by Liz Talley
Obviously.
She’d called several times that first week. But he’d not bothered answering the phone. He didn’t trust himself not to call her selfish or say he hoped she failed. Very, very immature and douchey of him to feel that way, but he did. He wanted to hurt her the way he was hurting. So he didn’t call her back. Then she started texting. Simple texts like wanting to know if Sophie had liked the cake made to look like a stack of her favorite books. Did she like the game Eden had given her? Was Sophie mad at her? How was Disney World? When he didn’t respond to those either, she’d stopped texting.
He’d been a jerk, and he didn’t know how to undo his embarrassing snit fit. Okay, he hadn’t pitched a fit, but his petulant silence was just as bad. Did it matter if he apologized for taking his toys and staying home? What would it change? Eden would still be in New York, and he’d still be butt-hurt in New Orleans. Saying he was sorry wasn’t going to change her mind any more than asking her to stay had stopped her from climbing onto the 747 at Louis Armstrong International and flying away from him.
To tell the truth, maybe he’d never get over her. Eden had fit him so well, and he’d loved being with her. He craved her company, the soft touch of her hands, the way she smiled when Sophie got too excited and tripped over her words. So much about her complemented him, and he’d wondered for weeks after they’d gotten together why it had taken him so long to see it. They would have made beautiful babies together.
His mind put on the brakes.
Babies?
Jesus, he’d jumped there really fast. Eden had essentially said the same thing, reminding him they’d made no promises, had delineated their relationship in no way other than to “be in the moment.”
“Still stewing over your nanny?” Caro said with a slurred voice. She lifted the edge of her satin sleeping mask. “I swear I can feel you doing it. I didn’t think it was that serious. I mean, I knew you liked her, but you’re acting like you did over Susan.”
“What?”
“The stewing.” Caro pushed the mask up, making her blond hair stick up crazily. “You gotta stop. She was the nanny. I mean, come on, Nick. She wasn’t the right woman for you.”
“I guess,” he said, staring morosely out the window. It was easier not to get Caro started. As an older sister, she was plenty protective and a bit jaded. “Except she was. Eden was the perfect woman for me.”
“Come on, baby bro. The nanny?” Caro asked sarcastically.
“What’s wrong with being a nanny? It’s an honest living, and Sophie adored her. Besides, she wasn’t just a nanny. She was a performer too.”
“A performer?” Caro arched a brow.
Nick hadn’t stopped Caro from learning he was dating Eden, but he’d not told anyone she was also the glamorous Vixen of the Vieux Carré, Lulu LaRue. Not that his father or mother would even know who Lulu was. But Caro would. She’d mentioned Gatsby’s several times and had even suggested meeting him there one evening to see what all the fuss was about. Eden seemed to appreciate not crossing her two lives . . . not that she was living a double life like a secret agent or anything. She wasn’t. But Nick had seen no reason to reveal Eden was Lulu. “Eden was Lulu LaRue.”
“Wait, what?” Caro dashed the sleep mask from her head and tossed it onto an empty seat. Her golden eyes went wide. “You mean the dancer at Gatsby’s? That was your nanny? I don’t understand.”
“Eden came to New Orleans to go to school in theatre. She enrolled back in the winter but ran into some bad luck money-wise. So she took a second job and dropped out of school for a while. She landed a gig in the ensemble at Gatsby’s. When one of the lead people failed to show up or something, she filled in. One time was all it took. They saw how good she was and replaced the other girl with Eden. End of story.”
“And you didn’t tell me this why?”
“I don’t know. We were new. I wasn’t ready to go public and neither was she. Doesn’t matter now though.”
Caro drank the watered-down remains of her whiskey and soda. “That’s bizarre. Like seriously bizarre. She was so quiet. Like a rabbit. I don’t see it.”
Nick managed a smile. “She’s an actress. And when she became Lulu, she was incredible. It was like a switch got flipped and she ignited, vibrating with life. Not that she didn’t do that every day, but when she wasn’t acting, she was more like still water. Deep, full, and calming. That’s what she brought to my life. This gravity that pulled me to the center. I can’t really explain it. Can you ever really explain how love feels?”
His sister studied him for a moment like she’d never seen him before. Then she started a slow nod before stopping and saying, “No, I don’t think you explain it. How could I ever explain why I was head over heels for a skinny bald man with, quite frankly, a slight overbite? Love is like shit. It happens.”
For a moment they were both silent, listening to the hum of the engines.
Caro finally looked at him. “Still, that’s crazy. You know that, right? It’s like some Lindsey Lohan teen movie crazy.”
“It was crazy, but it was good. For a while.”
“I miss that feeling too,” Caro said, squeezing his hand. Normally he would pull away, but this time he let his sister hold his hand.
“Do you miss Stephen?” he asked.
“I miss the feeling of being part of something more.”
The plane touched down thirty minutes later, and when Nick turned his phone off airplane mode, he learned he had three messages. All of them urgent.
Sophie was in the hospital, they’d been trying to reach him for an hour, and they finally got in touch with his emergency contact.
Just as he was about to call them back, his phone rang.
It was Eden.
Eden hadn’t been in New Orleans for one hour when the hospital called.
“Hello?” she asked, paying the cab driver, thankful that for once in her life she’d done the smart thing and kept her apartment. It had been expensive, but she’d have lost two months’ rent as a penalty for breaking her lease, so she decided to finish out the yearlong contract, subletting it to one of Jordan’s friends in September.
“Hi, Ms. Voorhees?”
She waved for the driver to keep the change and rolled her beat-up suitcase with the small travel bag toward the dilapidated courtyard that looked only slightly nicer because the banana plants had grown taller. “Yes?”
“We have Sophie Zeringue here at Southeast Louisiana Regional and you’re on her list of emergency contacts.”
“Sophie? You have Soph at the hospital? What’s wrong? Where’s Nick?” Eden’s heart dropped to her toes as she froze in place on the dingy sidewalk outside the apartment complex.
“First she’s stable. Sophie’s having some trouble breathing, and the doctors are running some tests. We tried to reach her father but couldn’t get in touch with him. You were one of the contacts on Camp Unique’s forms, so we called you,” the woman said.
Eden had registered Sophie for Camp Unique four months ago. Situated outside Baton Rouge, the camp catered to children with disabilities. Sophie had been one time before and couldn’t wait to go back and stay in the Chickamauga cabin. Go Chicka Chipmunks! But Nick should have been able to be reached. He was vigilant about having his phone on him at all times, if not because of Sophie then because of the restaurants.
“Okay, let me see what I can do. Where is Southeast Regional?”
“In Gonzales.”
“Okay, I’ll be there,” Eden said. “Tell Sophie not to worry.”
“Yes, ma’am. And if you could locate her father, that would be good. I left several messages but to no avail.”
Eden hung up and hurried up to her apartment, pulling the key from the bottom of her purse. When she opened the door, the place smelled stale but nothing like the first time she’d pushed through the flimsy door. Rolling her suitcase to her room and dropping her purse, she grabbed her phone and dialed the number she’d sworn she wouldn’t dial again.
Because three days ago, she’d quit her job at Bayou Brewery, called Fredric to tell him she couldn’t hack it in NYC, and left Clair and Lauren with a check for next month’s rent. Then she hauled her cookies out to JFK and boarded a very expensive flight back to New Orleans. Currently she had no job, a teeny tiny bank balance, and no plan how to get her job or her man back.
But she would.
Because yeah, Eden Voorhees didn’t give up easily.
Or maybe she should rephrase her old motto—Eden Voorhees didn’t give up when it came to the people she loved. She’d sorta given up on her dream, but as Rosemary so annoyingly and correctly pointed out, dreams change.
It had started with dinner with her friend. Rosemary’s questioning her happiness and her determination to hold fast to her goal of making it on Broadway had stirred doubt in her. Of course, doubt had been there all along, but she’d hidden it beneath bravado, stubbornness, and the resignation because she’d made the choice and had to live with it. After dinner, she’d gone back to an empty apartment, no note about when Clair or Lauren would be home. Outside the apartment, horns honked, people shouted, and the world went about its business. Inside in the tiny apartment in Washington Heights, Eden finally cried.
Giving herself over to emotion wasn’t easy for her. After her “loving” stepfather had corrected her once for being a “fucking crybaby,” she’d learned to become stoic on the outside while inside she bawled like a lost lamb.
But this time she couldn’t hold back the tears. They came like a hurricane, blowing into her, toppling her onto her bed, shaking her with their intensity. For several moments, she cried it out. Then she sat up and wiped the wetness from her cheeks.
What was she doing?
She didn’t know.
For so long she’d headed in this direction, convincing herself being on the stage was the only way she could feel alive. She’d been so set on it that she’d stayed on the path even when there were good things worth stopping for. Eden had convinced herself nothing was more important than her dream. Nothing.
Except there were more important things. There were friends, there was community, and there was love. How could any of those three be less important than starving herself in NYC for a chance to play “girl in back row wearing red scarf”?
As a soft summer rain began to fall outside the tenth-floor window, Eden sank onto her twin bed and pulled out the letter Lacy had given her. She no longer had the charm bracelet. She’d bought a small high-heeled shoe, attached it to the bracelet, and given it to a sister who didn’t want it. Curling her hand around the letter, she marveled a piece of paper could hold such warmth.
“I don’t know what to do, Lacy,” Eden said to the darkness.
No one answered back.
Of course not. ’Cause that would have been weird.
So she unfolded the letter, hoping somewhere the words would deliver needed advice. The first two paragraphs were full of things so precious they made her heart squeeze and tears fall faster. Lacy was in fine cheerleader form—encouraging, barking out orders, and overflowing with enthusiasm for what Eden would accomplish in her life. Here in those first two paragraphs were the embers that started the fire, making Eden believe she could set the world ablaze. Then there was the third paragraph, the one Eden often overlooked in favor of the first two.
Your life hasn’t been easy, E. You know that. I know that. Hell, the whole dang town knows that. But one day things will be good. You’ll be happy and have someone to cherish you. Maybe it will be your pool boy—I hope he’s really hot too, btw. But someone will love you the way you are meant to be loved. Don’t be afraid of that. Or of getting it on with him ;) I’ll be watching over you, and I’ll make sure that all the good things find you, Eden. I love you. Be happy.
Eden refolded the letter and pressed it to her heart.
Be happy.
What if the good things Lacy had promised had already been found? What if Eden had been too stubborn to let go of what she thought she wanted? What if everything she’d wanted had slid through her fingers the way Lacy’s bracelet had when she handed it to her sister?
She could see the charm bracelet as she’d handed it to Sunny. It was so familiar with the tiny silver cross and the tiara Eden had given Lacy when she won fair queen. The Empire State Building and flip-flop charm had caught in the light of Sunny’s bedroom, reminding Eden that Rosemary and Jess had found their future.
So was Eden bold enough to go get hers?
Could she give up Broadway for Nick, Sophie, and being constantly berated by Frenchie Pi?
She pushed off the bed and grabbed her phone. Fifteen very long minutes and several page refreshes later, she’d procured her ticket back to New Orleans.
Now Eden stood back in the world she’d once belonged in but without a clue as to how she would get Nick to talk to her. He’d ignored her messages and texts. That had bothered her—that he could shut her out of his life so definitively. She’d wondered if he was indeed in love with her or had in fact used those words to keep her here. Deep down she knew he wasn’t the sort of man to say those words easily. Nick had been hurt by a woman choosing her career over him before, so she suspected his silence was a form of protection. People did weird things to stop the hurt. Eden had learned that through her mother. Betty’s sharp tongue and bitterness deflected the sadness that surrounded her like a cloud of biting gnats.
Eden looked at the phone, then pressed the Call button.
Nick answered on the second ring and the sound of his voice, frantic as it was, made her close her eyes and give an inward sigh.
“Eden,” he said.
“Did they call you about Sophie?”
“I just got the voice mail. I called the hospital and asked for the woman who called, but she wasn’t available. I left a message.”
“I talked to the nurse—I guess it was a nurse. She said Sophie was having trouble breathing and they were doing tests. They couldn’t reach you or Caroline.”
“Caro’s with me. We’re in Florida for a meeting and mini-vacation. Did they give you the doctor’s name? Any clue what they think it is? I’m trying to get a flight out of here in the next hour.”
Eden inhaled. “I’ll try to—”
“This is them calling. Thanks, Eden,” he said before the line went dead.
“Crap.” Eden checked on her list of contacts. She found Derrick’s name and called him. No answer, but as soon as she hung up, the phone rang.
“Hey, D. I need your help,” Eden said, flipping on the dinged lamp near the futon, allowing watery yellow light to illuminate the dust on the coffee table.
“How’s NYC? Get anything yet?”
“I’m not in New York. I’m in New Orleans.” She rifled through her purse, looking for her phone charger. “But I don’t have time to explain. I have to get to Gonzales. Sophie’s in the hospital.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“They don’t know. But Nick and his sister are out of town, and I don’t know who her new nanny is. I need to get there . . . but I sold my car.”
“You want me to drive you? It’s after five o’clock, sug. I gotta show at nine thirty.”
“Derrick, please. You can get back by eight thirty tonight. I don’t have anyone else. I don’t know anyone else who has a car. Maybe Jordan if she’s not working, but . . .” She left off with a sigh, feeling desperate.
“I’ll do it, but I’m doing my makeup before I go. You gonna have to deal with Sista Shayla driving you. Not Derrick. Can you meet me at Gatsby’s?”
“I’ll be there and ready to go in ten minutes as long as Sandra doesn’t hold me up outside the door with pictures of her nieces. It’s really hard to concentrate on the pics with those tassels hanging from her nipples.”
“She do love her nieces.” Derrick laughed. “Ain’t it funny how we’re one big family? We the craziest family, but we family.”
>
“Yeah, we are,” Eden said, a sudden hot rush of tears gathering in her eyes. “I hope Frenchie Pi will let me come back. She was pretty pissed at me.”
“Aw, she’ll get over it. You brought the big bucks. Besides, she and Sadie have already gotten into it. Frenchie said she’s fed up and going to get married and retire to a golf course. Those were her exact words.”
“See you soon,” Eden said, unzipping her suitcase, finding a clean shirt and something more sturdy than the flip-flops she’d worn through airport security. She’d get to the hospital and stay with Sophie until Nick could get there. The child was likely scared to death being in a hospital all alone.
Hold on, Soph. I may not have been there for you like I should have been, but I’m coming, baby. I’m coming back to you and your daddy.
If he’ll have me.
Nick ran through the Southeast Louisiana Regional Medical Center like a man with demons on his heels. He’d finally gotten in touch with someone who told him they thought Sophie had double pneumonia. They’d done a CT scan and were working to get her fever down. Nick had spent much of the flight to Baton Rouge ignoring the suggestion he not use his cell phone so he could call his parents (who were in Houston for a golf tournament), Susan (who was at dinner with a producer or some other shithead), and Sophie’s doctor (who was in Bermuda).
His girl was all alone except for some camp counselor who’d stayed with her.
Thank goodness for Camp Unique.
He rounded a corner and nearly knocked over a man on a walker.
“Jeez, slow down,” the old man croaked at him.
Nick slowed to a fast walk. “Sorry. My daughter.”
“Eh,” the old man called, but Nick didn’t bother acknowledging him. He had to get to the step-down unit. They’d put Sophie in intensive care at first because of the cerebral palsy, but since they’d managed to lower her fever in the past hour and her vitals were stable, they’d moved her to step-down.
