The Memory House

by Rachel Hauck

“Looks like it.” Beck waited for Beetle’s back-off growl, but instead he lifted his head and attempted to wag his tail, turning his head so Gaynor could scratch his favorite spot behind his ears. “He doesn’t let anyone touch him but me.”

  “Gaynor is the animal whisperer,” Hunter said as she returned to the sofa.

  “And a baby whisperer?” Beck said.

  “We hope so. If you’ll let us.”

  “So you want to raise the baby? Gaynor would adopt her?”

  “But you can be involved at every turn,” Hunter said.

  “You could be Mama Beck,” Gaynor said. “We thought we’d tell her the truth from the beginning.”

  “How will that work? Two mothers? And, Gaynor, how could you not look at her with resentment? That she is his blood but not yours?”

  “I don’t know, but I have no fears whatsoever. Some things are thicker than blood. If I adopt her, she’ll be mine. As for the two mothers, I suppose we should have time with her alone the first few years.”

  “Then she won’t know me.”

  “Then we’ll talk it out.” Gaynor’s desperation supplied all the answers.

  “You really want me involved? Isn’t that like having another woman in your marriage?”

  Faith or not, Beck couldn’t believe Gaynor didn’t hate her just a little bit.

  “When Hunter first told me, I was hurt and angry. I actually left him for a week. I cried for three days straight, asking God to help me understand, to forgive. I woke up the fourth morning realizing there was another side to this story. A child for us to love.” She turned to Hunter. “Can you give us a moment?”

  Beetle raised his head, growling as Hunter crossed between Beck and his wife, stepping onto the front porch. The dog squirmed to get down when Gaynor moved to the chair next to Beck.

  “I met Hunter when I was sixteen,” she said, reaching down to pet Beetle. Little traitor. “He worked at a lake resort restaurant where my family had a summer home. He was tall and gorgeous with those wide shoulders and an incredible smile. He stole my heart with one glance. I’ve loved him ever since.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. How will you feel about this, me, another woman in your marriage, in your family?”

  When Beetle rested his head on Gaynor’s foot, she wanted Hunter and his wife, along with their request, to fly back to New York and never contact her again.

  “To be honest, I’m not totally sure how I’ll feel, Beck. I’ve never been in this situation before. But my heart tells me, ‘Go for it.’ I have a master’s degree in international relations, but my number one idea to help the world has always been to raise children with purpose. I’ve worked at the UN. Traveled the globe. Nothing fulfilled me like the idea of family. Now with the hope of . . . of raising Hunter’s child . . . Am I talking too much?” She scratched Beetle’s head again, diverting her attention from Beck.

  “I suppose I’m trying to communicate forty-two years of desire.” She sat back, arms folded. “I was one of those girls who wanted nothing but to be a mom. Hunter and I were going to be the couple who ran the PTA, coached the kids’ sports, and traveled the world on summer vacations. You know Hunter as a decorated, tough cop, but he’s kind and gentle, more trustworthy than recent behavior would suggest. He’d make an amazing father. Please, if you could—”

  Beck shrugged away from her plea and reached down for Beetle. Whose side are you on? He strained against her arms for a moment, standing on her legs, wagging his tail for Gaynor. Then settled down, digging his nose under Beck’s hand.

  “I don’t know, Gaynor.” Her eyes ran with tears when she finally looked at the other woman. “I should but I don’t.”

  Yet weren’t they offering Beck exactly what she wanted for Baby Girl? A mother and a father who loved each other, who cared about their marriage, who would love her and keep her safe.

  On top of everything, the woman Beck had wronged was pleading with her.

  “I-I don’t understand why you don’t hate me.”

  “What was it Dr. King said about hate? It’s too great a burden to bear? I’d rather love and forgive. Plus, to be honest, I am thinking of the child, what’s best for her. She’s the innocent one here.”

  Beck scratched Beetle Boo’s ears, Gaynor’s words shaking her concept of love and forgiveness, of what the future might hold.

  She never imagined a both/and option.

  “Have you thought about what you want to do?” Gaynor said. “What are your plans?”

  “Some. But I ignored the pregnancy until a few weeks ago. Now that you’re here, I feel as if time is a locomotive,” Beck said. “How would this work between us? Would it be formal? In writing?”

  “Formal, yes, but with you as part of the equation. But until you decide, you are in the driver’s seat. We are merely asking you to consider us.”

  “Well, that’s a bit scary. I hate driving.”

  “Really?” Gaynor relaxed and returned to her seat on the sofa. “I do my best thinking behind the wheel.” She folded her hands in her lap and studied the paintings on the near wall. “I imagine what we are asking you to do is hard, and a little crazy, but please give it some thought. We can provide a good home. My mother still lives on the horse farm she and Dad bought just outside of Boston. Our daughter will spend her summers there learning to ride. We’ll give her music and dance lessons.”

  “It sounds lovely. My dad died when I was fourteen, and it’s impacted me in ways I’m still discovering. In fact, I can’t remember him at all.” She brushed the dew from her eyes. “I really want Baby Girl to have a father.”

  “Hunter wants to be a father. He wants to make memories with her, help her with her homework, teach her to ride a bike, then how to drive. I remember when my dad taught me. Oh my word, what a hoot. Lots of screaming and laughter. My family also has a summer home on Nantucket, and I have so many happy memories there.”

  As she went on Beck saw, knew, Gaynor could give Baby Girl one key thing she could not—a family history. A past. Memories. Stories of summers on the lake, canoeing, hiking, and catching fireflies.

  She heard herself ask, “What do you remember about your father and those summers?”

  Gaynor’s eyes glistened. “Mercy, I don’t know. If there’s one thing there’s a hundred. We hiked every morning. Swam every afternoon. Flew kites. Rode horses. The summer I turned fourteen Dad and I hiked every day. We talked and talked. He tried to imitate bird calls.” She pressed her fingers over her laugh. “I swear one morning he had a fifteen-minute conversation with a red bird. When the bird flew away Dad said, ‘He’s concerned his kids will never leave the nest. He and the missus want to fly to Florida for the winter.’ Ah, he had the best laugh.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Beck said, seeing a future for Baby Girl she’d not imagined before today.

  Gaynor would be an amazing mom with her poise and charm, her sophistication, family history and memories, and rich, detailed stories.

  “I will love her, Beck. I promise. With my whole heart. I won’t keep you from her. I just ask that you let me be her mother.”

  “But we both know I’ll end up more on the outside than in. I suppose I would have to be. Otherwise we’ll confuse her.”

  “Maybe. At first. We’ll have to establish ourselves, but we want you to be involved.”

  “I think that’s improbable, Gaynor. For both of us. What if I decide to raise her myself? Will you want to be involved then?”

  Her eyes filled. “Yes, of course. We want Hunter to be her father no matter what. Would you allow him to do that?”

  “Now that you know, yes. I’d really like that for her,” Beck said. “To be honest, Gaynor, a month ago I might have said yes to your proposition without much debate. But the woman who left me this house also left me some resources for reasons I don’t understand, and it’s making me consider how Baby Girl is included in this blessing. I’m sorry I can’t be more decisive but—”

  “I know what we are asking is h
ard. It’s why we asked in person.” Gaynor glanced at the front door as Hunter peeked in. “Three people will love her.”

  “Am I allowed back?”

  “Yes, babe, come in. We’ve just decided the baby’s name will be Rutabaga Cauliflower.”

  His expression made Beck laugh. “Do you think we’d be that cruel?” And just like that, with a plural pronoun, she and Gaynor were on the same side.

  “Is that a yes then? We’re taking her?”

  “Not entirely.” Gaynor reached for her bag. “Don’t pressure her, Hunter.”

  “You’ll let us know then,” he said.

  “Yes, one way or the other.”

  The conversation faded, and Hunter brought Beck up to speed on precinct news and his transfer date. Then there was nothing more to say.

  As they walked to the car, Beck leaned against the porch post, her hands locked behind her back. Say it. But the confession remained stitched to her tongue. Say it. Deserve what Gaynor’s given you.

  “Gaynor.” She blurted out her name because something deeper than Beck’s pride wanted free.

  “Yes?”

  Beck met her halfway, under the lowest branch of the sprawling, ancient oak. “I-I’m sorry. So very sorry.”

  Gaynor’s eyes welled up with watery pain. “You’re forgiven, Beck. And I can’t help but think something beautiful and wonderful will come from all our mistakes.”

  Gaynor Ingram was lovely, everything a little girl deserved in a mom.

  When they’d driven away and she was alone, Beck collapsed on the couch cradling Beetle against her middle and wept into a throw pillow until all her guilt has washed away.

  chapter twenty-two

  Everleigh

  The knock came late as the house rattled with the crashes and flashes of a spring thunderstorm.

  Mama had retired early to read and Everleigh paced the living room, restless. She’d not be able to sleep until it passed. She had the radio console tuned to the Big Go, listening for alerts. As long as she heard the announcer’s voice, she was safe.

  But if the sound turned static—

  When the wind battered the front porch, she flipped on the porch light, surprised to find Don standing there with his hat in his hand. Rain fell in a thick sheet through the light of the street lamps.

  “Can I talk to you?” He motioned to the door, his shiny blue suit rumpled, the lines around his eyes deep and defined.

  “Come in, come in. I’ll make some coffee.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He dropped his hat on the kitchen table and shook the water from his suit coat.

  “Please, interrupt.” She took his hat and set it on the table by the door. “The storm had me, well . . . What are you doing here? Wasn’t today the big merger? Would you like a piece of cake? Tonight was dessert night.”

  “With coffee?” He followed her to the kitchen.

  “Of course.”

  When she reached for the plates, his arms came around her waist and he nuzzled her neck. “I’ve missed you.”

  She moaned, his touch intoxicating. “Don—”

  He turned her about, pressing a kiss to her lips and the plates against her breast. She barely heard the thunder rattling the windows.

  “Where’s your mother? I don’t want her to break in on me making love to her daughter.”’ His breath brushed past her cheek and down her neck.

  “She’s . . . she’s in bed, reading. Probably asleep by now.” Everleigh shivered as dormant, tingling sensations spread through her. “Did you drive down from Dallas just to kiss me?” How lovely if he did.

  He tapped his forehead to hers. “Would that be a bad thing?”

  She gripped the plates. “I-I don’t think so.” He made her weak, a puddle of desire, aching for his touch, his devotion and love.

  An announcement came over the radio, a voice telling Waco to take cover and precaution.

  “This extreme storm comes with dangerous lightning.”

  Don kissed her again, his broad hand massaging her waist. When he stepped back, he took the plates and set them on the counter.

  “You don’t like storms, do you?”

  “No.”

  Don leaned against the counter, watching as she sliced the dessert. “The twister still haunts you?”

  She reached for the coffee pot. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Cream, no sugar.”

  She carried the coffee and cake to the living room on a tray and sat with Don on the sofa. His presence steadied her, made her believe everything would be okay.

  “Tell me about Rhett.” Don reached for his coffee. “What happened the day of the twister, Everleigh?”

  She set down her cup and saucer to take up her cake. She felt like she must do something while speaking even though the twister story was rather simple. She’d told it over and over.

  “Everyone had gone to town. I was home alone. It started raining and I heard a crash so I ran down to the cellar.”

  “That’s the story everyone knows, Everleigh.” He turned her chin to face him. “I want to know your story, sweetheart.” He tapped her chest, over her heart, and she shivered at his intimate touch. “What happened here?”

  She stared at the cake in her lap. “I try not to talk about it. People mean well when they ask, and certainly enough time has passed, but it robs me, Don, takes away a little bit of my memories and dulls the feelings, the joy and the sorrow. So if I answer, pour out my heart, lay myself bare, what can they say or do? Give me a pinched expression with a ‘Had to be hell’? Or worse, tell me a comparative story like we’re in a contest of tragedies. Meanwhile I know deep down they’re praising God that they didn’t walk in my shoes.”

  He set his coffee on the table and pulled her into his arms. She cradled her head on his shoulder, cake still in her lap. “I’m not just anybody, Ev. I’m not people. I’m the man who loves you.”

  “How can you say love, Don? We’ve only just begun a relationship.” She liked the way his hand fit perfectly over her shoulder. The way his thumb stroked her arm.

  “Can’t explain it myself, but it’s true. I see how you take care of your mother, your loyalty, your patience. How you work hard to provide. How you soldier on when this was not the life you wanted. I also see how stunning and sexy—”

  “See.” She nudged him with her elbow and laughed. “The sensible shoes do it every time.”

  “I’d never mock your memories, Everleigh. Or try to minimize them. I’m not asking you to forget Rhett.” He raised her face to see his. “I’m simply asking you to love me too.”

  “I’m not sure you want to hear it all. I’m not sure I want you to know.”

  “Then I’m not the man I think I am. The man I want to be.” He kissed her cheek. “But I understand. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do, Ev, but nothing will change how I feel about you.”

  Between his confessions, the soft lamplight, the low melody on the radio, the scent of the coffee mingling with his end-of-day cologne, Everleigh exhaled her story. The one only Mama had ever heard.

  “I saw the rain coming so I went inside. I had chores to do in the kitchen. That night we were celebrating plans to build our new house.” She laced her fingers through his, hearing his heartbeat between her words. “And I was three months pregnant.”

  He rested his head on top of hers.

  “I’d brought the last of Lola’s puppies inside because the barn was too far. They were terrified. The one Rhett and I were going to keep was the runt of the litter. Rocco. The wind shook the house. I thought it was just another Texas storm until I heard a shatter upstairs. Then the terrifying howl.” She pressed her hand to her ear. “I can still hear it sometimes. The rest is a blur, but I ended up in the cellar with the puppies.” Sitting up, she set her cake down and stared across the room into a hazy, fading scene. “After the storm, I couldn’t move. I was so scared. But I knew Rhett would come. All I had to do was wait.”

  He said nothing.
Just pressed his hand to her back.

  “I fell asleep, waking up when someone called my name. Rhett! Finally he was home. The cellar door opened, flooding the dark with light. It was Duke Cartwright from the neighboring ranch.”

  “How long were you down there?”

  “About ten hours. Everything was gone, Don. The house, the barn. Everything that said Circle A Ranch. On the vast prairie there was nothing left but the foundation and the cellar door. Even with all trucks circling and the Cartwright girl giving me a sandwich, I was utterly alone.”

  He kissed and caught the single tear slipping down her cheek.

  “Mr. Cartwright said, ‘We need to know what you want to do.’ I had no idea what he meant. Two more trucks pulled up with the bodies. Rhett and his parents. I fainted. Next thing I know, it’s a gray May day and I’m burying my husband, my hopes and dreams.

  “I actually forgot most of that year for a while. But over time, the memories returned.” Everleigh glanced up at Don. “That’s why I don’t share, why I treasure what I have. I don’t want to lose them again. Rhett was so young. Only twenty-five. Doesn’t he deserve to be remembered?”

  “Yes, he does.” Don sat forward, gazing at his shoes, then back at Everleigh. “Did you lose the baby too?”

  “Please, Don,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “Isn’t it your turn to talk for a while? How was your day? The Dewey-Callahan merger?”

  * * *

  Don

  “I resigned from the dealership today, Everleigh. I told my dad I’m going into the insurance business and moving to Florida with George Granger.”

  “My word, Don. That had to be difficult. What did he say?” She sniffed and pulled herself together.

  “He hit the roof. I think every ear within a mile radius heard him. I realized my desire to please him, honor him, was more out of fear than respect. He’s a great guy, my old man, but he’s prideful. It’s his way or no way. We ended up in Dewey’s office with Dad telling Standish to promote me to sales director so I wouldn’t leave. However, Standish took the news standing up. Said he was disappointed but a man had to follow his own path. You should’ve seen Dad’s face. Stunned. Then Standish made a big show out of patting him on the back, saying something like, ‘It’s just us old guys now, Hal. Let’s show these young whipper-snappers what’s up.’”