We tried and it worked. Adrienne didn’t wait for me to close the door; she was already ahead of me, moving through the kitchen.
Ophélie was certainly the largest house I had ever been in, and so her awed reaction was satisfying. She slipped off her sandals and walked barefoot across the old, cypress floorboards.
Adrienne wandered, gawking, from the dining room to the double parlor and then into the receiving room. I respected her silence by keeping my thoughts to myself.
The staff kept the house exactly the way Charles and his family had left it. In the parlor, his reading glasses sat on the table next to the chaise lounge. Nathalie’s book lay on the opposite table, still folded out to mark her place.
We went up the stairs, to the second floor and the bedrooms. Ten of the twenty bedrooms were on this floor, five more on the bottom floor, and on the rest on the third and final floor. The third floor rooms were the suite Charles and Cordelia occupied during the course of their marriage.
Five of the bedrooms on the second floor belonged to the five children, and of the remaining five, one had belonged to Lisette. The last four were kept as guest rooms.
As if by instinct that even memory loss could not interfere with, Adrienne walked directly to her room and pushed open the door.
Her bed stood in the middle of the room. On her vanity table, her brush was still tangled with her red hair, lip gloss rolled up against the handle. Next to her bed, a copy of War and Peace. To the right of her bed and vanity, her personal bathroom, and to the left, the door to the gallery.
Adrienne looked back at me before going to the double French doors and turning the knob, the handle clicking noisily from having been unused for three years.
I followed her out on to the gallery, which overlooked Brigitte’s Garden, the place so beloved to her and Nathalie. Although I kept my peace, I put my hand out and touched her shoulder to let her know I was there whenever she might need me. She covered my hand with hers and then turned abruptly; there were tears streaming down her face.
“Oz, please, stay here with me. Let’s stay here, the two of us. I don’t want to go back to New Orleans. Please, do this, for me.” Her pleading caught me so completely off guard, at first I couldn’t think of a response. She was a child again, weeping desperately in my arms.
“Adrienne, what is it? Do you remember?” I held her in my arms as her body shook with sobs.
“Oz, I can’t explain it. Please don’t ask me to. Oh, I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but I’m doing it anyway. Stay here with me! I need you to so badly I can’t even begin to communicate it.”
“Ade, look at me.” I forced her chin up and saw her whole face was red. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise."
“So you will do it? You will stay here with me?”
“There’s no need. You can come here whenever you want, I will let you take my car, or I’ll arrange a car from your own fleet. I will protect you from whatever it is you’re scared of. Maybe you won’t tell me what it is, but I’ll know when the time comes. There is no need to hide from the world out here.”
If only I had known with those words I would push her away, put up a wall between us where before there had been none.
“Okay Oz,” Adrienne said, her calm restored so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it all. “Whatever you say.”
On the way home, she gazed out the window, not saying a word. Once home, when I was sure her attention was sufficiently averted, I turned on my cell phone and checked the messages.
I’d received twenty-two voice mails.
* * *
HER DEMEANOR THE rest of the day worried me. To anyone looking in, it would seem Adrienne was calm, and adjusted. To me, she seemed like a young woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
Part of it had to do with the calls, though what her concern and involvement with them was, I could only guess. I wouldn’t put it past her foster family, but they struck me as more obnoxious than dangerous.
As the calls became progressively worse, so did Adrienne. That her episode at Ophélie was a manifestation of that fear seemed obvious to me. I only wished there was a way I could know, but she was either unable or unwilling to tell me herself.
The metamorphosis she went through on the gallery still plagued me. She walked around the house with that same, calm expression. I knew it was her tactic to hide something dark that I suppressed with my failure to understand and oblige her request.
I regretted how I handled the moment and my inability to take it back. However, I refused to hide from anyone or anything. I told Adrienne I would protect her and I meant that sincerely; she should have no cause to doubt it.
In addition to the cell phone voice mails, the tape on my answering machine was full. Instead of reprimanding me for my inaction on the matter, she simply turned around, walked into my room, and quietly closed the door. I unplugged the answering machine and put it in a storage box upstairs, then turned the ringer off the phone until I could think of a better plan. Whatever the caller’s intention, they had succeeded in terrifying Adrienne nearly to the brink of insanity.
Around six, I knocked on the bedroom door and asked if I could come in.
“Adrienne, about today-“
“Oz, I do not want to talk about it.” She held the same cool, eerie gaze.
Desperate to restore our truce, I tried again. “I’d like to take you to dinner. I was thinking Antoine’s.”
For my sake only, which I saw plainly, she smiled and said Antoine’s sounded splendid.
At dinner, she tried to be charming, and even laughed at my half-hearted jokes. Her smile never left her face, though her eyes were still sad. Her effort at mock levity was sincere, so she would have changed their look had she been able. Her voice was softer, and the inflection almost entirely missing. No matter how hard she tried, she could not hide the turmoil she harbored inside.
As I looked at Adrienne, I started to feel protective. When she had first come to me, I felt an obligation to ensure her safety. Sometime in the past week and a half, duty was replaced by the kind of protection one offers someone they genuinely care about. Even in her sadness, there was beauty, and I allowed myself to see it; previously I had kept those feelings at bay for fear of what they might lead to.
“Dinner is my treat tonight. I want to show you my appreciation for everything you’ve done,” Adrienne said.
“Your thanks is accepted but I won’t let you pay for dinner. I asked you out.” She dropped her eyes and nodded solemnly, as if arguing was not worth the effort.
When the dinner plates were removed and her demeanor persisted, I asked her to tell me what was troubling her.
“Adrienne, I care about you. As your friend. I can’t help what I don’t understand.”
The smile she gave me was so genuine I wondered how she could have ever been solemn. “I know. There is nothing wrong. You’re right. You shouldn’t have to hide from your life.”
I did not at all like the way she said you.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It’s okay,” she reassured me. “I will never doubt the genuineness of your feelings toward me and I will always love you for it.”
I was afraid she might burst into tears again, so I decided to change course.
“I think I’m going to go back to the office tomorrow.” For the first time that night her eyes lit up with real enthusiasm.
“Oz, that’s great! I’m so happy. I didn’t want to hold you back from your life.” Tears glistened under her lids. “I’m so happy.”
Before I could reply to her, the waiter brought the check and I quickly made a grab for it in case her earlier acquiescence had been a ploy.
At home, she glanced toward the phone and, noticing I removed the answering machine, approached and kissed my cheek.
“Thanks again, Oz. For everything. I will always be indebted to you.” Then she went into the bedroom she had slept in for nine nights and, with the shutting of t
he door, closed me out.
Chapter 22
Adrienne
IN THE THREE years Adrienne recalled of her life, she had never been so foolish.
Had she considered the possible consequences, even for a moment, before deciding this was the right move? Or, if she had deliberated them, had her considerations been honest or simply a formality so her conscience would be clear?
There were times in the past week she caught Oz looking at her in a way that made her heart stop. She saw him fight with himself over it, and watched his better judgment win out. And then, he was a nice guy again, being ever-so-patient by putting up with her while his own life was on hold.
For all she was starting to remember, there was still so much she didn’t know! And how could she even be sure what she was remembering was in any way accurate? For certain, her few memories had been of Oz, and they were filled with love and happiness. Nothing precise, but neither were there feelings of tension or things amiss. So why then did he treat her with such indifference?
Perhaps they had not parted on good terms. But no… no, she had definitely seen the look in his eyes on several occasions. The moment he spotted her in the diner; when she asked him to sleep in the same bed (oh, that had been a particularly foolish moment). When she walked out of the bookstore with all those books; too many moments to name. What affected her most was the sorrow in his eyes as he recounted the accident which took her family from her, and the strength in his embrace when he held her on the balcony at Ophélie.
Jesse was home, waiting patiently, against his better judgment. She had been afraid to confess what she was doing, but she cared for him too much to cause him such worry, and so tried her best to call him nightly. He was hurt, but surprisingly understanding; he even agreed to keep his mother calm until Adrienne came home. In their last conversation, he all but begged her to come back soon.
“Adrienne,” he said, “I don’t know the words to make you feel better about all of this. Hell, I don’t even know if I should be waiting for you, but I am. I will. I love you. And if this boy hasn’t told you the same thing yet, he isn’t going to.”
Then he said something that hurt her to recall, even now. “It isn’t a nice position to be in, you know. To be the second choice.”
“Oh, Jesse, no. It’s not like that!”
“Stop, Adrienne, please. Respect me enough to be honest. I’m well aware if he told you today he wanted to take you back into his life you’d leave me so fast my head would spin. But I guess, if anything, this should show you how much I love you. I’ll be here when you come back, and I’ll be ready to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. Because I know, in the end, it was no coincidence I found you in the bayou that night. This is your home, Adrienne. I’ll be waiting.”
Adrienne wanted to shower him with reassurances, but she couldn’t. She could not lie to him outright. She hated herself for how easily she had been able to walk away from Jesse to find what she had shared with Oz. It made her sick at how she could do this, knowing the hurt it would cause Jesse and his family. Her own selfish desires outweighed her better sense and willingness to do what was right.
And for what? Aside from the glances, which she well could have imagined, had Oz said one thing that might signify he was still in love with her? No, he hadn’t, and she was foolish for thinking he would. Foolish! And there she went, throwing herself at his feet, practically (no, not practically… definitely) begging him to be with her, to stay with her. His response had been so typically brother-like, trying to allay her unreasonable fears.
She felt sorry for Oz at Antoine’s. He was obviously trying to make up for letting her down, in that awkward way men attempt when they don’t know what to do, or even what exactly they’ve done wrong. And yes, she certainly caught his subtle hint in that part about his return to work. His way of telling her she had overstayed her welcome. His life had been on hold long enough, humoring her agenda.
Ah, but what of the conversation they had about Jesse? Oz had truly been disturbed to hear how close they had become. And Adrienne tried to keep playing the part, saving him from his own embarrassment by assuring him he must have been like a brother to her in her past. A brother! It was an engraved invitation for Oz to acknowledge, or signal somehow, their relationship was otherwise, but he didn’t. It had been the essence of the unknown that kept her from being herself when she first saw him in the diner. If nothing else, she could not risk that kind of hurt by throwing herself at someone who did not want her.
She had no doubt their love was very strong at one time. For her to have left Jesse so quickly, and without thought, no other reason made sense. It was the only rational explanation for her willingness to chance such potential heartbreak. To put so much of herself on the line.
Foolish! So foolish to think after three years Oz would pull her into his arms and declare his love for her as if it was yesterday. Whoever said there was clarity in love?
* * *
THE TRIP HADN’T been a total bust. When she left Abbeville, she had very few memories. But back in New Orleans, many others started to surface, though they only created more unanswered questions.
These were not like her dreams, or the feelings she had when recalling her past with Oz. They were unlike anything, really. The closest comparison she could make was a slide-show on fast-forward. The slides never stopped long enough for her to do more than wonder at what she had just seen or felt. It was one image after another, rapid-fire. What few things she could recall were so cryptic she didn’t even know what questions to ask Oz to get more information about them.
The first was of a woman; the same woman in her dreams she knew as Bitter Woman, always yelling at Adrienne. No, screaming. She was so hateful, Adrienne was aghast at the realization this woman was her stepmother.
Another had her sitting out in a garden, with Stout Man, Charles, who appeared in her dream. Adrienne smiled knowing now for certain this was her father. He is telling her to be more careful, more guarded. His words are kind, and although she feels like she is being lectured, she is happy to be spending time with him.
Ophélie appears in her memories as well, in several of them. In one, she is speaking to a gardener about the weather. In another, standing outside a cistern watching the water collect. And in one more, running out in the fields, observing the petrochemical machines do their work in the distance.
And, of course, more Oz memories. Spending this time with him must have acted as a catalyst, because now they came to her in floods. The one that had hit her the hardest had been the night they took a walk down Royal Street. She didn’t know how she ended up in that old hotel, but she knew it was where she wanted to go. She couldn’t have commanded her feet to stop walking. As she sat at the revolving bar, she saw the tension in Oz’s face and a thousand images overwhelmed her: lying in bed with Oz upstairs; waking up to him watching her with those green eyes; less clear, but some turmoil involving her father. One look at Oz told her he was having the same memories. And oh, how she wanted to share them with him.
And what of his eyes when she called him that name in Audubon Park? My Big Hero, was it? Somehow, she had known it meant something.
All week she had been torn between these swirling images, though her uncertainties held her back from spilling it all to him.
Would the memories stop once she returned home? Where was home, truly? Lines were crossed now to where she didn’t know which was which any longer. This trip had been a success and a disappointment to her, each in so many ways.
* * *
IT WAS CLEAR to Adrienne what she had to do.
It wasn't only Oz and Jesse she'd underestimated. Adrienne lived with Angelique long enough to know what extreme duress did to her. To Angelique, there was nothing that steeled her sanity more than seeing her children happy. And clearly, Adrienne’s decision had made Jesse miserable.
Oz didn't understand why the disturbing phone calls had incited such fear in Adrienne. How could he when Adrienne kept it
to herself? Instead, she vehemently defended Angelique. Adrienne wondered if she actually believed Angelique was a danger to Oz. Then, she recalled that until an arrow was pointed at her head, she would not have thought Angelique could ever hurt her, either.
Adrienne knew she had only confused Oz by demanding he call his father, or the authorities. Even now, she was surprised at herself. Did she really think she could hide and let other people handle this problem?
She wondered if she had always caused Oz such malignant luck, and if that had something to do with the way he viewed her now.
Chapter 23
Oz
Oz Reminisces…
THE APPEARANCE OF Charles Deschanel at the Monteleone signaled a turning point in my relationship with Adrienne. We both knew it would, in some way or another, but neither of us dared to make any predictions. He would guard her much more closely, that we were sure of. Yet we knew his travel schedule was tight, which would limit his ability to stop our meetings entirely. There was also the strange discovery of Adrienne’s unlikely ally in Cordelia.
Cordelia had not sided with Adrienne, or any of the girls, on any matter in the Deschanel household, whether she agreed with them or not. But this was one thing in which Cordelia wished Adrienne much success. And both of us knew exactly why: Adrienne finding happiness was a small price to pay for Charles’ anger and resentment to surface. I am certain Cordelia was imagining Adrienne’s rebellion would land her disinherited, or at the very least would cause irreparable damage to the relationship she shared with her father. Neither of us were fooled when Cordelia engineered ways for us to see each other, but neither did we turn our cheeks up at the opportunities.
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