My Name is Nell

A crazy idea entered his head. But no crazier than what he’d been doing. He needed a purpose. A direction. Short-term, this would work as well as anything.

Tomorrow, after he checked out, he would drive to Fayetteville to find this Nell, a woman who still believed in rainbows.

CHAPTER TWO

TOWERING ABOVE the broad expanse of lawn in front of Old Main, the landmark building of the University of Arkansas campus, were massive oaks and maples, their leaves hanging lifeless in the heat of the late August day. Patches of shade offered only the illusion of coolness. Brady paused, gazing across the sward where members of a fraternity gathered on the porch of their house to welcome a group of rushees. He envied them this carefree time of life. College. What would that have been like?

Once, long ago, he’d assumed that was his destiny. But that was before his mother died and his father hastily remarried. Before he rebelled against his father’s unreasonable restrictions and demands. Before he stood up to the old man, told him to take a flying leap and left home. On his own at eighteen. No enlightening classes, fall football weekends, frat parties or eager coeds for him.

All he had in his favor was a knack for computers, a willingness to work his butt off and a cold, simmering rage fueling his ambition.

He headed toward Dickson Street, an off-campus shopping area housing several watering holes. He needed a cool drink. He had thought his plan of starting his search with the university telephone directory was ingenious. The U of A was the town’s largest employer, so the odds of finding Nell on campus were better than average. However, after a day hunched over a table in the college library, his eyes were raw from reading endless lists of names. He’d found several Nells. When he’d called, one had turned out to be a secretary in the engineering department suspicious of his motives. Another was a graduate student who knew nothing about any Edgewater Inn. A third, who sounded like Minnie Mouse, asked him what he had in mind, then giggled coquettishly.

The tavern was an oasis in a frustrating day. He settled on a bar stool and ordered a cola. In a nearby booth, three barrel-chested young men were playing a chug-a-lug game. Brady’s lip curled. He wanted to knock their pitcher to the floor and demand to know if they were driving. Didn’t they understand their stupidity could lead to tragedy? He no longer had any tolerance for overindulgence.

Instead of acting on his instinct, he turned to the bartender and asked if he knew any women named Nell. “That’s kind of an old-fashioned name. Most of the chicks these days are Chelseas or Tiffanies, know what I mean?”

Yeah, he did. Besides, he wasn’t picturing Nell as a younger woman. More someone his age. Somebody who’d obviously lived through hurt. Then another thought hit him. What if Nell was older, maybe a widow who’d lost her husband after forty years of marriage?

He drained his glass. This was insane. Even if he found his Nell, how could he explain his actions? She might even accuse him of stalking. What was he hoping to find?

He signaled the bartender for another soda. What would Carl say if he could see him now, sitting in Fayetteville, Arkansas? Everywhere you looked in this town was a depiction of the butt-ugly razorback hog, the beloved mascot of the university. Yet the place had an appealing, slow-paced charm. He grinned sardonically. He had wanted to get away from the Silicon Valley. Well, he had certainly succeeded.

Nursing his drink, he noticed a local newspaper on the seat beside him. He picked it up and scanned the headlines. Zoning issues. School orientation programs. A public library forum. A controversy over pollution of the Illinois River.

As he started to shove it aside, out of the blue he recalled a seemingly vague remark Sally at the Edgewater Inn had made when he’d asked about Nell. “I can’t give out personal information about my guests,” she’d said. They’d been standing in the living room at the time, where one entire wall was lined with books. “Say,” she’d added, gesturing to the shelves as if changing the subject, “do you like to read? I do. Libraries have always been favorite places of mine. How about you?”

At the time he’d mumbled something about not having much time for reading. He remembered being irritated that she hadn’t given him any information about Nell. Now, though, he wondered. Maybe she had and he’d been too dense to realize it.

He drained his glass, then began reading the article about the library forum. In the final paragraph, he found what he was looking for. “August’s forum on Arab-Israeli relations will be moderated by Nell Porter.” He checked the date. Tomorrow night.

At last a genuine lead. He could blend into the audience and size up the latest Nell candidate.

He couldn’t believe he was thinking like this. What would he say if he ever found the Nell? “Hi, I think we have misery in common?” What kind of way was that to impress anybody? Why did he care?

There was another obstacle. Her entry was dated 1997. Six years ago. What made him think time had stood still for Nell?

Despite the harsh light of reason, he felt compelled to follow his search through to its conclusion. He would find Nell.

“DID YOU GET Abby off all right for her vacation with her father?”

To free her hands, Nell settled the phone against her shoulder and continued searching through her office file cabinet. “Yes, Mother. As usual, she trudged through security like a condemned prisoner.”

“Why can’t you say something to Rick? What’s the matter with that man anyway?”

“If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.” She pulled out a file folder, skimmed the contents, then discarded it. Where was that background information for her introduction for tonight’s forum? “As for communicating with Rick about Abby, a cabbage is a more attentive listener. At some point, Abby is going to have to speak up for herself. She’s the only one I can think of who might make a dent in his self-absorption.”

“Do you think it’s wise to keep sending her, dear?”

“What choice do I have? Her visits are court-mandated. Besides, in his own way, Rick does care about her.”

Her mother’s voice modulated into that concerned, faintly judgmental tone Nell had come to dread. “Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself? It’s a whole week alone. Don’t you want to come stay with me?”

Rolling her eyes, Nell prayed for patience. “I’ll be fine, Mother. You can count on it. Besides, I need some time at home to clean out closets and get organized for winter.”

“That doesn’t sound much like fun.”

Fun? What would that be like? “I’ll take peace and quiet over fun any day.” She extracted two folders that had become stuck together. There it was. Her introduction. Breathing a sigh of relief, she grabbed up the phone. “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go. The forum starts in half an hour.”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Nell gritted her teeth. How long would it take before her family trusted her again? “Thanks, I appreciate your concern. I’ll call you later in the week.”

With a sigh of relief, she hung up the phone and studied the bios in front of her—one for a local rabbi and another for the head of the Arab Student League. Using a highlighter, she marked the sections she wanted for her introduction.

Yet she was distracted by her mother’s interference. Was being treated like a child a price she would always have to pay?

BRADY FOLLOWED a frumpy-looking pair of retirees into the library meeting room and took a seat on the aisle near the back. He looked around wondering which of the librarians was Nell. Two stood at a side table arranging books about the Mid-East. Another was bent over, conferring with one of the men seated beside the podium. When she straightened, smiled around the room and asked for order, Brady’s breath caught in his chest. This was no old woman looking for a dapper widower with whom to share her twilight years.

“Good evening and welcome to tonight’s forum. My name is Nell Porter and I’ll be your moderator this evening….”

Brady tuned out her words. She was a tall, slender woman—midthirties he judged—with short straw-colored hair cut in uneven lengths, a style that complemented the casualness of her high-waisted denim jumper. When she smiled, her eyes narrowed in delighted crinkles. She wore little makeup and he couldn’t help noticing her ringless fingers.

“…it’s my pleasure to introduce…”

He became aware that a short, bearded gentleman had stepped to the microphone. Brady’s eyes, however, were glued on the graceful way Nell Porter sank into her chair, crossing one long leg over the other, smoothing her skirt, then fixing her attention on the speaker.

She was not like Brooke, a sleek blonde made for designer clothes, Porsches and expensive, understated jewelry. Nell had a fresh, wholesome look, although her tousled hairstyle suggested an impish streak. She appeared thoroughly likeable. Comfortable.

He’d made his living by exercising logic. The thought in his head, however, was anything but logical.

He wanted Nell Porter to be his Edgewater Inn Nell.

“YOU’RE WHERE?” Carl did not sound pleased.

“Fayetteville. Arkansas.”

“Hmm. I’d hoped you were on your way home.”

Home. There was that word again. Didn’t Carl understand. He no longer had a home. Staring at the anonymous, monochromatic motel room walls, Brady absently brushed a hand through his hair, still damp from his morning shower. “Not yet.”

“I don’t suppose it would hurry things along if I said we’ve got a lotta deals poppin’ here and we need you.”

The familiar clenching of his stomach gave him his answer. “Sorry, Carl, but I’d be no good to you now.”

His partner’s tone mellowed. “I don’t mean to rush you. I know you need time. It’s just—”

“When I’m ready, buddy, I’ll let you know.”