Leave Yesterday Behind Read online

  Though she wanted to leave New York immediately, it took a few months of intense physical therapy before she felt strong enough to make the trip. She didn’t want to arrive at Aunt C’s as an invalid. She wanted to be able to walk out the back door down to the lake and stroll peacefully, feeding the ducks. Not like a stiff Frankenstein, a patient that needed to be coddled and cajoled.

  She was better now. Not a hundred percent by a long shot but definitely on the road to recovery. She needed the open spaces that Noble Oaks would provide both inside and out. Claustrophobia crept upon her like a cat silently stalking a mouse. It seized her at moments that brought sheer terror. Her apartment, while spacious by city standards, seemed to grow smaller and smaller, as if she were a caged bird who yearned to spread her wings. She needed room—and lots of it—if she were going to heal. Mentally, that is.

  Callie spotted the mileage sign and pointed it out to Gretchen. “Look—Aurora’s just a few minutes down the road.”

  “I can’t believe we’re almost to Hicksville. Driving to the moon would’ve been faster, Callie Chennault. If I colored my hair, I’d have needed to use two more boxes by now.”

  “You’re the one that wanted us to drive,” she noted. “See the U.S., eat at local diners, and keep Wolf from being crated on the plane ride down. Sound familiar?”

  Gretchen groaned. “So I might’ve made a mistake. After all, the most I’ve ever seen is upstate New York and the Jersey shore. I thought a road trip would be a ton of fun.”

  She glanced over at Callie. “You have to admit the food has been pretty amazing. It’s just taken. For. Ever.”

  Callie shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted us to take our time. Not put too big a strain on me.”

  The redhead snorted. “That’s before you took over the CD changer. Before I knew you had this obsession with Frank Sinatra and Glenn Miller. How does a twenty-first century woman even know about these guys? And chicks like . . . like . . .”

  “Billie Holiday?”

  “That’s the one. Boy, she has a set of pipes on her, but it’s so depressing listening to her sad songs.”

  “Well, I like her. And once we get settled, I’ll drag you into New Orleans. We’ll hear some real blues, live and in person. Preferably with a couple of hurricanes in hand.”

  Gretchen gave her a sideways glance. “So how far is civilization?”

  Callie laughed. “Aurora is civilized. It’s up to about thirteen thousand now. It’s got a diner and a bakery with a few tables and chairs. You can sit and schmooze with the locals in the morning while you drink your coffee.”

  “No Starbucks. No bookstore. No frank and soda carts. No nightlife. I may go out of my mind, Callie. You’ll be putting me on a plane to New York this time tomorrow.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “You’ll love it. Aurora’s got a rhythm all its own, and New Orleans is only about a half-hour away. We’ll make plenty of time to go into town and shop. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat some more. Drink a little.”

  “Pick up men?” Gretchen asked hopefully. “I think it’s time I got back into circulation.”

  Callie sniffed. “Wolf is about all the man I want in my life right now.”

  At his name, the dog stuck his head over the seat. She swore he smiled as both women automatically rubbed on him, one scratching between his ears while the other patted his massive chest.

  “I plan on getting you into tip-top shape, Miss Chennault,” Gretchen threatened. “Then we’ll go bar hopping in the Big Easy in sparkly spandex and stilettos.”

  “I didn’t pack anything remotely like that.”

  “Well, you brought everything except your bathroom sink. The kitchen one did make the trip, I think,” Gretchen quipped. “You need to compliment me again on my wonderful driving with that little trailer fishtailing behind us all the way from lower Manhattan.”

  Callie laughed. “You’ve done an excellent job, Nurse Ratched.”

  Her friend cranked up the air conditioning another notch. “Why is it so steaming hot here?”

  “Because we’re arriving in mid-August. I’ll admit, not the best time of year. But you’ll really like it, Gretchen. I promise. And you know I wouldn’t have come home without you.”

  It was true. She and Gretchen formed a firm friendship over the last few months. The nurse accompanied her to every doctor’s appointment. She’d rallied Callie’s spirits when they were down, giving her both a mental and physical boost. She even sat in on every meeting connected with the show, including the nightmare of talking with the producer and writers regarding her future on Sumner Falls.

  In the end, though, Gretchen helped Callie stand up and get the leave of absence from the network she so richly needed. The attack left her frazzled. Unable to focus—much less learn pages and pages of complicated dialogue. Gretchen laid it on the line to everyone involved. Callie needed rest. Callie needed absolutely no worries. If she wanted to come back to Sumner Falls, she needed to know that opportunity was available. If she didn’t, Gretchen pointed out the many years Callie had put in, making the show number one in the ratings.

  Gretchen wound up negotiating a deal that even amazed Harry, Callie’s agent.

  And it gave her the freedom to go home. No one there expected Jessica. She could simply be Callie Chennault, private citizen. She couldn’t wait to get there.

  She sighed. “I am so ready for us to sink our teeth into some jambalaya and Mississippi Mud and—”

  “Whoa! Stop right there.” Gretchen wrinkled her nose. “What’s this mud stuff you’re pushing? I didn’t even try mud pies when I played in my sandbox.”

  “It’s absolutely the most heavenly chocolate mess you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

  Gretchen smiled. “Okay. Chocolate? I’m on board with that.” She ran a hand through her hair. “This humidity, though, leaves much to be desired.”

  She took in Gretchen’s hair. The usual, loose curls had gone haywire in Louisiana’s humidity. “It gives you a wild, sexy look.” She playfully ruffled Gretchen’s hair.

  “As long as the men here think I’m hot. Hell, everyone’ll be hot down here. What am I babbling about?”

  “Gretchen, once the guys get a look at you in those shorts, they will fall at your feet.”

  Her friend grinned. “I do have pretty good legs.”

  Callie glanced down at her own legs in khaki capris. Several scars ran from her right hip down the side of her thigh. She hadn’t been brave enough to put on a pair of shorts all summer. Not even in the privacy of her apartment. She didn’t think she’d be slipping into cutoffs—or a bikini—anytime soon.

  “Okay. You need to slow down.”

  “Not another little blip on the map,” complained Gretchen. “Every five minutes it’s go from sixty to thirty in the blink of an eye or get a ticket.”

  “Well, this time it’s Aurora. And Essie promised me she’d have shrimp gumbo and hot French bread and something sinfully sweet waiting for us. I don’t want anything like getting a ticket to slow us down.”

  “Thank God for small favors.” Gretchen slowed the vehicle as they entered the town’s limits.

  Callie’s eyes grew unexpectedly moist. She’d visited Aurora a few times over the years during breaks from the show, but this time she treasured the fact that she had this place to go to. Maybe she was running away, leaving all kinds of problems in the city, but she yearned to smell the magnolias and hear the cicadas. Feel the sultry breeze coming off the lake.

  “We’re coming up on the square.” Her excitement grew. Despite the air conditioning blowing on high, the sun’s heat permeated the car. She spotted the center of town, a mixture of old buildings blending with the new. Barrels of flowers in a rainbow of colors dotted the sidewalks in front of stores.

  “There’s Robineaux’s Grocery and The Sweet
Shoppe. Best ice cream this side of the Mississippi. And look at all of the antique stores that have sprung up. I can’t wait to check all this out.”

  A siren suddenly sounded behind them.

  “Great. Welcome to the sticks,” Gretchen mumbled. She pulled over in front of The Feed Bag.

  “Relax, you weren’t doing anything wrong. And if you were,” Callie advised, “flirt. It’s the national pastime down here. You can get away with all sorts of stuff if you perfect the art of flirting.”

  “Gotcha.” Gretchen rolled down the automatic windows and turned off the engine. She moistened her lips and turned to greet the policeman who approached.

  He leaned down, mirrored shades covering his eyes, his firm jaw set, a frown on his face.

  Gretchen immediately winced. Callie knew she would go into New York overdrive.

  Which she did.

  “I am sorry, Officer, well, I guess not really sorry, because I don’t think I was doing a single thing wrong. I have gone the limit or at least mostly the speed limit from New York City to here. Now is that about a thousand miles of law-abiding driving or what? I have not hit any stray cows. I haven’t run a single stop sign. And I surely never—”

  The uniformed man broke out into a smile. “I’m sure y’all’re doing everything y’all need to. I just wanted to say hey to Callie.” He glanced over and removed his sunglasses.

  Callie grinned. “Well, hey, Eric. I hear you’re the new sheriff these days.”

  He nodded. “Good news travels fast—and bad even faster.” He rested his arm on the SUV. “Miz Callandra told me you’d be coming in about now. I’ve been watching for the past hour. I told her if y’all needed an escort home, I’d be happy to provide it.”

  “Only if you use the siren, hon. My friend Gretchen here’s from New York proper. It’ll take at least that much to impress her.”

  She watched Gretchen’s lashes flutter. She took in Eric studying the nurse in a way that caused Gretchen to blush.

  “Well, ma’am, I have all kinds of ways to impress the ladies. The siren is the least of them.” He smiled lazily at her.

  Gretchen licked her lips again. “I’ll bet you do, Mr. Chief of Police.”

  “Say, are you going to be hanging around with Callie for a while?”

  Callie shifted in her seat. “Gretchen is not only my friend, Eric. She’s my nurse. I’m still doing a little physical therapy. After . . . you know.”

  He turned his attention back to her. His brow creased. “Everyone knows what happened to you, sweetheart. Those damned tabloids had a field day with it. But I promise—as a friend and a lawman—nothing remotely funny’s going to happen to you again. You’re home now, girl. You’re safe.”

  He slid his sunglasses back into place. “Come on, now. Let’s get you home before Miz C’s calling me up again.” He sighed. “As it is, we’ve been chatting about two minutes. I’m sure she’s already taken her third call telling her you’ve hit the square and will be home in less than five.”

  Eric walked back to his squad car and pulled up alongside them. “Follow me, ma’am,” he told Gretchen as he fired up the lights. “It’s just a couple of minutes down the road.”

  Gretchen started the car up. “My. Oh, my. Do they grow all of them down here that delicious?” She glanced at Callie. “Did you see the biceps on that man? And that massive chest? And that swagger? God, I love a man in uniform who can swagger.”

  “Just drive,” Callie said, with an eye roll. “I’ll let you be the judge of the current male crop. Once it gets out that I brought home a drop-dead gorgeous, petite little redhead, half the parish will be paying us a visit.”

  Gretchen smiled mischievously. “I think Aurora is showing real promise.”

  Chapter 8

  Nick ejected the CD, tired of the pounding rock music. He was close to home and wanted to savor his return after a long week in New York. Minna insisted he come up this time to discuss edits for his finished novel and ideas for his upcoming story. As an agent, she was part protective mama bear and part bear in pursuit of dinner. He enjoyed spending time with her, so he was happy to comply. While he was there, his publishing house gave a party kicking off his third book’s release, already shipped as a best seller. Without him in attendance, as usual. He didn’t want anyone knowing who he was, and he had no interest schmoozing with the literary crowd.

  Funny, in his playing days—and especially his hard partying days—New York seemed like the center of the universe. The best restaurants. The best women. The best clubs. The best coke—next to L.A., of course. He’d cut his teeth on the L.A. party circuit, the golden boy Dodger and Cy Young winner in only his second season with the club. Doors opened magically to brooding, successful athletes. Access to anyone, anywhere, anytime became the norm.

  Until his mother straightened him out. Nick still felt a rush of gratitude every time he saw his mom, knowing she’d been the one person in the world who’d gotten through to him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was wasting his God-given talent on booze and bitches. He’d pulled his act together and concentrated on his pitching, stopping cold turkey with the recreational drugs.

  It had been a turning point for him, one of several in the last decade. And with a failed marriage behind him, he thanked his lucky stars that he had a place like Aurora to come home to.

  Now if he could only make it home in time for dinner. He’d called Miz Callandra to let her know he’d be arriving home tonight. She worried about him almost as much as she did that soap star niece of hers, the one too good to make it home the last couple of years for any kind of holiday. Nick had been living in the guest cottage on the Noble Oaks estate for two and a half years now, and Callandra’s famous relative had yet to make an appearance.

  Not that Miz C pined away for the girl. With Nick to boss around and half the town beating a path to her door every day for advice, gossip, and some of Essie’s double fudge brownies and mint iced tea, the grande dame found plenty to keep her busy. She’d been sick, too, back in the spring. A terrible flu that turned into pneumonia overnight. He’d rushed her to the hospital, thinking the worst but hoping for the best. He’d been ready to call that flighty actress to hightail it home when Essie got the word of the stalker’s attack.

  Nick decided to keep the knowledge from Callandra at the time. He didn’t know if she was strong enough to learn about it and try to hang onto life herself. Only after the doctor discharged her from the hospital and she was ensconced in her own bed did he reveal what little they knew about the incident.

  Since then, Callie was never far from Callandra’s thoughts and her conversations. He grew sick of hearing about her wonderful great-niece and all she’d accomplished. When Callandra went off on one of her Callie tangents, he simply retreated into plotting mode, moving his characters around in his head as he wove together his next book. He could smile, nod occasionally, and ‘um-hmm’ a few times, and Miz C was happy as a clam.

  Until he’d been scheduled to go to New York. He finished his last manuscript back in the spring, but he’d stuck with his usual pattern of putting it away for a couple of months before he took it out of a drawer and began re-reading it for pacing, flaws, and whatever else might crop up on a fresh, objective read. He played around with it, punching up the dialogue, and repairing plot holes, polishing it to perfection. He completed it last week and figured he might as well hand-deliver it to his publisher before the launch party for his latest hardcover.

  While he was in New York, Callandra wanted him to drop in on Callie and check up on what she deemed her precious angel. Nick said he would if time allowed, but he hadn’t bothered to call, much less run by her place. Callandra would be royally pissed at him. He didn’t care. They bickered like an old married couple, despite the fact they weren’t married and almost fifty years stood between them.

&n
bsp; Still, Callandra was good to him. He should’ve made the effort to at least touch base with Callie instead of haunting his favorite bookstores and small jazz clubs. Great, a case of the guilts already in full swing, and this was before he’d seen Callandra and had her harp on him some. At least he hadn’t made any excuses to her. She’d been out when he called from La Guardia. Essie said she would relay the message and that Nick better get himself there in time for dinner. She had made chocolate pralines for dessert, and his flight better not be delayed. Essie wouldn’t guarantee there’d be any left for him otherwise.

  He turned off the main highway and soon was pulling through the center of town. He waved at his cousin Pam, the high school speech and drama teacher, and at Wally Windell, one of Aurora’s patrolmen walking on foot along the square. Despite the heat, he cut the air and rolled down his windows for those last few blocks. He breathed in the heavy scent of magnolia and knew he was almost home.

  He pulled into the drive at Noble Oaks, surprised to see a squad car there. Parked behind it sat an SUV with a small trailer attached. His cousin Eric stood on the porch with suitcases in both hands. Two women and one very large dog made their way up the porch steps. All three peered over their shoulders as his convertible turned in and he cut the engine.

  “Mr. Celebrity!” Eric placed a suitcase next to him and waved. “Glad you made it. Must’ve smelled Essie’s gumbo from the airport.”

  The dog came bounding down the steps straight for Nick as he got out of the car. He could’ve sworn the animal wore a large, slobbery smile.