Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  “If that’s what it takes, then yes.” Running a tanned hand over his mouth, he stroked his beard with his thumb and forefinger, worrying the ends until it frayed. “I’m not a millionaire. I have an honest job with a beat-up truck that’s seen better days, but you can bet your ass there’s not another man on Earth who can give you what I can.”

  And that was all I wanted. It was all I’d ever wanted until he drove me away and Roland turned me into someone I detested. “I just need—”

  “No!” He looked irritated and a lot tired as he spat the word out and wore a hole in the tile with his pacing. “No more time. Fuck time. We’re not eighteen anymore, Addie. I’m almost thirty-one goddamn years old, and playing head games don’t interest me.” Coming to an abrupt stop, he leveled a weary stare full of unsaid emotion at me. “I want you so fucking much I can’t see straight, but even I have limits.”

  Something pinched in my chest as I pressed my palms against the steel for support, the resolve in his eyes almost buckling my knees. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m sick of being your dirty little secret, Adelaide Dubois. I’ve risked everything and gone against every instinct I have to convince you I’m here for the long haul, but you’re slamming doors in my face left and right.” Pressing against me again, he stole my breath. “How many are you going to close before I stop forcing them open and walk away?”

  Mama always used to say that the eyes were the window to the soul. As we locked gazes, I silently begged him to raise the glass and see my soul hiding behind mine. To know what we’d created was real and see the truth behind my vague words and confusing actions. His tongue toyed with his lower lip, and even though he wasn’t kissing me anymore, I could still feel the roughness in its touch as he waited for an answer that would never come.

  I couldn’t explain the panic and shame I felt. None of this was supposed to happen this way, and my head knew that ten years from now, there would never be anyone else who accepted me for who I was and everything I wasn’t.

  But it still wasn’t enough. Not now.

  As an overhead fluorescent bulb buzzed in the silence of the room, I swore I heard the exact moment the fight died in his eyes. It was like the last call at a bar when the blaring music and chaos ended, and the lights flickered on, bathing everything in harsh reality.

  “Goddamn, Dubois. Just…goddamn.” He stepped backward, and I found unstable footing. For a moment, I thought maybe he’d tell me we’d talk about it later, but then his jaw ticked, and the languid blue pools of his eyes frosted over to an icy slate gray. Cursing under his breath, he barreled toward the door, pulling his arm back and buried it in the wall just before leaving. Thunder cracked as the sheet rock dented, leaving a fist-sized crater in the pristine room.

  Closing my eyes, I pulled myself inward and waited. Not that I was afraid of him. Zep LeBlanc was many things, but without a doubt, I knew he’d keep walking. No, I waited for the slam of the door that told me I’d finally won.

  The argument? The war? A lifetime of self-hatred?

  Slam.

  Ah yes, solitude.

  Zep’s truck roared to life, and his tires squealed as he gunned the gas and peeled out of the parking lot. Sliding down to the floor with my feet sprawled out in front of me, I hugged my purse to my chest and finally let the tears fall. The weight of the world crushed my shoulders, and it felt like he’d left me barreling down a highway with a runaway eighteen-wheeler behind me and another one heading toward me at full speed. Regardless of whether I threw my life in reverse or drove head on into him, the result would be the same.

  I’d be destroyed.

  Without bothering to wipe the evidence away from my cheeks, I leaned forward and dragged my purse off the table, diving my hand inside and digging around until my fingers closed around the hard, plastic stick. Counting to three, I pulled it out, as if in that slow-motion count, there was a possibility it could’ve transformed into anything other than what it was.

  It didn’t.

  It was still there.

  Still plastic.

  Still positive.

  Zep claimed he was my dirty little secret. Maybe he was right, but, he wasn’t the only one I had.

  For years I begged for this. I prayed for it, and then I simply accepted it wasn’t in the cards for me. What I held in my hand was a dream I’d put in a glass case on the highest shelf of my mind, nostalgic to look at but a rarity meant for only a chosen few to hold.

  Now the glass had broken. I held the dream in my hands, and the fallout couldn’t have been more catastrophic if it’d been scripted for a tragic movie.

  Life certainly has a sense of humor.

  It wasn’t until I heard the unmistakable clunk of boots and the slam of the kitchen door that I realized I’d been holding my breath. Through blurry eyes and a heavy heart, a figure appeared in the doorway with arms stretched out like a goalie, ready to knock me back into play should I try to make a break for it.

  “What in the actual fuck just went on in here?” After taking taken a few purposeful steps inside, Savannah’s face came into focus, her eyes blazing with annoyance as she swatted her hands through the air in wide circles.

  “He’s gone.” Two words were all I managed as I frantically shoved the plastic stick back into my purse like a teenager caught with a bottle of Babs’ good vodka.

  “Yes, I gathered that from the psychotic way he tore out of here and left skid marks all over our parking lot.” Finally standing above me, she glared down, her mouth twisted to one side. “What’s in the bag, sis?”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Don’t give me that. You’ve been pulling some Indiana Jones shit all day, carrying your purse around in a death grip like you have the stolen jewels of Patagonia in there.”

  “Maybe I needed tampons.”

  “Maybe you’re full of shit. You’re my sister. I know when you’re riding the crimson wave. Your head spins around, and some crazier person than normal inhabits you for a week. No, that’s not it. Fess up.”

  “It’s nothing, Savannah. Just leave me alone, all right? I’m kind of having a bad day here.”

  “Yeah? Well when you and Zep have a bad day, we all have a bad day. So show me what you just shoved in your purse, or I’ll take it myself.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  The second the words fell from my mouth, I wanted to gobble them back up and run for my life. Savannah took no shit from anyone, especially me. Once she set her mind on something, it was hers whether “it” happened to be another girl’s boyfriend, a thirty-pound swine with gastrointestinal problems, or in this case, the truth.

  I saw the shift in her stare, and I knew I’d fucked myself. As Savannah dropped to her knees and straddled me, wrapping her fist around my purse straps and tugging.

  “Get off me!” Taking a page from Animal Planet, I went full-on reptilian death roll, tucking the leather bag underneath my stomach while screeching at the top of my lungs.

  “Give me the bag!” she grunted, jerking harder.

  I twisted my chin, managing to glare at the one-hundred and ten-pound beast saddled on my back. “Eat shit!”

  “Why must you always do things the hard way?” Grabbing the back of my head, my loving, adorable little sister shoved my face into the dusty kitchen floor until my lips and nose flattened against the cold tile and I gasped for air.

  “Can’t. Breathe. Get. Off. Argh!”

  Instead of relenting, Savannah pressed harder, completely cutting off oxygen to my brain as my lips suctioned to the grit beneath them.

  “Go limp, Ads. It’s quicker that way.”

  With the light dimming around me, I had no recourse but to release my hold on the purse and press both palms by my ears to counteract her hold on the back of my head. Eventually, her grip lessened, and I sucked in a chest-full of air while wiping dirt off the side of my face.

  “You’re a dick,” I muttered.

  Unfortunately, while I w
as busy not dying, Savannah took advantage of my momentary distraction and jerked my purse out from under me. Panic surged through me, and I pushed onto my knees, frantically swiping at the air.

  “Give that back!”

  Climbing quickly to her feet, she held my bag high above her head and threw my own words back at me. “Eat shit.”

  Before I could climb off the floor, Savannah plunged her black painted nails into my purse and dug around as if she were excavating an archaeological dig. A tight band constricted around my heart and cut off all rational thought to my brain as her narrowed eyes widened.

  Oh, shit. No, no, no, no.

  Time seemed to move in slow motion. I kneeled, breathless as my sister pulled out the white stick with the purple cap, her face a mix of shock and intrigue. As she flipped it over and brought the test line window to her face, my purse dropped unceremoniously to the floor, discarded in forgotten heap.

  “What the fuck is this?” she breathed, spreading the fingers of her free hand over her breastbone. She looked as if she were pressing back a heart attack.

  I knew the feeling.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled.

  “Nothing? Oh no, dear sister, this is definitely not nothing.” Holding the test up by the cap between her index finger and thumb, she swung it side to side like a pendulum. “This is a pregnancy test. And it’s positive. It’s positive, Ads.” She repeated the last part as if I weren’t fully aware of the implications of the word.

  Crawling backward, I slumped down against the steel refrigerator and banged the back of my head against it, my jaw trembling. “I know.”

  Still holding the test in one hand, Savannah slid down beside me and entwined our fingers with the other. “Don’t get mad at me, but I have to ask—”

  Heat boiled in my chest. “Are you kidding me? Of course, it’s Zep’s. Roland kicked me out five months ago, and there’s been no one else.”

  Savannah’s chin dipped as a breath rolled slowly from her lips. “I wasn’t judging you. But you have to be absolutely sure. Men tend to want proof when they’ve just been told they’re gonna be a father.”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Sav, I just found out myself. I’ve been trying to process this all day with all these weird emotions making me crazy. I wanted to be sure before I told him, you know? You have to be sure with something this huge. I need to be sure. I mean sometimes these things can read a false-positive, right?”

  I fully expected my sister to call me out on my denial and spout some existential bullshit about karma and things coming full circle. Instead, she chewed the inside of her lip for a moment and nodded as if we’d just brokered peace between nations.

  On her feet before I could react, she headed toward the door with confident strides. “Stay right here. I’ll be back.”

  “Where are you going?” I called after her, almost scared of the answer.

  “To be sure.”

  An hour later, déjà vu settled in as we sat quietly around the small kitchenette table staring at no less than fifteen pregnancy tests of all brands, shapes, and sizes scattered across the Formica.

  “Well, I’m sure of two things now.” Savannah grimaced, marveling at the pee stick buffet.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re definitely pregnant.”

  “And the other thing?” I whispered, my eyes still glued to the testpocalypse.

  “I’m never eating off this table again.”

  Tears I’d held back since Savannah stormed into the kitchen spilled with reckless abandon down my cheeks. “Sav, what am I gonna do?”

  “You’re gonna tell him.”

  “How?” I stammered, my hands swirling around the tests, creating a tornado of urine-soaked sticks. “Dump all these in his lap and blurt out, ‘Congratulations. You fucked me, and now I’m returning the favor?’”

  Rising from her chair, Savannah wordlessly stalked past me toward the refrigerator. With a forceful tug on both sides, she pulled out a bottle and a carton, stopping at a nearby drawer to grab a spoon. With a heavy sigh, she slumped back down in her chair and set the carton in front of me while holding the bottle like a life raft.

  “A kitchen isn’t exactly a front porch, but it’ll have to do.”

  Dubois crisis control. Vodka and front porches.

  Her unorthodox methods suddenly made sense, and I eyed her curiously as she unscrewed the top and took an incredibly long gulp straight from the bottle.

  “Why do you get vodka, and I’m stuck with Ben and Jerry’s?”

  A smirk snuck past her stoic expression as she pointed to my flat belly. “Because you’re cut off for nine months.”

  “Seven,” I corrected.

  “Come again?”

  “The only time we were together that I’m not sure about is the night I got served with divorce papers from Roland and decided to get shitfaced. Every other time, Zep used a…well, you know, a thingie.”

  “A thingie? You mean a condom?” Gulping down another healthy swig, Savannah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re pregnant, Ads. Eventually, your vag will open like the entrance to Stargate and a human will crawl out of it. I think it’s time to lose the modesty.”

  Groaning, I ripped off the top of the ice cream carton and dug in, the creamy vanilla mixing with the salt from my tears. “I hate vanilla.”

  “You also hated Zep, but look where that got you.”

  “Do you plan on being helpful today or just throwing zingers at me?” Shoving the spoon into the carton, I pushed it away and pressed both palms to my face. “I’m scared, Sav,” I choked out, my voice muffled. “He stormed in here to give me an ultimatum, and I got spooked. You know me, everything has to have a place and be in order. I just felt so disjointed and confused that I let him walk out. He finally gave up on me, and I let him walk out.”

  The finality of my words hit me, and the one bite of ice cream in my stomach curdled.

  I feel alone.

  Even more alone than when I left Terrebonne the first time. Hell, even more than when Pappy died, and Roland kicked me out. The space I kept insisting to Zep I needed was all I had now, and it kept widening as I clung to an invisible ledge. One wrong step and I’d tumble into nothingness. Because that was what he left me with when he walked out.

  As the tears rolled harder, Savannah set the bottle down, her stoned expression softening as she scooted her chair closer. Slipping her arm around my waist, she tucked her head between my chin and shoulder like she used to do when she’d have nightmares when we were kids. I’d hold her like this for hours until she fell soundlessly asleep in my bed.

  Same move. Different nightmare.

  And this time it was mine.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Ads. We’re gonna be okay. I promise. We’ll take this one step at a time.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah. We. As in you and me. In case you haven’t noticed, I just spent over a hundred dollars carting a dozen pregnancy tests around the drug store in front of God and half of New Orleans. If that doesn’t prove I’m in this with you, I don’t know what will.”

  My heart constricted as I kissed the top of her head. “What’s the first step?”

  “Telling Zep. Give him a chance to man up, Ads. You’ve been so blinded by fear I don’t think you really see how much he loves you.”

  “He said that?”

  “Well, no, not in so many words,” she hedged, her eyes trained on the door to the deserted office. “But I know what I saw on his face, and that man was destroyed when he left.”

  “What if he doesn’t want it?” I blurted out, voicing the big fear that had held me silent during our earlier standoff.

  Savannah arched an eyebrow. “What if he does?”

  What if.

  What if I’d just gone home instead of dragging him to the bar?

  What if we’d stayed in Terrebonne?

  What if Roland hadn’t cheated on me?


  Questions lit up my brain like strikes of lightning, each one powerful, but not strong enough for me to ignore what I knew to be the right thing.

  “I’ll tell him,” I sniffled, digging the spoon out of the discarded ice cream tub.

  “When?” Savannah’s brow wrinkled, her expression cloudy with disbelief.

  “When the carton’s empty.”

  Pursing her lips, she nodded in agreement as she reached for the bottle and lifted it to her lips again. “Good idea.”

  45

  Verbal Bitch Slap

  Savannah

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  “He’s not going to walk away,” I said softly, my voice almost drowned out by the rumble of the old truck’s engine.

  I watched as Addie’s body stiffened at my words. It was clear I’d struck a nerve when the headlights from a passing car illuminated the cab and revealed the carefully blank expression my sister’s face held.

  “He already did.” She reached out to flip on the radio, and an old country song filtered through the speakers—her not so subtle effort to end the conversation.

  Too fucking bad.

  The only problem in her plan was that I’d never been good at taking hints, especially not with a half a bottle of Babs’ finest coursing through my veins. My hand darted out, and I flicked the radio off, the growl of the engine once again filling the old truck.

  “He’s pissed, but he’ll get over it. However, I’ve got to tell you Ads, he has every right to be angry with you right now. You’ve been dicking him around for months.”

  Her head swiveled, and her eyes pinned me in place. If looks could kill, I’d be dead and buried already. She focused her attention back on the road. “I haven’t been dicking him around. I needed time to wrap my head around everything. Six months ago, I was married and had my entire life laid out before me. Now, I’m in the middle of a divorce, nothing about my future is certain, and I’ve gone and gotten myself knocked up by my high school boyfriend. Excuse me for needing a little fucking time to process!”