by Rachel Hauck
“Don? Dinner,” Mom called, rapping on his door.
He sat up, shoving the sleep from his eyes. “Be right there.”
He followed the delicious aroma to the table.
She patted his shoulder. “I’m not used to seeing you twice in a month. This is a treat.”
Don raised the lid of the Pyrex dish, releasing a beef-and-pasta-scented aroma.
“Harold? Put the paper down. Dinner’s on the table.” Mom handed Don the bread basket. “How’s Carol Ann? You know, we still need to meet her. Well, meet her again. She was a girl when I last saw her.”
“Who was a girl?” Dad came in smiling, folding the newspaper, his reading glasses riding low on his nose.
“Carol Ann. I was telling Don we need to meet her again.”
“You’ll see her at Dewey when we celebrate the merger, Sher.” Dad scooped the casserole onto his plate. “I signed the papers today.”
“How exciting. When do we start building in Castle Heights?”
Dad chuckled. “Let the ink dry a little, but we can start talking to the architect.”
“He tried to keep it a secret.” Mom beamed, and Don hoped her expression was worth the price he feared Dad was paying.
She had worked in a factory when he was young, helping support the family while Dad built up Callahan Cars. Took care of the house, all the washing and shopping, cleaning and cooking. Helped Don and Pearl with their homework. Meanwhile, Dad worked from seven to seven, six days a week.
Build her a castle, Dad. She deserves it.
“Which one of you is going to say grace?”
Dad volunteered, uttering his standard prayer, then dove into his dinner, reaching for a hot roll.
“When do you head back, Don?” he said.
Don swallowed his first bite. The taste, the warmth, the aroma made him a little homesick for the days of his youth, before the army, college, and a career in Dallas. When disappointing Dad was never an option. When he was an energetic, good kid who came home every day to loving parents and a halfway decent sister.
“Thought I’d stay for the weekend. Baylor has a basketball game tomorrow night.” He reached for the iced tea pitcher and filled everyone’s glass. “Maybe see the nieces.”
“Standish doesn’t mind you taking off a few days?”
“I’ve got time coming to me.”
“And you want to spend it here?” Mom hopped up for the salt. “I’d think you’d want to spend more time with Carol Ann. Listen, when you propose, give me time to get into LuEllen’s. I’ll need a makeover for the society page pictures.”
Don turned her words over in his head. At least he could be honest about Carol Ann.
“Mom, there aren’t going to be any society page photos. At least not with me and Carol Ann.”
“Sure there will be. waco boy does well, set to marry dallas socialite and beauty queen. You better believe the photographers will come out.”
“Well, focus on Dad’s big news. Callahan Cars merging with Dewey Motors. Get gussied up for that story. You’ve called Bill Davis over at the Tribune, haven’t you, Dad?”
“Talked to him this afternoon.” Dad buttered his roll. “Son, your mama’s right. Get moving with Carol Ann. You’ll need her by your side as you step into more and more of the business. What’s Standish going to have you doing?”
“He’s not said.”
Dad frowned. “You don’t say. He told me he was making you senior sales manager. Maybe I’m spoiling the surprise.”
Senior sales manager? “I don’t know, Dad. Mo Bryant is doing a great job, and he has twenty-five years’ experience. Not to mention a wife and kids in college.”
“You’re family now, Don. We need you in a key position.” Dad swigged his tea. “Sher, you’re married to a genius. I’ve set our son up for a prosperous future.”
“I never doubted you.” Mom went on to talk about the Waco library charity dilemma. What event to have as a fund-raiser. “The committee wanted to bring in Elvis again, but he’s too big for us now.”
Then they talked about the unusual weather and an update on the grandbabies.
Don helped Mom clear the dishes until she shooed him out of the kitchen. “Keep your father company.”
He folded the dish towel and set it on the counter. “Mom, don’t be disappointed if things don’t work out with Carol Ann and me.”
She regarded him with a stern expression. “What are you saying?”
“I’m just not sure she’s the one.”
“The one? Of course she’s the one.” Mom fussed, plugging the sink for soapy water. “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with Everleigh Applegate.”
“What if it does? And how do you know Carol Ann’s the one?”
“Because I know her family, know she comes from good stock.”
From the living room Dad blared the TV. Douglas Edwards from CBS announced things were going well with talks between South Vietnam and the Vietcong.
“Don, son, she’s not for you. There are better, more upstanding girls.”
“Upstanding? I can’t think of anyone more upstanding than Everleigh Applegate. Look at what she’s been through. I tell you, I couldn’t lose one of you, plus my wife and in-laws, and go on living.”
“If you had to face it you would. You’re a Callahan. Don, listen to me, I know things, things I cannot share. I don’t wish ill on Everleigh, not at all. But let another man take her on. Frankly, I think she likes being an old widow with her mother, arranging flowers at Reed’s. Probably will be there her whole life.”
“I don’t think any woman wants to be an old widow, Mom. Maybe she’s the way she is because no man’s tried to court her.” He half believed her austere hairdo and sensible shoes were more of a reflection on his gender than on Everleigh.
“Now you listen to me, Donald Callahan.” Mom shut off the water but left her hands in the white suds as she faced him. “Your father has worked his whole life to leave you with a legacy his father never left him. He’s worked hard for this merger. He wants you, me, all of us, to be set for life. Don’t you dare jeopardize it.” Her glistening eyes pleaded with him.
“I hope my wife loves me as much as you love Dad.” He kissed her forehead. “Make Dad take you to dinner once a week. He won’t be working as much with this merger in place, and you deserve a night out.”
Mom scoffed and waved him off with a splatter of suds. “Well now, there’s no reason to go all crazy.”
Don walked out back and leaned against the porch post, jiggling the keys in his pocket.
He glanced through the kitchen window. Dad was at the sink making Mom laugh. She dried her hands and removed the cover on the cake plate.
Don sighed and knew he’d do what they wanted. He couldn’t let them down.
The edge of the moonlight caught his eye, and he hankered for a drive around town. And perhaps stop by his old friend’s, Everleigh Applegate’s?
He made tracks for his car before Mom called him in for cake, before she started up about Carol Ann again.
Perhaps he could sacrifice for his career, but not his heart. He’d end things with Carol Ann, and it sure would be nice to know if the twisting in his heart for Everleigh was anything close to real.
chapter sixteen
Bruno
When the rain let up, he walked Beck home, carrying her wet clothes. She was dressed head to toe in one of Mom’s rhinestone-encrusted sweat suits from the eighties.
“Stop laughing! That’s what we wore back then.”
“What were you doing in the rain, Beck?” He leaned against the open door, handing in her damp clothes as her little dog yipped from the top of the stairs.
“Come in. I’ll change so you can take back your mom’s stuff.” At the top of the stairs, she scooped up the little dog and held him close, crooned something to him Bruno couldn’t hear.
“That’s not an answer,” he called after her.
She peered over the railing. “It’s an answ
er. Just not the one you wanted.” She disappeared with Beetle growling a warning.
Bruno picked a spot on the couch and spotted the remote. He turned on the TV and spent a few minutes watching ESPN before switching over to the Big Ten Network.
So-called experts were surmising about the top draft picks. An image of Todd Gamble, Bruno’s Ohio State prospect, popped on the screen.
“His stock is really high. He’s going in the first round.”
“Word is he just signed with AJ & Co., a top sports agency—”
“What?” Bruno reached for his phone. Seriously. After connecting the guy with Sabrina Fox, he didn’t even have the courtesy to let him know he signed with an agent? Bruno fired off a text.
Hey, just heard you signed with AJ & Co. Congrats, man.
Yeah, thanks. I was going to text you.
How’s it going with Sabrina?
Good. Thanks for the intro man.
Invite me to the wedding.
Ha!
So he was back to one major candidate. Calvin Blue. If he could just get him to sign . . .
Agitated, he changed the channel, landing on a nineties sitcom rerun, and tried to focus, but his gut burned.
Was Vrable right? That he was a nothing who owed all his success to Watershed?
He glanced up when Beck came back down with her hair turbaned in a green towel and a growling Beetle tucked under her arm.
She wore gray sweats and a white T-shirt, not bothering to hide her baby belly. Bruno resisted the urge to touch her. What did it feel like to carry a growing baby? Women were amazing.
Beck sat next to him, passing over his mom’s folded burgundy sequined sweats.
“Doesn’t your mom ever get rid of her old clothes?”
“She’s sentimental. She probably wore this on a date with my dad or something. Even though I can’t imagine why she’d want to remember him.” He set the outfit on the coffee table.
“That bad?”
“He walked out on her. Then had the nerve to die.” He peered at Beck. “What were you doing in the rain?”
She tightened her jaw. “I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”
“Was it an angel?”
She laughed softly. “No. But I did see something, Then I heard something.”
“I’m going to need more details.”
She regarded him for a long, intense second. “I saw a backyard Bible school with Everleigh. Or someone I think was Everleigh. You and I were sword fighting with our sticks.”
“You saw it? Where?” He glanced around at the pictures on the walls. Mr. Don was a photography buff, had cool camera equipment he’d allow Bruno to see but not touch.
“Not on the walls. With my eyes. Or in my mind’s eye. I don’t know, it’s hard to describe.”
“What’d you see?”
“It was cloudy, but all of a sudden there was a picnic table with about eight or so kids. Two of them, me and you, were sword fighting with Popsicles sticks. And I knocked you—”
“—off the picnic bench.” Bruno muted the television. “You saw that?”
“Maybe.” She cradled a throw pillow in her lap.
“That’s why you were in the rain?” Concern marked his tone.
“Wouldn’t it drive you out of the house?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Then I heard something.”
“What did you hear?”
She started to speak, then closed her mouth. “No, you’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I hate to tell you but—”
“You already think I’m crazy?” She smacked his arm. “Only because you’re well down that road yourself.”
“No doubt. What’d you hear?”
“I heard, ‘It’s what you said to your father.’ I have no idea what that means. It freaked me out, so I ran downstairs and onto the veranda, kinda yelling at God, then I heard my name. Loud, Bruno, like thunder.”
“But it wasn’t thunder.”
She shook her head, her greenish eyes searching his. “It was like thunder. Booming. Thick. ‘Beck!’ Then I heard the father comment again, but gentle, like a feather.”
“What did you say to your father, Beck?”
“I have no idea. Thus my adventure in the rain.”
Her towel turban slipped from her hair, and the longer Bruno regarded her, the louder his desire hammered in his ears. Her round, girlish features had matured, and the painting of freckles on her cheeks had faded. And she still mesmerized him.
“I think you do.”
Her expression hardened. “No, I don’t. Don’t tell me what I do or do not remember, Bruno.”
“You’ve buried it.”
“I’ve forgotten it.”
“Then try to remember.”
She fired from the sofa. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past eighteen years? You think it’s easy to live with gaping holes in your mind? I can’t just remember because I want to, Bruno. Haven’t you been listening to me?”
“Then why the voice? Why those words? This vision? They must have come to you from somewhere.”
“It’s this house. It’s haunted.”
Bruno laughed. “Come on, Beck, you know the house isn’t haunted.”
She pursed her lips. “Then why doesn’t He tell me if He knows?”
“He?”
“God. That’s who I was talking to when I heard the words.”
“I don’t know, but as my mother loves to say, ‘God works in mysterious ways.’ Keep talking to Him.”
Beck returned to the sofa, reaching down to pet Beetle. “So Calvin’s mom liked the flowers?”
He sat back, stretching his legs to the coffee table. “Loved them.”
“I told you.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Gilmore Girls. Rory has met this hottie named Jess and—”
“I’m driving down to Gainesville. Let’s take the Studebaker. I’ll pick you up at nine. No, make it eight. Central Florida is beautiful.”
“What’s in Gainesville?”
“University of Florida. The pro liaison called me yesterday, saying a player actually asked to meet with me.” Making eye contact with Beetle, Bruno slowly reached to pet him, but the dog snarled and snapped. “The last road trip was a success so I thought you’d like to come along.” Besides, he loved her company. Almost craved it.
“As your good luck charm?”
“Yes. You and Beetle, of course.”
“Of course.” He stood, collecting his mom’s clothes. “I’ll see you in the morning, Beck, and your little dog too.”
“Can’t wait.”
He paused, gazing down at her. He could kiss her if he had the courage. But he used all he had to keep his head above sports agenting waters.
* * *
Beck
She walked with Bruno toward the University of Florida’s field house, his long stride anxious.
“Come on, we’re a little late.” Frustrated Bruno was an anxious Bruno.
Beck didn’t blame him, though. He was kind toward Beetle Boo who caused their tardiness. The little guy got sick on the drive down. They spent a half hour at a BP station cleaning out Everleigh’s car.
Next road trip she felt sure he’d go alone. Because Beck didn’t travel without her Beetle Boo.
Inside the field house, Bruno caught up with the pro liaison, who led them to a meeting room at the end of a long echoy hall.
Beck stepped back when Eugene Rotherham V rose from his seat to greet Bruno. Wow. He was a brute of a man—six six, three hundred pounds—and nothing at all like his aristocratic-sounding name.
She expected him to wear a sweater knotted at his neck and boat shoes without socks while ordering around His Man Friday. But G-Ro, as he was called, was regal and intense, aloof with the air of an elite athlete.
“G-Ro, man, thanks for meeting with me.”
“Calvin Blue recommended you.”
“I’ll have to tell him thanks.�
�� Bruno sat across from G-Ro with a backward glance at Beck. See what one big bouquet of flowers will get you? “This is my good friend Beck and her dog, Beetle. He’s had a rough year, so she can’t leave him alone yet.”
“Nice to meet you.” Beck offered her hand.
“You too.” G-Ro was polished and smooth, his easy grip like steel.
“Well, I’ll let you two talk. Beetle and I will scout out the place.”
One of the men at the table wearing a Gator shirt hopped up. “I can show you the snack and soda machines in the cafeteria.”
Beck selected a bag of chips and a bottle of water, then walked Beetle outside, setting him down on the grass. She twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long swig, then tore open the chip bag.
In the last week her appetite had doubled. She’d eat all day if she gave in to every craving and pang. This morning she braved the old scales she found in Everleigh’s bathroom closet. She’d gained five pounds.
“Come on, Beetle,” she said. “Let’s see the field.”
She’d just taken another bite of chips when Bruno came flying past her, grabbing her arm and yanking her around toward the parking lot.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Bruno, you’re making me spill my drink.”
He spun around, snatched her chips and water. “Pick up the dog. Let’s go.” Fire blazed in his eyes.
Without a word she scooped up Beetle and followed, walking behind at a safe distance. She had a partner once who blazed with fire when he was mad. Beck learned quick to let him cool off before asking questions.
She’d give Bruno the space he needed. But when they got to the car, he was on his phone.
“—nice blindside, Sam. Thanks for wasting my time.” He ended the call and climbed behind the wheel, slamming the door. “To think I did him a ton of favors when I worked at Watershed.” He gunned the gas, revving the engine to match his mood.
Beck eased into the passenger’s seat, gently settling Beetle on the floor. “Who’s Sam?”
“The pro liaison.”
“What happened?”
“G-Ro already signed with an agent.”
“What? Then why did he ask to see you?”