by Sandra Hill
“Oh, Aaron, I had no idea. How did it get so bad? I mean, it’s in the news occasionally, and I’ve seen TV documentaries, but I thought the government and law enforcement were handling it.”
“Not very well. It’s like the drug problem. Billions of dollars are involved; so, the incentive to stop just isn’t there for the bad guys. Don’t get me wrong, various agencies are trying to help, but working through regular channels is a slow process. Often, by the time they get a tip and act on it, the sex traffickers have moved on to another site.”
“And operations like those run by the Street Apostles and the Sisters of Magdalene . . . do they really make a difference?”
He shrugged. “Not even a dent, but at least a few dozen, maybe a hundred girls get saved each year. Each life matters, doesn’t it? And here’s something else to consider. These rescued victims can’t just be dumped back into society. They need therapy and life skills and mostly love, which they don’t get, even when their families do accept them back, which is often not the case. The government doesn’t have a clue or the resources for helping the rescued. In fact, sometimes they put them in juvie halls till they can figure out what to do with them. Imagine what message that sends.” He definitely sounded like a lecturer now, or a person with a chip on his shoulder, all in answer to Aunt Mel’s simple question.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk. Still, why you?”
“Why not me?”
“Because I love you and don’t want you to get hurt.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “You know me, Aunt Mel. I’ve been getting in trouble since I was a kid, and I always get by.”
“Until you don’t,” she predicted with worry. “This is all about Fleur, isn’t it? You’re involved because she’s involved.”
“Don’t you like Fleur?”
“I don’t know her. She seems nice, and, of course, I feel sorry for the situation she’s in.”
And Aunt Mel didn’t know the half of what Fleur’s “situation” entailed!
“But that’s not the point,” she went on. “Did you really get involved in all this just to put another notch on your belt?”
“Aunt Mel!”
Aunt Mel’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Let me correct that, although, you must admit, your belt does have a lot of notches. It’s great to talk about altruism and helping those in need, but I suspect you got involved in rescuing kidnapped girls because you were interested in Fleur.”
“It started that way, but I found it increasingly hard—impossible, really—to jump ship when I found out I was needed. Plus, I’ve been floundering lately, ever since Dan got married, trying to figure out what I want to do with my future. Maybe this—she—just came along at the right time for me.”
“Or the wrong time,” his aunt said.
“Anyhow, there’s great satisfaction in seeing the faces on those young girls when they’re rescued. They’ve been without hope for so long. Tante Lulu would say that St. Jude had a hand in all this. You know, the whole patron saint of hopeless cases stuff.”
Aunt Mel rolled her eyes at mention of Tante Lulu. “I still have my pilot’s license. Maybe I should join up.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said with a laugh. He’d like to see Aunt Mel in disguise at a strip club, like Fleur had been. Then again, no, he would not!
“What’s good for the gander is good for the goose,” Aunt Mel declared, teasing.
“Not when the goose is as old as you are.”
“I’m not that old!”
Which was true. Aunt Mel was only in her late fifties, not even retirement age. But he wouldn’t let her get involved in something so dangerous, not if he could help it.
“Besides, I’ve been at loose ends, too. I’ve been looking for something to occupy my time since we sold the air shipping business.”
“Take up bowling,” he said.
She just grinned at him.
Tante Lulu came down the back stairs into the kitchen then. Her hair, which was suddenly blonde, due to an overnight dye job, he supposed, was a mass of curls. She wore a girl’s size Snoopy nightshirt that hung down to her calves and read, “Don’t Let Anyone Dull Your Sparkle.” On her feet were big fluffy pink rabbit slippers which caught Axel’s interest. The old German shepherd, who’d been splayed out on the cool slate floor, raised his head, eyed the potential chew toys, let out a woof, then lowered his head again when Tante Lulu gave him The Look, which they’d all been subjected to at one time or another.
At first it was just her appearance that caught Aaron off guard, but then Tante Lulu said, “Did I hear ya say yer gonna work on the rescue missions, Mel? Yippee! I’m in, too.”
“Absolutely not!” Aaron exclaimed. “Neither of you are getting involved in that operation. Holy crap! I thought older women were interested in bingo and yard sales and early bird dinners and arthritis creams, not putting yourselves in danger.”
“I’ve never been to a yard sale in my life. That sounds like age bias to me, Aaron,” Aunt Mel remarked, slapping him on the shoulder with a dish towel as she got up to refill his coffee mug.
“Yeah, we oughta file a lawsuit,” Tante Lulu concurred. “Good thing I got a lawyer in the family.”
“Like Luc would let you put your life in jeopardy that way,” Aaron countered.
“Luc ain’t the boss of me. No one is.” Tante Lulu gave him the same look she’d given Axel.
Aunt Mel added, “And you’re not the boss of me, either, young man.”
Aaron put up both hands in surrender. “I’m just sayin’.”
But Tante Lulu’s mind had already skittered to another subject. “I’m thinkin’ somethin’ simple fer breakfast, like an omelet.” Without waiting for a response from anyone, she went immediately to the fridge and began taking out eggs, butter, sausage, mushrooms, onion, cheese, and a bunch of other stuff. So much for simple! “Kin you slice up some of that leftover loaf I brought with me, Mel?”
“For toast or plain?” Aunt Mel asked.
“Both.”
While they were working, Aaron sipped at his coffee and checked his cell phone for text messages. Fleur came in then. Her dark hair was pulled off her face, tucked behind her ears. No make-up, but her face and arms were tanned from her ride in the convertible yesterday. She wore a sleeveless mint green blouse over white capris. At least, he thought that was what those knee-length pants were called. White sandals exposed narrow, high-arched feet.
It was a sign of his “infatuation” with Fleur that he found even her feet sexy. Unadorned feet, at that. No polish. No toe rings. No “fuck me” high heels. He put a napkin on his lap to hide his reaction.
“Your new clothes look nice, Fleur,” Tante Lulu observed.
“My new old clothes, you mean,” Fleur said, explaining to Aunt Mel that she and Tante Lulu had visited an upscale secondhand clothing store in New Orleans yesterday.
“Next time you go, give me a call,” Aunt Mel requested. “I need some summer clothes and I hate spending retail.”
“Aunt Mel! You have enough money in the bank to buy a store. You don’t need to buy someone else’s castoffs.”
“Idjit!” Tante Lulu shook her head at him.
He assumed she meant that he’d insulted Fleur with that remark. Why was everyone so touchy? First, he was accused of age bias, then clothes bias, or poverty bias. Whatever!
“Do you think I’m poor as a church mouse?” Tante Lulu was shaking a finger at him. “No, I am not.”
He was right. Poverty bias.
“Do you think women go to thrift shops ’cause they can’t afford new? No. Every female alive loves a bargain. And, yes, Mel, I’ll call ya next time. They had some items from a Cher wardrobe auction fer charity that would look good on you. You’re tall and thin enough ta wear her outfits.”
Cher? Aunt Mel as Cher? Oh, my Lord!
Aaron glanced at Fleur to see if he’d insulted her by ripping on cast-off clothing, but she was just smiling, enjoying the setdown he’d just been given
. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed at her.
But she didn’t acknowledge his apology, probably figuring he might use it as an excuse to make more chalk mark tallies in the air for kisses. He could wait.
Dan came in then, dressed for work in a brown-and-white-striped dress shirt tucked into tan belted slacks, a matching suit jacket hooked over his shoulder with a forefinger. Around his neck was a knotted, but not yet tightened Save the Children tie that Samantha had given him last Christmas, featuring bands of multinational kids holding hands. His hair was wet from a recent shower and he’d shaved. He looked like a frickin’ ad for GQ. “Samantha is still sleeping, but I’ll bring a tray to her before I leave,” he told Aunt Mel and Tante Lulu.
They nodded.
“Do you think you’ll know the sex of the babies after the ultrasound today?” Aunt Mel asked.
Dan shook his head. “We don’t want to know. If the test shows any little peckers, the technician will hide the pictures from us.”
“I had a dream last night,” Tante Lulu said. “There were two little boys running around yer rose garden. Matt and Mark. And Samantha walked up to them, big as a house with another pregnancy. Twins again.”
“Luke and John, I suppose,” Daniel guessed.
“How’dja know?” Tante Lulu asked. “Mus’ be an omen.”
“Don’t tell Samantha. She needs to get through this birth first.”
They all sat around the table then, eating the simple but luscious breakfast, washed down with copious amounts of strong Creole coffee. While they ate, Tante Lulu made a grocery list for Aunt Mel, who at one point looked to Aaron and Daniel with dismay. She would need a truck to haul everything back here. Aaron decided that he would offer his pickup to her and take Aunt Mel’s rented sedan to the airport.
Daniel took a breakfast tray to Samantha and then drove off. Aunt Mel went upstairs to dress for her shopping expedition, and they could hear “Can’t Smile Without You” from the tape player she’d brought with her from Alaska. No downloaded music for Aunt Mel. Just good old-fashioned CDs. He caught Fleur’s eye on first hearing the music blast out and said, “Bet the babies get dear old Barry songs, instead of lullabies.”
“Or Cajun music,” Tante Lulu piped in.
“There’s probably a Cajun version of ‘Copacabana’ somewhere.” Fleur was tapping her foot as she stood at the sink, washing the extra breakfast dishes and pans. The dishwasher was full and running.
“If there isn’t, I could ask René to write one,” Tante Lulu said.
René was a musician, as well as an environmentalist and teacher.
“Yeah, René probably could write a Cajun adaptation of the Manilow classic,” Aaron decided. “Hey, if Bruce Springsteen could do a rock version of the Cajun classic ‘Jolie Blon,’ anything is possible, right?”
Suddenly, the music stopped, and Aunt Mel, dressed for shopping in shorts, sneakers, and an “I ♥ Louisiana” T-shirt, came down to get the keys to Aaron’s truck, along with Tante Lulu’s War and Peace shopping list, and was off to the store. Shortly after that, and it was only nine a.m., Luc arrived with Brother Brian Malone, whom he’d picked up at the airport on his way out to the plantation, as prearranged. Fleur was wiping down the counters with a sponge, and Aaron was at the table, sending a text message to Remy.
Aaron stood to greet Brother Brian, a name he had trouble using without a grin, especially with him wearing Bermuda shorts, sockless loafers, and a Hawaiian shirt over a clerical collar. “How you doing, Snake?”
“It was touch and go there for a while, but I’m good as new now, and back in the game. Although I do have one fewer kidney and I get twinges in my shoulder from that one close range shot. How you hangin’, Ace?” Snake replied, not at all priestly in his language. “Still a sex magnet for all the ladies?”
Fleur gave Aaron a sharp look.
Aaron gave Snake a dirty look.
Luc looked amused.
And Tante Lulu was just looking, from one to the other of them, with way too much interest.
Aaron and Snake exchanged bro hugs. Then, Aaron drew back, observing his old friend. “What’s with the clerical dog collar? Do you wear one all the time?”
“Nah, but it’s more than a fashion accessory when I travel commercial. I don’t like to hide the fact that I’m a priest, in case the need for one comes up suddenly. I don’t like pretending to be something I’m not.”
Collar or not, it appeared that Snake still had a way with words. And the way he switched in and out of his Irish dialect and proverbs reminded Aaron a lot of Tante Lulu and other Cajuns, like Luc, who could appear almost illiterate one moment and highly intelligent the next.
In fact, Tante Lulu let out a hoot of laughter and said, “Ain’t that the truth? Like I’m allus tellin’ my dumb nephews, a peacock is jist a turkey under all them pretty feathers.”
“Ah, a woman after me own heart! Are you sure there’s not a bit of Irish in your blood?”
Tante Lulu preened.
Snake winked at Aaron, to show he still knew how to throw the blarney when he wanted, even when a member of the clergy.
Aaron would love to sit down with Snake sometime, preferably with a shot or two of Irish whiskey, or aged southern bourbon, and find out how his friend had arrived at the religious crossroad that prompted his turn away from the marriage and kids route he’d always planned.
Brother Brian was introduced to everyone.
Tante Lulu was clearly impressed to have a priest in the house, especially one associated with a group named for her favorite saint, even one dressed like Snake. But she couldn’t get her tongue around the Brother salutation. She kept slipping and calling him “Father Malone—I mean, Brother Malone—I mean . . .” until finally an amused Snake told her, “Sweet lady, you can call me Father Brian, if you like. I answer to almost anything.”
Fleur said to Luc after her introduction, “I apologize for putting your family to this inconvenience.” Then to Snake, she said, “Please tell your superiors and Mother Jacinta how sorry I am to be the cause of troubles for the missions.”
Too late, she realized what she’d just said, but she definitely knew when Aaron made more slashes in the air and winked at her. Maybe he would collect tonight. Of course, he could ask for a good-bye kiss when he left for work shortly, but, no, there would be other people around. And he didn’t want to rush things. To his reckoning, he had ten apologies on her tab so far, and in his dictionary—that would be the Clueless Men’s Rule of Seduction book—two slashes equaled lips locked; three, open mouths; four, a kiss lasting longer than a second; five, a little tongue. He grinned.
Fleur blushed, was about to say something but just said, “Click!”
If she only knew, those clicks were starting to turn him on.
If anyone was confused by Aaron’s ping-ponging emotions, he was the most confused, and it was damn irritating. He was tired of these roller coaster feelings he had where Fleur was concerned. Up, down, up, down. Should he, shouldn’t he? Would she, wouldn’t she? Right or wrong? Logical or illogical? Destined or downright monkey ass, tree swinging crazy?
Enough! Enough, enough, enough! Aaron was determined now. He’d decided, at about three a.m. last night, after being unable to fall asleep (sexual frustration being a bummer), that he knew what he wanted and was just going to hang on for the ride.
It was pitiful, though, that he had to go to such lengths. He was a master of seduction, a player, or had been in the past. But none of the usual rules applied here with Fleur. He wanted her, past or no past, and, oddly, despite her sordid experiences, Fleur appeared more like a virgin to him. Not that he’d experienced many of those! He would have to tread carefully. The usual “Oh, baby!” drawl was not going to hit any of her chimes, if she had any. And definitely not the more blunt, but to the point, “Wanna fuck?” And, yes, to his shame (but not much), he’d said just that on occasion.
Let fate, or the celestial Powers-That-Be, control the levers of this Blue Streak of ma
dness (the roller coaster, not a Blue Steeler, though he was experiencing both).
“Was that thunder I heard?” Tante Lulu asked.
“Huh?” Aaron said, being called back from his mental ramblings.
Fleur looked at him like he was some kind of babbling idiot, while Luc and Snake just grinned.
He blinked and glanced around. The sun was shining, portending another scorcher of a day. But, yes, there was a rumbling sound in the distance. Aha! The Blue Streak of lightning.
The celestial powers were speaking, loud and clear.
Chapter Seven
Dream on . . . pray on . . . same thing . . .
Fleur explained the situation about her Miguel encounter to Luc and Brother Brian as they sat out on the back verandah with her and Aaron. Tante Lulu had gone off to water the roses around the St. Jude birdbath . . . and to scrub off some of the rude “prayer offerings” dropped by the birds.
Luc was a good-looking man. All the LeDeux men were. Even in his late forties with silver threading the edges of his dark hair, even in a conservative business suit and tie (He’d told them he had to be in court later this morning.), Luc carried himself with that typical Cajun swagger and joie de vivre. Of course, he wasn’t as attractive as Aaron, in her opinion, who always seemed to be holding back his wild side. A woman (she, in particular) always felt like she had to be on her guard.
As for Brother Brian (or Snake, as Aaron persisted in calling him in the most irreverent way) . . . he was a priest. Enough said! An unorthodox priest (Can anyone say Hawaiian floral shirt?), but then many of the St. Jude’s Street Apostles were considered rogues. Brother Brian had blondish red hair, and freckles, and a prizefighter’s build. In other words, not traditionally handsome. But his teasing Irish personality made up for any physical deficiencies. Not that a pleasing appearance mattered much to the clergy, unless they were TV personalities oozing charisma and gold.
