Leave Yesterday Behind (12 page)

Chapter 17

Callie viewed the group gathered around the picnic table. She had enjoyed the leisurely meal and the company. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so relaxed and unguarded. Laughing as she listened to Eric’s story about a couple of teenagers who’d taken a prank to embarrassing levels and how he’d called their fathers rather than book them for being in the town square’s public fountain without any attire.

“I seem to recall a streaking incident in yours and Elvis’s past,” Tom said. “Your parents would’ve sooner killed you than come get you, I’d imagine.”

“All the more reason to show a little compassion, Thomas,” Eric said. He grinned. “Hell, Mama’s still bent out of shape about us getting suspended for spiking the tutti-frutti punch at the junior-senior prom. Best we not divulge anything about running around buck nekkid at the Sunday school’s Fourth of July social.”

Pam shook her head. “I still can’t believe Mama didn’t recognize either of you.”

Eric laughed. “Never can say enough for a good Halloween mask and a fast pair of Nikes.”

“And to think you and Elvis are now considered upstanding, model citizens. Boy, this town is fooled by charm, I’ll tell you,” Nick added.

Pam stood. “The sun’s about to go down. Let’s clear away these dishes, girls. The guys can scrub the grill and gather up trash. And Tom, be sure to light the citronellas before the mosquitoes declare open season on us and try to eat us alive.” She started picking up empty cans. “Anyone need another beer or Coke? Tea? We’ve still got dessert coming.”

A collective groan echoed around the table.

Callie began to gather silverware off the paper plates. She reached across the table, where her fingers brushed against Nick’s as he handed his fork and knife over. She dropped what she had in her hands.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just trying to help.” He eyed her steadily, and she knew the telltale blush racing up her neck and across her cheeks gave away that she wasn’t as calm and collected as she let on.

“No, just me being clumsy. It’s a good thing I got an acting gig pretty soon after arriving in New York because I never would’ve made a living waiting tables.”

Actually, she’d been thrown for a loop. When they shook hands earlier, her hand in his had seemed like a warm, fuzzy fit. Yet now the contact between them was the stuff she’d read about in books—sudden, instantaneous lightning that rocked her world. She decided it was time to leave.

But not with Nick.

She peered at Gretchen, who had gathered up the empty bowls of beans and slaw as she flirted with Eric. She couldn’t ask Eric to run her home now. Not when Gretchen appeared so happy.

“We can leave right after dessert,” Nick said, his voice low enough so that no one could hear. “Just don’t deny my sweet tooth.” He crossed his heart. “I promise—three bites and we’re outta here.”

“No, I’m fine,” she said quickly. She reached to pick up the scattered silverware.

“Are you sure?”

Her eyes met his. The stormy blue had warmed somewhat. They were now the cool blue of a summer pond in the fading light.

“Sure, I’m sure. Uh, I need to help now.” She threw the cutlery into the empty potato salad bowl and scooped it up. She hurried across the lawn and up the steps of the back porch and entered the kitchen.

“Just set it in the sink,” Pam instructed. “Run a little water in it to soak. The dishes can wait.” Pam hugged her. “It’s so good to have you back. Let’s get dessert out there before the guys come looking for it.”

Pam handed Callie a stack of colorful plastic bowls and spoons and a tub of Cool Whip. “Take those out for me. I’ll bring the cobbler and then the ice cream. I’m sure Eric will be the only one who thinks he needs the Cool Whip.”

They brought the items out to the picnic table, and Pam removed the foil from the oblong glass dish.

“Do I smell peach cobbler?” Tom slipped his arms around his wife’s waist as he leaned over her shoulder to inhale the aroma wafting up. “My dear, you are a keeper.” He kissed her neck and growled.

Eric looked around expectantly. “Any Blue Bell? I can’t have hot cobbler without it.”

“It’s in the kitchen,” Callie said. “I’ll get it.” She walked back inside, a part of her heart aching for her friends. Pam and Tom were so good together, and they had wanted kids as long as they’d been married, close to ten years now. She was grateful they still seemed as much in love as ever, despite their infertility troubles.

She brought the ice cream and scoop to the table. Nick opened the carton and faced Gretchen.

He pointed the utensil at her for emphasis. “This is one of the best things you’ll ever put in your mouth, Yankee Girl. Bluebell Homemade Vanilla, from the little creamery in Brenham, Texas. Not far from where I grew up.” He eyed the ice cream appreciatively. “I used to dream about this when I lived in L.A. I would’ve traded a good half-dozen strikeouts for a bowl of Blue Bell on any given day.”

As Pam dished out the cobbler, Nick plopped scoops of ice cream on top of it. Only Eric dumped the whipped topping over both of those. Callie was glad Nick was making an effort to be nice to Gretchen, especially after his earlier comment on her fickleness. It was obvious to all present, though, that she and Eric already had strong feelings toward one another. Maybe Nick believed that it would only be right to welcome Gretchen into his cousin’s life for the time she would be in Aurora instead of causing trouble.

Callie stared at the full bowl Nick placed in front of her, and her eyes widened. “I don’t know how I’m going to eat all of this,” she proclaimed.

“I’m a little full myself after two burgers and all the sides,” he admitted. “Mind if we share?”

“Okay.” She hoped her voice didn’t betray her reluctance. Sharing food seemed intimate to her.

“Here, trade with me, Nick,” Pam insisted. “It’ll be easier than you leaning across the table.”

The two swapped seats, and Callie found Nick right next to her. His aroma invaded her space.

He reached to hold the bowl. “I’ll keep it anchored for us.” He handed her a spoon and then dipped his own into the gooey mess.

Callie followed his lead. Yet it was hard for her to concentrate on eating when she tingled from head to toe. Her forearm brushed his each time she dipped her spoon in, causing an instant mass production of butterflies to bounce around on the walls of her insides.

“Enough for me,” she finally proclaimed, too weary of not tasting a single bite of one of her favorite dishes.

“Fine by me.” Nick continued to hold the bowl steady in front of her instead of bringing it to his center. This caused him to lean into her each time he dipped into the dessert. Their hips seemed joined, as did their thighs, on the crowded bench.

Callie took a deep, steadying breath and folded her hands in her lap, forcing herself not to wring them, one of her new nervous bad habits. She closed her eyes. She could get through this. She had to.

“Are you tired?” Gretchen asked.

She opened her eyes. “A little.” Though it was due more to a relentlessly fast beating of her heart and Nick’s nearness wearing her out than anything she’d done to exert herself.

“Eric, we need to take Callie home. Do you mind?”

“No, don’t do that,” Nick chimed in quickly. “I didn’t hit my page quota today. As it is, I was going to have to leave early to burn up my keyboard till the wee hours. I can take Callie home with me now. No sense busting up your fun. Or Eric’s second helping of his layered cobbler extravaganza.”

Nick stood and stepped over the bench. His hand cupped Callie’s elbow and helped her to rise. It felt as if his fingers singed her skin.

“Don’t get up at your usual crack of dawn, Cal,” Gretchen chided. “For once, sleep in. I don’t want you overdoing things. Today was a busy day for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She turned to Pam and Tom, who had also risen. “It was great to see you both. Thanks for having me. I’ll stop by tomorrow for a few minutes and pick up Essie’s bowl.”

“Thank Essie for everyone,” Tom said. “There are days I pine for anything Essie’s made.” He smiled. “It’s good to have you back home, Cal.”

“Thanks.”

They all murmured their good nights. Nick escorted her to his car. He still had his hand on her elbow, guiding her along.

As they got out of earshot, she testily said, “I’m not an old woman. I can walk to the car on my own.”

Nick let go instantly. “Sorry,” he said sharply. Still, good manners prevailed as he opened her door and closed it once she swung her legs in. She regretted her peevish tone.

As he slipped in the driver’s seat, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I’ve always been someone who did for herself. It’s been hard these last few months, being helpless and having to be waited upon. I didn’t mean to be petty or rude. You were being a gentleman. I wasn’t reciprocating as a lady should.”

He didn’t look at her. “Okay. I understand.”

He started the car, and the air conditioning came on full blast. She shivered.

“Too cold?”

“A little.”

He glanced over at her. “Would you like the top down instead?”

She smiled. “I’d love that.”

Nick hit a button and the convertible’s top rose, then folded back into the rear. He turned off the air conditioning and rolled the windows down.

“I like it down myself, but a lot of women don’t want the wind to mess up their hair.”

She stroked her ponytail. “Mine’s pulled back. And actually, I enjoy the breeze running through my hair when it’s down.”

He backed out of the driveway and pulled onto the tree-lined street. They’d only traveled two blocks when they spotted the barricades.

“Looks like a summer block party. We can go around. I know a back way.”

He turned right, and they went the long way, around the city park. Callie noted the lights were on. “Looks like softball’s being played tonight.”

“Yeah. Friday night church league.”

She caught a note of wistfulness in his voice. “Do you miss playing?”

Nick didn’t answer. At first, she thought he hadn’t heard her. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“I miss it every day,” he admitted. “I didn’t when I quit. I’d gotten tired of team politics. Guys complaining about injuries. Guys doping up so they could play hurt.”

He turned left, driving away from the park and more toward the heart of town.

“In broadcasting, part of me would be second-guessing what pitch would be thrown next—what pitch should be thrown next—while at the same time I was trying to be Cary Grant smooth and analytical. That grew tiresome.”

He sighed. “I didn’t really miss it till I came back here. That’s when it finally hit me that I’d never play again.” He grew quiet for a moment. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t pine away, thinking I’m not a man anymore because I’m not swinging a bat on a regular basis. But every now and then, I drift over to watch the summer leagues or even the high school games. It’s there I feel it again—the excitement, the camaraderie, the ballet-like beauty.

That’s when I miss it most.”

He made the turn around the town square and gradually increased his speed as they headed back to Noble Oaks.

“So do you miss acting yet? Being Jessica?”

Callie eyed him speculatively. “You know my character’s name? I thought you didn’t watch soaps.”

Nick shrugged. “Just something I picked up. Cultural icon and all that you are. You’re pretty famous.”

“You didn’t seem to know anything about my career before. Did you look up
Sumner Falls
on Wikipedia?” she teased. “Or pick up one of the many soap digests at Robineaux’s Grocery Store?”

“Maybe I heard it from Miz C. She brags on you all the time to anyone who’ll listen.”

She thought about his words. “I’ll bet you didn’t listen much before. Why?”

He eased into the long drive at Noble Oaks and pulled past the house till they reached his cottage. He shut off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt, turning to face her.

“I thought you were a selfish bitch who pretty much ignored a remarkable old lady,” he said bluntly. “She’s so proud of you. I’d been here a couple of years, and you’d never come down for a visit. I grew close to her, and I knew she was hurting.”

Callie winced. It had been too long since she’d come home. But she talked to Aunt C all the time, practically every day by phone. And the show drained her. Between it and her volunteer work, she didn’t have a moment to call her own. But in her heart, she knew she could’ve made the time to come back to Aurora.

She stared at Nick and admitted, “You’re right. I don’t have any excuse. I never realized it, but I was being selfish.”

“I don’t think you are. Now that I’ve met you. You have a lot on your plate. You’re like your team’s MVP. Your show and its ratings revolve around you. It’s like you’re the starting pitcher every day. And you’ve got just enough Southern in you that you probably feel responsible for the welfare of everyone on the show, from the actors to stagehands to the janitor.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it,” she whispered. “Soaps are in big trouble across the board. Ratings are down. Networks have canceled shows that have been on the air thirty, forty years. I’ve wanted to quit for a while now, even before the . . . the accident. I was afraid to, though. So many people depend upon me. Renewing my contract could make the difference for
Sumner
Falls remaining on the air. How can I even think of taking a chance and jeopardizing the show’s future with so many people’s futures at stake?”

She turned away and brushed at the tears that spilled down her cheeks. “I feel selfish for wanting to quit, but I got my wish. I’m not doing the show now. I’m on a year’s leave of absence. The show’s tanking in the ratings. I feel guilty every morning I wake up, and yet I still don’t want to go back to playing Jessica again. The thought turns my stomach.”

She turned back and faced him. “I want to do other things. I’m bored. I’m tired of being Jessica. I wish I’d never heard of her, even if she has been my bread and butter for ten years. I want to try new projects. Theater again. Maybe films someday. I want more than the life I have, Nick.”