Leave Yesterday Behind (7 page)

Chapter 8

Nick ejected the CD, tired of the pounding rock music. He was close to home and wanted to savor his return after a long week in New York. Minna insisted he come up this time to discuss edits for his finished novel and ideas for his upcoming story. As an agent, she was part protective mama bear and part bear in pursuit of dinner. He enjoyed spending time with her, so he was happy to comply. While he was there, his publishing house gave a party kicking off his third book’s release, already shipped as a best seller. Without him in attendance, as usual. He didn’t want anyone knowing who he was, and he had no interest schmoozing with the literary crowd.

Funny, in his playing days—and especially his hard partying days—New York seemed like the center of the universe. The best restaurants. The best women. The best clubs. The best coke—next to L.A., of course. He’d cut his teeth on the L.A. party circuit, the golden boy Dodger and Cy Young winner in only his second season with the club. Doors opened magically to brooding, successful athletes. Access to anyone, anywhere, anytime became the norm.

Until his mother straightened him out. Nick still felt a rush of gratitude every time he saw his mom, knowing she’d been the one person in the world who’d gotten through to him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was wasting his God-given talent on booze and bitches. He’d pulled his act together and concentrated on his pitching, stopping cold turkey with the recreational drugs.

It had been a turning point for him, one of several in the last decade. And with a failed marriage behind him, he thanked his lucky stars that he had a place like Aurora to come home to.

Now if he could only make it home in time for dinner. He’d called Miz Callandra to let her know he’d be arriving home tonight. She worried about him almost as much as she did that soap star niece of hers, the one too good to make it home the last couple of years for any kind of holiday. Nick had been living in the guest cottage on the Noble Oaks estate for two and a half years now, and Callandra’s famous relative had yet to make an appearance.

Not that Miz C pined away for the girl. With Nick to boss around and half the town beating a path to her door every day for advice, gossip, and some of Essie’s double fudge brownies and mint iced tea, the grande dame found plenty to keep her busy. She’d been sick, too, back in the spring. A terrible flu that turned into pneumonia overnight. He’d rushed her to the hospital, thinking the worst but hoping for the best. He’d been ready to call that flighty actress to hightail it home when Essie got the word of the stalker’s attack.

Nick decided to keep the knowledge from Callandra at the time. He didn’t know if she was strong enough to learn about it and try to hang onto life herself. Only after the doctor discharged her from the hospital and she was ensconced in her own bed did he reveal what little they knew about the incident.

Since then, Callie was never far from Callandra’s thoughts and her conversations. He grew sick of hearing about her wonderful great-niece and all she’d accomplished. When Callandra went off on one of her Callie tangents, he simply retreated into plotting mode, moving his characters around in his head as he wove together his next book. He could smile, nod occasionally, and ‘um-hmm’ a few times, and Miz C was happy as a clam.

Until he’d been scheduled to go to New York. He finished his last manuscript back in the spring, but he’d stuck with his usual pattern of putting it away for a couple of months before he took it out of a drawer and began re-reading it for pacing, flaws, and whatever else might crop up on a fresh, objective read. He played around with it, punching up the dialogue, and repairing plot holes, polishing it to perfection. He completed it last week and figured he might as well hand-deliver it to his publisher before the launch party for his latest hardcover.

While he was in New York, Callandra wanted him to drop in on Callie and check up on what she deemed her precious angel. Nick said he would if time allowed, but he hadn’t bothered to call, much less run by her place. Callandra would be royally pissed at him. He didn’t care. They bickered like an old married couple, despite the fact they weren’t married and almost fifty years stood between them.

Still, Callandra was good to him. He should’ve made the effort to at least touch base with Callie instead of haunting his favorite bookstores and small jazz clubs. Great, a case of the guilts already in full swing, and this was before he’d seen Callandra and had her harp on him some. At least he hadn’t made any excuses to her. She’d been out when he called from La Guardia. Essie said she would relay the message and that Nick better get himself there in time for dinner. She had made chocolate pralines for dessert, and his flight better not be delayed. Essie wouldn’t guarantee there’d be any left for him otherwise.

He turned off the main highway and soon was pulling through the center of town. He waved at his cousin Pam, the high school speech and drama teacher, and at Wally Windell, one of Aurora’s patrolmen walking on foot along the square. Despite the heat, he cut the air and rolled down his windows for those last few blocks. He breathed in the heavy scent of magnolia and knew he was almost home.

He pulled into the drive at Noble Oaks, surprised to see a squad car there. Parked behind it sat an SUV with a small trailer attached. His cousin Eric stood on the porch with suitcases in both hands. Two women and one very large dog made their way up the porch steps. All three peered over their shoulders as his convertible turned in and he cut the engine.

“Mr. Celebrity!” Eric placed a suitcase next to him and waved. “Glad you made it. Must’ve smelled Essie’s gumbo from the airport.”

The dog came bounding down the steps straight for Nick as he got out of the car. He could’ve sworn the animal wore a large, slobbery smile.

“Wolf! No! Come back here,” one of the women shouted. He watched as she clutched the porch rail, coming gingerly down the steps.

Wolf had no intention of listening to his mistress. He ran straight to Nick, pulling up less than a foot in front of him, tongue dangling, breathing hard. He laughed and bent to ruffle the dog’s coat and scratch him behind the ears.

“You’ll never get rid of him now. He’ll magically see the word
Sucker
plastered on your forehead each time he sees you. Just be sure you don’t feed him, or he’ll want to move in with you. And unfortunately, the IRS won’t let you claim him as a dependent, no matter how much he eats.”

“Thanks for the warning.” He looked up from petting the dog, and his heart slammed hard within his chest. In front of him stood the ponytailed girl he had a crush on years and years ago, walking up as if from his memory. They’d spent a few hours one summer evening together half a lifetime ago, but Nick never forgot her easy manner and sweet smile.

He visited Aurora for a couple of weeks each summer with his mother. That last time he’d been seventeen and pitched in the town’s annual Fourth of July softball game. Afterward, Pam introduced him to one of her new friends, and somehow they wound up together at the carnival on the green. They rode a few rides, ate sticky cotton candy, and then sat on the cool grass during the band’s concert under the stars.

He’d opened up to the girl, younger than he was by three years, but she’d been so easy to talk with and seemed wise beyond her years. He told her of his dreams of playing pro ball and of his favorite books as the music played softly in the background. After, he’d walked her back to Pam’s because she was sleeping over. He gave her a kiss that somehow, as the years passed, grew sweeter with memory.

Over time, he hadn’t remembered the girl’s name, and he’d been drafted out of high school the next summer, heading straight to the minor leagues. Many years passed since that long-ago July in Aurora, but he’d never forgotten the innocent beauty. Only her name. He thought it foolish to ask Pam about her when he’d returned to live here a couple of years ago after so many years of being absent.

But he’d searched for her in town—at the diner, the post office—everywhere his path crossed others. He never set eyes on her again and assumed her long gone, married, with kids and a husband, and a dog.

Now she stood in front of him once again, the long, honey-blond hair still pulled back into the familiar ponytail. The emerald green eyes that sparkled with interest and just a bit of mischief. The dewy skin and sweet smile and patrician nose. It was as if she stepped from yesterday, only she was older now, her beauty still achingly fresh but matured.

Nick rose to his feet, drinking her in, the dream from long ago now reality standing before him.

“Thanks for the warning. I think I’ll let you retain ownership. I’m Nick.”

He held a hand out to her over the dog’s head. The color drained from her face as her smile quickly faded. He wondered what was wrong with her, the friendliness and humor turned off as suddenly as a faucet.

Eric ambled over and gave the woman’s shoulders a friendly squeeze.

“Guess you may not know this little lady, Nick. This here’s Aurora’s claim to fame. I doubt you ever met her when you visited. She’s Pam’s age, and you mostly hung out with us older guys.”

It hit him just as Eric smiled and said, “Meet Callie Chennault, Miz C’s great-niece and the famous Jessica.”

Chapter 9

Shock ran through Callie as his hand grasped hers and she met his midnight blue eyes. They seemed so familiar. She must know him, but she didn’t know from where. He wasn’t an Aurora boy. He wasn’t in the business, though he could have been at one point. The hooded, bedroom eyes and chiseled cheeks alone might have opened modeling doors for him. Yet she didn’t remember him from any ad campaigns.

She pulled her hand away and focused her attention on Wolf. It had become habit, this withdrawing from men. Gretchen chided her for it. So did Beth. She couldn’t escape her feelings, though. The formerly outgoing, confident Callie Chennault—the woman with a tendency to be a little too independent and who found it difficult to accept help from others—had changed.

The stalker had done the damage.

Overnight, she became afraid of tight spaces with no exits, well beyond her original case of claustrophobia. Other things that had never bothered her before—crowds, storms—made her chest grow tight. She found her eyes always roaming during the few attempts she’d made to go out in public. Searching for
him.

She knew Lefty was in custody. She appeared at his prelim. She would also face him in court when he went to trial early next year.

And still she panicked at the oddest times. The city scared her, its noises and throngs of strangers.

Worst, though, was her deep fear of men. Just when she thought she might get over it? Zap. It would strike out of the blue. She hated even being in the same room with a man once the feelings washed over her. It didn’t matter if it was her long-time agent or the pizza delivery guy. Her heart began to race. Her mouth went dry. A panic attack would begin.

That’s why she’d needed to come back home. Back to Aurora. Aurora meant safety.

Just nonchalantly greeting Eric, whom she’d known since she was ten, felt better. Normal. They’d teased. She felt relaxed in his presence. It was the beginning of a new start. She knew she could heal here.

Her fingers tightened in Wolf’s coat. The ease with which she greeted this stranger ended abruptly with the simple physical contact of shaking hands. He made her instantly uncomfortable. Knowing and yet not knowing him at the same time.

Eric and Gretchen strolled down to them. Wolf broke away and began to run in circles, barking excitedly. Callie stood. Her side pained her because she rose too quickly. The long row of fresh scars caught fire, but her training kicked in. Anyone looking at her would see only a bland look on her face, never knowing the agony she experienced.

Eric slapped the man on the back and shook his hand.

“Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to my worthless excuse for a cousin, Nick La Chappelle. Cal, you might have met him when he visited with his mom.”

The minute she heard his full name, Callie realized who he was. He was
the guy from that summer
. She’d been a gawky teen, who hadn’t yet blossomed into the beauty who started in commercials at age twenty. No way would he recognize her.

She remembered hearing through the school grapevine that the Dodgers drafted him straight out of high school. Pam passed along that he’d been sent to the farm leagues for seasoning. She assumed he eventually made it to the majors. Baseball had never interested her, though, and by that time her acting career had taken off.

She viewed Nick with full recognition now, as Gretchen gushed.

“I am such a huge fan, Mr. La Chappelle. That Game Seven of your last Series was nothing short of amazing. You deserved every Cy Young you won, and maybe should’ve gotten a few more. What are you up to these days since you left—”

“Miz Callandra says to bring this party inside. She’s tired of waiting on you young folks and wants her dinner.”

Callie smiled at the sound of Essie’s familiar voice. She returned to the porch and gave the cook a hug.

“Girl, you ain’t been eatin’ right, have you? I’m gonna fatten you up like I did when you was a little girl.”

“It’s good to know you’ll have a mission in life, Essie. I’ve bragged non-stop about your cooking to my friend Gretchen.”

The group headed up the steps, Wolf trotting along behind them. She looked over her shoulder and saw Nick following them inside. Why was he here? And coming in as if he belonged?

Callandra Lesueur Chennault sat in a wheelchair inside the foyer, ready to greet her guests in a pastel blue suit and pearls. Callie rushed to her side and embraced her great-aunt. The smell of
White Shoulders
enveloped her, familiar, comforting.

This house and Callandra meant refuge from all the world’s woes—her daddy beating on her and her mom, the moving from town to town, never having enough to eat. When her daddy died in a barroom brawl, thanks to his quick temper, she and her mother returned for good to Aurora, the place of her parents’ birth.

Because of that, Aurora always meant security in her mind. She hugged Callandra tightly and then pulled away.

“You’re too thin,” nagged her great-aunt.

“I could say the same thing about you,” she retorted. “And this wheelchair. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Callandra stroked her hair, making Callie feel all of ten years old again.

“Why worry you? You had enough on your plate. Besides, it’s more of a convenience. The stairs are beyond me these days. I don’t ever want to work that hard again. And people are just so darn nice to me now.”

Eric laughed. “Yeah. Miz C rolls right up to the front of the line at the post office. The grocery store. Communion. You name it. Between that chair and her superior Chennault look, nobody messes with Miz C now. Not that they ever did before.”

“Tsk-tsk, Eric. I’m not some demanding monster. Merely an impassioned senior citizen.” Callandra waved her hand in a grand gesture and then erupted in laughter. “Oh, let’s be honest. I’ve always gotten my way. We Chennaults usually do.

“Now let’s eat.” She glanced over at Callie. “I want to hear all about your drive down and Nick’s trip to New York.”

Callandra turned an appraising eye to the former baseball star. “I suppose you didn’t get a chance to look my Callie up before she left to drive down here.”

Callie noticed Nick flushed as he shook his head no. He lowered his eyes to his shoes like a scolded schoolboy.

“Now, Gretchen, dear. Come sit by me. You’re even lovelier than your phone voice revealed. It was so thoughtful to keep me updated on Callie’s progress. Eric, you’re invited to stay, but I know you’ll say you’re on duty.”

Callandra turned and smiled at her cook. “Essie, slip some gumbo in a Tupperware bowl for our sheriff. He can eat in the car while he keeps the streets of Aurora safe.”

Eric tipped his hat. “Thanks, Miz C. Well, I’m off.” He glanced at Nick. “Catch up tomorrow?”

They moved into the dining room, and once again, Callie felt a rush of warmth seeing the table set with the beautiful Lenox china and tall, white tapers casting a glow across the room.

“We might not dress up as in earlier times,” Callandra informed Gretchen, “but I still know how to set a magnificent table.”

They took their seats. Callie found herself across from Nick. She avoided his eyes as she unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap and then fiddled with her silverware. As she took a sip of iced tea, she could sense his eyes on her.

“This is so refreshing, Aunt C,” she said. “I’ve always loved a hint of mint in my tea.”

Callandra patted her hand. “It’s good to have you home, dear. I want to keep you here as long as I can. Isn’t that a good idea, Nick?”

She turned her gaze back across the table. Those penetrating blue eyes still focused on her. They were a stormy, volatile blue. She shuddered involuntarily, wondering why he was here. She decided to find out.

“I assume as a professional player you made quite a bundle, Mr. La Chappelle. Have you retired to Aurora so your millions will stretch farther?”

Anger sparked in his eyes. He opened his mouth to comment when Callandra chuckled and said, “I see that Magic Gumbo has arrived.”

Essie served each of them a generous portion. The aroma did seem magical to Callie. “This was my favorite dish when I moved here,” she explained to Gretchen. “I called it Magic Gumbo.”

Gretchen closed her eyes and moaned with her first bite. “It’s delicious. I can see why. I am really going to have to watch my waistline here.” She took another bite before turning her attention to Nick.

“So what does an ex-professional athlete do in such a small town?” Gretchen batted her lashes daintily. Callie decided her friend would do quite nicely in Aurora.

“I live in the caretaker’s cottage around back,” Nick said, a frown creasing his brow.

He was Aunt C’s caretaker?

“I maintain the lawns. Try to follow orders on the gardens. Miz C supervises each snip of every vine.”

“It seems like a large estate,” Gretchen commented. “I suppose it’s . . . interesting work.”

Callie could see her friend was just as curious about Nick’s existence at Noble Oaks as she was.

He shrugged. “I enjoy working with my hands. I destroyed enough teams with them. It’s nice to create a little something nowadays.”

Callandra snorted. “Nick, you are getting too busy to play at being my gardener. I intend to hire someone full-time.”

“Why?” Callie asked.

“My writing career is taking off,” he replied. “Still, Miz C, I don’t mind. When I work the soil, I work out my plotting ideas. But I can vacate the cottage at any time. Just let me know when you need me gone.”

“Oh, no, my boy,” Callandra said. “I love having you close. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to move. Day help can come in. Eric will know whom to hire. He has his finger on the pulse of the community.”

“At least it’s about time I give up the free rent then.”

His casual words shocked Callie. What was a superstar millionaire doing living rent-free on Noble Oaks?

“I hope you haven’t taken advantage of Aunt C’s generosity,” she fired off.

He laughed. “I have earned every penny of that so-called free rent. Just look at the yard. The shrubs. The flower beds.”

Callandra nodded her head while giving Callie a questioning glance. “Nick definitely earned his keep in the lean times.” She paused and called out, “Essie. Would you please bring in the crawfish etoufee?”

Callie concentrated on eating as her aunt pumped Gretchen for information about herself.

“I’m just a Jersey girl. I lived at the shore summers, trying to work on my tan but only getting freckles in return. I became a nurse and did critical care. Went into hospice work eventually.”

“An attractive girl like you must have lots of beaux,” Callandra pointed out.

“Well, I married one of them. It didn’t work out.” Gretchen smiled at Nick. “Maybe Aurora will have some better prospects.”

Nick didn’t acknowledge her comment, buttering another piece of cornbread in response.

“Despite Aurora being a small community, it has grown in the last several years. More than I would have liked to see, but that’s another story.” Callandra winked at Gretchen. “There are some lovely single gentlemen I will introduce you to. You, too, Callie.”

Callie dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin. “Not me. No men for now. I’ve sworn off them. That’s what a knife-wielding stalker will do for you.”

She’d meant to make light of it, but an awkward silence fell around the dinner table. After a moment, Callandra broke it.

“Perhaps we’re all ready for a little dessert.”

Nick thanked Callandra for dinner and went out to his car. He brought it around back and got his luggage inside the two-bedroom cottage. He’d save unpacking for later. He needed to work now.

He grabbed his laptop and pulled up his latest cast of characters and goal/motivation/conflict sheet. He stared at it without inspiration coming, so he closed the program and brought up his plot outline. It was the barest of bones now. He started half a dozen times typing out ideas that came to him, but he deleted every one of them.

Restless, he shut the computer down and began pacing the small living room. Suddenly, he wanted a drink. He hadn’t wanted one in a long time. Then again, he hadn’t been this uncomfortable in a long time.

Callie Chennault did that to him.

Why had she come, just as he was settling into a routine? He asked why the sweet, lovely girl he’d known for one brief night had turned into a superficial phony.

He’d learned all about shallow from Vanessa. The one basic principle that stayed with him was that all actresses were lower than pond scum. Their beautiful shell only contained a dark, manipulative soul.

No exception to this hard and fast rule.

Nick felt sorry that Callandra had such a relative. The old woman had become a sweet grandma, sage mentor, and advice-giving friend, all rolled into one.

It hit him that their relationship might be in jeopardy. Callandra worshipped her great-niece. Now Callie would be around all the time. He’d probably never have a single conversation with Miz C without Callie lurking in the background.

That is, for as long as she stayed. He didn’t give the New Yorker two weeks before boredom crept in. She would hightail it back to the Big Apple. Let her and her man-hungry friend go home and gobble up all the fresh meat in Manhattan for all he cared.

Nick would make sure Aurora would stay safe from these two. For now, though, he needed to retreat into his characters. If he could jumpstart this plot, the next month would fly by. Callie Chennault and her companion would barely register a blip on his radar. When his writing flourished, Aurora didn’t exist. He would be caught up in a world of his own making.

Nick realized he was a perfectionist. He placed high expectations on himself and others. He often felt let down when others didn’t come through as he expected. But he was finally learning to excuse their faults, their mistakes. Instead, he now concentrated on the people he could control—his people, his characters. He enjoyed being their boss and controlling every aspect of their lives.

If only he could forgive himself and his own failures.