Forever Friday (22 page)

“I’m surprised this is where you wanted to meet,” I’d said to Yevette amid the driving pulse of drums and bass guitar.

“Why? I love a good steak.”

I sipped my beer. The dance floor was empty, but five p.m. was probably a little premature for the two-step bunch. “So … would you like to order?”

“Too early. But you can.”

“Not hungry.” I took another sip while the band segued into “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”

“I like the energy in here,” she said finally, then furrowed her brow. “We don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Uh … no. This is great. It’s just not Haley’s kind of place.” I shrugged. “We never came. No offense.”

“None taken.” She smiled. “Huck and Gabe loved coming here.”

“Here?”

“This building’s one of Houston’s oldest and has been several establishments over the decades. During Prohibition it was a speakeasy.” She paused. “Know what attracted Huck?”

“Pink champagne?”

“That and the fact it’s haunted.”

“You’re kidding?”

“A wealthy cattleman originally built this as a saloon in the late 1800s. Called it ‘Bull on the Bayou,’ or something similar.”

“How about ‘Cow on the Canal’?” I interjected, then chuckled.

Yevette’s lips turned up, but she continued without comment. “According to legend, a saloon girl entertained the cattleman upstairs in her room on a regular basis. His jealous wife walked in one night and blasted him with a buffalo rifle.”

“He didn’t survive?” I chugged what was left in my mug.

“Not physically.”

At that moment, fingernails slid across my back. I jumped.

Yevette laughed.

“Sorry, sir.” A blond cowgirl heaved a large jug onto the table. “There’s a slick spot on the floor and I almost lost my balance. We don’t make it a habit of scratching customers’ backs unless they’re big tippers.” She giggled and refilled our mugs. “Let me know when y’all are ready for another round.”

“Serves you right.” Yevette’s eyes changed from hazel to green.

“Are you saying that Huck believed in ghosts?”

“Mostly in the ‘spirit’ of fun.” Now Yevette chuckled. “But I think Huck was disappointed she never saw one here.”

“What about Gabe?”

“Huck never said. I do know he believed in her wild imagination.”

“And Mister Jack? Did Gabe think he was imaginary?”

Yevette dug a shiny coin out of her purse. “We’ll talk more about Mister Jack in a minute. First I want you to see this.” She slid it across the table.

“Looks foreign.” I read the date. “1891. Old and foreign.”

“Read the name.”

“Alfonso the Thirteenth. Wasn’t he King of Spain?”

“How did you know that?”

I smiled. “Estate-sale professionals naturally become history buffs. We have no choice.”

“Makes sense. Now read the inscription.”

“
Por La G. De Dios
. For The Glory Of God?”

“Exactly.” Yevette’s eyes grew round with excitement.

“Why did Spain abbreviate the word
glory
?”

“Not enough room for the entire phrase I guess, but that’s not important. What matters is what happened when Huck found it.”

“Tell me,” I said, feeling better than I’d felt since Haley left. Yevette was really opening up. If we talked long enough, I might even get brave and ask her to dance.

After draining her mug, Yevette folded her hands and leaned across the table in my direction. “The day Huck found this coin, she and Gabe almost died.”

“Really? How?”

“They nearly drowned.” Yevette paused, as if pondering what to say next.

“And? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“I’ll get to that part of their story because it deals with Mister Jack, but you should know what happened that next month in 2004 after Huck called 911.”

“Okay. But don’t forget the drowning story.”

“I said they
nearly
drowned.” Yevette sighed, sat back, and continued. “As you remember, Huck was almost bedfast in her room at Bayshore Extended Care and …”

I raised my eyebrows.

Yevette took a deep breath. “She told me that Gabe came to see her on three separate occasions.”

“You can’t be serious. He’d been dead for what … eighteen years?”

“She swears he was there.”

I scratched my head, incredulous. “Huck was obviously hallucinating.”

“Perhaps. Unless like the Alexanders, you’re a person who believes that the power of love is not limited to time and space.”

“No disrespect, but I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was ten … if you catch my meaning.”

“Caught.”

“So then what happened? I’m anxious to hear the near-drowning part.”

Over the next hour, Yevette revealed everything Huck had remembered about Gabe’s visits to Bayshore, their wedding day, porch swing honeymoon, first home,
Cleopatra
, and finally … narrow escape from death.

I stared into my empty mug. The tale had been so intriguing, I’d forgotten about asking her to dance. And just as she did in our previous meeting at Starbucks, Yevette ended the story once again with Mister
Jack. Last time it was his life-saving howl. This time, his underwater heroics.

“Common sense tells me that Gabe grabbed the knife and freed them from the tangled fishing line,” I said, “especially since he’d mastered holding his breath. The stress of being so close to death caused him not to remember.”

“That’s exactly what Huck thought, until she read the coin’s inscription. To her, the phrase
For The Glory Of God
was a divine message, proving Mister Jack had intervened.”

“Did Gabe agree?”

“In a way. His thoughts about death are included in the final postcard.”

“They are? I don’t remember reading—”

“You don’t have it.” Yevette stood. “It was never part of the collection.”

“Why not?”

She smiled. “That postcard belongs to me. I’ll tell you all about it at our next meeting.”

“Okay,” I managed, suddenly growing weary of her cat and mouse routine. “Where? When?”

Yevette tossed a twenty on the table. “I’ll let you know.”

A lightning flash returned my thoughts to the dreary study. I’d had a sneaking suspicion Yevette was hiding something significant.

Now I knew. Gabe’s final card.

At times, I felt as though we were playing a form of Texas hold’em: all my money on the table and Yevette with the winning ace. Unless she
was bluffing, why make me wait to see her hand? Furthermore, I didn’t understand why she considered the last postcard hers when she didn’t the others.

Since our meeting at The Braided Rein, I’d written every detail Yevette recounted. Haley and I were amiable but never friends, much less “best” friends. And facing problems head-on just wasn’t our way, not that we ever discussed “our way” about anything. Politely ignoring the uncomfortable was … comfortable. Now I realized our marriage was like an unopened bottle of soda pop, shaken periodically, ready to explode. If only we’d been wise enough to release the pressure a little at a time.

On the one hand, it had been depressing to write about the Alexanders’ relationship, a connection uncommon in today’s cynical age. On the other—and I hated to even use this word—the “magic” they shared was what I so desperately desired. Angels aside, the disturbing thing was this: their happiness seemed to have been linked by body
and
soul, a depth of spirituality most couples never even consider, much less understand. Huck and Gabe recognized a higher power greater than themselves, and this belief system anchored them.

Most painful was King Alfonso. For Huck, the coin was a sign of divine protection. But for me, it signified the threefold wealth of their union: Total trust. An unbreakable bond. Completeness. It hurt, but I was beginning to contrast the strengths of their marriage against the weaknesses of my own.

Haley and I never took the time nor trouble to find a “coin.” Consequently, what trust we had soon evaporated, leaving completeness wounded at the matrimonial starting gate. For the most part, neither of us was unfaithful as such, but as I’d already reasoned, we each had a
scandalous love affair with our own selfishness. And under the twelve-year strain of making “me” happy, our link weakened until it finally broke.

Not long ago, I’d asked myself whether soul mates evolved into lovers or lovers evolved into soul mates. An answer I considered was that the trail we took to reach the top of the mountain mattered not, as long as we arrived. But now I’m thinking that the
journey
itself was key. Romance wasn’t what saved Huck and Gabe from The Long Division. In fact, romance was simply an external result of the willingness each of them had to continually choose each other over their own selfishness.

Two hearts commanding devotion
.

So my new question was this: Since I’d lost my way on the first journey, was it still possible for me to travel to the summit with someone new? Or was I destined to travel the lowland’s lonely path, haunted by a single set of footprints …

My own.

August 1931

Houston, Texas

Saturday morning dawned bright and full of promise. Huck sat on the love seat sipping her second cup of Admiration. The phone in Gabe’s study had rung, so he’d gone to answer it. They’d planned a delightful day of selecting bulbs at the nursery for their fall flowers. She’d joined Houston’s elite garden club and was thrilled at what she’d learned.

Gabe returned to the love seat and lit a cigarette.

“Who’s brave enough to disturb our morning?” Huck said, then laughed.

“Chuck Browning.”

“Your boss?”

“Honey. I hate to ruin our day, but I’ve got to travel to Kilgore this afternoon.”

“Kilgore? Why?”

“Our accountant there was involved in some kind of trouble, so they had to pull him.”

“Trouble? What exactly?”

“Chuck didn’t say. He told me to tell you he’s sorry for the short notice.”

“He needn’t be. It’s your duty to go.”

“Well, I’ll … You’re a wife who never ceases to amaze. Most might balk because of all the rough and seedy characters. Money really is the root of all evil, especially in a boom town.”

“Oh, but Gabe, Kilgore was the hot topic in the teachers’ lounge all of last year. It’s so scandalous. So daring.” Huck smiled. “Kilgore. For how long?”

“Five days, maybe longer. Gulf has purchased a few independent wells and needs me to finish the books. I don’t want to scare you, but Chuck suggested I carry a gun.”

“To fight off prostitutes?” Huck laughed.

Gabe frowned. “Last night’s
Chronicle
said the Texas Rangers have sent in El Lobo Solo.”

“Who?”

“The Lone Wolf. His real name is Manuel Gonzaullas, a Ranger every outlaw better think twice about messing with. He’s vowed to shut down the gambling houses, dope rings, and bootleggers.”

“Can he do it?” Huck snuggled close.

“Of course. He’s enacted martial law. Lone Wolf also believes that God has called him into crime fighting and will protect him.” Gabe stared at his cigarette’s growing ash. “He takes Bibles, underlines the passages about sinning and forgiveness, then hands them out to criminals.”

“Sounds like something Mother would do.”

“Except your mother hasn’t mounted a machine gun on the passenger side of her car.”

“Only because she doesn’t own a car.” Huck laughed, then stood. “I’d better start packing.”

“Packing?”

“Unless you want Lone Wolf arresting us for indecent exposure.”

Gabe ground his cigarette in a glass ashtray. “Honey. You’re not going. It’s much too dangerous.”

“Don’t be silly. I still have a month of summer vacation. Any woman who can handle junior high students nine months a year can certainly deal with roughnecks and drillers for a few days.”

“I’m not talking about the law-abiding work force. There’ve been gunfights in the streets. And besides outlaws, there are hundreds of greedy, no-good drifters who’d love to steal the company of a beautiful woman. When a town’s population explodes overnight from a few residents to over ten thousand, it’s not filled with Sunday school teachers.”