by Lexi Blake
Zep stared at her. “I thought wine was made from grapes. I don’t think we have any pineapple wine. Is that possible? And our wine comes from New Orleans. We get a shipment every couple of weeks.” He gave her his movie-star smile. “It’s fresh today.”
Lisa groaned. “Tell the bartender to bring my sister a glass of the new Marlborough. I’ll take a beer. And stop hitting on my sister.”
“Well, she was saying no one is being nice to her. I could be real nice, Lis.” Zep winked her way. “Real nice.”
He was gorgeous and such a child compared to Armie LaVigne. “When was your last STI test?”
Zep frowned. “Why you gotta go be like that? Fine. I’ll go get your drinks. But I still don’t understand what pineapples have to do with anything.”
Lisa shook her head as her brother-in-law walked off toward the bar. “Sorry about that. He’s an idiot, but he’s also family. We have a surprisingly large wine selection. And a delicious muscadine sweet red that is the best. It’s like dessert in a glass. Some of the locals make it.”
She was not in Dallas anymore. “You used to be a wine snob.”
“Not really. I just acted that way when you or Will were paying for dinner,” she replied with an impish grin. “Most of what I drank came straight out of a box. Hey, don’t look like that. I was a poor college kid. I took what I could get. Let’s talk more about how today went. You know it’s going to take some time.”
“I guess I’m wondering how you made the transition.” She’d had a ton of time today to wonder if she’d made the right call. And then Armie had looked at her with that nauseating sympathy in his eyes. He’d known. He’d known what had happened to her in Dallas, and it had obviously made him change his mind. He hadn’t asked her out today. He’d treated her with the same kid gloves everyone had for months and months. They still did. Everyone but Lisa, which was likely why she’d come here in the first place.
“I loved Remy,” Lisa said simply. “I loved him and I got here and made the decision to love this town. It wasn’t hard for me, honestly. This place is weird, and I’ve always loved weird. Don’t get me wrong. I loved the city, too. It’s why I’m glad Remy still has jobs that take us to Dallas and New York. I love the theaters and the restaurants, but none of those cities has an Otis.”
“That would be a good reason to stay in the city.” She’d practically run from the house to her car this morning. She hadn’t even let herself look in the backyard. Not that it was a traditional backyard. There was no neat and tidy fence to block out the rest of the world. It was something she intended to work on. A big fence. Like the wall from Game of Thrones.
Lisa laughed. “No, you’ll get used to him. I promise. There’s something magical about this place if you’ll open your eyes and let yourself see. You have to slow down here. You have to take things in.”
“I can’t get much slower.” She wasn’t used to being bored at work.
“I’m not talking about your work. I’m talking about your life. This is what I was really trying to say yesterday. I want you to slow down and enjoy the world around you. There’s a lot to enjoy. There’s a lot to learn.”
She wasn’t sure about that. “I think I learned to not buy a house I haven’t seen in person and that small-town doctors like to prey on their big-city counterparts. I’m not going to be able to keep that clinic open if I can’t get patients to visit me.”
“They’ll come around,” Lisa promised. “I had Remy beside me. They tend to accept you more if you’ve got someone vouching for you. It’s like a big old family in some ways. If your brother is bringing a woman home, you tend to try to get along with her. That was how it was with me. They knew Remy was serious about me and that’s why they gave me a chance.”
“It’s almost the other way around.” Zep put a glass of white wine in front of Lila. “They figured you were interested in Remy, so you wouldn’t reject them.”
“Reject them?” She was actively trying to recruit these people as patients. She was the one facing rejection. Tons and tons of rejection. “I need them.”
Zep set down Lisa’s beer. “I don’t know if you are aware, but this is small-town Louisiana. We are not known for being the most cosmopolitan of people. Tourists come through to enjoy the food and the bayou, and they often gawk at us like we’re some sort of freak show. Not me, of course. The tourists mostly view me as a lovely souvenir experience. The women, that is. But it’s not the same for my fellow Papillon residents.”
“There are a few stereotypes associated with the bayou and small towns in general,” Lisa admitted. “Of course, they have their own stereotypes about people from the big city. Most of which you reinforce.”
“What?” She thought about it for a second. She’d been a trailer park kid. She’d had every stereotype possible thrown her way. Maybe in the last few years she had gotten a bit snobby. It wasn’t that she’d meant to. She’d been separating herself from that time when she’d felt small. Did she want to make someone else feel small? Not at all. “That might be fair. Is it the shoes? Because I might have overestimated my love for them.”
They hurt. She’d thought that since it was her first full day in her own clinic, she should look the part. She owned the place. She was in charge. Those Louboutins showed the world that she was the boss.
They showed the world that she wasn’t some trailer park reject with a mom in and out of prison, barely holding on by her fingernails.
But if she’d been back in Dallas in the ER, she wouldn’t have thought twice about what to wear. She would have shoved on scrubs and her comfiest sneakers, put her hair in a ponytail, and gone to work. She wouldn’t have spent an hour in front of the mirror getting her makeup as close to perfect as she could in case the sheriff showed up. It wasn’t that she wanted to look nice for him. She was trying to look nice because they’d started on the wrong foot and he needed to understand that she was a professional. That’s what she’d told herself. Then her inner voice had mocked the hell out of her.
“Oh, we have some designer wear around here,” Lisa corrected. “The mayor of the town has a serious addiction to Chanel. But she also wears boots when the time is right, and not over-the-knee boots with five-inch heels. I’m talking serious work boots.”
“Sylvie makes those look good, if you know what I mean.” Zep didn’t seem to mind that he had a bunch of tables to work. “You know, if you want someone on your side, you should go to her momma’s hair salon. It’s where everyone goes to get their hair did.”
“And to get love potions,” Lisa added with a grin.
“What?”
Her sister shrugged. “Marcelle is also the local hoodoo priestess. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Some of the blessings are beautiful. Oh, there’s an idea. Miss Marcelle could come bless your house.”
“Or you could pretend to date a highly respected member of the community,” Zep suggested. “If you were seen out with a man everyone loves, they might calm down and see that you’re not snobby. You’re one of them.”
“Actually, that’s not a terrible idea,” Lisa mused.
Zep dropped to one knee. “I have some of those every now and then. Where do you want to go first, sweetheart? I think we should let everyone see us at the bar and then we can go back to my place.”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean you. All that would prove is that she has terrible taste in men.”
Zep put his hand over his heart. “I am wounded by that.”
Lisa pointed toward the kitchen. “Go and get my sister the jambalaya. Tourist version. And I’ll have the crawfish étouffée. And I swear if we run out of bread pudding, I will murder someone.”
Zep got to his feet but he was diligently writing down the order. “You know you get meaner every day, sister. It makes me happy Seraphina never plans on marrying since my siblings bring home partners who can’t appreciate my unique talents.”
He winked Lila’s way. “But you still could.”
“I could also put you through a lot of invasive medical tests.” She knew how to take care of Zep.
Zep frowned and managed to look the tiniest bit prissy. “Meanness must run in the family.”
He turned on his heels and walked away.
Lisa’s new family was odd.
“I don’t know that I want to date a guy so people will like me.” Though Zep had a point. She’d been bullied before, known everyone looked down on her. “Maybe I could smile more. Isn’t that what they always tell women? Smile more.”
She’d heard it a thousand times and it always made her want to smack whoever was saying it, but she was getting desperate.
“Yeah, sometimes you look scary when you smile,” Lisa pointed out. “Not when you mean it, but when you’re trying to look happier than you feel, you end up looking like you’re about to murder someone.”
So she’d been told. “I already got accused of that once today.”
Lisa laughed at the thought. “I’m sure it was Gene. He believes the world is way more murdery than it actually is. I think we need to talk about how to introduce you to the town. We made a mistake by not bringing you in earlier and having a nice long transition period. Now, while Zep is not discerning about who he sleeps with at night, he does know the town, and he’s right about a few things. I think the two of us having a girls’ day at Miss Marcelle’s could be helpful.”
“I had my hair cut before I came here.” She wasn’t due for another one for at least six weeks.
“Then we’ll get some highlights,” Lisa replied. “Or a manicure.”
She’d had that done, too. “I don’t need . . .”
Her sister interrupted her. “We’re going with the flow, Lila. The flow.”
Apparently the flow had highlights. She’d never had highlights, wasn’t sure she wanted highlights. But she did want patients. “I can try it. But I don’t know about the fake-date thing.”
“Think about it. Remy’s got a couple of friends. They’re nice guys. Rene Darois might be right up your alley. Not that you’re looking for a boyfriend. I understand that. Rene knows the town and he would totally understand that this plan could work. And who knows, you might like him. You’ve got a lot in common. He’s highly educated.”
“You talking about Rene?” Lisa’s massive, muscular Cajun husband stood at the table, two big bowls in his hands. He set one down in front of her. “What’s going on with him?”
Lisa smiled up at her man as she accepted her dinner. “I’m plotting and Rene might be a piece of the plan. The man meat, as your old boss would say.” Lisa leaned over with a conspiratorial wink. “Remy used to be man meat.”
The bowl in front of Lila contained rice and sausage and some stuff she wasn’t sure about.
But it smelled pretty good. She usually didn’t eat rice. Not because she didn’t like it. Mostly because she liked it too much.
Why shouldn’t you eat it every now and then? Her life had become one long denial. She called it discipline, but it was starting to feel like something else.
Can’t you see you’re punishing yourself? The problem is there’s no need for you to punish yourself. You make everything worse by doing it because the reason you’re denying yourself anything that might make you happy is irrational. You should be living a good life to honor your friend. Not this half-life you seem to insist on.
That could have come straight out of her brother’s mouth. Maybe she’d left Dallas to get away from Will. He sounded far too much like her therapist.
“You think she should pretend to date Rene? I’m not saying he won’t do it,” Remy was saying. “He funds that clinic. If she can’t win over the town, he’ll be the one everyone complains to. But I think she would be far better off with Armie.”
Armie. Armand. Sheriff LaVigne, of the broad shoulders and sexy lips.
Lisa wrinkled her nose. “Really? I don’t see it, babe. I know my sister. She’s more interested in intellectuals. Armie is not her type.”
Because intensely gorgeous and manly wasn’t her type. Because she wasn’t interested in sex. That’s basically what her sister was saying. Not that Lila blamed her. She’d scheduled gifts to herself and she’d also scheduled sex. She’d read somewhere that normal couples had sex once a week. Friday had been their sex night.
“I’m not going to fake date anyone.” It was a terrible idea. “But I will try to fit in better. I’ll go to the hair salon. I’ll eat where you tell me to. I’ll help out where I can and I’ll smile when it’s appropriate, and I’ll make sure it’s not a murder smile.”
Remy’s face split into the most glorious grin. “Oh, now I’m interested. This is going to be far more fun than I thought it would. I’m going to go save my wife some bread pudding. She gets cranky without her dessert. Can I save you some?”
If she didn’t eat rice, she actively ran from desserts. “Sure. I’ll give it a try.”
Discipline hadn’t made her happy. No. That was wrong. Discipline had gotten her the education she’d always wanted. It had gotten her the job she loved. It had lifted her and her siblings out of poverty. Discipline wasn’t the problem. Self-denial and guilt were the problems. Insecurity was the problem. Closing herself off from everything and everyone so no one could hurt her was the problem.
Lisa was looking at her like she’d done something brave. “I think you’ll like it.”
She wouldn’t know if she didn’t try. “Maybe.”
She picked up her fork. Did she eat it with a fork or a spoon? What was proper?
Maybe when one was eating bayou food in a restaurant that sported a big old playpen in the middle of the dining room floor where the patrons let their kids play, it didn’t matter.
She took a bite as her sister started talking about plans for the town picnic.
Jambalaya, it turned out, was delicious.
* * *
• • •
The room was incredibly white. White sheets. White walls. A white light fixture on the ceiling that shone brilliant white light. Oddly, she found it soothing, the same way she found the smell of bleach calming. The hospital was her place, the place where she was in control. She glanced down at her clipboard and ensured that the patient had everything the doctor had ordered. Room 27 was dealing with gastrointestinal issues she was fairly certain would lead to gall bladder surgery later on that night. She understood they needed an ultrasound and possibly a CT scan, but when it looked like a duck and the patient was screaming and holding his upper right quadrant, it was usually gallstones.
She chuckled as she glanced down at her watch. The night shift usually went by at breakneck pace, and tonight was no different. Big-city emergency rooms were pretty crazy any night, but on a Saturday the hits never stopped coming. She’d already missed her break. Damn it. She pushed through the doors and looked around for Maryanne.
Maryanne would cover for her while she choked down a yogurt. She would skip it but light-headedness was not a good thing for an ER nurse.
She stopped because something was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in Louisiana.
A chill snaked over her skin as she looked across the floor and saw a man entering with a ball cap pulled low on his head.
This was the moment when she would turn and find Maryanne and the man with the ball cap would step inside the room. He would lock the door and then he would pull a gun and fire into her friend’s torso, hitting her in the right lung.
Her feet started to move. No. She wasn’t going that way. She wasn’t going there again.
She screamed but her body kept moving and she knew where this would end.
* * *
• • •
Lila came awake on a gasp, reaching for the light to prove she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She was in Papillon. S
he was in her new house, with all the collections of crap she was going to have to go through. It was okay to be here.
It was okay.
Her hands were shaking and she forced herself to take a deep breath.
When would she stop dreaming about it? When would the sight of that man fade from her memory? Sometimes she worried she was doing nothing but marking time to that moment when she could close her eyes and not remember his face.
Three twenty-four a.m. The old-school alarm clock on the bedside table showed the time in red block numbers.
She laid back and wiped away the tears.
Meditation. That’s what her therapist had told her to do. Cleanse her mind. Let it go blank. Think of nothing at all.
How the hell was she supposed to think about nothing? Every time she tried to make her mind some kind of blank space, it crept in. When she tried to make her inner vision blank, she could smell the coppery aroma of blood. When she got that scent out of her head, she could hear the way a lung sounded when it had been split by a bullet. When the sound was gone, she could taste bile in the back of her throat.
She sat back up.
She could move five hundred miles away but it meant nothing at all if she’d brought her ghosts with her. She’d dumped most of her life, an enormous amount of the things she’d bought and collected because she’d thought things made up a life. She’d managed to fit everything she now owned in her medium-sized overpriced trendy crossover, but she’d forgotten to dump her memories.
She tried to settle back down in the surprisingly comfy bed and listened to the fan spinning over her head, trying to let the sound lull her back to sleep.
She’d hoped tonight would be different than all the others she’d been through since that terrible moment. She’d hoped she would close her eyes satisfied with the knowledge that she’d begun something.
All she could think about was that young woman with the fractured arm and the big doe eyes. No one would listen to her. No one would believe her until there was a body to deal with, and then they would all shake their heads and talk about how Maryanne should have spoken up sooner, should have done something.
