Yesterday

by Fern Michaels

  Brie looked at Sela and nodded. “For a few days. I say after a drink and lunch we head to Beaufort and scare Wynfield Archer. We don’t have to tell him Callie didn’t tell us anything. The fact that she’s awake might be all he’ll need to come up with the truth. Is he going to call her a liar?”

  “Whatever it takes,” Bode said quietly. “I’ll ride with Brie.”

  “Sounds good to me. God, I dread unpacking this car again,” Sela grumbled.

  “Just take out what you need. I’m in a daze. You drive, Bode. Do you think it was the three of us ganging up on her? We should have done that sooner. I mean, we were really pelting her. Maybe she was going to wake up anyway. If she’d done it a few days sooner, she could have seen Pearl one last time.”

  “Mama Pearl wouldn’t have known, Brie,” Bode said softly. “Maybe Callie has no memory of . . . before.”

  “She knew us, at least she seemed to. My advice if she does have a memory is for us not to tell her about Pearl until she’s mentally and physically stronger. The Judge is her legal guardian, Bode.”

  “I know that.”

  “They say Rusk Institute in New York City is the best place in the world for patients like Callie. You might want to think about that. She is going to need so much care. I can’t comprehend any of it. Guess you’ll be staying on a bit longer. Don’t even think about asking me or Sela to stay longer. We can’t, we work for a living. You’re self-employed.”

  “Brie, I think you and I—”

  “Don’t think, Bode. I don’t want to hear whatever it is you want to say. We’re beyond that now.”

  Over frosty bottles of Coors beer, Sela brought up the question Brie wanted to bring up, but couldn’t. “Are you going to tell her about her parents, and about yourself?”

  “I don’t know. Certainly not now. If she improves beyond the way she is now, I’ll consider it. How can I zap her with Mama Pearl and all that, too?”

  “Now why did I know you were going to say that?” Sela said.

  “Because you’re a pain in the butt, that’s why,” Bode said.

  “Are we really going to go to Beaufort?” Brie asked, digging into her tuna salad.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Sela said.

  “I’ll go with the majority.”

  “If I hadn’t suggested it, what would you have done? Sucked it up, sold off the property and paid all the bills?” Brie snarled.

  “I don’t do things at the speed of light the way you do,” Bode said coolly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Let’s not get angry here,” Sela pleaded. “Callie’s awake, that’s all that matters. We’re leaving Bode in charge. Why don’t we let him handle it since he’s done so well over the years? I’ve been thinking since we sat down. There’s nothing for us to do for Callie. We stuck it out, did what we could. I want to believe we were a small part of her waking up. She’s in other hands now: We’ll only clutter up things if we stay on. I’d like to stick to our original plan and head for Atlanta.”

  “Okay,” Brie said.

  “I don’t believe this,” Bode gasped. “You’re leaving now?”

  “Yep, and we’re sticking you with the check. It’s only half a mile or so back to the hospital; you know the way. See you around, Bode,” Brie said, picking up her handbag.

  In the parking lot, Brie said, “Don’t read more into this than there is. There is not one thing we can do for Callie. If there was, or if I felt she needed either one of us, I’d say yes, let’s stay a few more days. It was a stupid idea of mine to go and see Wyn. The Judge will call him since he’s her guardian. Let Bode deal with it.”

  “I never really believed in miracles. In what I’ve read they always happen to other people, not people like you and me.”

  “Maybe that’s because we don’t need a miracle. Callie needed one. Guess that makes us both believers,” Brie said.

  “I’m so glad.” Sela sighed. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it was. Did you see Bode’s face? He looked so . . . Lord, I don’t know how to describe how he looked.”

  “Euphoric.” Sela grinned.

  “Euphoric is good.” Brie laughed. “Okay, let’s go. You have the map I made for you in case we get separated?”

  “Got it right here on the front seat.”

  “Then I guess we should be going.”

  They didn’t look back this time either.

  Bode watched them from the doorway and felt like they’d taken a part of his life with them. He choked on his tears as he trudged down the road in the boiling sun.

  Nothing was forever.

  19

  Wynfield Archer rolled the ice cube around in his mouth. He was on his fifth drink. He knew it was his fifth because four glasses were lined up on the coffee table. He was watching a rerun of Cagney and Lacey, a female cop show. Cagney, the blonde, reminded him of Brie Canfield. Cagney was an instinctive cop, honest, a dog-with-a-bone cop. The kind that never gave up. Every sixty minutes she hauled someone’s butt off to jail. She was an alky like he was becoming. He frowned. He’d had this same conversation with himself a day or so ago and he’d pretty much admitted he was one. Or had he negated it? He simply couldn’t remember.

  The phone at his elbow shrilled. He looked at it and then looked away. He knew it was Kallum. Prissy, stupid Kallum had given him an ultimatum a week or so ago. Maybe it was a month. Straighten up, clean up your act, or I’m out of here. Like he was really going to listen to Kallum. Kallum was the reason he was in this mess.

  When Sela told him their affair was over, he’d given up all thought of entering politics. Somehow, some way, some smart-ass reporter would have dug into the accident and just when it was time to go to the polls he’d be hung out to dry. He laughed, a pitiful sound, when he recalled the look on Kallum’s face. “Guess you aren’t going to be with me in the governor’s mansion after all, Kallum. Suck it up like I’m doing. Or get lost. I don’t need you. If you’d been a real friend you would have let me go to the police and clean the slate.” That’s what he’d said—and Kallum had looked at him with such disgust he still cringed when he thought about it.

  The phone continued to demand his attention. Maybe it wasn’t Kallum, but Sela. He leaned over, lost his balance, and fell on the floor, the phone cord wrapping itself around him. Somehow he managed to bring the receiver to his ear. “Yes?” he said gruffly. Then, as he listened, his eyes rolled back in his head with shock. “Yes, yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he gibbered. “You’re sure there’s no mistake? Yes, it is a miracle, a wonderful miracle,” and he parroted the doctor’s words.

  Wyn cursed, using every dirty word he could think of, and when he ran out of the standard curses he made up more. Kallum was Memory 3 on his portable phone. His thumb punched the key.

  “Kallum? I thought you might like to hear the latest news. I’m sure it will make the six o’clock bulletin, but I wanted to be the first to tell you,” he said, enunciating each word carefully. “Callie Parker woke up this morning. When my ass goes into a sling so does yours, you son of a bitch. I imagine the Bar Association frowns on the kind of advice you gave me. Stop squawking, Kallum. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I’m going to try and sober myself up and go to the hospital. If I can’t do that, then I’m going to hire a car service to drive me. Go to hell, Kallum.”

  He showered and shaved, nicking himself four times in the process, then dabbing at the cuts with a styptic pencil. He dressed carefully before going downstairs to make a pot of coffee.

  In the kitchen he looked around at the mess. Had he fired his household help, given them a vacation? When was the last time he’d seen anyone in the house? He couldn’t remember. He measured out coffee, spilling more grounds on the countertop than he put in the basket.

  Callie awake. After all this time. He wanted to die.

  Goddammit, he was a good person. At least he used to be. He banged his head against the wall. If the c
ourt order had come through and they had taken away the nutrients and the IV solution, he would have been a murderer. “I’m sorry. So very sorry,” he muttered over and over.

  Callie awake. She’d been asleep for months and suddenly she had awakened. He wished he was more religious, knew more about miracles. If Callie woke up, that had to mean Pearl’s spell was over. His pain and sorrow would vanish. He would be his old self again, after he had gone to the police.

  Jesus Christ, where is everybody? I need to eat. Making coffee was one thing, cooking for himself was not something he felt he was in any condition to do. He yanked at the refrigerator door. Everything inside it had green-and-blue mold on it.

  It was a challenge. He shook his fist in the air. “I will eat, I will drink coffee, I will get to the hospital, and I will be sober when I get there. I swear I will.”

  Callie awake. Bode Jessup and the girls would be at the hospital. Should he go there first, or to the police station?

  He cracked an egg into the frying pan and swirled it around with a fork until it was cooked. He slid the egg onto a plate and wolfed it down. He followed this with an overripe banana and the entire pot of coffee. He prepared a second pot, made four trips to the bathroom before he called a car service. He had just finished his second pot of coffee when the driver blew his horn. He made one last trip to the bathroom before stepping into the car.

  Callie awake.

  Bode Jessup.

  Supercop Brie Canfield.

  Sela Bronson ex-mistress.

  It was going to be a hell of an encounter.

  “This, Wynfield Archer, is where they separate the men from the boys.”

  Uh-huh.

  Bode leaned his bike up against a trash container. He walked into the car-rental agency. Twenty minutes later he opened the trunk of the Ford Mustang. The bike fit perfectly.

  He turned the radio as high as it would go. He didn’t want to think until he settled himself into a safe harbor. Parker Manor. He had to remember to call Hatch.

  He was shaking when he pulled the Mustang under the angel oak. His feet slapped at the ground as he ran across the yard, up the steps onto the back porch, and into the house. He didn’t stop to wonder where he was going. He knew he was headed for the only place that ever gave him comfort—Mama Pearl’s room. He closed the door and wished for a lock. He wrapped himself in a worn, softer-than-silk afghan from the bottom of the bed and settled himself in the rocking chair. The blanket smelled wonderful. It didn’t matter that the temperature was almost a hundred degrees, he was chilled to the bone. Harry wriggled and squirmed until he, too, was under the blanket, his heart beating next to Bode’s.

  He leaned back in Pearl’s rocker. In his life he’d never felt this safe, this insulated. Maybe he should plan on staying here for the rest of his life. He stroked Harry’s silky ears. The puppy whimpered softly.

  Everything was wrong. He’d let Brie get away from him because he didn’t have the guts to stand up to society and say, “Fuck you all. This is what I want, it’s what she wants, and if any of you can’t accept it, then you have a problem, not me.”

  Now it all made sense. As a child Pearl had allowed him to do for Callie, but that was it. How many times had she cautioned him to stay in his place. It wasn’t him she was worried about though. It was Callie. Surely she knew Callie would grow up and want to get married. Would she have told her the truth then? Obviously not. So she’d done the only thing she could think of—she’d refused to go to Beaufort. How relieved she must have been when Callie called off the wedding. He frowned. She’d encouraged him in subtle little ways to pay attention to Brie and tried to partner him up with the little girl. Once she’d said Brie was right for him. He didn’t know what that meant, at the time. She must have known the Judge would tell him at some point. White and white. Never white and black, not in Pearl’s eyes anyway.

  It was a mess, and it was going to get messier. “Oh, Mama Pearl, you don’t know what you did.”

  He had to call Hatch.

  Brie. Brie with the crinkly, smiling eyes. Brie’s tart tongue. Brie’s smile. Brie’s generosity. Brie’s genuine devotion to Pearl. Brie.

  Brie thought he loved Callie, and he’d allowed her to think so. It was easier because he knew he could never, ever cross that color barrier. Now, when it was too late, when he could cross it if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Brie wouldn’t allow it. “You snooze, you lose,” she’d said. She hadn’t cared at all. She loved him for who he was, and color didn’t matter to her. She would have had his babies and loved them as much as she loved him. He’d blown any idea of that ever happening now.

  Callie. How was he going to tell her she wasn’t Callie Parker? How was he going to tell her he owned Parker Manor? Would she believe it? She’d probably say, “Oh pooh, you’re a squatter,” or something offensive like that. She would expect, demand that he give it back to her. And would he? Brie seemed to think so. Sela did, too.

  Suck it up, Bode, like you did all these years. All for the privilege of living at Parker Manor and being Callie’s personal slave.

  The good times weren’t good at all, Brie said. We were just too damn stupid to know any better. It wasn’t quite true, and Brie knew it. There were good times, many of them. But it was Pearl who made the good times, not Callie.

  Bode sat for a long time, watching the sun set from Pearl’s window. When it was totally dark in the room he unwrapped the afghan and walked out to the kitchen, Harry trotting behind him. He turned on the light, picked up the phone, and punched out Hatch’s number.

  “Hatch, it’s Bode.”

  “About time you called me.”

  “Hatch, I need you.”

  “I’m on my way. Does that burg have an airport?”

  “Charleston.”

  “If the tail winds are good, I’ll set down in three and a half hours. Be there.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “See you, Bode.”

  Bode grinned. He felt better already. Not too many people possessed their own Learjet. Not too many people could fly one. Hatch, as Bode was fond of telling anyone who would listen, could do anything. It occurred to him then that Hatch was the same kind of friend Brie was. Was.

  He thought about Sela then. Sela would love Hatch. Hatch would love Sela. Hatch did a lot of real-estate work. At least, his office did.

  “Aaaahhh.”

  The Learjet sat down neatly. Everything Hatch Littletree did he did perfectly and neatly. Hatch had the uncanny ability to look at a problem, roll it around in his brain, and come up with a solution. As far as Bode knew, he’d never been stymied. He was a loyal, one-of-a-kind friend to all he allowed into his inner circle. Bode knew he was at the top of Hatch’s list just the way Hatch was at the top of his list.

  He waited now at the jetway until he heard Hatch’s clomping steps. He traveled light, a bulging burlap sack thrown over his shoulder.

  “Thanks for coming, Hatch.”

  “My pleasure,” the big man said. This had to be serious stuff. Bode wasn’t smiling, and in all the time he’d known Bode, Bode had never once asked for a favor of any kind simply because he was too busy doing things for other people. “Where are we going?”

  “Parker Manor. Callie woke up this morning.”

  “As in bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?”

  “Not quite. They’re going to call in a whole bunch of specialists, the ones who said she was a vegetable, brain-dead, those guys.”

  “One for the textbooks, huh? Bet there are a lot of strange faces around today.”

  “What’s in the sack? Did anyone ever tell you they make luggage?”

  “You should talk; you used to carry your things around in a shopping bag because it had handles.”

  “Old habits are hard to break.”

  “Do I sense a double meaning there? To answer your question, I have stuff in this sack, and I also have about four sets of luggage that’s a pain in the rump. Am I embarrassing you or something?”

 
“Hell no. You could never do that. I just never saw anyone get off a plane carrying a burlap sack. We used to get potatoes in sacks like that.”

  “We used to get corn in them.” Hatch grinned. “I can get you one if you think you’ll use it.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You know what else? I bet I could get you a sockful of rubies for about two bucks at Wal-Mart. How many do you want?”

  “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.”

  “You aren’t even listening to me. They cost four bucks.” He guffawed at his own joke. “Is this your chariot?”

  “Until the rental lease runs out. Get in and buckle up.”

  “So this is the Lowcountry, huh?” Hatch said, peering out into the darkness.

  “It’s pretty here. It’s real hot right now. It cools off a bit in September. October is nice. November is nice, too. It’s almost cold for Christmas.”

  “Thanks for sharing that,” Hatch muttered. “I’m thinking about buying an eighteen-wheeler, what do you think?”

  “Great investment. What are you going to do with it?”

  “Play with it. I never had one. Send it out to the Reservation and let them play with it. Whatever.”

  “How’s Nightstar?”

  “She told me two weeks ago she wasn’t interested in getting really involved with a damn Indian. She wants to marry a white man.”

  “I guess that singed you a bit, huh?”

  “Nah, she was someone to have dinner with. You gonna fix me up with Brie?” Hatch asked slyly.

  “No, Sela’s the one for you. Man, she’s going to blow your socks right off your feet. Sela came into her own this past year. That’s one gal that will-give you a run for your money, Hatch. I personally guarantee when you two set eyes on one another it is instant . . . whatever the word is they’re using these days. Trust me.”

  “Is she the marrying kind? I want a lot of kids.”

  “Yeah, yeah she is, Hatch. She’ll make a good mother, too.”

  “So when do I get to meet her?” Hatch asked happily.