Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 01 - Dark Bayou

by Nancy K. Duplechain

  But she got up from her seat and went out the front door without a word. My stomach sank. I figured this would happen, but there was a part of me that hoped she would be excited to see me. With a heavy sigh, I went to the fridge, brought out the pitcher and poured myself a glass of tea. The cold liquid shocked my throat, but it felt good. I chugged the whole glass and noticed that the mint leaves helped to wake me up a little.

  I walked into the living room and noticed it hadn’t changed since I’d been gone. Above the sofa, a large painting of a silver fleur de lis against a navy blue background was the focal point. The polished mahogany floor peeked out from under a large area rug. A scent of lemon Pledge hung in the air, and I saw that the little wooden coffee table had been cleaned recently. Sitting in the center of the table was Clothilde’s antique candy dish that belonged to her grandmother. It was a tear-drop shaped Waterford Crystal bowl, and Clothilde swore that if David or I ever moved it from the center of the table, our hides would be red for a month. I didn’t have to lift the lid of the dish to know what kind of candy was in it. Since I was a baby, a constant supply of Tootsie Rolls occupied the hollow of the crystal.

  I went out the front door. The heat and humidity were stifling, but it was beautiful out there, even with the overgrown weeds and the general unkempt appearance of the front yard. There was a large pond a couple of yards in front of the house. The shadows of the ancient oak trees cast themselves upon the water’s surface. My gaze ventured out toward the center of the pond and I suddenly remembered my dream about Lyla being out there, telling me to hurry up and join her because we would be safe there. But in the dream, the Dark Man chased us into the water. As I thought of that creepy, skeletal hand reaching around the corner of the door frame where I now stood, I shivered despite the heat.

  I walked down the porch and around to the back yard. On my way to the back, I strolled down a dirt path that was covered with a latticed archway engulfed in honeysuckle. A Banana Spider sat lazily in her web, seemingly uninterested in the few bees that buzzed around the sweet buds. It reminded me of all the childhood summers David and I spent here. It was a wonderful time then, back when everyone was alive and happy.

  When I got to the backyard, I looked for Lyla and Clothilde, but didn’t see either of them. I did see a huge garden, though. Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, peppers and watermelon abound. On the far side of the property was a small grove of persimmon trees. Adjacent to that was an enormous fig tree, the very tree that got me into trouble when I was about six years old. I was such a tomboy, always climbing anything I could. The tree was a lot smaller then, but it seemed immense to me. I climbed to the very top once to pick some figs that David and I couldn’t reach. David, being the big brother he was, tried to stop me from going up that high. But I, being the stubborn little sister that I was, wanted to prove that I could do it. I had just grabbed the figs at the top and started my climb down when Clothilde caught me. She fussed for me to get out of the tree. Then she walked me over to a Chicken Tree that Hurricane Beverly took out a couple of years later. She had made me pick out my own switch, which was a very skinny branch, thicker and stiffer than a vine. Once I picked one out—the smallest I could find—she broke it off, removed the leaves, and then swatted me with it, like it was a little whip. This was quite common in our area of the country. I got switched plenty of times growing up, and I deserved it every single time.

  I walked over to the garden and took in the slightly sweet aroma of fresh vegetables. I walked further down the garden and saw a variety of herbs, many of which I’d never seen in my life. I looked further, and I noticed various roots alongside the herbs. I could name a few, like turnip roots and some herbs like rosemary, but I didn’t have a clue about the rest. I heard some chickens clucking nearby. I walked past the garden and saw the old chicken coop. I couldn’t believe she still had chickens. It seemed a lot of work for someone of Clothilde’s age. I heard a rattling, clanging noise coming from the large shed near the garden. I went to the shed and saw Clothilde and Lyla inside. They didn’t see me, so I quietly watched from the doorway.

  They looked like they were cooking, but nothing edible. I saw Clothilde tossing random herbs and roots into a large pot that was atop a small wooden stove. With one hand, Lyla handed her some of the ingredients of the mystery stew, and pinched her nose with the thumb and forefinger of her other hand. I got a whiff of what was cooking, and it was pungent. I covered my nose and mouth, but remained where I was.

  Clothilde stopped stirring the pot and lowered the heat to simmer. She turned around and saw me. “About time you got up,” she said.

  Lyla looked my way and then turned around, pretending to tend to the mystery stew, anything to avoid looking at me.

  “What on Earth are you cooking?” I asked, still covering my mouth and nose.

  “Don’t be so dramatic!” fussed Clothilde. “I’m making something to help Miss Ya. She’s not feeling good.” She walked past me and over to the chicken coop. I followed her, now removing my hand, relieved to get fresh air. Clothilde entered the coop, and I noticed that she had a small wooden spoon in her hand. She took the spoon and bent down. She then scraped some of the feces from the bottom of the coop. She went back to the shed and emptied the contents of her spoon into the pot without a second thought. My mouth was agape.

  “What are you doing?!” I asked, nausea creeping up from the pit of my stomach.

  “I told you! I’m making something for Miss Ya.”

  “Is that some kind of salve?”

  “No. It’s tea.”

  “You’re making … chicken poo tea?” I hissed. Lyla started to giggle at this, but stopped herself when she remembered she was supposed to be mad at me.

  “How else is Miss Ya supposed to get over her strep throat?”

  “But … that’s disgusting.”

  “It works!”

  “Who cares if it works or not? Does she know what’s in it?”

  “Of course! She’s been coming to me for years. Besides, I’m going to strain it. She’ll only drink the liquid.”

  I shuddered. “Coming to you?”

  Clodhilde nodded.

  “Coming to you for what?”

  “Whatever she needs help with.”

  “What is it that you do, exactly, Maw-maw?”

  She gave the pot a quick stir and banged the spoon to shake off the excess liquid. She put the lid on and kept it simmering. “Lyla, go finish your breakfast.”

  “But I—” Lyla started, but Clothilde gave her the look. That look meant business. When her eyes stared you down, it was best to do what Clothilde wanted. Lyla sulked for a moment and then left the shed in a huff. I heard her footsteps crunch some old fallen leaves as she rounded the building. It sounded like they stopped short. I suspected that she was listening by the shed’s single dirty old window over the rusted sink. That’s what I would have done, anyway.

  “There are things you don’t know yet,” said Clothilde. “If I tell you one thing, I’ll have to tell you everything, and you’re not ready for that yet.”

  “Well, when do you think I’ll be ready?”

  “I don’t know, Leigh-Leigh.”

  “Leigh,” I mumbled.

  “Eh?”

  “Just Leigh,” I said meekly.

  She nodded. “I keep forgetting you’re not a little girl anymore. But in some ways, you are. You and Lyla, y’all are just alike.”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to me. She won’t even look at me.”

  “Give her time.”

  I was silent. I wondered what it was that Clothilde wanted to tell me but couldn’t. I don’t know why, but I was sure it had something to do with the Dark Man. I was glad to avoid that conversation at all costs. I felt the pocket of my jeans vibrate. I reached in and pulled out my cell. It was Carrie. I looked up at Clothilde, and she nodded indicating that our conversation was through for the moment. I flipped open the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, girlie!�
� said Carrie.

  “Hey.”

  “Glad you’re back.”

  “How did you know I was back,” I asked, eyeing Clothilde suspiciously. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Word travels fast,” said Carrie.

  “Yeah. Word does travel fast,” I agreed, loud enough for Clothilde to hear. I noticed her hiding a smile.

  “So, I want you to come over in a few hours. I’m having a big crawfish boil. Bring Lyla and Clothilde. It’s going to start at four, but you can come anytime you like.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Care …” I started, but Clothilde gave me the look and I quickly changed my mind. “Well, okay. I’ll come.”

  “Yay!” said, Carrie, and I pictured her doing the Happy Dance, something we made up a long time ago. “Hang on! I have to do the Happy Dance.” I heard her put the phone down and there was silence for a few seconds. I smiled big at this. “Okay!” she said when she came back to the phone. “I’ll see you whenever, but remember it starts at four.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

  “Byeeee!”

  We hung up.

  “So, as I’m sure you know, Carrie invited me to a crawfish boil. She also invited you and Lyla.”

  “I’m going to Miss Ya’s later to help her. But you can bring Lyla if she’ll go. If not, I’ll bring her with me to Miss Ya’s.”

  “Okay. I’ll go ask her.”

  I exited the shed and walked around toward the house. Lyla wasn’t outside. If she had been eavesdropping, she was doing a good job of hiding it. When I entered the kitchen, she was again picking at the food on her plate, though there was more of it eaten now. I took a deep breath and tried to sound cheerful.

  “Carrie invited all of us to a crawfish boil this afternoon. You interested in going?”

  Lyla got out of her chair and started to leave.

  “Lyla, stop!” She obeyed, but didn’t look at me. I didn’t actually think she would stop, so I was a little lost, not knowing what to say next. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t spoken to me or even looked at me since I’ve been back.” She was silent. I walked around to look her in the eyes, but she turned away from me.

  “Lyla, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here these last few years.”

  “Sorry doesn’t feed the bulldog,” she murmured.

  I laughed a little at this. She glared at me. “Sorry,” I continued. “I just haven’t heard that expression in a long time. Paw-paw Octave used to say that.”

  “I know,” she murmured again.

  I sighed. “I know I can’t make up for all the time I was gone, and I know you’re still hurting from losing your mom and dad—”

  She started to storm off, but I stopped her, gently grasping her shoulders. She tried to break free, but I held her tighter. “Lyla, wait! Now, listen to me! I can’t make it up to you, and I don’t even know how I’d try to make it up. But I do love you. I’ve always—”

  “Bull shit!”

  I was temporarily stunned to hear her cursing already. I thought that kind of language would come when she was a teenager, but she had every right to say it. I don’t know if I’d believe me if I were in her shoes, either.

  “It’s true,” I said. “I know you don’t understand, and I’m not sure I even understand it myself, but I had my reasons for leaving. I’m not saying they were good reasons or that it was the right decision, but I did it and it’s done. I can’t take it back. Believe me. I’d love to take it back. You’re getting older now, and you’re going to start realizing that life doesn’t always turn out the way we want it to. I think you already realize that.”

  I took my hands off her shoulders, and she stayed put. “You have every reason in the world to not like me and I don’t blame you. But part of getting older is learning to know when to let things go. As much as you think you want to stay mad at me forever and as much as you may try to, it’ll only wind up hurting you in the end. You have to know when to move forward and not stay stuck in the past.” As I was telling her this, it occurred to me that I needed to take my own advice. “I want to move forward. I miss you. We don’t have to be buddies, but we can still be family.”

  She stared down at the floor with her arms crossed.

  “Do you want to go to Carrie’s later?”

  She shook her head, no. But I saw that she was actually thinking it over. That, at least, was some progress.

  “Okay,” I said, defeated. She went upstairs, and I heard her close the door to mom’s old room.

  At 4:15, I pulled up to Carrie’s modest one-story house on Laurel Road, which is off of Hwy. 167, but still in the Lafayette city limits. The house had belonged to her great uncle, who willed it to her. The last time I saw it, she had only been living in it for seven months and the shutters were dark green. Now they were a bright, cheerful yellow, and where there was once a cracked, old walkway up to the door, there was now a path of whimsical stepping stones featuring dragonflies and butterflies.

  There were cars double parked in the driveway and quite a few more lining the side of the road. I parked on the other side of the road. It was a small neighborhood where no one reports anyone for parking on the wrong side. I got out, careful to avoid stepping in the ditch on this side, and shut the door behind me.

  I crossed the street and walked up the little path. I heard the party coming from the backyard. I could hear zydeco music coming from a stereo, the accordion player really going to town. Instead of going through the front door, I snuck in through the open carport. I peeked over the wooden fence that separated the backyard from the carport and saw two crawfish boilers going full blast. The smell made my mouth water. I wanted to go in right away, but there were at least fifty people there. They were laughing and enjoying life, and I instantly felt like I had no right to be there. I was the one who turned my back on all of this a long time ago. I chose misery and solitude, and I had no right to change my mind.

  I started to back up, thinking I should leave. But I saw Lucas leaning against one of the oak trees by the picnic table. He sipped from his Bud with a grin spread across his face. He was in a pair of faded jeans that looked like they were tailored just for him. He had on a pair of boots, and he was wearing his police baseball cap that hid his dirty blonde hair. His white T-shirt was short-sleeved and, for the first time, I could make out muscles that were never there when I knew him last. My stomach sank, and my heart beat irregularly for a few seconds.

  I took a deep breath and stepped back again. There was no way I was ready for this. I turned to leave, but as I passed the screened-in carport door that led into the kitchen, I saw Carrie open it excitedly and rush down the steps.

  “Yay! You came!” she said, and hugged me as tightly as she could. She released her embrace and dragged me by the arm, up the steps, and into the kitchen. “Come! I have beer and tons of junk food and—”

  “Oh, Care. I’m sorry. I didn’t think to bring anything.”

  “If I had wanted you to bring anything, I would have told you. The only thing I wanted you to bring was your ass. Now come on. Lucas has been waiting to see you again.” I stopped short and Carrie, who was still pulling my arm, kept going. My sudden stop caused her to jerk backwards, and she looked like she was going to fall, but steadied herself. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I was silent and just shook my head. “Oh, come on, Leigh! You have nothing to worry about, my little wallflower. Everyone’s nearly drunk, so they won’t even remember you were here tomorrow. Let’s go. I won’t leave your side. I promise.”

  I was once again grateful that she could read my mind. I felt at ease with her. I let her lead me through the kitchen and out the patio doors that led to the backyard. When we got outside, one man in an LSU baseball cap shouted, “HEY!” but it came out sounding like AAAAA! with the long vowel sound. I didn’t know what Carrie meant when she said “nearly drunk,” because this guy was completely sauced.