The Memory House

The woman named Valery beamed. She was a looker, long, wavy dark hair and lots of curves, with a vivacious personality that promised a good time. But it was the quieter Julia who drew his interest. Dressed in casual beige slacks and white buttoned blouse, she had a calming way about her. Like this house. Serene. That was the word. He hadn’t used serene in a long time.

“I thought I’d lost this cup forever,” she said.

“I almost forgot about it.”

“Have you had breakfast? I know it’s closer to noon, but brunch perhaps? There’s still some casserole left.”

“I’m okay.” He wondered if she always tried to feed people or if he simply looked pathetic.

“You’ll have something, Eli,” Valery said. “Julia is a fabulous cook. Maybe her muffins or some peach tea?”

“I heard about that tea.”

“Really? Where?”

“A police officer in town.”

Julia’s blue eyes rounded. “Don’t tell me you got a ticket?”

“No, nothing like that.” Man, she was pretty, her voice as smooth and Southern as a praline sundae. Classy and cool. Like his mother’s. A dull ache tugged behind his breastbone. He averted his gaze, found the view outside the windows.

“Was it Trey Riley?” Valery asked, coming in from the kitchen with a plate of food that made his mouth water. “He’s the cutest thing.”

“That was his name. Nice guy.”

“Sweet as pie. Here you go. Julia’s ham-and-egg strata. Julia, get him some peach tea.” She winked. “If you hate it, I’ll make fresh coffee.”

“Nobody hates my peach tea,” Julia called from inside the giant stainless-steel refrigerator.

Feeling like the beggar he was but hungry enough not to care, Eli dredged up the dry bones of his mother’s manners. “Would you care to join me?”

“Sure.” Valery plopped down across from him and propped her chin on her hand. “Julia, bring me some tea, too, and maybe a muffin.”

“Are your legs broken?”

Eli smiled at his fork. Valery laughed but flounced up to serve herself. “Sassy wench.”

In seconds, both women were back. Valery had joined him at the table while Julia stood a little apart next to the gleaming windows sipping a glass of peach tea. He wished she’d sit down, too, but instantly retracted the wish. She had no business sitting anywhere near him.

Eli sipped at his drink. Cold, sweet and fruity. Three peach slices floated with the ice cubes. “Terrific. Thank you. The casserole is good, too.”

He’d said thank-you more times today than he had in years. He was pretty sure he’d wake up in a minute back in his cell.

“I assume you got your car running again.”

“Thanks to Mr. Oliver.” He reached into his shirt pocket. “Is he around? He left this wrench.”

“He and his wife went into town for a while, but I can give him the tool when he returns.”

Eli handed it over. He wasn’t a thief and didn’t want anyone thinking he was. Didn’t need the grief and he sure wasn’t going back to prison. Especially now when his boy needed a dad. “Tell him I won’t forget his kindness.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Yours, either.”

She only smiled, but the soft look was encouragement enough to give him an opening. He’d rehearsed his speech, his arguments and ideas all the way from the park. He’d even stopped at the In and Out Quick Stop to splash water on his face and comb his hair, a shaggy bunch of waves that needed a barber’s hand. He knew how he looked, like a homeless street bum, a description, no matter how shaming, that wasn’t far from the truth. His idea of home was his Dodge and, when money allowed, a room in a rent-by-the-week roach motel. Haircuts and soft beds would have to wait.

What was he doing here? What made him think he could do this? He was broke and homeless. Just because a little boy had his DNA didn’t make him a father.

The familiar, dreaded knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

Loser. Convict. Get up and get out of here. You’ll never make this work.

His hand trembled on the fork. He put it down and reached for the red napkin. The delicious ham and egg felt leaden in his belly. He took another sip of peach tea, swallowed to chase away the negative voices.

This wasn’t about him. He knew what he was, but his son didn’t.

A boy needed a father. Eli should know. Losing his parents’ love and support had been a chain saw through his soul that had left him with a gaping emptiness he couldn’t fill.

For the sake of a child he didn’t even know, he had to ask. If Julia rejected his idea, which he fully expected, he’d try the pizza place. And if there was an application, he’d lie. They didn’t run background checks, did they?

Nobody in Honey Ridge knew him. He could start fresh, his secret tucked away inside, and build a life his son could respect. He should have used a false name, but it was too late for that now. He’d have to hope no one noticed him enough to check into his past.

He folded the napkin and laid the starched cloth next to his empty plate. The Donovan table always had ironed napkins. “Your peach orchard needs maintenance.”

The sentence had come out wrong, blurted and abrupt. He clenched his back teeth. Polite conversation was barely a memory.

Julia tilted her head as if she wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. Caught in the sunlight, a stray blond tendril spun gold along the curve of her jaw.

“We’ll get to it eventually.”

“I can do it.” He rushed on before she could reject the idea, stunned by the vehemence with which he desired her approval. “Officer Riley thought you might be ready to start work on that old carriage house.”

She glanced toward the tired old building set half a hundred yards beyond the house. “I’d love to, but money is an issue.”

“I understand.” He focused on his plate, afraid he’d see rejection in her eyes, afraid he’d give away his desperation. A remodel like this could take months, maybe longer, and time was money in his pocket. “What if I made you a good deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

He flicked a glance at her. She gazed at him with more interest than he had right to hope for.

“I need work. I could help with the orchard and other odd jobs around the place. I have experience in construction.” Thanks to the prison system, which he was very careful not to mention. “In exchange for room, board and a small salary, I could do those things and repair the carriage house, as well. Whatever you need done.”

Julia brought her tea to the table and sat down. His heart beat a little faster, but he kept his expression bland.

“I don’t know. Material costs alone—”

Valery pointed a muffin at her sister. “We won’t get another offer like that, Julia. A construction company costs out the wazoo. Even Sam Baker charges more than we can afford right now, and he’s the cheapest around.”