Forever Friday Page 5

  With her free hand, Huck seized her meat knife and slashed the strands in a single whack. Clark reacted with a jerk, providing Huck a chance to pull free. He stepped back.

  “Your future wife doesn’t like being ordered what she may or may not do.” Huck set down the knife and inched toward the astounded Clark. “As far as we’re concerned, future is a noun that depends upon how you invest in the present. An unwise investment means eating the profits. Any good banker knows that.” She released the strands. “Diagram these, dear.”

  Everyone in the room watched them float onto his plate.

  Huck strode outside. By the time Clark had called the waiter and settled the dinner tab, she’d be riding a streetcar back to Mrs. Thompson’s boardinghouse.

  Summer 2006

  Adam Colby

  “Have a great evening, Mr. Colby.” A wide-eyed carhop handed me a soda and a grease-spattered sack. “See you again tomorrow and thanks for the tip.”

  I cranked my SUV’s engine, then glanced at my side mirror and watched her skate back inside the burger joint. “A great evening?” I muttered. “Someday, maybe.”

  It had been a grueling week, but the Gruver Estate Sale was finally over. At least I had a few days before pricing began on the next one.

  That’s what took the most time.

  Pricing.

  It was a tedious chore Haley had loved … back when she loved me.

  Instead of shifting into reverse, I killed the motor, reached into the bag, and selected a scrawny french fry. “Looks as pathetic as my life,” I said blankly to the car parked next to me.

  I thumped the fry back into the sack with its burgerless buddies, took a sip of my soda, and checked my cell phone. No calls from Yevette; no messages either. She’d already canceled two of our scheduled meetings, so I didn’t hold much hope for number three, even though it was supposed to be a charmed digit.

  In the message I’d left Yevette concerning our first meeting, I didn’t go into much detail; I just explained I’d handled the Alexanders’ estate sale and had some questions. In scheduling meeting number two, I was a little more desperate and mentioned finding the postcard albums. I figured the woman who’d cared for Mrs. Alexander during her final days would be eager to talk. Either Yevette didn’t know about the postcards or didn’t want them found.

  “I have to cancel” was what she’d recorded on my voice mail both times. No reason, or even a sympathetic “I’m sorry.” Just four words as cold as my nightly junk-food supper. It was as if she knew exactly when to call. Exactly when I was busy with a customer and couldn’t answer.

  Turning the key, I restarted the engine and listened to it idle. I’d tried to move on, as Haley, and now others, had suggested. But two years was an eternity for a lost man. Besides, it was still hard to imagine not being married anymore … almost unthinkable.

  Sometimes I’d be paralyzed at the thought, though I continued to mimic the motions of running my estate-sale business. Throughout each gloomy day, I’d pore over the postcards every spare minute, searching for the precious secret to Huck and Gabe Alexander’s happiness. Evenings were spent punching their story into the computer in my study—I even slept there, merely passing through our bedroom as quickly as possible on the way to my closet. Occasionally, I’d type something about how the Alexanders were reminiscent of Haley and me, and then pay the price as fresh tears burned my cheeks.

  Many lonely questions still plagued my restless nights, dragging them into unanswered days. And no matter how meaningful, the piecing together of each postcard’s beautiful verse into Huck and Gabe’s life story proved difficult to impossible. There were so many private things the cards alluded to that I didn’t understand. So many unexplained connections I couldn’t make.

  As I took another sip, my cell phone rang.

  “Hello. This is Adam.”

  “It’s Yevette Galloway.”

  “Hey. Great to finally talk.”

  “How about meeting at Starbucks?”

  “Which one?”

  “Are you familiar with the one at The Town Square in Sugar Land?”

  “Of course. When?”

  “Tomorrow. Ten a.m.?”

  “Sure thing. Should I—”

  “See you then.” Yevette hung up.

  “—bring some of the postcards?” I finished, then looked at myself in the rearview mirror. “Well,” I whispered. “I guess I’m finally meeting Yevette.”

  Bayshore Extended Care Facility, 2004

  Yevette Galloway

  Yevette strode through the etched-glass entryway at Bayshore Extended Care and into the plush lobby. She swallowed. Even the expensive places for the elderly smelled of antiseptic and a few trace odors she chose not to think about. After passing the gift shop, she continued through a set of automatic doors leading to the nurses’ station, then smiled at the nurse on duty. “Good morning, Judy. I got your message.”

  “Hi, Yevette. It’s bound to be a good Saturday morning somewhere.”

  A nearby medical student thumbing through patient charts offered a slight chuckle.

  Judy continued. “Mrs. Alexander wasn’t happy with us yesterday because we removed her phone. It was another three-ring circus.”

  “Will she get it back?” Yevette asked.

  “Not this time.”

  It annoyed Yevette that Huck had called 911 again, especially after they’d talked about the consequences. “I’m sorry.”

  “This morning she’s forgotten about her phone but is accusing Bayshore of theft.”

  “The old lady’s got spunk,” the student said. “I like that.”

  “And I’d like you to address our patients with a little more respect and finish those charts.” Judy turned to Yevette and lowered her voice. “Mrs. Alexander swears that some of her mail’s been stolen and blames our staff. Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  “It’s a long story, but she believes her deceased husband is still sending her postcards.”

  “Really? Do people even send those anymore?”

  Yevette shrugged.

  Judy looked thoughtful. “Would you assure Mrs. Alexander that no one working at Bayshore would ever steal from her, especially her mail?”

  “Sure. Thanks, Judy.” Yevette headed down the long corridor. She’d not known about Gabe’s beautiful postcard poems until Huck had asked her to help place them into albums, which they’d done on Fridays for the past several months. Yevette had learned more about Huck and Gabe’s extraordinary relationship than she’d ever dreamed possible, but they’d completed the job and there were no more cards. On some Fridays, they’d laughed themselves silly. On others, fought back tears. And two Fridays ago, they’d closed the final album and wept. “We mustn’t be sad,” Huck had bravely stated. “Gabe’s promised another card, with a poem more beautiful than any of the others.”

  Feeling tearful, Yevette entered an empty sitting area just off the hallway to gather her emotions, pausing in front of a large aquarium. She’d been only twelve years old when Gabe died, and found herself still missing his grandfatherly humor and thoughtfulness. She couldn’t fathom how Huck felt. And even though Huck’s favorite furniture pieces—a love seat and marble-top dresser—were in her room, she’d made it clear that this place wasn’t home and never would be.

  Yevette took a deep breath and slowly released it. She’d planned a visit to Bayshore today anyway because her head was full of questions. Questions about her mother. Specific questions Yevette finally had the courage to ask. As close as she and Huck were, some issues were best left for another day. But Huck’s health was slowly declining, and Yevette couldn’t delay asking any longer. Hopefully, Huck’s dementia would cooperate.

  Before Priscilla’s untimely death, she’d been Huck and Gabe’s housekeeper for twenty-six years. Her initial dream was to attend college and start her own business. Instead of doing either, she’d married Rob Galloway, an air force pilot who, two months after their wedding, crashed on a tra
ining mission over South Vietnam. He could’ve ejected and lived, but chose to steer his jet away from a populated area. Then it was too late.

  “If he’d survived and been my real father,” Yevette whispered, “I wouldn’t be me.”

  She gazed into the peaceful aquarium. The angelfish were Huck’s favorite, which made perfect sense after she’d explained meeting Mister Jack. Yevette had never met her own guardian angel, but that didn’t matter. Through the years Huck and Gabe had shared their rich faith in God, not only in conversation but in the way they’d loved her and cherished each other.

  “I just wish I could trust a man, as Huck did Gabe,” Yevette said to the most beautiful angelfish. She’d been engaged twice and neither relationship had lasted, which made her think the failure was somehow linked to her mother’s distrust of men after Rob died. From as far back as Yevette could remember, Priscilla had warned her daughter to trust only what was genuine, what was real. “Most men aren’t,” she’d said at least a thousand times. “Men like your birth father. You’re not old enough to understand, but I didn’t even know his name.”

  When Yevette reached Huck’s room, the door was partially open. Tapping lightly, she peeked inside. Dressed in an emerald robe, Huck sat on the love seat, sleeping. Since she couldn’t get out of bed without help, someone had already been tending to her needs. However, her breakfast remained on the serving tray within arm’s length, untouched.

  “Huck?” Yevette tapped louder.

  “Gabe? Is that you?”

  “It’s Yevette.”

  “Oh, come in dear, I was waiting to tell Gabe about the stolen postcard and must have dozed off.” She smiled. “He’ll call out an entire posse of Texas Rangers.”

  “Nothing’s been stolen.”

  “Did they instruct you to say that?” Huck’s smile disappeared.

  “We placed his last postcard in an album two weeks ago, and then I hid them.”

  “At our home?”

  “Just as you suggested. In Gabe’s study among the photo collection.”

  “And you won’t forget what to do if I never leave this wretched place?”

  “I’ll remember.”

  Yevette cocked her head to one side. Huck had been adamant about finishing the albums before Gabe returned. But since Yevette’s schedule prevented her from working on the project every week, Huck’s adamancy evolved into pettiness and gloom. So a few weeks back, Yevette had gently reminded Huck that Gabe was deceased.

  “He promised to come back, and I believe him,” Huck said sternly. “If he doesn’t, then the cards must be destroyed.”

  “Is that what Gabe would want?” Yevette asked, surprised Huck would even suggest it.

  “We discussed it on our wedding night. Neither one of us wants them falling into the wrong hands.”

  What hands? Yevette had wanted to ask. She knew Huck wasn’t in her right mind that day to make such an outrageous claim, but also knew better than to push the issue.

  Yevette focused on the current situation. “So why haven’t you eaten your breakfast?”

  Huck patted the seat beside her. “Come sit, dear.”

  “Not until you drink your orange juice.”

  “The food here is inedible.”

  “Not the juice.” Yevette handed her the glass. “Looks freshly squeezed.”

  “You’re as persistent as Priscilla.” Huck took a sip and handed it back. “It’s delicious, but that’s all I want. Have Priscilla squeeze you a glass too.”

  “Mother’s no longer with us,” Yevette said softly, then sat beside Huck. “Remember?”

  “Yes,” Huck said. “She’s dead, you know. Priscilla.”

  “I know.”

  “So, so tragic. Her car hit by a drunk driver not long after Gabe died. Do you recall how badly I wanted to adopt you, promising you we’d stay together from now on?”

  “I do.” From now on had become their special catch phrase.

  “But since Priscilla’s sister Cynthia demanded to raise you, I was denied.”

  “We’ve discussed it many times.” Yevette paused. She’d lived in Dallas with her aunt and uncle until she was of legal age, then moved back to Houston. “I have a question about something else.”

  “Ask me anything, dear.”

  “Before I was born, did Mother travel?”

  “I suppose. We gave her a paid month off every summer.”

  “Did she go out to Big Spring?”

  “Big Spring?” Huck thought for a moment. “I believe she had friends there.”

  “Was one of her friends … a man?”

  Huck frowned. “Priscilla was much too friendly, much too trusting.”

  “She never took me there with her. Why?”

  “It was more convenient for you to stay with Gabe and me. My, didn’t we have fun.”

  “More convenient? Or did she go to Big Spring because of the state mental hospital?”

  “Hand me my juice, dear. I’m afraid my mouth is dry.”

  “You’re avoiding my question, but I know the answer. Last week I was going through some of Mother’s papers and found her history of admittance and discharge forms.”

  “Grief affects some more deeply than others. Even though your father died a hero, Priscilla suffered serious spells of depression. Gabe insisted we pay for her annual evaluation and treatment.”

  “Rob Galloway wasn’t my natural father. Mother told me, remember?”

  “That was far too much information for a child,” Huck said sharply. “Priscilla wasn’t good at keeping secrets.” Huck sipped the orange juice and stared out a large picture window.

  Yevette continued. “Was my father a one-night affair?”

  “It makes little difference, dear, because we have you.” Huck yawned and patted Yevette’s hand. “Priscilla had a weak moment indeed, but God blessed her anyway.”

  And then took her from me, Yevette thought, as well as Gabe. She glanced at Huck’s wrinkled face and swallowed hard.

  A staff member knocked and entered. “It’s time for your bath, Mrs. Alexander.”

  Yevette hugged Huck, then stood. “I’ll be on the road for a month. Don’t forget I’ll love you—”

  “From now on,” Huck finished, then grinned. “Perhaps when you return, Gabe will join us?”

  “You never know.” Yevette waved good-bye. As she walked toward the lobby, she pictured her mother and the last time they’d been together, the memory still clear.

  “Promise me you’ll trust only what’s genuine,” Priscilla had said, “only what’s real.”

  “I promise.” Yevette smiled at the memory.

  From now on.

  That magic May Day,

  On a Main Street trolley

  The Eternal Hand strummed destiny

  And heartstrings sang sweet symphony

  To celebrate

  The you …

  Of me.

  Forever, Gabe

  May 1926

  Houston, Texas

  The first day of May dawned cloud-clear, riding the crest of a late spring cool front that drove every drop of humidity back out to sea. Huck Huckabee slid out of bed, closed her eyes, and raised the window shade in her private quarters at Mrs. Thompson’s boardinghouse. Fresh sunlight bathed her face. It was Saturday and she didn’t have to teach school. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the sweet fragrance of magnolia blossoms. It was also May Day … the mystical day of lovers.

  Yesterday, her students at Sidney Lanier held a pre–May Day festival, crowning a king and queen, then dancing around a Maypole while twisting colorful ribbons. She’d assigned her honors class to research “little known traditions” about the day. One tradition happened on the night before. A man would place a Maypole outside his sweetheart’s window, then perform a sunrise dance to celebrate love’s madness.

  Huck opened her eyes. No madness. Nothing but the magnolia tree.

  Even if Clark Richards had known about the tradition, he wouldn’t have gone
to all the trouble. Shortly after the big diamond appeared last Christmas, romance vanished … at least the wildly spontaneous kind. Clark might finance the largest Maypole in the city, but he’d never dance around it.

  Balancing on her tiptoes, Huck twirled about the room, watching her nightgown billow.

  There was something joyous about dancing barefoot in the soft dawn air. It held a fresh excitement that made her feel pretty. Made her feel free. The same excitement and freedom she’d experienced in that fleeting moment with Gabe Alexander.

  Gabe Alexander. His eyes still haunted her heart.

  Huck spun to a stop in front of the window. A cool shiver hunched her shoulders forward. It wasn’t proper for an engaged woman to entertain such daring thoughts about another man. And she knew better. After all, she’d barely met Gabe. Besides, she’d convinced herself countless times that their brief encounter was meaningless.

  “I’m marrying Clark,” she whispered to herself. Even after what had happened last month at Pickwicks. She shivered again. “It’s only right.”

  Huck tried to continue her dance, but her legs suddenly felt heavy, awkward. So she leaned against the windowsill to clear her mind.

  But what if marriage to him wasn’t right? Not even her mother or father was agreed on the matter.

  Because of what had happened at Pickwicks, there was still no wedding date.

  The evening had left a bitter taste, even though Clark showed up later that night apologizing profusely—Mrs. Thompson letting him into the parlor an hour after house curfew because he held a dozen red roses in one hand and two solid gold earrings in the other. He’d thought it over and would allow Huck to cut her hair because he loved her, but might they compromise on, say, shoulder length?

  Closing her eyes, she determined to think no further about the incident, so immediately pictured Gabe. And in fairness to her father and twin brother, allowed herself a moment to ponder why she desired to know Gabe better. The moment passed, and Huck concluded that during their brief encounter, their spirits had somehow touched.