Leave yesterday behind, p.7
Leave Yesterday Behind, page 7
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 were 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.
Until this man had showed up.
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 toward 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 Nick had been sent to the farm leagues for seasoning. Callie 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 World 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, Callie 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. At my age, the stairs are beyond me these days. I don’t ever want to work that hard again. Besides, 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.
“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.
“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, flickering 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 gaze 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.”
With her first bite, Gretchen closed her eyes and moaned. “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.
“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. “What has you so busy nowadays?”
“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.”
“Then at least let me give up the free rent.”
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 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 étouffée?”
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. “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 to his car. He drove it around back and brought his luggage inside the two-bedroom cottage. He’d save unpacking for later. He needed to work now.
Grabbing his laptop, he 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 opened 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 down the computer 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 exceptions to this hard-and-fast rule.
Nick felt sorry that Callandra had such a slimy 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. With Callie around all the time, he’d probably never have a single conversation with Miz C without the actress 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, the characters he brought to life. He enjoyed being their boss and controlling every aspect of their lives.
If only he could forgive himself and his own failures.
Chapter Ten
He was too late. She was gone. It was bad enough another almost beat him to his final goal. He couldn’t believe the news reports that Lipstick Larry had struck again, this time attacking the famous television actress Callie Chennault, Jessica from Sumner Falls.
He was Lipstick Larry—though he despised the moniker the press hung upon him. Only he found women that resembled Jessica and punished them accordingly.
Jessica was meant for him, not some dollar store knock-off. It appalled him to see the man’s capture, his sniveling—his cowardice—for all to see on network newscasts. Everyone would mistakenly believe this wimp masterminded all those loving attacks on the series of young blonds. What sacrilege!
Despite his indignation, he realized this could work to his advantage. The authorities assumed they had the right man in custody. His trial would occur several months from now.
That left him free... free to do his true work. In peace. With no one suspecting he still roamed unseen, unknown. He’d been careful to tamp down the compelling urge to keep in practice. It would be safe for him to remain in anonymity. For now.
It rankled him, though, that another would receive credit for his painstaking work. Already, he heard rumors that the little moron was starting to deny involvement in the other murders that they believed he’d been responsible for. Looking at living life behind bars might do that.
But it would be a long time before the idiots in charge figured out they had the wrong man—if they ever did. The fool accosting Jessica on the street and forcing her to use Ravenous Red only proclaimed his guilt to the media and public, in turn.
Still, if the shitty little copycat continued his protests, he would be taken care of. All in good time.
Unfortunately, fate had torn Jessica from him, keeping them apart yet again.
He tried to get to her when she was at her most vulnerable, but the hospital had crawled with security. The fact he’d been clever enough to even gain access to the floor she was on showed his true superiority. Yet no opportunity could be taken with the bulldogs constantly at her door. She went home to recuperate without a sweet, nocturnal visit from him.
She’d left her apartment on a few rare occasions, always in the company of her watchdog, the redhead he assumed was her caregiver. He only witnessed two separate efforts but he suspected she may have kept a few more doctors’ appointments. The haunted look in her eyes pleased him, obvious even from across the street.
Now, she’d vanished from his grasp. Not without a trace, though. When he thought to make a delivery to her co-op, her concierge explained he was authorized to sign for her packages, divulging only that she had left town on an extended visit. The concierge promised she would receive the item, before becoming distracted by two prissy poodles who’d both stepped off different elevators at the same time. Rushing to break up their yapping brawl, he took the opportunity and quickly perused a leather-bound notebook behind the desk.
Sure enough, a forwarding address was on the page containing her name. He recognized it from the official fan club website as some hole in the wall in Louisiana where she grew up.
It aggravated him about having to change his plans. But surprisingly enough, it would be even more convenient than he’d dreamed possible.
Because she’d run to the same town where Nick was from. Maybe he would kill them at the same time.
Wouldn’t that be a ton of fun?
Chapter Eleven
Callie rose early, as she did every morning, dressing in loose yoga clothes and rolling her mat out in the large bedroom from her childhood. Callandra had kept the sunny aspect of the room although new wallpaper and curtains graced the walls and windows since her last visit.
She eased onto the mat for her breathing exercises. Wolf opened one eye from the bed and seeing nothing interesting going on, he closed it and soon was softly snoring. She shook her head as she prepared her mind. Yoga calmed her like nothing could these days. As she breathed slowly, in and out, she lost herself from the world of worry, from the claustrophobia that nagged at her, from the shadow of a stranger that corrupted her life and changed her in unspeakable ways.
After several minutes she became lost in the very stretches themselves. Potted Palm and Downward Dog still brought her satisfaction. She did have trouble with certain poses she’d loved before, such as Cat Chaturanga and Cobra, even Sunburst. These were simply beyond her physically at this point.
Her side continued to ache. Lefty—she still wouldn’t dignify giving him the media’s label—sliced and stabbed her right side from under her ribcage down to her upper thigh. She still found it hard to believe she’d survived his vicious attack.
Yet, she made what Gretchen termed amazing progress. The nurse altered each therapy session so they didn’t become boring, knowing just how far to push Callie physically. Gretchen could be quiet when Callie needed it and knew instinctively when to joke her out of the gloom that descended from time to time. She was grateful Gretchen agreed to make this trip to Aurora. It might be a healing experience for them both.
