by Rachel Hauck
Twenty-five fifty? Everleigh hugged her handbag to her chest. She had five hundred in her savings account. If she put it all on the car, she just might be able to afford it.
But . . . the new roof. And sooner rather than later, the kitchen appliances all had to be replaced. The stove was going on twenty-five years, and Mama complained the oven cooked unevenly.
“H-how much would the monthly payments be?”
Of course everyone needed a bit put by for emergencies.
“Around eighty.”
Steady, Ev. Eighty dollars a month? She only brought home fifty a week. But the house was paid off, so there was no mortgage. Mama cleared that debt after Daddy’s funeral with the entirety of their savings.
“No bank is ever going to kick us out.” She had a steel resolve about debt and dealing with banks that came from marrying and birthing babies during the Great Depression.
“You’re getting one of the best cars of the year, Mrs. Applegate. Well worth it. Quality has no price tag.”
“What can you do to get the payment down to forty dollars a month?” She preferred thirty, but forty was her absolute top end.
Glenn chuckled. “Forty a month? I could put you in this nice Ford over here, or a Studebaker from the used lot. Just put one out today in excellent condition. Only three years old.”
“I’d rather keep the DeSoto.” If she mentioned the five hundred, Glenn would have the upper hand. No cause to dicker. She wanted his best price before she delivered her down payment. She turned to go. “Thank you for your time.”
“Hold on now, Mrs. Applegate. Let me talk to the boys, see what I can do.”
So it began, the back and forth. Glenn showed her the used blue Studebaker, just in case, but it wasn’t a convertible and the black seats had small tears.
Next he gave her a seat at a desk in the showroom and brought her a coffee and a stale donut. She sat alone while he tried to negotiate the monthly payment.
“Can you put any money down?”
“Get me to thirty-five a month and we’ll see. I’d like a hundred for my trade-in. And if you could, knock another hundred off the Lark sticker price.”
Why not bob for all the apples? She’d resigned herself to drive home in the DeSoto.
“Mrs. Applegate, you’re killing me here.”
Two hours later, Glenn could go no further than seventy-five dollars on the DeSoto trade-in, twenty dollars off the Lark sticker price, and a seventy-dollar payment.
By now Everleigh was hungry, tired, and ready to go home, change into her pajamas, and watch TV with Mama. What made her think a bottle of bleach and a new tube of Avon’s red lipstick could turn her into a modern woman?
Even if she offered the five hundred down payment, which she was beginning to reconsider, the monthly payment still wouldn’t be low enough.
“Glenn,” she said, standing and straightening her skirt. “I think we’ve wasted enough of each other’s time.” Her voice sank with disappointment. “Thank you for trying.”
“Mrs. Applegate, we’d love to show you something slightly used if you’d be willing.”
“What’s going on here, fellas?”
Everleigh steadied herself as Don walked across the showroom floor, his back straight, his shoulders square, looking stylish in slacks and a sweater, his blue gaze scanning her from the top of her bleached head to the tip of her red heels.
“Everleigh.” His whistle was slow and steady. “You look . . . Wow.” He kissed her cheek. “I went by your house. Your mom said you were running errands.”
“How’d you find me here?”
“I didn’t. I was driving by and decided to stop in. Must be a divine appointment.”
She smiled. “Must be. So, do you like it? My hair?”
“Very becoming.”
“Don.” Glenn marched toward his boss’s son. “Didn’t expect you tonight.”
The rest of the salesmen popped out of their offices and out of the break room where they played poker and drank beer.
“Are you giving my girl a good deal?” Don roped his arms around Everleigh. “Darling, you should’ve told me you were coming in tonight.”
“I didn’t know you were in town . . . sweetheart.” They shared a glance, a joke, a camaraderie.
“Came down on an errand.” Don walked her over to the showroom window. “So, what’s your pleasure?”
“Champagne on a beer salary, I’m afraid.”
“We tried to get her in the convertible Studebaker, Don,” Glenn said. “But her budget doesn’t quite stretch.”
“Well, let’s see what we can do. How much do you want to spend, Ev? Let’s get my girl in the car of her dreams.”
He was joking, surely, trying to mess with the boys.
“Don.” Everleigh leaned in to him. “Really, Glenn has worked hard to meet my demand but—”
“How much?”
“Forty dollars a month.” She winced, giving him a five-dollar wiggle room. Her previous notion of thirty-five dollars a month was just unreasonable. Forty would be a steal.
Don pressed his hand on Glenn’s back. “Let’s talk to Bruce. See what’s holding up this sale.”
Bruce, Everleigh gathered, was the sales manager. Don met him in the middle of the showroom, then walked with the man to his office and shut the door. The rest of the crew scurried about, trying to look busy.
She pressed her hand over her lips. What was going on behind the closed door? Should she let him do this? He was a friend, and a favor of this magnitude might make her beholden in some way.
On the other hand, it had been so long since a man, since anyone, had come to her rescue, Don’s gesture made her feel treasured.
After Daddy and Rhett died, she had to be her own knight in shining armor, as well as Mama’s. If Don wanted to ride in on his white steed, his Corvette, and do her a favor, why not accept?
Ten minutes later he exited Bruce’s office. “How’s thirty-nine dollars a month strike you?”
“You can’t be serious! For the brand-new convertible Studebaker?”
“That’s the car you want, isn’t it?”
“Y-yes, it is.” She studied his expression. He seemed sincere, even excited. “What’s the catch?” she said.
“No catch.” He directed her over to one side while Bruce and Glenn bustled around with the paperwork. “Why didn’t you call me, let me know you wanted a new car?”
“And say what? ‘Hello, Don, can you help little ol’ me buy a car from your daddy’s lot?’”
He laughed, reaching to touch the ends of her hair, searching her face. “That’s what friends are for, Ev.” He kept calling her Ev as if they were well acquainted and intimate. “I really like your hair.”
“LuEllen went a little crazy.”
“It’s you.”
She peered up at him. “Do you think so?”
“It’s pretty evident I can’t take my eyes off of you. You were beautiful before, but the blonde—”
“Okay, Mrs. Applegate, you are good to go.” Glenn crossed the floor with a bit of swagger, holding up the Studebaker keys, pointing to the nearest desk. “All you have to do is sign a few papers and you’ll be the owner of a new convertible. I hear tomorrow’s forecast is sunshine with temperatures in the sixties. Perfect for a Sunday drive.”
With a glance at Don, Everleigh took the pen Glenn offered. Thank you.
She signed without doubt and bid a tearful farewell to the DeSoto.
After Glenn filled the tank and lowered the top, she stood with Don by her new car.
“What magic did you do to get the car down to thirty-nine dollars a month? And with no down payment?”
He held out his arms, tugging on his sleeves. “No tricks.”
“Don.”
“I gave you our dealer discount. And you will be paying for the next five years.”
She tiptoed up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you. Ever since Valentine’s w
eekend, I’ve been realizing some things about myself.”
“Good ones, I hope.” She laughed softly and pointed to her hair. “I’ve obviously had a few revelations too.”
Don hooked his pinky finger with hers and moved toward her. “You dazzle me, Everleigh Applegate.”
“Don, please.”
“I’m serious. Just when I was beginning to wonder if anything exciting, out of the ordinary, would happen in my life, I ran into you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything I have, but every once in a while, a fella needs to have his socks knocked off.”
“Do I? Knock your socks off?”
He raised his pant leg to reveal his bare ankles. With a gasp, Everleigh swatted at him. “How’d you do that?”
“I told you, you knock my socks off.” His eyes snapped with a teasing glint.
“What about your girl, Carol Ann?” Funny or not, he was declaring something she wasn’t ready to receive. She still loved Rhett in a way she couldn’t quite explain or understand. Everleigh held up her new car keys. “I should go. Mama has no idea I’m buying a new car.”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“Don, what are you doing?”
“It’s only dinner, Everleigh.”
“That’s what you said last time. Is it? Only dinner? And you never answered my question about Carol Ann.”
“I’m ending things with her. We both know we’re not right for one another. It’s just that neither one of us has said it yet.” Don touched her chin, raising her face to his. “Can I kiss you?”
“Perhaps we should just leave things be, okay? You have loose ends to tie up, and I have a new car to take home.”
He brushed his thumb along her jaw. “But I’ll be back for you, Everleigh.”
“Don’t arrange your life around mine, Don. You’ll be more stuck than you are now.”
“But ever since Lauderback’s, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He leaned closer and her heart nearly beat out of her chest.
Heaven help her, but it’d been so long—
“Then kiss me, Don Callahan. Kiss me.”
He embraced her, kissing her sweetly, if not awkwardly, as the two took a moment to find their breath, their rhythm.
Tears slicked down her cheeks as she floated on his affections. Don’s, not Rhett’s.
With a gasp, she broke away, her hand pressing against Don’s chest. “I’m sorry, Don, but I can’t. I just can’t.”
chapter eighteen
Beck
“Beetle?”
Beck welcomed the cool, sweet breeze as she raised the bedroom window, glancing around for her puppy, the residue of Bruno’s kiss still on her mind, swirling around her heart.
He never called for dinner after their kiss in the backyard and she was glad. She needed time to think. To do some of her own processing.
Then yesterday he flew to South Carolina and Virginia.
Sitting in the rocker by the window, inhaling the morning breeze, Beck gazed across the lawn to Memory Lane as a black Mercedes cruised past the house. Same as the other day.
The driver slowed, almost stopped, but continued to the end of the lane and parked.
Otherwise, the lane was empty, quiet. Peaceful. So very different from the hustle and bustle of New York.
Her thoughts drifted to Bruno. She regretted her memories of him were gone along with Dad’s, but the morning light clarified a few things for her. Mostly that a relationship with Bruno was just not possible.
Not now anyway. And in the three weeks she had left in Fernandina Beach, she’d be his friend. No more, no less.
Still, it made her sad. He was a great guy. Another time and she’d easily hand over her heart.
Meanwhile, Baby Girl gave a flutter and Beck needed to eat. But first she’d take Beetle out for his morning constitutional.
“Beetle Boo?” She whistled for him, then searched under the bed. “Bee Boo?”
He was on the bed when she went to the shower. If he jumped off, it was a heck of a leap for him.
“Beetle?” Beck found her slippers, then zipped up a light jacket. The maternity clothes she ordered arrived yesterday, and she was feeling a bit sporty, if not slightly fat.
She called the dog again as she crossed from the bedroom to the upstairs living room, pausing by the tucked-away, narrow stairwell that led to a third floor. She was going to have to inspect that space soon. “Beetle?”
She spotted him on the other side of the BarcaLounger, collapsed on the carpet, blood pooling beneath his mouth.
“No, no, no . . . What’s wrong, buddy?” He moaned when she touched his belly. “Okay, okay, let’s get you to the vet. Hang in there, hang in there.”
She ran to the bedroom, then down the stairs, then back up again, adrenaline flooding her system. Where was her purse? A towel, he needed a towel. Phone, where was her phone? Charging by the bed.
Vets, vets, vets. She searched on her phone, finding Fernandina Beach Animal Clinic with emergency services.
Baby Girl twisted and turned, stretching to see what was going on.
Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, Beck wrapped Beetle as gently as possible. “Mama’s here, sweet boy. Don’t go anywhere.”
The dog responded with a moan, trying to raise his head and attend her voice. His eyes pleaded with her before he gagged and coughed up another spill of blood.
Easing him up off the floor, tears slipping as he writhed and moaned, she exited the back door. Car, she was going to have to take the car.
Settling Beetle in the grass, she knocked over the birdbath for the garage-barn key and soon shoved back the door.
“Stay with me, little guy. Come on, you beat those drug runners. You can beat this. Don’t let what they did to you get you now.” But blood stained the towel. His breath was rapid and shallow.
At the car, she settled him on the passenger-side floor and gazed toward the car’s ignition. Good, Bruno left the keys in.
“Oh, Jesus, take the wheel. Seriously.” Wiping her cheeks, she slid into the driver’s seat, mashed in the clutch, and started the engine.
She could do this. Drive. She’d watched Bruno work the gear shift. And Dad had given her a lesson way back. At least in the vision she saw.
She closed her eyes with a long intake of the cold January morning and tried to recall the words she’d heard that day.
“Press in the clutch. Up and over for second gear. Straight down for third. There you go.”
She gunned the gas and let off the clutch. The car lurched and stalled. Beetle had gone eerily silent.
“Come on, come on.” Beck hammered the steering wheel, then started the car again, repeating the process of gas, clutch, stall.
Four more times and the nose of the car just eeked out of the garage.
“Beck Holiday, pull yourself together and drive. He’ll die otherwise. Beetle, do not die on me.”
She started the car again, tears dripping from her chin, and got all the way out of the garage before stalling.
“I’m sorry. Bee, I’m so sorry.” All this jerking around couldn’t be good for him. She ran her sleeve over her eyes, wiping away the dew. “Bee?” She reached down to stroke his head, but he remained still. Lifeless.
She slammed the steering wheel. “Why can’t I do this? I knew cars were stupid.” She started and stalled the Studebaker for the umpteenth time.
“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Bruno jogged toward her dressed for a day of sports agenting.
She ignored him, gunning the gas, letting off the clutch, barking to a halt, almost running into him and swearing like a New York cop.
“Beck, stop, where are you going?” He leaned around the windshield, hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She shook her head with a sob, pointing to the passenger floor.
“Move over.” He opened the door, but she refused to move.
“I think it’s too late.”
“Let’s go anyway.
Move.”
She slid across the bench seat. “I found him collapsed on the floor, blood coming from his mouth. Look at the towel.”
“Everything will be all right.” He stretched across, squeezing her hand as he turned onto Memory Lane.
She tipped against him, sobbing. “He’s just an innocent dog.”
“Come on, little guy, stay with us.” Bruno shifted gears, blasting the horn when another driver cut him off.
Beck dried her eyes and checked on Beetle. He was breathing, barely, and shivering. So she covered him with her jacket.
Bruno barreled into the parking lot and stopped by the front door, jumping out of the car to run inside while Beck carefully lifted Beetle from the floorboard.
A vet tech met her at the surgery door, his eyes weighted with appropriate sympathy. “We’ll let you know what we find as soon as possible.”
“Please, take care of him. H-he was a drug mule. His insides were pretty messed up. You can call the vet in New York—”
“Beck.” Bruno’s strong arm came around her waist. “Let them do their job.”
She fell against his chest, holding on to him.
“Tell me what happened.” He tucked his arm around her shoulder.
“I went to take him out and found him in the upstairs living room. I can’t lose him, Bruno. I can’t. He-he’s so sweet and trusting. He’s part of this journey. How did I not see this coming? How did I not know? What kind of mother am I going to be?”
“Whoa, wait. You have taken enormous care of that dog.” His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t reach for it. “How were you to know if anything was wrong with him? He looked happy and healthy.”
“Moms are supposed to know—”
“Moms don’t have ESP. But look, you were so desperate you got behind the wheel of the Studebaker.”
“I don’t want him to suffer, Bruno.” As she stood in the middle of the waiting room, the sobs rolled through her. The combination of the pregnancy hormones along with the knowledge of what Beetle had endured in his short life was just too much. “But I can’t, I can’t put him down.”