Blue Bayou Final

by Kate, Jiffy

  “Me, too. I don’t even know Carys, but I could tell you were balls deep.”

  “She’s...” I start, but stop, not knowing what to say. “I don’t know, man. I wish you could meet her.”

  Shep sighs, leaning back in his chair. “What about your job? Do you think Spencer will change his mind after he cools down?”

  “No,” I answer without having to think about it. “I knew it was coming. If he hadn’t fired me, I would’ve quit. I’d already made up my mind about that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I shrug, thinking about it for a second. “I’ll scrub toilets for the next two years if I have to, but one thing’s for sure, I’m done with Kensington Properties. My only regret is that I couldn’t sell him on my alternative plan with the other properties. I wish there was a way for me to deter him from the Blue Bayou.”

  “Do you think he’ll still pursue it even though you told him she’s not selling?” Shep asks.

  I look at him, wondering if we’re still talking about my father.

  “Never mind,” Shep groans. “This is Spencer Kensington we’re talking about. He’ll attack until he gets the kill.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “But you said she’s not selling,” Shep says.

  “She’s not,” I tell him, confidently. “I just wish there was a way I could protect her from him. I know him. He’ll be on her front step within the week, if he hasn’t shown up already.”

  “Did you find out what information he has on her or the hotel?” Shep asks, thoughtfully.

  Letting out a deep, frustrated sigh, I shake my head. “No, I just hope it’s something she’s aware of. If I’d had a couple more days, I could’ve maybe gotten to the bottom of it, but there’s nothing I can do now.”

  “You can call her, warn her about your father and give her a heads up about what he said about biding his time.”

  “She won’t talk to me. I called yesterday and George answered the phone. He said he’d give her the message that I called, but I know him, he was just being polite. I was still Mr. Kensington, which means he’s still pissed at me and protecting Carys.”

  “Well, maybe call again and if she doesn’t answer, just leave a message about your father. That should get their attention.”

  “Maybe,” I tell him, willing to give it a try.

  Later that evening, with Carys weighing heavily on my mind, as she often does, I decide to call the hotel again.

  “Blue Bayou, this is Jules. How may I help you?”

  “Hey, Jules. This is Maverick,” I start, hoping for a warmer reception from him than George.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Big D and I don’t mean Dallas.”

  Fuck. So much for that warm reception.

  “Um, yeah, so is Carys around?”

  “No.”

  I take a deep breath and start over. “Look, Jules, I’m sorry for the way things turned out with me and Carys...sorrier than you’ll ever know, but it’s extremely important that I speak with her. It’s about the hotel.”

  “I wish I could help you, but she’s not taking phone calls at the moment. She has more pressing things to attend to.”

  “Like what? She hasn’t been approached by my dad, has she? Spencer Kensington? That’s why I’m calling, to warn her.”

  “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  I let out a frustrated groan and bang my fist down on my kitchen counter. I can tell I’m getting nowhere with Jules. With no other option than to fly my ass back there, which from the way things ended and the fact it’s only been a week, doesn’t sound like a very smart option, Jules is my only chance to make things right.

  “I appreciate your loyalty to Carys and contrary to popular belief, I’m loyal to her, too. I don’t even work for my father anymore; I was fired my first day back. I only want what’s best for Carys and the hotel, so please tell her my dad has some kind of information on her that makes the hotel extremely vulnerable for a buyout. Because I don’t have all the facts, I’m not exactly sure how to help her, other than to warn her. Can you do that for me, at least?” I plead, my tone sounding as desperate as I feel.

  I don’t hear anything from Jules for a couple of moments and I wonder if the call was disconnected during my little tirade.

  “Okay, fine, I’ll tell her what you said,” he finally answers. “This better not be some kind of ploy to hurt her even more than she already is. I’d hate to bust that beautiful face of yours with my fist, but I’ll do it.”

  My lips twitch with a mental image of an angry Jules popping into my mind. Actually, he probably could kick my ass if he wanted to. He’s tenacious as fuck.

  “I’d never do anything to hurt her,” I reply, quieter. I mean it, and I hope to put the sincerity I feel in my heart into my words to Jules. “You have to believe me. I’m the Maverick she thought she knew...the same one you knew. I swear. But, if I do somehow fuck up and hurt her, I’d be happy to let you bust my face.”

  When I hang up, I sit in my dark living room. Nothing feels the same since I got back and it has nothing to do with losing my job and everything to do with losing Carys. Not that I feel like I’ve lost her for good. My stupid heart is holding out hope that she’ll change her mind, but I don’t know when or how that’s going to happen. My grandfather’s words come back to haunt me anytime I think about flying back to New Orleans: everything good comes to those who wait.

  I’ve never been good at waiting. When I turned fifteen and a half, I wanted a car. My father told me to call my grandfather and my grandfather told me don’t get the cart before the horse. At the time, I rolled my eyes, thinking he was old and didn’t know what he was talking about, always trying to sneak his bits of “wisdom” into every conversation we had. So, instead, I took matters into my own hands. I sold some baseball cards my grandfather gave me and bought a piece of shit truck from a guy on my football team.

  I wrecked it two weeks later.

  Not only did I have a broken wrist and was unable to play football that season, but I also had to wait to get my license.

  Everything good comes to those who wait.

  Don’t put the cart before the horse.

  And my favorite: Don’t expect everything to go right the first time.

  Letting out a deep breath, I stand from the chair and walk to my office. The lights in here are dim too, but I don’t turn any more on. Instead, I open up my laptop and bring up Facebook. It’s not the first time I’ve done this since I’ve been back. Actually, it’s my nightly ritual. There’s one old photo of Carys on here, a photo she probably took back when she was in college and opened up her page, but she’s gorgeous. The way the sun is behind her, haloing her face, reminds me of the days we spent walking around the French Quarter.

  I want to go back.

  To the Blue Bayou.

  To Carys.

  But I know I have to be patient. Carys needs this time. She needs to figure out what she wants. I want her to trust me and believe me, but I also want her to come to those feelings on her own. I’m hoping the journal I left behind will help, if she gives it a chance...if she didn’t use it for kindling to make s’mores. That thought makes my entire body tense. Leaving that journal behind—a piece of myself, tangible memories of my grandfather...a piece of him—was one of the hardest, yet easiest decisions of my life. Thankfully, I’ve read it so many times, it’s ingrained on my heart...in my mind, woven into my soul. Even if it didn’t exist any longer, I’d still take it with me everywhere I go.

  Kind of like Carys.

  She’s in there too.

  Chapter 26

  Carys

  “Miss Matthews, Mr. Wallace will see you now.”

  “Oh, okay. Thank you.”

  I try to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms onto the chair before grabbing my file folder and standing. This folder is filled with every paper I thought I’d possibly need for meeting with Mr. Wallace, and then some. I’m determined to be as professiona
l as I can and show that I mean business. I’m even wearing a dress, for crying out loud.

  The secretary leads me into a large office and motions for me to sit in a large chair before quietly stepping back into the main lobby of First National Bank. The man I’m here to see, Mr. Buford Wallace, is sitting across the desk from me and speaking on the phone. He’s not a very intimidating looking man like I’d imagined. In fact, he kind of looks familiar, which helps me relax a little. When he looks up and sees me sitting across from him, he smiles as he continues talking on the phone.

  “All right, Ethel, I have to go now. I have someone special here to see me, but I’ll see you when I get home.” Pausing for a second, he gives me a nod of his head before replying, “Yes, I believe, red beans and rice will be perfect this evening. Bye, now.” Hanging up the phone, he stands to greet me.

  “Carys Matthews, it is so good to see you. How have you been?” He reaches over for my hand and when I extend it out to him, he takes it in both of his, squeezing tightly. “You probably don’t remember me, but I handled all your granddaddy’s and your mama’s banking when they ran the Blue Bayou. I don’t think I’ve seen you since Vivienne’s funeral, though. You holdin’ up okay?”

  I can’t help but be charmed by his kindness but I’m afraid to answer too honestly, because if I was okay, I wouldn’t be here. I’m not a fan of airing dirty laundry, but if my family trusted Mr. Wallace, I should be able to as well.

  “Well, to be honest, sir, I’m not.”

  “Please call me Buford or, at the very least, Mr. Wallace. None of this sir business. I’ve known you all your life, so that practically makes us family.” His warm smile eases me and my nerves. “Now, tell me how I can help you.”

  Not sure where to begin, I place my folder on his desk. “Well, I’m sorry to say that I’m in a real mess. I thought I was keeping up with things but, apparently, I’m behind on my property taxes.”

  The expression on his face is sympathetic but not condescending in any way. He opens the folder and reads the first document, which is the notice about the tax sale. After a brief moment, he hangs his head and lets out a deep sigh. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are sorrowful.

  “Miss Carys, it appears I owe you an apology.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, trying hard not to get my hopes up about this all being a mistake.

  “It seems as though I’ve failed you. I always promised your granddaddy I’d look out for you and your mama, making sure your finances were in order. Vivienne never seemed to need my help in that area. So, I took you not coming to see me or asking for any kind of help as a sign you had everything under control, as well. But I should’ve reached out to make sure. I’m so sorry, my dear.”

  “Mr. Wallace, there is no need to apologize. I know this is my fault. I misplaced the tax bill and I’m the one who let it go unpaid.”

  “And that is where my fault lies. I should’ve come to you. Please forgive me for my negligence. Your mother had a savings account she had money deposited into on a monthly basis, so that when the property taxes were due, she didn’t have to worry about coming up with such a large sum of money. I should’ve spoken with you, asked if you’d like to continue using the account.”

  “We’ll call it good if you can help me,” I plead. “I was thinking that perhaps I could get a loan.” My tone is hesitant, because I have no idea what the protocol is here; I just know I’m desperate for help. “I mean, if that’s even possible. I don’t know what I’m doing here, Mr. Wallace. I’ve never had a loan. I just know that Mary told me you used to help my grandfather and my mother with financial issues, so I’m hoping you can help me too.”

  Mr. Wallace clears his throat and scoots his chair up closer to his desk, leaning his elbows on the dark wood and tenting his fingers, as he gives me an inquisitive stare. “You do realize that the Blue Bayou is paid for, right?”

  I nod, swallowing. Actually, until Mary mentioned it the other day, I hadn’t really thought of the Bayou as property, in the sense that I could sell it. It’s always seemed like so much more than just a building to me. It’s family. And I would never sell family. So, why would I sell the Blue Bayou? Sure, the less stress part wouldn’t be bad, but I would miss it too much. It’s a part of me, a part of who I am, and I’m willing to do anything I can to keep it.

  “Miss Carys, you have enough collateral to borrow as much money as you need and then some.”

  I feel like I should probably be upset by the fact that I didn’t know any of this, but it wouldn’t do any good at this point. So, it’s relief that washes over me with this knowledge, and I feel my shoulders relax a little. “Is that something I could get today, or at least, in the next few days? The tax sale notice was dated a week ago and it states that I only have twenty days from the time it was written,” I tell him, feeling the familiar panic start creeping back up as I point to the date typed on the top of the letter.

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Wallace says, picking up his pair of glasses and setting them back on his nose as he skims over the letter once more. “We should be able to type up the papers today. I can give you a list of the items we’ll need to secure the loan.” He clears his throat and sets the letter back on the desk between us.

  “I have some money saved, but most of that I planned on putting back into the hotel. It seems like since my mom...” I pause, because even after a year and a half, I still have trouble saying died. She’s gone. “Well, since she’s been gone, everything has seemed to go wrong.”

  Mr. Wallace reaches across the desk and places his hand over mine, causing me to look up at him and see the kindness and genuine care in his eyes. “I know things have been hard, but I have faith in you. You’re gonna get your head above water and then...well, sky’s the limit.”

  I huff out a laugh, wiping at the dampness under my eyes. “Now you sound like Mary.”

  “Oh, Miss Mary,” he says with a nostalgic smile. “How is she these days?”

  “Good,” I tell him with a smile and a nod. “She’s good. I don’t know what I’d do without her and George.”

  “Your grandfather thought the world of them. Your mama, too, for that matter.”

  “They did, and I do too. They’re part of the reason I must fix this. I can’t let them down, Mr. Wallace, and I can’t let myself down. It’s been a rough year, but I want this more than I ever dreamed. And it’s not just because it belongs to my family. I want it because it makes me happy.” I stop, thinking about the change I’ve felt inside regarding the Blue Bayou and my heart expands. “Recently, I met someone, and he really opened my eyes, made me see it in a new light. I have plans for the hotel, things I think are really going to bring it back to its glory days, even better.”

  “Thatta girl,” Mr. Wallace praises, giving the desk a good slap. “I’m going to have the remaining balance of your mother’s savings account transferred over into your name. That should give you some wiggle room on operating expenses. And my secretary will draw up the necessary papers for the loan. They should be ready for you to sign tomorrow morning and we’ll cut you a check shortly after. Once you make the deposit, you’ll be good to go pay the delinquent taxes at the courthouse.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wallace.” Smiling, I feel like jumping over the desk and kissing him, but I decide to refrain.

  When I get back to the hotel, George, Mary, and Jules are all waiting for me in the lobby. I stop just inside the door when I see them, wondering if something happened while I was gone. I’m learning to not think that way and just roll with whatever happens. The statement I made to Maverick the day he walked into the hotel still rings true: we should rename this place Murphy’s Law.

  But I like Blue Bayou too much.

  So, it stays.

  “What?” I look around for signs of catastrophe.

  “So?” Mary asks, and I see her grab George’s hand.

  “So, what?” I counter, glancing over at Jules who is chewing on his bright blue fingernails. That’s totally u
nlike him. He never messes with a fresh manicure.

  “Miss Carys, please don’t keep us in suspense,” George implores.

  I fight to hold back my smile but fail. “You all still have a job. I mean, if you want it,” I tease. “And Mr. Wallace is writing the loan for a little more than the taxes to give us some cash flow to fix this place up,” I add. “I was thinking, once everything is taken care of, maybe we’ll have a grand re-opening, something to kick off this new era of the Blue Bayou. What do y’all think?”

  The smile on Mary’s face says it all, but when Jules takes a few steps forward and wraps me in a hug, twirling me around, I let out my first real sigh of relief.

  We’re gonna make it.

  I should be happy, and I am, but I’m also sad because there is one other person I wish I could share this news with, someone I thought would always be on my side, but he’s not here. I miss him. Even though he ended up not being who I thought he was. I miss the idea of him. I miss the comfort and strength he brought to my life. I miss the way my body felt when I was near him. I miss the way he looked at me.

  Can you force yourself to look at someone like they hung the moon and painted the stars?

  Because that’s what it felt like every time I caught him watching me.

  If that was an act, Maverick deserves an Oscar.

  Chapter 27

  Carys

  Walking up to the back entrance of the hotel, carrying a basket full of individually wrapped macarons, I smile at Jules when he gets the door for me.

  “Thanks, Jules,” I tell him, offering him a kiss to his cheek.

  “You can pay me in cookies,” he demands, closing the door behind me. “Also, the new computers are the shit and have you seen our website?”

  I smile, setting the basket down on the front desk and handing him a cookie. One. If I don’t ration them to him, he’ll eat the whole damn batch, and I need enough to put in the rooms before check-in.

  Glancing over at the guestbook, I see we only have three vacancies, one being the room we’re currently remodeling due to excess water leakage in the bathroom. The infamous room 201.