
Bruno stepped through the glass deck doors of his condo into the damp, salty January air that sank a wicked chill into his bones. Inside, a fire flickered in the fireplace, and his vintage hi-fi played a Glen Campbell album.
Lowering into the Adirondack chair, he loosened the cords of his work day and let his thoughts run. Straight to Beck.
After the road trip to Tally, he knew the hard glint in her eye wasn’t rooted in anything real. Caution maybe, fear, but she was kind and sweet underneath. All he had to do was watch her with Beetle Boo to see her inner self.
The weird thing was how her pregnancy hit him. Like Beck, he hadn’t considered parenthood. Didn’t see himself in the daddy role. But over the last few days, he wondered if he’d be a good father. Bruno swigged his beer. He might like a try at fatherhood. If he found the right woman. If he fell in love.
He gazed through the open sliding glass door toward the fire. He’d much rather sit by the fire with his wife than alone. But alone he knew. Truth be told, it was his dearest and oldest friend.
Another swig of beer, and he pictured Beck, with her flapping ponytail, singing Bon Jovi at the top of her lungs. His laugh echoed in his chest.
Of all the people he imagined running into at Miss Everleigh’s memorial, Beck Holiday wasn’t even on the list.
The fact she was a cop kind of explained her demeanor that day, but hearing how she lost her dad twice—first in a burning tower, then from amnesia—gave him a deeper level of understanding.
Seeing her again also forced him to admit something about himself. He’d changed. He wasn’t the ambitious, driven, hair-on-fire sports agent he used to be. He actually wanted more out of life than fame and fortune.
Granted, he wanted Sweat Equity up and running. He still aimed for success. But he didn’t want to be a Watershed kind of agency but an intimate, unique boutique firm where his clients were friends and family, not just numbers on a roster.
He laughed against the quiet. “You’re a dead man, Bruno.”
Calvin Blue had been impressed by Beck. Especially when she told him she was an NYPD officer. He should thank her for raising his esteem in Calvin’s eyes.
The music stopped and Bruno headed back inside, setting his beer in the sink. He stoked the fire, snapped off the record player, then sat on the couch with his laptop.
But instead of working, he stirred up memories of Beck. The good, sweet ones of riding their bikes to the beach, running through downtown puddles after a summer rain.
A few bad memories surfaced as well. Like the time Dad bawled him out after a junior high football game.
“If you’re going to play the sport, then play. Learn the game. You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re a nothing otherwise. A nothing. And I don’t have time for nothings.”
“Knock, knock.” Mom rapped on the sliding door. “Can I come in?”
Mom’s timing was amazing. She rescued him from that stupid memory. He envied Beck for a moment. He’d love to have amnesia about his father. God rest his soul.
Mom entered with a grocery bag in hand and set it on the kitchen island. Then she plopped down on the sofa with a sigh. “Mrs. Acker decided we should start spring cleaning.”
“It’s January.”
“She wants to get a jump on everyone. Like it’s some sort of contest.” Mom rolled her eyes and pulled a Diet Coke from her tote. “I brought you a surprise.”
“What sort of surprise?”
“I found an original iPod and two dinosaur cell phones in Mrs. Acker’s attic. Spring cleaning paid off for you.” Mom hoisted the plastic bottle before taking a long swig.
“You’re kidding.” Bruno moved to the brown bag Mom set on the kitchen island.
“There’s a Motorola and something that looks like an old car phone.”
“Any chance it’s a Dynatac 8000x? They’re nearly impossible to find.” Bruno set the contents on the marble and smiled. Sure enough, she’d found a Dynatac 8000x and a Motorola Microtac. “Merry Christmas to me.” He held them up, dancing side to side, making his mother laugh.
“My handsome, sports agent son, the cell phone collector geek.” Mom pulled a package of almonds from her bag and dumped a few in her hand. “What do you do with them besides collect dust?”
“Take them apart. Fix them up. Sell them.” He returned to the couch. “I’ve found some interesting messages before. Job offers, breakups, proposals.” He kept his collection lined up on the credenza of his downtown office. When he needed a distraction from his lack of success, he tinkered with the phones. “I’ve given some to charity. It’s a fun hobby.”
“You’ve seen Beck Holiday is at Miss Everleigh’s?” Mom said.
“Yep.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Yes.” And so his thoughts went full circle. From Beck to Dad to Mom to phones and back to Beck. “You?”
“A few times. When she’s out with that cute, gimpy dog. She said she inherited the house.”
“Did you know about Miss Everleigh’s will?”
Mom twisted the cap back on her soda and stored the half-full bottle in her bag along with her almonds.
“She never shared details, only that she left the house to someone who really needed it. I figured it was a charity or one of the families at church, maybe one of her nieces or nephews. But they rarely came around. I never imaged it would be Beck Holiday. No one’s seen hide nor hair from her in almost twenty years.”
“She has amnesia, Mom. Can’t remember anything related to us, the memory house, Miss Everleigh, or her dad.”
“Amnesia.” The low glow from the fire highlighted Mom’s surprise. “You could’ve offered me a million dollars and I’d never have guessed amnesia.”
“I know, sounds like As Your Life Turns or whatever soap you watch at Mrs. Acker’s, but I believe her.”
“We watch fixer-upper shows now. So she really doesn’t remember anything?”
“She said any memory related to her dad is gone. She found out about the house right when she was suspended from her job. So she came down to check it out.”
“Suspended? For what?”
“She’s a cop and apparently took issue with a perp who was using the dog as a drug mule. She decked him.”
Mom laughed. “Now that’s the spunky Beck Holiday I remember.”
“She’s also pregnant.” Might as well tell the whole story.
“I noticed.” Mom faced Bruno, propping her arm on the back of the couch. “Is she married? In a relationship?”
“No, she hooked up with her lieutenant one drunken night. But good news . . . He’s married.”
“Lawd a mercy.”
“I told her I wanted to marry her back when I was fourteen.” Bruno got up to stir the fire, dropping on one more log before bed.
“Are you sure that was wise? To tell a single pregnant woman you wanted to marry her?”
“Eighteen years ago? I think she can process it okay, Mom.” Bruno sat on the hearth, the heat from the flames hot on his back.
“I wonder if Miss Everleigh knew,” Mom said. “About the amnesia. Or that Beck would need a connection to her past as she faced being a mother.”
Bruno made a face. “You make it sound like she died on purpose so Beck could inherit the house.”
“That’s not what I mean, but life, miracles, have a way of coinciding. Beck needs a miracle. She needs her memories. Miss Everleigh’s mission on earth ended the way she lived. Giving.”
“Wouldn’t Beck have a better chance of remembering if Miss Everleigh were alive?
”
“God works in mysterious ways.” Mom glanced at her watch and scooted off the couch. “I didn’t realize it was this late.” She kissed Bruno on the head on her way out. “I want to finish my book before going to bed.”
“So God set this up? Miss Everleigh died in order to bring back Beck’s past? That’s a stretch even for you, Mom.” He walked her to the door, arm draped around her shoulder.
“Not her past, her memories. There’s a difference. No one can ever bring back the past. But you know what else is odd?” Mom patted his cheek. “You coming home when you had no intention of ever living here again.”
“I can leave if you want.”
“Don’t be smart. I’m just saying God has a way of taking the worst situation and turning it for good.” With that, she slid open the patio door and headed for her car. With a short toot of her horn, she drove off.
Back inside, Bruno faced his silent, sparsely furnished condo, the crackling fire the only sound.
Mom was right. He’d never wanted to come back to Fernandina Beach. It was a lousy spot to run a sports agency. He kept a post office box in Jacksonville for his business cards.
So what was he still doing here? Mom’s leg had healed. She didn’t need him to hang around. His little office on Centre Street was costing him more than he could afford.
Having a personal pilot was nice, but he didn’t know how long the luxury would last. Maybe he was here because Dad and Kevin Vrable were right.
He was nothing.
That one word lodged in his psyche, and no matter how much he achieved, it reared up when Bruno was at his weakest.
A text ping pulled him from his mental spiral. It was from Calvin Blue. Let this be a sign.
Your girl was hot. Whatever you do, hang on to her.
Bruno grinned. She’s not my girl. Just a friend.
Then get busy.
He returned that comment with an emoji and tossed his phone aside. It rang a second later, Beck’s name on the screen.
“Hey, what’s up?” Was he smiling? Yeah, he was smiling.
“I have a thought.”