by Rachel Hauck
“No.” Mom dropped to the side of her bed, her brown curls frizzing around her face.
His phone pinged another reminder. He really needed to go. He started for the door then spun back to Mom. “How did you get him to go along with it?”
“Gave him a get-out-of-jail-free card. I wouldn’t hold him to any parental responsibilities, including child support, if he’d go away. Get out of our lives. I was free, you were free. The plan wasn’t to kill him off initially. But then I knew you’d start asking questions, wanting to call him, see him—”
“And he agreed to this plan?”
“Not at first. He didn’t like the dying part. But he had no roots here, and my family was glad to see the back of him when we divorced. Then his father died and his mother moved to Colorado to be near her sister. That’s when I saw my way clear to pull it off. He resisted at first. Then I offered to forgive the thirty-five grand he owed in back support.”
“At least we know he has a price.”
Mom met him in the doorway. “Bruno, you know I would never hurt you. But all I saw was a boy turning into a young man with an angry, broken heart. Why couldn’t your dad see it? Especially when he wanted it so much for himself?”
“Want to know a fact you left out of your scheme?” Bruno said, feeling the seconds tick closer to his call. He needed this call. For Calvin. And he wanted to be calm and composed. But his heart was broken and spilling over. “The fallacy in your grand plan? Hope. Sure, I was disappointed every time he missed a visit. Or called to say, ‘Something came up. See you next time, sport.’ I hated him at times. What’d I ever do to make him treat me like an annoying neighborhood kid? He called me a nothing, Mom. He made me feel like a nothing.”
“Exactly! Bruno, you are making my case.”
“But as long as he called, even to say he wasn’t coming, at least he called. He hadn’t forgotten our number. I had the promise of ‘one day’ or ‘next time.’ Next time he’ll come. Next time things will go better. Next time we’ll find something clever to talk about. One day I’ll get my license and drive over to see him. One day we’ll drink a beer together as men, as father and son. One day, by some miracle, we’ll actually have a relationship. That’s what I hoped for, Mom. That’s what I promised myself every time a visit didn’t go my way or every time he canceled.” He charged her with his pointing finger. “But you, in your stupid wisdom, decided to take it from me because it was too painful for you. I can’t even look at you right now.”
He banged into the door on his way out, cracking the knob against the wall. Outside, he walked blindly to his car, ignoring his head, his heart, and the trilling of his phone.
* * *
Beck
She didn’t know if he’d ever forgive her. For two days she debated if she’d done the right thing by telling him. But it was done, so no looking back. If she’d honed any skill it was not looking back but pressing forward.
She didn’t sleep the last two nights. He told her he loved her and she told him his mother had been lying for seventeen years.
Last evening she finally texted him. Lorelai Gilmore’s boldness with Luke inspired her.
Everything okay?
Busy.
Then this morning when she took Beetle out for his morning constitutional, she caught Natalie on her way to work. Beck called to her, but Natalie slammed the car door and backed down the driveway so fast she almost hit poor Mrs. Rover and her slow-moving Camry.
This afternoon she tried to nap, but she was restless. What if Bruno never spoke to her again? The idea wrecked her. Even Gilmore Girls season five provided no distraction.
She fixed a light dinner, but the food tasted bland and she swallowed without chewing.
Washing up the few dishes at the sink, gazing out the window, her attention landed on the fire pit.
A wave of unusual sentiment—baby hormones?—made her want to knock the leaves and bugs from the dried logs by the garage-barn and build a fire.
She’d sit outside under the clear night sky and find a way to make her world right again.
Oh, Bruno, I miss you.
She worked the fire pit until the flames could live on their own. Back inside, she found an old blanket in the servant’s quarters, scooped up Beetle, then dusted off a weather-worn Adirondack, and pulled it over to the fire and sat facing the house, a slice of Memory Lane, and the last of the sunset.
The scene was peaceful, lit with twilight and serenaded by the crackling fire, but Beck felt none of it. It was beyond her grasp.
Bending forward, she let her heart speak. “Lord, please make things right with Bruno and me.”
She’d never been a religious person, but one of her counselors used prayer and scripture to help her maneuver through her memory loss and Dad’s death.
Beetle settled in her lap and curled around Baby Girl as the night sounds started to rise. She had everything she wanted for the moment, except Bruno.
She wanted him here, sitting next to her, telling her about the good ol’ days with Miss Everleigh and the memory house.
In six days she’d be gone, arriving home Saturday, going into work on Sunday, and all of this would be over. With her situation evident now, she’d have questions to answer and quizzical looks to ignore.
Mom called twice to see how she was doing, the idea of her baby having a baby softening her some. She begged to go along on Beck’s next doctor’s appointment. She wasn’t looking forward to that, but maybe eventually the walls would come down and they’d start talking about the days before 9/11.
Wyatt wanted her at his lacrosse game Saturday afternoon, so she would make it home in time. Maybe that was a good thing. Mom had invited her friends Sara and Lars for dinner after the game.
And apparently everyone wanted to see pictures of the house and hear about everything.
Across the way, Natalie’s red taillights beamed under the carport. She was home.
Setting Beetle down, Beck made her way to Memory Lane. “Natalie, please, wait.”
The woman hesitated, her shoulders heavy, then turned. “He’s not speaking to me.”
“Me either.”
“Why didn’t you come to me, Beck? Let me know what you discovered? Let me decide what to do?”
“Would you have told him?”
She brushed her hand under her eyes. “Of course not.”
“Natalie, I’m sorry, but if his father is alive, he has a right to know.” Beetle finally arrived, panting and leaning against her leg. “Did you know Stone was hanging around town? It was only a matter of time before he approached Bruno.”
“How did you know it was him?”
“I didn’t.” Beck gave Natalie the social media version of Boudreaux, Vinny Campanile, and a black Mercedes with New York plates and her finely tuned NYPD cop sense.
“And that’s how you found Stone?” She shook her head and took a sack of groceries from the trunk. “Serves me right. See, our deal was he’d stay away forever. Then about ten years ago he called. Said he regretted his death and wanted to meet Bruno. I fought him on it, though if he’d insisted, there was nothing I could do. Bruno had just started law school and I didn’t want any emotional upheaval. An interruption like his father coming back from the grave . . .” She adjusted her bags and closed the trunk lid with her elbow. “Stone agreed to wait until he graduated. But he’s never followed through on anything, so after a few sleepless nights, I put it out of my head. Sure enough, he never contacted Bruno.”
“Why’d you kill him off?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Natalie detailed her reasons in short, verbal bullet points. Tired of seeing her son hurt. Stone rejected him, made him feel like nothing.
“Beck, you’re about to be a mother. How do you think you’d feel if your teenage son cried in his room because his father was a selfish egomaniac?”
“I punched a perp for hurting a dog.”
“I rest my case. Know who was great?” Natalie said. “Your dad. Every summer he took
Bruno under his wing and treated him like a son. Taught him how to change a tire, change the oil, how to hook and skin a fish. Even how to fix a leaky faucet. He was more a dad to Bruno in the two or three weeks he was here than Stone ever was. And you, he really loved you, Beck. The closer it came to your summer arrival, the more excited he got. He trusted you. He was real with you.”
“He’s that way now too. But I fear I’ve pushed him away.” She stepped toward Natalie. “I’m sorry I caused problems between you.”
“You were doing the right thing, telling him the truth. He can trust you. You two have always had a connection.” Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s like the last eighteen years rolled up when you came back.” She smiled and wiped her eyes. “This is on me. I knew it would bite me in the butt one day. In fact, when I had my accident and he called to say he was coming home, I was scared he’d find out then.”
“Why did Stone leave?”
“Running from his own fears and wounds. He loved Bruno like crazy when he was born, then the older he got, the more Stone’s demons haunted him. I hope he’s taken some control of his life now that he’s older. Now that he’s apparently seeking out his son.”
“As do I. For Bruno’s sake.”
“So, when do you leave?”
“Next Saturday.”
“I’d wanted to have you to dinner, but Mrs. Acker decided to do spring cleaning in January—”
“Are you busy now?” Beck motioned to the fire pit. “Come sit by the fire and watch the stars.”
“All right, let me put these things inside. Do we need snacks?”
“I’m pregnant. You need to ask?” Now that she’d smoothed things over with Natalie, her appetite was no longer constrained by worry.
“I’ll be right over.” Natalie regarded her with her head tilted to one side as if trying to assess something unseen in Beck. “Come to church with me on Sunday.”
“Church?”
“The place where we had Miss Everleigh’s memorial. I think you’d enjoy it.”
“Well . . .” She didn’t have anything else to do, and Natalie knew it. What was an hour out of her Sunday morning? She’d always wanted to try church and never got around to it.
“I’ll need a ride.”
“Of course, of course. Dress is casual so don’t worry about what to wear. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Do you like guacamole? I have fresh avocados.”
“Sounds great. Natalie, do you think Bruno will forgive me?”
“I don’t think he could ever stay mad at you. The real question is, will he forgive me?”
Beck settled Beetle down by the fire and pulled another Adirondack chair around, then went inside for a second blanket and a bag of cookies she just bought.
Now the sweet night was scented with the heady, rich aroma of wood smoke and forgiveness.
Waiting for Natalie, Beck stretched her feet toward the flames and peered up at the north Florida night sky, the sound of a small plane humming somewhere beyond the horizon.
Bruno. Up, up, and away in his private jet plane. Be safe and come home.
chapter twenty-eight
Don
The idea started brewing when he came home from church last Sunday. He’d only attended the small chapel on Amelia Island a few times, but since his encounter with Joshua Christian, he had faith on his mind.
There was a feeling, a presence he experienced with the congregation he’d not felt in churches past. It gave him a glimpse of true worship and he hungered for more.
Besides, he was in need of supernatural intervention. One, to build this business. Two, to win over Everleigh.
While their letters passed in the post each week, and their weekly calls were long and engaging, he’d gained no romantic ground. He was about to give up—she was just too stuck in her fear—when the pastor said something from the pulpit that speared him to the pew.
“It is perfect love that drives out all fear.”
How did he show Everleigh how much he loved her? It was on the end of that thought, an idea formed.
That afternoon he explored the narrow stairwell just outside the master bedroom that led to the third floor.
Climbing the stairwell filled with the stagnant heat of the Florida summer, he opened a narrow door to find a small, octagonal room at the peak of the turret.
The outside light whitewashed the hardwood through three wide windows. An old settee was pushed against the opposite wall along with a tired-looking wingback.
On his left was a shallow closet but a perfect size for storage.
He could use this room to do something for Everleigh. But what? He’d put the matter to prayer when not an hour later Everleigh’s brother, Tom Jr., called.
“I saw your latest adventure in the class newsletter. You moved to Florida?”
Don let it all fly. The new business, the adventure, the beautiful Victorian he bought with cash, and his growing, continuing feelings for Everleigh. Of which Tom had no idea.
“Don’t give up on her. She needs you. Mom needs you. I’ve tried for years to get Mom to move to Austin, be with Alice and me and the kids. But she says she can’t leave Ev. They’re both trapped in the past.”
At that point it was only natural for Don to share his inspiration. Could Tom help? His old friend answered with an enthusiastic yes.
Today, the first box of treasures was on the veranda when he got home from work.
He carried the box inside, then gathered his tools and tuned his new Zenith portable radio to WFBF for weather updates and carried it upstairs to change and get to work.
Hurricane Donna was churning toward Naples on the Gulf Coast, and the weather bureau predicted she’d make a hard right and head toward Daytona, exiting over the Atlantic.
Old-timers around town warned Don and George to be prepared just in case.
Daytona was only 120 miles south, they said. Never know what a wobbly old hurricane will do, so stock up on some water and candles, have a flashlight and radio handy, and lay in some groceries. Bread, canned goods, and a large jar of Jif.
George wanted to make a decision about leaving tomorrow morning. If they didn’t leave by Friday evening, they might hit those northeast rain bands on the highway.
Putting the storm out of his mind, Don headed up to the third floor with the box as ol’ Cowboy Copas sang about going back to “Alabam’.”
He had a memory room to create.
When he opened the windows, the thick, hot breeze swept in and drove out the stale heat and new paint fumes.
He’d just started arranging the photographs on the floor—some would need new frames—when the second-floor phone rang.
A frantic Everleigh was on the other end. “Are you following the storm?”
His heart melted a little. “Hello to you, Ev. How are you?” He sank down to the seat by the phone table.
“Are you following the storm?”
“I am, but you should see it here today. Sunny with blue skies. Beautiful.”
“It was a beautiful day when the F5 twister tore up Waco too. The day Moses shut the door on the ark.”
“The ark? Whoa, Ev, there’s no world flood coming. Not that I know of, anyway. People around here know how to prepare for and survive a hurricane. I’m good. Already got supplies. Besides, Donna is three, four hundred miles south of me.”
“Come home until she blows herself out. Hurricanes spawn tornadoes, you know. Do you have a basement?”
“Florida is below sea level. If I had a basement it’d be called a swimming pool.”
“Are you mocking me?”
He envisioned her face, drawn and pale, a frown on her pink full lips. Fear robbed her of so much, but his love would restore her joy.
“Everleigh, I am home. Fernandina Beach. Only thing missing is you.”
A thin squeak came down the line. “Please . . .” she whispered. “Come home. I need to know you’re okay. I need to see you, hold you.”
If that wasn’t a confession of
love, he’d be Bob’s uncle. He felt it in her plea, and the truth churned in his blood. “I love you too, darling.”
“If anything happens to you—”
“Nothing will happen to me.”
“You cannot know that, Don. Nothing was going to happen to Rhett either.”
“You’re right. I can’t know. But I refuse to live in fear, Ev. And I wish you wouldn’t either. Are we going to live our lives looking over our shoulder for impending disaster? Sweetheart, you could die in the bathtub before another twister rips through Waco. Come here. Marry me. Please. Marry me.” He waited. “Ev?” He jiggled the receiver. “Everleigh?”
But she was gone, leaving him with the dull hum of the dial tone.
* * *
Everleigh
By Friday afternoon Everleigh had made up her mind. If Don wasn’t coming home, she would go to him.
Since her encounter with Mr. Childers, she was beginning to believe she was stuck. In the past. In her memories. In fear.
At lunch she asked Mr. Reed if she could have the rest of the afternoon off and he graciously agreed. She filled the Studebaker with gas on her way home to pack.
In order for this to work, in her own mind and soul, she must keep it to herself. One expression of doubt and she’d cave.
Thankfully, Mama was on the phone when she tiptoed her suitcase through the kitchen and out the back door.
Relief. Because if she had to dialog this decision with Mama, Everleigh knew she’d relent and not drive one mile toward Florida.
When she reached the garage, a man in coveralls popped up from the swept floor, startling her, his dark-brown curls peeking from under his crooked cap.
“Hello? Can I help you?”
“She’s all good. Ready to go. Tire pressure, oil—”
“I-I’m sorry, who are you? How did you get in here?”
“Josh Christian, at your service.” He wiped the grime from his hands before extending one to Everleigh. “I heard you were going to Florida so I thought I’d check your car before making such a long journey.” He opened the trunk and set her luggage inside.