by Zuri Day
“I should have taken time off and flown to LA on my own dime. But I didn’t.” Roz broke eye contact and sat on a nearby chair.
Pierre walked to the couch, asking a question with his eyes. Roz nodded. He sat down.
“NO Beat flew me out with the purpose of getting a story, which I fully intended to do. My plan, however, was to verify what I’d heard, share that information with you and then write a piece that incorporated both your and Alana’s perspectives. Kind of a follow-up to your earlier story in the ‘Where Are They Now?’ series. One that I hoped would point to a happy ending. Your reaction changed all of that. I returned to work and flat-out refused to write the article or even share what I’d learned. My boss wasn’t happy. I knew that, but underestimated his determination to uncover what I’d worked so hard to hide.”
“How’d he find out?”
“By using the only information I was willing to share before going to LA—that someone thought to have died in Hurricane Katrina was actually very much alive and living there.”
“Definitely sounds like a juicy story.”
“The potential of what could be and ultimately was uncovered are what award-winning stories are made of—mystery, intrigue, drama, possible scandal. All of the questions. Who is this person? How’d they survive? Why did they leave and, as important or perhaps more so, why did they not come back?”
“All the questions they’re asking now, or so I’ve heard.”
“You talked to her?” Roz asked, shock evident in her voice.
Pierre shook his head. “Lizzy. She went to meet her. She’s there now.”
“I can’t imagine you’d be happy about that.”
“Not at all. We had a pretty big fight about it. Then I remembered the words of a very wise woman and called her back. Apologized. Told her that Alana was her mother and this was her life, and she had to handle what happened in the way that worked best for her.”
“Wow, that’s a one-eighty turnaround. Who was this woman?”
Pierre looked over and offered a tentative smile. “Ma.”
Roz nodded. She totally understood. “Thank you for the apology. I own my part in all of this, but your harshness the other night was incredibly hurtful, and unexpected.”
“I know. In that moment, I transferred the hurt I’d felt on to you.” He stood and walked over to the window. “After Mom died...left... I never trusted women. Not after she promised to meet us in Houston and didn’t. For a kid who’d never really known his father, and who’d dealt with other lies, half-truths and disappointments, it was especially damaging. Definitely a last straw for my fifteen-year-old self when it came to women and credibility.”
Pierre turned around. “Then I met you.”
“Pierre...”
He held up a hand to silence her. “It’s okay. Let me finish.” He returned to the couch. “I didn’t want to trust you. When I found you so easy to talk to I became even more wary, telling myself that it was journalistic skill, not concern that made you sound genuine. In a very short time that feeling changed. The more I opened up the more appreciative I was of having someone like you to talk to, to share my feelings with instead of keeping them bottled up inside. I’ve always had Lizzy, but there are some things you can’t share with your baby sis. So when I felt that trust had been broken, it almost broke me.”
“I’m so sorry,”
“My pain isn’t your fault. Not the deep ache that finding out Alana was alive has evoked. I had a scab over that wound. What happened between us snatched it off. That’s what happened.”
“I get that.” They became silent, both aware of the atmosphere shifting. Of the emotional wall between them dissipating. Of their being able to really see the other again.
“You gave Lisette the number?” he finally asked.
“To her mom?” There was a pause as Pierre imagined Roz weighing the repercussion of her answer. “Yes, I did.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Her eyebrows rose at the same time that her mouth dropped open. “Really?”
“Yes, as hard as it is for me to say it, Lizzy reconnecting with her mother has been good for her. Challenging, yes. Painful, too. But she’s glad to have found her. Glad she’s alive.”
“That has to be hard for you, given you’ve been all Lisette has had for all these years. A huge responsibility.”
“A part of me felt that I was all she needed. That it was me and baby girl against the world. But a daughter needs her mother.”
“And you?” Roz softly asked.
“Ma knew Alana.”
“No way.”
“I was shocked, too. Actually, she knew Grand-Mère, and...my mom...by extension. Knew her way better than I ever did. Some of what she shared filled in blanks, gave me a more complete perspective.”
“What did she say?”
“I’ll tell you later. Right now, I want to tell you how much I’ve missed you. How my world has seemed a bit dimmer, and colder, without you in it.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“I’m happy to hear that. I want to thank you, too.”
“For?”
“Finding my grandmother’s remains. Lisette told me that when I arrived back in the States, but with everything going on, the news was barely heard and quickly forgotten.”
“It’s okay. Took a phone call and two minutes.”
“Whatever it took, you did it. Thank you. Now we can at least get closure for her.”
“You’re welcome. I was happy to help.”
“Baby, I can’t believe you quit your job over what they did to me.”
“Well, I did.”
“That leaves me speechless. I don’t think anyone has ever stood up for me like that. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She raised a brow. “You hiring?”
“Maybe. Can you wash dishes?”
Roz and Pierre shared a laugh as the discomfort between them lessened and camaraderie began to flow. Soon, conversation led to caresses, then kisses, then new positions in places they’d never tried. Pierre knew all she’d done for his family deserved a special kind of thank-you. Until that could happen, for a good part of the night, he used his body to demonstrate how he felt, and how much Roz was appreciated.
Chapter 27
The distinct smell of bacon tickled his nose. Pierre frowned, turned over, confused that he could dream so realistically he smelled odors, while feeling half-awake. A few seconds—or was it minutes or hours—later, his senses were assaulted again. This time it was the delicious combination of cinnamon and nutmeg that caused him to inhale, reach out for Roz and feel the cold side of her bed. Lifting his still weary head from the pillow, he slowly opened his eyes to the vision of Roz in a sheer purple nightie that reached her thighs, and nothing else, carrying a tray as she entered the room.
“What’s this?” He seated himself against the headboard and pulled the sheet around him.
“Breakfast.” She positioned the tray over his legs, and added a quick peck before stepping back and away from him.
“You cook?”
“That description would be generous. Mom doesn’t cook, but felt it necessary to master one dish of each meal, in case of an emergency, like the cook getting sick or another Katrina. This is my go-to breakfast.”
Pierre picked up a slice of the thick slab bacon and examined it. “Perfectly crisp,” he noted, “while leaving a bit of the fat moist and tender.” He bit off almost half the slice, cut a piece of French toast and added that to his mouth. He closed his eyes, nodding as he chewed. “This is delicious, Roz.”
“You really think so?” Excitement from his compliment shone in her eyes.
“I’ve eaten my share of French toast and this is a worthy representation of the dish. I taste the cinnamon and just a tad of nutmeg and cloves, present but
not overpowering. Is there caramel in the syrup?”
Roz nodded. “It’s made by slowly melting caramel chunks into pure maple syrup. I’d like to say I grew the fruit in your bowl and picked it myself, but that came from a grocery store container.”
She left to make a second helping of toast for Pierre and a plate for herself. She poured two large glasses of orange juice and then rejoined him in bed.
“Thanks, babe.” Pierre dug into his second helping of toast with gusto, bringing another wide smile to Roz’s face. “You know, I just realized something.”
“Hmm?” Roz murmured, still chewing.
“In all the time we’ve known each other you’ve learned quite a bit about my family, but I don’t know much about yours.”
“My history is not nearly as exciting.”
“Perhaps, but it is definitely above average.”
“How do you know?”
“Average homes do not employ cooks.”
“I’d label my family as...interesting.”
“How so?”
Roz took a few more bites, then reached for her drink. “From the outside looking in, the Arnauds are an upstanding, successful, close-knit, beautiful family. That’s mostly true. My dad’s a judge. His brother an attorney who worked in the president’s administration during his second term. My mother is one of the most illustrious socialites in the city, who made sure we wore the right labels, drove the right cars and lived in the proper zip code. What was and still is lacking are those intangibles that make a house feel homey.”
“Such as?”
“Warmth, open displays of affection. The easy camaraderie and relaxed comfort I experienced in other homes I visited while growing up. That I enjoyed at Stefanie’s house when helping her mom clip coupons or watching her dad and brother yelling at the television during football games. The lived-in atmosphere of messy rooms, dusty shelves, worn carpets and red Kool-Aid stains on laminate countertops.
“My mom is a perfectionist and all about appearances. She is also a proud Southern Creole belle who was crowned queen at her debutante ball. She loves and lives for teas and charities, spa sessions and international shopping dates with friends. I didn’t embrace that world at all, and for her that was a huge disappointment. I didn’t want to live in a society that chose my friends and set my standards. She wanted me to attend Tulane, but Daddy, who I’m closer to and more like, saw past my fake smile to the misery that lay beneath, and rescued me with the notion of expanding my cultural experiences with a Midwestern education.”
“And look at what happened. You turned out beautifully.”
“Thank you.”
“The same can’t be said for my mom.”
Roz placed her plate on the tray and moved it to the nightstand. “Was hers a similar childhood?”
Pierre made a sound. “Hardly, but there is a similarity. Mom wasn’t close to Grand-Mère either. Wasn’t until recently that I found out why.”
“Is this what Ma shared the other night?”
He nodded. “According to her, Mom was the product of an affair my grandmother had with a married man, one she believed was the love of her life. It’s crazy because Grand-Mère was strict, a staunch Catholic who like your mother felt appearance was everything. I guess she justified her actions by the fact that they planned to be married, and once that happened, any sin could be absolved. He led her on for years, saying he’d leave his wife. Whether she got pregnant by accident or as a way to hasten his divorce, Ma didn’t know. But shortly after her birth, he broke it off for good. Ma said Grand-Mère blamed Alana for losing him. She was a baby. How was it her fault?”
Roz shook her head.
“Ma said Grand-Mère was very hard on Mom. That instead of being loved, Mom was tolerated. When she was twelve or thirteen, Grand-Mère married a man who was even stricter than she was, who would beat Alana for the slightest perceived wrong. My mom couldn’t understand how Grand-Mère could allow that from someone who wasn’t even her father. But she did. It caused a rift that never healed.
“When the incidents continued, Mom ran away. That’s when she met my father, a man ten years older with a handsome face, a convincing line and an apartment.”
“How old was your mom?”
“The same age I was when she left me,” Pierre said, turning to look at her. “Fifteen.”
“Is that when she got pregnant?”
“No. That happened a year or so later, a few months shy of her seventeenth birthday.”
“Wow. It doesn’t absolve your mother for abandoning you but...”
“It makes me a little more understanding of how she could do it. Gave me the ability to stop hating her, to forgive her as Lisette has done. Especially after hearing the rest of the story.”
Roz said nothing, just scooted over and placed her head on his shoulder. He hugged her closer to his side.
“Mom stayed with my dad for several years, only leaving when she met Lizzy’s father, who promised her the moon on a platter and the stars in a stemmed glass. Like the one she’d just gotten out of, this was another controlling, abusive relationship. Ma wasn’t sure how it ended, but could only imagine Alana’s lack of self-esteem after years of mental, emotional and physical abuse.”
“Do you remember any of that?”
“The arguments for sure, and how her personality changed when Glen was around.”
“Lizzy’s father?”
Pierre nodded. “Mom was outgoing, but when he came home she’d get quiet, mousy, rushing here and there to do his bidding. Thinking back, I remember the times when they’d be in their bedroom and I heard things. Noises that in retrospect could have been caused by physical violence. I guess it was her attempt to shield us from what was happening. Which was probably best. Several of my friends owned guns and I know how to use them. I would never have let anyone continue hurting my mom.”
“I take it you didn’t get along with your stepfather.”
“History repeated itself. Both Lizzy and I were barely tolerated. It was clear that he didn’t like kids, and definitely didn’t like any attention Mom gave us when he was around. Mom moved out when I was seven and Lizzy was three, but they were together off and on for the next four, five years. Things got worse, especially the physical violence, which always happened when I wasn’t around. Mom tried to hide it but I knew, and I told her what I planned to do about it. She broke up with him for good a couple years before Katrina, but he continued to stalk, threaten and harass her up until the levees broke.
“In meeting that doctor she may have felt like those Katrina flood victims pulled into life rafts from rooftops. That she was being pulled from a hurricane of heartache on what might be the only boat to come her way.”
* * *
Later that day, as Pierre headed to work, his phone rang.
“Hey, sis. Are you still in LA.?”
“Yes.”
“Did you move there?”
Lizzy laughed. “I want to! Flying home on Friday. Did you get the pictures?”
“What pictures?”
“The ones I sent just now of me, Mom, her husband, Bernard, and our sister, Chloe.”
That he didn’t stiffen at the mention of his half sister was proof of how fast love and forgiveness could heal the soul.
“No, I’m driving.”
“Call me back when you see them. Chloe looks more like your sister than I do!” Lizzy paused, then added, “Mom really wants to see you, Pierre. She understands why you’re mad and hates what she did, but if you would at least talk to her—”
“Okay.”
“And give her a chance to explain why she did what she did and how she always planned to come back for us, but then she got pregnant and...wait. Did you say okay?”
“With your nonstop rambling, I’m surprised you heard it,” Pierre said, with a smile in his v
oice.
“You mean it? I can give her your number and if she calls you’ll pick up?”
“If I have time to talk I will, and if not, I’ll call her back.”
“Pear, you sound totally different. What happened to change your mind?”
“A woman named Ma. And another one named Rosalyn.”
They talked a little longer before he ended the call. Not five minutes later another one came in, with an area code he didn’t recognize.
“LeBlanc.”
“Pierre.”
His heart leaped and caught in his throat as a flurry of feelings assailed him. Tears, unexpected and unbidden, misted his eyes.
“It’s your mom.”
“I recognized the voice,” he said, clearing a throat suddenly raspy with emotion.
“I love you, Pierre.”
“I know.”
“I’m so happy to talk to you. Over the years I’ve had a thousand conversations—so much to share, so much I wanted to know. And now, hearing your voice, I’m speechless. Thank you so much for taking my call. To say that I’m sorry is a gross understatement. We can’t turn back time, but if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for all the years you spent without me, and all the hurt and pain I caused by leaving your life.
“I’m so sorry, Pierre. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I forgive you, Mom, especially because Lizzy sounds so happy. But I can’t completely forget what you did, even as I now can better understand why. I can’t act like those years didn’t happen. But I will try and get past what they did to my psyche, and to my soul.”
“Son, I would love to see you and will do anything to regain your love and your trust. Anything you ask.”
“Then I ask for time. I know everyone wants this instant, Hallmark moment, and one of these days I’ll probably be ready to see you again. But I’m not there yet.”
Chapter 28
Roz was cautiously optimistic. For the past week, since making up with Pierre, they’d experienced a closer connection than she’d ever imagined. Spending every available moment together. Finishing each other’s sentences. Anticipating the other’s physical need before it was verbalized. Pierre made love to her like none other. Was this what soul mates felt like?
