My Name is Nell

CHAPTER THREE

NELL HAD RACED HOME from the library, taken a quick shower and now stood in her bra and panties surveying the limited selection in her closet. Dinner and a movie? It wasn’t a charity gala, for heaven’s sake. Something casual. Nice. She had essentially three choices. One of her unstylish librarian dresses, a two-year-old pair of linen slacks with a matching sweater sporting a small ineradicable stain or a black Mexican fiesta dress she’d bought on a whim for International Month at the library. Wardrobe purchases had been low on her list of priorities, well beneath orthodontia and graduate school tuition.

Glancing at the clock, she stepped into a half slip, then selected the black dress and a pair of onyx and pearl earrings. When the doorbell rang, she slipped into her white sandals, spritzed some cologne in the general direction of her neck, ran a brush quickly through her still-damp hair and only then began to panic. Misgivings echoed in her mind. She didn’t even know this man. Why, he could be… She filled in the blank with a number of disturbing possibilities.

All of which dissolved into a faint memory when she opened the door and beheld the flesh-and-blood object of her conjecture. Brady Logan wore crisply pressed khakis and a yellow polo shirt that accented his ruddy tan. His smile made her forget her meager wardrobe and just about everything else. “Hi,” he said with a timbre that would melt chocolate. “You look gorgeous.”

Perhaps he wasn’t a threat after all, simply a man in need of a competent ophthalmologist. At a time like this having fair skin was a definite drawback. “Thank you.” Now what? Even Abby possessed more savoir faire.

“I’ll let you suggest the restaurant, but we may have to arm wrestle to decide between the new Kate Hudson chick-flick or Brad Pitt’s latest.”

She picked up her purse, locked the door, then started when he loosely grasped her free hand and led her toward his fancy SUV. “You’ve given me a tough choice. I love romantic comedies, but what woman can resist Brad Pitt?”

“We can duke that out later. For now, why don’t you suggest a restaurant? Something special.”

How special? She mentioned a popular chain restaurant and a locally owned bistro and let him choose.

“Let’s go for the more intimate. The bistro sounds good.”

The more intimate? The mere word rendered her speechless. Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem because after he helped her into his Escalade, he filled her in on his further explorations of Fayetteville. At the first major intersection she gave him directions to the restaurant. She wasn’t worried about dinner, or even the movie. But afterward… What if? She’d been too busy recovering from the divorce, working on her master’s in library science and rearing Abby to worry about dating. After what Rick had done, men weren’t subjects she viewed with optimism.

She looked over at Brady, admiring the muscles in his forearms and the way his large hands caressed the steering wheel. What did he expect from her? Was she supposed to invite him in after the movie? Did she even want to? And could she handle her own feelings, which were confusing the daylights out of her? The way they’d met should feel creepy—his coming to the forum, then appearing at the story-time the next day and, if she wasn’t mistaken, observing her. Somehow, though, it didn’t.

“You know that first morning in the library?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I had the distinct impression you were watching me.”

“I was.” He glanced at her, a grin forming. “You’re a very watchable woman, Nell.”

Defenseless, she couldn’t hold back her smile. “I—I…thank you.”

Fun? Oh, yes, but fun shouldn’t feel so momentous.

DRIVING NELL HOME from the Cineplex, Brady reflected on how long it had been since he’d had an evening of laughter and companionship. Not since that last weekend when he and Brooke… He quickly censored the thought. Too painful. Yet he couldn’t help kicking himself for taking his best friend and mate for granted while he spent twelve to sixteen hour days in pursuit of the American dream—or at least an upwardly mobile male’s dream. Why hadn’t he spent more time with her and Nicole? Had they known how much he loved them?

“I think that compromise worked well,” Nell commented.

“What?” Lost in his thoughts, had he been rude?

“I enjoyed the movie. Believe me, casting my eyes on Mr. Pitt was no hardship.”

“I’m glad.” She’d scored two major points so far this evening. First, she’d declined wine at the restaurant. Second, he appreciated that she’d willingly given up the romantic comedy at the theater, because he hadn’t been sure how much sentiment his unstable emotions could handle.

She grew even more quiet as they neared her neighborhood. When he pulled into her driveway, she cleared her throat and said, “Would you like to come in for coffee?”

He sensed those had been difficult words for her. Was she nervous? Merely being polite? Yet he already dreaded the return to his motel and the loneliness. “I won’t stay long,” he said by way of reassurance, “but I’d like that.”

She settled him in the small added-on family room at the back of the modest one-story house while she bustled in the kitchen. In one corner stood a 1930s pie cabinet, doubling as a TV stand and repository for CD’s and books. The sagging sofa was covered in a maroon-and-tan plaid fabric that looked as if it had seen better days. A wooden rocker painted bright blue sat at an angle to the sofa. Propped in the corner were oversize pillows next to a basket holding a colorful assortment of yarns. The combination shouldn’t have worked, but instead of looking like a fleamarket display, it had a welcoming, cozy feeling. Brady couldn’t help making the comparison to the chrome and leather big-screen viewing room in his house.

“Here you are.” Nell set a small tray on the planked coffee table. “I hope you like oatmeal cookies.”

“No red-blooded man could refuse,” he said, helping himself.

She picked up a mug and took a seat in the rocker. “My husband always liked them.”

He studied her, noting her downcast eyes. “Your divorce? Is it amicable?”

“I suppose. It’s hard work, though.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“My daughter resents having to go to Dallas to visit her father.”

Brady said nothing, giving her an opportunity to add whatever she needed to.

“She blames me.”

“For what?”

“For all of it. I guess I’m a convenient scapegoat. There was…um…another woman.” He noticed her jaw tense. “Abby apparently believes I did something to send her father away. If I had done whatever she thinks I should have, she reasons her father would still be here and she wouldn’t have to fly to Dallas monthly.” She shrugged. “So you see, it’s my fault.”

“You know better than that,” he said gently.

“I’m willing to accept my share of the responsibility for the breakup of the marriage. It’s rarely one-sided, but I don’t know how I failed so badly that Rick had to find another woman.”

“Aren’t you being hard on yourself? I don’t know Rick, but did you ever consider perhaps he has a character flaw?”

She cupped her mug in both hands. “I felt so stupid. How could I not have seen it coming? What was the matter with me?”

Her misery was evident, yet he felt helpless to address it, not without stepping over the line he’d set for himself. “Sounds as if you were devastated.”

She nodded. “Do you have any idea what that does to a woman’s self-esteem? I try hard, but it’s difficult not to become bitter or vindictive or to poison Abby against her father.”

“One day she’ll understand the situation. In the meantime, it’s got to be rough on you.” Pain? No doubt about it, she’d had plenty of firsthand experience.

Smiling sadly, she glanced at him. “I didn’t mean to get into this. It’s just so nice to have a little sympathy.”

“I know what you mean.” But did he? He hadn’t been open to any himself. At least not until now.

“Look, I’m sorry. My problems are nothing compared to your loss. I can’t imagine how you can carry on.”

“It’s been—” he cursed the gruffness in his voice “—pure hell.”

“How does a person ever get over something like that?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible, but Brooke and Nicole wouldn’t want me to give up.” He set down his mug. “So I do the best I can, but it isn’t easy. Ever.”

“It’s odd how two lost souls like us happened to get together, isn’t it?”

Now was not the time to confess that their meeting had not been a result of chance. “I’m glad I met you, Nell. Talking with you like this makes me feel half-alive again.”

“It is nice,” she agreed.

Lost in their own thoughts, they sat quietly for several moments. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Quite the contrary. Finally he stood. “I’d better be going. You have to work tomorrow.”

Rising to her feet, she said, “And I have an early meeting before work.” She walked him to the front door where she paused and, still holding her mug, smiled up at him. “Thank you, Brady. I enjoyed the evening.”

“Enough for a repeat?” He wanted more of this comfort of home and companionship and easy affection.

In a nervous gesture, she smoothed the front of her dress. “Yes,” she said.

“Would tomorrow night be rushing it?”

“Not at all. In fact, that suits me since Abby will be gone until this weekend.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. Would Abby’s presence be an impediment to their future get-togethers? “How about renting a boat and taking a picnic with us? I’ll pick up something at the deli.”

“I haven’t done anything like that in a long time. It sounds like fun.”

Driving back to the motel, he reflected on his temporary sense of well-being. As he had thought on first acquaintance, Nell was an easy woman to be with. One able to honor silence. When she spoke, it was simply and directly. He liked that.

As for that ex-husband of hers, he’d clearly left her feeling diminished. Brady suspected she had no idea what a strong, resilient and lovely woman she was.

TOSSING HER BACKPACK into the overhead bin and taking the window seat, Abby glanced nervously at the passengers still boarding. Weekends were bad enough, but this past seven days with Dad and Clarice had been the pits! She hoped no one sat beside her. She didn’t need any well-meaning grown-up playing parent to her. She had enough of those in her life even if she didn’t always agree about the “well-meaning” part. Buckling her seat belt, she couldn’t avoid looking at the geeky puke-green T-shirt encrusted with a rhinestone palm tree that Clarice had bought for her and insisted she wear home. Never mind it sucked. It had been easier to go along with her than to argue.

A flight attendant checking seat belts walked up and down the aisle, stopping briefly to give Abby a warm smile and the offer of a magazine. She looked like a nice lady, a regular person. She’d prob’ly be a good mother, the kind who baked cookies and was a Girl Scout leader. Not like Clarice who had made Abby go with her to a ritzy country club for a golf lesson. Bor-ing. Not once did anybody ask her if she’d like to hit a golf ball. At least she might have been able to. Not like Clarice who whiffed more often than she connected. Learning the game didn’t seem to matter to her stepmother nearly as much as showing off her “adorable” new outfit.

On this visit Abby had actually had some time alone with her father, but that was for lunch at this fancy-schmancy restaurant where she could hardly eat for worrying about which fork to use or whether she’d spill on her dress. She could hardly remember when her father lived in Fayetteville and a big family outing was dinner at Applebee’s and a movie. Clarice wouldn’t be caught dead in Applebee’s.

It was weird how she and her dad didn’t have much to say to one another. He’d asked all the usual questions about school, the courses she’d be taking, her friends, at least the ones he could remember. Along the way he’d use these cutesie names on her— “Sweet Pea” and “Sugar Lump.” Stuff like that. She’d rather he called her “Spud.” That’s what Tonya’s father called her on account of how she would only eat mashed potatoes when she was a baby. “Spud” had meaning.

When the plane rolled back from the gate, Abby breathed a sigh of relief. No talkative stranger to ignore. Just her and the clouds. She would never admit how glad she’d be to get home and see her mother. She knew Mom worried about her. She really should try to be nicer—help more around the house, cut out the complaining and back-talk. But it was hard.

At least she’d escaped Dallas one more time before the ultimate embarrassment. It could happen any time now. Any place. That was the terrifying part. Tonya and Allie had already started their periods. Mom had given her the big talk when she was eleven and had shown her where the supplies were kept. Lately, like some inflatable doll, she’d felt her body shifting, bloating. She’d even imagined she had cramps.

Okay, so it was all normal, but it couldn’t happen in Dallas. Not with Clarice. And no way could she tell Dad. She’d die of embarrassment. Totally.

Please, God, let it be at home. With Mom.

A lump formed in her throat and her eyes stung. She wouldn’t cry. That was for babies.

All she wanted was to get back safely and hug her mother.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON after unpacking his bags, Brady surveyed his rented living room. The fusty Victorian look wouldn’t have been his choice of décor, but he couldn’t argue with furnished—not when all his belongings were in storage in California. There was a part of him that wondered what the hell he was doing settling for any length of time in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Although it was a decision that would make no sense to anyone he knew, it felt right.

Had he simply been ready to stop his running, or was Nell responsible? He liked her. A lot. But he could never again make someone else responsible for his happiness. He stumbled through each day trying to wrap his mind around the reality that he would never see Brooke or Nicole this side of the grave. So what was he really after?

A connection. In the here and now. Some relationship that would remind him he wasn’t alone. But what would that look like? And would it be fair to Nell? She deserved more. A lot more. Right now, though, he was giving all he could.

The evening of their boating excursion, he’d tried to keep things light. The sound of Nell’s gentle laughter echoing across the secluded cove they’d found for their picnic and her tales of the characters that frequented the library had made him smile. She told him about her graduate courses at the university and her enjoyment of refinishing furniture. However, she’d reserved most of her enthusiasm for her home, relating how she’d scrimped following the divorce to make the down payment and how she’d done much of the remodeling herself. He doubted any Silicon Valley multi-millionaire took more delight in his surroundings.

He slumped into the brown overstuffed chair smelling faintly of pipe tobacco and picked up the Sunday paper. If he was going to hang around, he needed to fill his time with something productive. Otherwise, Carl would be on his case about getting back to work. An idea had slowly been forming in his brain ever since he’d explored the I-540 corridor.

When he had finished with the business section, he began studying the real estate section. Logic told him he was several years too late, but he had the gut feeling there was still money to be made in this neck of the woods, still a need for venture capital.

And if there was one thing he had a surfeit of, it was money.

“I AM NOT wearing this stupid top,” Abby said Monday morning.

Nell looked up from the bagel she was smearing with cream cheese. Abby stood, feet planted, holding out the blouse Nell had ironed the night before as if it were an odious rag. “You asked me to iron it,” Nell said, struggling for calm.

“That was yesterday. I just talked with Tonya. Nobody’s wearing flowers.”

Nell knew how important it was to a junior-high-age girl to appear cool. “Suit yourself but hang that one back in your closet. Also, whatever you wear, I’d appreciate it if your navel was covered.”

“Mo-om!”

“You’re going to register at school. I doubt your teachers or the principal are keen on exposed body parts.”

“Clarice would let me,” Abby muttered as she left the room.

Great. Now, suddenly, Clarice was the patron saint of teeny-boppers. Nell knew her daughter was experiencing the mood swings endemic to adolescence, but that didn’t make living with her any easier. For a brief moment at the airport, Nell had deluded herself that Abby was glad to see her. She’d even hugged her and uttered the magic words, “I’m so glad to be home.”

But that was before Nell asked her to gather her dirty clothes for the wash and before the phone started ringing. Abby had been far more interested in hearing from her friends about all she’d missed during her week in Dallas than in performing any domestic duties. It was so hard to know when to cut her some slack and when to pull in the reins.

While Nell ate her bagel, Abby reappeared, picked up an uncooked Pop-Tart, took a bite, then asked for money. “After enrollment, a bunch of us are gonna eat lunch together.”

“And you’re promising me that your clothes will be washed by the time I get home?”

“Who cares about the clothes?”

“You do, unless you prefer going naked.”

“Okay, okay. You don’t need to get on my case.”

Oh, really? “Fine. Don’t forget to spot-treat the stains.”

Abby stood beside her now, one hand held out, palm up. “The money?”

Nell dug in her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Have a good time. I’ll be home around six.”

Then, as if the sun had mysteriously come out in the tiny kitchen, Abby smiled. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

Nell shook her head. There was no predicting her daughter. Up one minute, down the next. How had Stella ever managed with two daughters? More and more frequently these days she appreciated what she and Lily must have put their mother through.

Rinsing off her plate, Nell wondered what Abby would think about Brady. Would she make more of their friendship than was there? Well, that would be her problem. She and Brady were just friends. She enjoyed his company and planned to invite him to a home-cooked meal soon. Maybe as time went on, she’d introduce him to some of her friends. To Lily and her husband Evan. Even to her mother. After all, he knew no one in Fayetteville.

Mental telepathy was working as well as the phone service because just then her mother called. “Hi, Mom. I only have a minute. I’m on my way to my meeting and work.”

“I won’t take much of your time. I just wondered if you enjoyed the film?”

Suddenly the bagel became indigestible. “Film?”

“You know, the Brad Pitt movie. Janelle Davis saw you there.” Her mother paused to heighten the impact. “With a man.”

“I didn’t see her there.”

“Well, she certainly saw you.”