My Name is Nell. Laura Abbot
A sanctuary
“That’s what you’ve created here, and I will be forever grateful. I have been so alone. Unable to see direction for my life. Not sure if there even is one… When you’ve loved and lost, you wonder who you are. Whether you can go on. Or even want to.”
Brady pondered whether he should continue reading the journal. The words were too emotionally raw. Some other person had come here full of the same thoughts and feelings he had. Unable to help himself, he turned back to the page.
“Regardless of how desolate I feel right now, I have to believe that somewhere out there is someone for me. Someone I can trust. Someone I can love.”
Brady stared for the longest time at the signature. Simple. Bare. Exposed. “Nell.”
Nell, whoever she was, was more optimistic than he was. God, he hated his blatant, whining self-pity. If Nell had been willing to look for something, why couldn’t he?
Absently he realized he was still holding the guest book, his forefinger marking Nell’s page. He reread the entry and a crazy idea entered his head. But no crazier than what he’d been doing.
Tomorrow, after he checked out, he would drive to Fayetteville to find Nell.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever experienced a time when all around you others seemed happy, productive and blessed, while you felt burdened by failure, disappointment or loss?
Recently my husband and I had a delightful getaway to a wonderfully hospitable B and B in Jessieville, Arkansas. In each room was a small journal in which previous occupants had recorded impressions of their stay, describing such benefits as reduced stress, renewal of relationships, a redirection of goals—and, of course, special romantic times.
I couldn’t help myself. My writer’s imagination kicked in. What if (the question with which every story idea begins) someone in the depths of despair were to read such entries? The contrast between the experiences of others and one’s own emotional state could be devastating. But…what if there was a single entry echoing that same sense of isolation?
Thus was Brady Logan born. A man who has lost almost everything and turned his back on the rest. A man without purpose and direction until he reads that one journal entry that sends him on a quest to find a woman named Nell—who may be the only one capable of understanding why he feels as he does.
It was a pleasure to send the urbane, successful Brady Logan to Fayetteville, Arkansas, a far cry from his Silicon Valley milieu. There he rediscovers the value of simple things and the healing power of new relationships, and, with Nell’s help, learns that life offers an abundance of second chances if one can put the past in perspective.
May Nell and Brady affirm your faith in new beginnings!
Laura Abbot
My Name is Nell
Laura Abbot
For my friend Jackie
with appreciation, affection and admiration
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
GRIPPING THE STEERING WHEEL of his Escalade, Brady Logan clenched his teeth and focused on the road ahead. The road away. He should give a damn. Most men would. But he felt nothing, not even relief.
When he’d made his final tour of the elaborate, expensive, now-empty house in the upscale Silicon Valley community where he, Brooke and their daughter Nicole had made their home, he’d been dry-eyed, detached. After locking the front door for the last time, he’d paused, studying the blinding white-stucco exterior, waiting for any emotion that would make him feel alive. Nothing. Only the familiar numbness.
Now, driving past the sleek four-story headquarters of L&S TechWare, nestled among the lushest landscaping an unlimited budget could provide, he still felt nothing.
Eight months ago he couldn’t have imagined picking up like this and walking out. With only ingenious ideas, damn hard work and luck, he and his friend Carl Sutton had built a successful software company, now traded on the Nasdaq. He’d married a beautiful blue-eyed California blonde, purchased the gadget-laden home and cars, hired a live-in housekeeper and yard man and been accepted for membership in clubs so prestigious you didn’t inquire about initiation fees, you simply wrote the check—a large one. In short, he had “arrived.”
The best things, though, money couldn’t buy. Brooke had been far more than a trophy wife. She was his other half, full of fun where he was serious, understanding of his long hours and driven work ethic. When he’d thought life couldn’t get any better, Nicole had come along and grown into a loving, giggly, remarkably unspoiled preteen who’d won his heart in a way no one else ever had.
Brady gave L&S TechWare one last glance in the rearview mirror, then headed for the Interstate. It didn’t matter where he was going. He should care, but he didn’t. The important thing was that he was going.
Carl had accused him of running away. Hell, maybe he was. As he saw it, though, he had two choices. Stay and slowly, steadily, implode, or get out of Dodge and look for any spark left of the man named Brady Logan.
Here all that remained were sights, sounds, smells and memories—oh, God, the memories—reminding him that in one horrible instant, everything he loved had been wiped from the face of the earth.
Vaporized by one irresponsible drunken son of a bitch, who just happened to be driving a loaded gasoline tanker.
CHAPTER ONE
Late July, seven weeks later
Arkansas
“I DON’T SEE WHY I have to go.” Abby slouched in her seat in the airport lounge, kicking at her carry-on bag. Two hanks of straight blond hair hid her features, but Nell Porter could well imagine the surly put-upon look on her thirteen-year-old daughter’s face.
“You’ll have a good time at your father’s,” Nell suggested without the faintest trace of conviction in her voice.
“Yeah, sure. Like there’s so much to do in stupid Texas.”
Nell sighed. This was yet another reprise of the conversation they had once a month when she took Abby to Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport to fly to Dallas for her court-ordered visit with Rick. Abby had no way of knowing how Nell dreaded the gnawing in her stomach every time she had to consign her daughter’s care to the airlines—and then to Rick and Clarice, his second wife. In fact, she didn’t know which was worse, thinking of her daughter all alone thousands of feet above the ground in these troubled times or picturing her in the manipulative hands of the far-from-maternal Clarice, aka The Other Woman. Even six years later and after professional counseling, bitterness blindsided her, along with those all-too-familiar feelings of unworthiness and betrayal. She stared at her fingers,