Yesterday

by Fern Michaels

  Outside, Hatch Littletree had his ear pressed to the door, his face full of glee.

  “The spirits of our ancestors will send you up in smoke. Momentarily, Shunpus,” Medusa hissed.

  “If you’d listened like I told you, I wouldn’t have to disturb my ancestors.” He moved away from the door though. “What did you hear, Medusa? I know you have the ears of a deer.”

  “Your friend is upset. He’s packing up his briefcase because he thinks he’s done something wrong, that he acted in an unprofessional manner—something you do every day, Shunpus. You need to put him out of his misery.”

  “You heard all that, sitting way over here at your desk?” Hatch said in awe.

  “When one is silent, one can hear everything. You are a disgrace. You make more noise than a herd of wild buffalo.”

  “Ah, Mr. Thornton, did things go well?” Hatch asked politely.

  “You said he was the best. I believed you.”

  “And?”

  Thornton slapped down a check on Medusa’s desk. “I’ll reschedule an appointment.”

  “Anytime, Mr. Thornton.” He watched the man leave. “And where the hell do you think you’re going, Bode? It isn’t lunchtime yet.”

  “I blew it, Hatch. My first client and I lost him. I let my personal feelings get in the way of my professional duties. The guy is probably calling the ABA as we speak. I’m sorry, Hatch. Hell no, I’m not sorry. I’d damn well do it again. What the hell are you smiling at?”

  “You. I love you, Bode Jessup. You practice law like I do. Take a look at this,” Hatch said, holding up Thornton’s check. “Twenty-five big ones.”

  “For what?”

  “For what, he asks,” Hatch cackled. “That’s what we charge for a retainer. We use it up in a heartbeat, and then we get another one. That’s how we do business. I knew you two would get along as soon as I heard what his problem was. Now we can go to lunch.” His big hand was about to clap Bode on the back, but he thought better of it and reached down to take his friend’s hand. “Let me show you the way, Oh Great Father,” Hatch intoned, roaring with laughter. “Don’t sweat it, he’s going to reschedule. She’s doing a victory dance in there, you know.”

  “How do you know that?” Bode demanded. He shook his hand free of Hatch’s.

  “I know that because I have the eyes of an eagle and the ears of a deer. It’s my heritage. I know everything.”

  “Bullshit. You were listening at the door.”

  “That too.” Hatch’s laughter boomed through the offices. In spite of himself, Bode joined in.

  The first thing he was going to do when he got back from lunch was to call Mama Pearl.

  8

  It was four days before Bode had a chance to draw a deep breath and do anything but work. Mama Pearl was on his mind as well as Brie and Sela. There was no point in thinking about Callie, the wedding, or her honeymoon. That all belonged in the past now.

  Bode stuck his pencil behind his ear, fired up one of his rare cigarettes, and placed it in the ashtray before he took a long pull from a frosty bottle of grape soda. Medusa learned quickly to anticipate his need for the soda and would put the bottle, the cap slightly open, in the freezer so it got thick and slushy. He did love grape soda. Orange, too, and sometimes lemon and lime. He was drinking seven bottles a day according to Medusa. Hatch was having it delivered by the case these days. These days. Four days and already the big guy knew his MO.

  He dialed the number at Parker Manor and waited for Pearl’s voice. When he didn’t hear it after the fifteenth ring he frowned. Where was she—in Beaufort? Did she go to the market or church? He looked at his watch; it was two hours later in South Carolina which meant it was four o‘clock. Pearl always started to fix dinner at four o’clock. Unless Brie and Sela had left and there wasn’t anyone to fix dinner for. No, she must be in Beaufort at Wyn Archer’s. After the eighteenth ring he hung up and dialed information for the Archer number. He made the call person-to-person. He frowned again when he heard a voice so like Pearl’s say, “Pearl doesn’t live here.”

  Brie would know, so would Sela. He dialed Brie’s number in San Diego, listened to her message, then hung up without leaving one of his own. He tried Sela, got her answering machine. He hung up again without leaving a message. He tried the number at Parker Manor a second time and let the phone ring twenty-five times before he hung up. Once he’d suggested an answering machine and Pearl had just looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head. She’d said, “Now why would I be needing a piece of machinery like that? All they do is confuse a person with all them bells and screeches. If anyone calls me and there’s no answer, that means I’m not home and they can call back. I don’t have any important business.” And that had been the end of that. The phone had rung, which meant it was still connected. Pearl must just be out visiting. She did like to do that when she had the time. Or, she might have gone to the cemetery to put flowers on Lazarus’s grave.

  “Your two-thirty client is here, Mr. Jessup,” Medusa said from the doorway. He nodded as he dropped his soda bottle under the desk and slid the ashtray into his top desk drawer. He blew at some stray ash before he got up from his desk to greet his new client.

  The afternoon passed with barely a moment between clients, and it was six-thirty before he knew it.

  Bode leaned back in his chair, a wave of tiredness swimming over him. Something was happening to him. He’d just sent a client on his way because he wanted to initiate a suit based on principle. He’d always acted and fought for principle. “Ten thousand,” he’d told the client, “right up front and there’s a ninety-five percent chance we’ll lose. If you have nothing else going on in your life, if you have money to burn, if this case eats and burns at your soul, then we’ll start the suit. By the time it gets to court, in say, three years, the chances are you won’t remember half of what it’s all about. From start to finish your legal fees and court costs will be about fifty thousand dollars.” The man had stood, looked at him, and with absolutely no emotion showing on his face had stated: “I always said you lawyers were slimeballs swimming around in a sea of pus. I heard that on some television show. I got up and cheered.” He’d gone on to call him a maggot and a few other names Bode would rather not remember. Then he did show some emotion. He kicked the chair and sent a luscious green fern sailing across the room before he stalked out. Bode had watched the dirt spiral upward, seen the graceful fronds of fern break in midair and float downward. There were little pills of some kind of white stuff mixed with the soil that peppered his desk.

  Everyone is entitled to his day in court, Bode Jessup, and that includes Hiram Overglace. Yeah, yeah, / know that, but the courts are backed up enough without frivolous suits like this. It’s my job to point out to a client . . . certain things. Like spending fifty grand for pure bullshit. Fifty grand is enough to give some kid a solid education, enough to buy a small house somewhere. If he wants to piss his money away on nonsense, let him get some other lawyer who doesn’t give a shit about the courts, or his bank account, and is interested only in billable hours. It’s not my bag. I’m going to live with it, and Overglace is going to live with it, too.

  “Yo, Bode, how’d your day go?” Hatch said, poking his head in the doorway. He looked around at the dirt and the little white things all over the furniture. “Like that, huh? Five bucks says it was a guy named Overglace. He comes in at least once a month for something or other. The results are usually the same.”

  “How come you sicced him on me?” Bode complained.

  “Because he’s already been through every guy in the firm. You were the last. I think it’s that free consultation we offer. You working late?”

  “Yeah, and I want to call Mama Pearl. I’ve been trying for days, but there’s been no answer. See you tomorrow.”

  “I love it when the partners work late,” Hatch said gleefully. “By the way, that white stuff is called vermiculite and you get to clean it up. Trust me when I tell you it’s an experience. T
he stuff is like fairy dust, you can’t catch it. Say hello to Mama Pearl.”

  Bode nodded as he tried to pick up one of the little white circles on his desk. It was elusive. He spit on the end of his finger and tried again. He felt pleased with himself when he held his hand over the wastebasket. He watched in dismay as the little white ball fell off his finger and settled on the floor. “Ah, shit!”

  He placed his call to Parker Manor and let the phone ring twenty times, his fingers drumming on the desk. Where was Mama Pearl? It was too early for church. Maybe she’d gone visiting to see Lazarus’s family or maybe she went to see Arquette, her best friend. Maybe she’d taken a vacation. That was just too silly for words, about as silly as her going on Callie’s honeymoon. He tried Brie’s number and then Sela’s. Both times he got the answering machines. He didn’t leave a message.

  He was on his feet, pacing, his face puckered in worry. Maybe he should call the Judge. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t call the Judge.

  Bode stared at the phone a moment longer before he punched out Brie’s number in California. He waited for the brief message, the beep. He wanted to say, “Brie, it’s Bode. I called twice earlier so those hang-ups are mine. I hate these damn things, talking into them, I mean. Listen to me, Brie. I don’t love Callie Parker. I might have had a crush on her when we were kids growing up. That’s a lot different than being in love with someone. A strange thing happened to me before I left, that Friday. I was leaving the office. I hate saying stuff like this over the phone, but I really do need to talk to you. Callie showed up in the parking lot and . . . listen, I can’t talk about this on the phone, I’ll keep trying you till I get you.” Once again he didn’t leave a message and didn’t know why. He dialed Sela’s number again and then Parker Manor. There was still no answer at either number.

  He rummaged for a cigarette. He felt wired, antsy, out of control for some reason. He wished Brie had been home. His heart skipped a beat just the way it had done the day she showed up at the airport madder than hell and packing a gun. Jesus, if he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget it. For one brief second his heart had leaped in his chest at the sight of her, until he saw the expression on her face. Then his heart had thudded.

  He should have stayed for the wedding, it was the decent thing to do. Well, he was damn tired of doing the decent thing for other people. It was time to do what Bode wanted.

  Hatch was back, his eyes troubled. “Want to talk?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I do. I need to know why I feel so guilty. It was a pretty cowardly thing for me to do, cutting out like that. A few more days wouldn’t have. made that much difference. Do you think, Hatch, that if I had stayed I would have . . . done something?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I don’t know, that’s what. Wyn Archer is a decent kind of guy, and he loves Callie. He’s what he is. If looking down his nose at me makes him happy, that’s okay, too. Inside, he’s decent. He’s jealous of me, at least that’s what Callie said. Of our friendship.”

  “Or what he perceived to be more than a friendship? I don’t like to cast aspersions on your old friend, but did it ever occur to you that maybe Callie told him things that were not quite true? Ah, I see by the look on your face that either it did occur to you or you know it for a fact. What is our problem here, Bode? Don’t tell me it’s still that trash business, the lack of knowing your real roots and being an orphan. I thought we put that behind us after we talked it to death.”

  “It will always be there, Hatch. It’s not going to go away. Ever.”

  “That’s a long time,” the big man said quietly. “What say we finally do something about it? Let’s start a search. We have six private dicks on our payroll. Good guys, they never come back empty-handed. Do you want to talk about it or do you want to do something about it?”

  Bode’s face drained. Did he? “What if—”

  “That’s the chance you take, Bode. You haven’t asked for my opinion, but fearless man that I am, I’m going to offer it anyway. It won’t change you. You are who and what you are. That’s a piece of your personal puzzle, the one God created. We all want all the pieces, but sometimes those pieces aren’t

  . . . What I’m trying to say is, they don’t fit the whole of the puzzle anymore. Maybe once, in the beginning. Things expand and grow. Your call, Bode.”

  “I have to tell Mama Pearl. The only problem is, I can’t get hold of her or Brie or Sela.”

  “Write her a letter and keep on trying to call her. She’ll want whatever makes you happy.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  9

  The sterile surroundings, the deep quiet, and the weary man in front of him forced Wyn backward so that his knees hit the dull, gray chair behind him. He toppled backward, his face full of shock, his eyes glazed. “I want to see her,” he managed to croak.

  “I know you do, but it will serve no purpose now. It’s too soon to say anything other than Miss Parker is in critical condition. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Go home, rest, get something to eat and come back around noon. We’ll talk then. I’ve been working round the clock for the past three days and I need some rest myself. Noon, Mr. Archer,” the doctor said wearily, and walked away.

  Wyn stared after the man, his face full of stunned surprise. Go home. Eat. “In your dreams, Doc,” he muttered. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to stay right there. For the rest of his life if he had to.

  It was his fault Callie was lying in a coma. He racked his brain to remember what he had read about comas. Deep sleep. Barely alive . . . Barely alive meant she wasn’t dead! If you weren’t dead there was hope. The rush he felt left him weak. He’d told so many lies. He had to make it right.

  Pearl.

  He bolted then, his leather-soled shoes slapping the tiled floor as he ran to the front desk. “I need a cab. Now. Right away.”

  “One just pulled up, sir,” the receptionist said, pointing to the white cab nestled next to the curb under the overhang.

  Wyn sprinted through the opened doors. “I need to get somewhere quick, but don’t break any speed laws. Please, hurry.”

  He’d tell Pearl, hold out hope—Callie was alive. Pearl was going to fall apart, for Callie was her life. She would blame him. Not with words, but with her eyes. He wouldn’t be able to meet those dark eyes, not now, not ever. Pearl would take one look at him and know he was responsible for the accident. Callie said Pearl could see into a person’s soul. Pearl and her goddamn superstitions. She’d filled Callie’s head with the old sayings, muttering and mumbling about curses and hexes. The only thing worse than Pearl and her crazy beliefs was Callie’s believing in them, too.

  He recalled the day Callie had stopped him from planting a cedar tree. He would die when the tree was large enough to shade a grave, she’d warned him—in about six years’ time. He hadn’t planted the tree because his darling’s eyes had pleaded with him not to. He felt silly as hell, but whatever made Callie happy, he did. For instance, she would never use the same towel as he, even at the beach. Their friendship would be broken forever, she said solemnly. He always made sure they had extra towels, and he also made damn sure he never touched hers. Pearl had a ditty for everything.

  The day he’d placed his hands on the back of a rocking chair on the Parker verandah, and given it a hard rock, Callie had almost jumped down his throat. Now, she’d whispered in terror, someone was going to die. If it was possible for Pearl’s black face to turn white it would have. Lazarus died two days later.

  And that’s why Pearl of Parker Manor hated him. He’d wanted to pension her off, but Callie wouldn’t hear of it. She’d as much as said: “Pearl comes with me, or I don’t marry you.” He’d agreed. He would have agreed to anything, as long as Callie smiled and said she loved him. Marrying her was the best thing that could ever happen to him. Now, he’d screwed that all up, and Pearl was going to know. He would goddamn well beat her to the punch. First thing in the morning he was going to call the police and
admit to everything. He’d say he hadn’t been thinking clearly, that his brain had been fogged up by alcohol. The truth was always the best defense. If Callie didn’t make it, it wasn’t going to matter what happened to him.

  Bode.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” he muttered under his breath. He had to call Kallum. Kallum was a lawyer; he’d know what to do. Wyn would call him from Callie’s house and arrange to meet him back at the hospital.

  Callie’s house—his house. Callie had given him the rundown, decayed plantation. Wyn groaned when he thought about the insurance premiums. Better to get a wrecking ball and start over, but that would devastate Callie. No matter what, she’d never take Pearl’s home away from her. Even if it meant the woman only visited on weekends.

  Wyn rolled down the window and the humidity of the night slapped him in the face. He blinked, tried to get his bearings. “Can’t you go any faster?”

  “You told me not to break any speed laws, sir.”

  “That’s right, I did say that. If you see a phone booth along the road, stop. I need to make a call.”

  “One’s coming up on the right there by that gas station.”

  “Stop. Listen, driver, do you have any change?”

  “Plenty,” the driver said, counting out three dollars’ worth of quarters. Wyn handed him a five-dollar bill from a gold money clip.

  Wyn was all thumbs as he tried to drop the money into the phone slot. He listened to the ringing on the other end. “Pick up the damn phone, Kallum,” he snarled. The minute he heard the attorney’s voice his shoulders sagged in relief. He babbled, knowing he was incoherent. “Just meet me at the hospital, Kallum. I’m on my way to pick up Pearl and the girls. I’ll drive back with them. By God you better be there when I get back. I need you. I’m not going up against Pearl on my own. That woman scares the shit out of me.”

  A moment later he was back in the cab. “I’d like some air-conditioning, if you don’t mind.”