Broken Bayou

by Rhonda R. Dennis

  “What? Why would you visit Billy?” I ask, giving him the screwdriver.

  “Frankly, the kid has no reason to have beef with you, so I wanted to find out the real story. His parents weren’t very happy to have a uniformed officer ask to speak to their son, so Billy was very quick to speak up once mom and dad got involved.”

  “And…”

  “Billy’s pissed because he wanted this place. He and some of his friends have this club that searches for ghosts and paranormal stuff. You know, like the stuff on TV?” I nod. “Well, because of the history with the place, he and his friends planned to rent the apartment for about a month to do their hoodoo voodoo stuff and then split. George was onto them though, and wasn’t happy about renting to such young kids. That’s when you came along and stole young Billy’s thunder.”

  “He hates me because I ruined his plan to hunt for a ghost?”

  “Pretty much. It doesn’t take much to piss off a hormonal teen. Anyway, I could tell there was something he was holding back, and after some nudging I got him to come clean. He and one of his buddies were hiding in the bushes near the English building hoping to scare Odell. Evidently, it’s a game they play on a regular basis.”

  “Lovely children, aren’t they?” I say sarcastically.

  “Yeah. Real winners. Anyway, they hesitated to jump out of the bushes because Odell wasn’t alone that night.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Who was he with?”

  “I’ll give you one guess,” Brant says, tossing down the screwdriver.

  “I’m guessing Father Donnelly or Felton.”

  “That’s two guesses. Boy, you’re bad at this.” I smile. “Felton. I showed Billy a picture, and he identified him right away. He overheard part of their conversation, too.”

  I decide it’s probably best to sit down. Not caring that the metal chair is ice cold, I slide back into it anyway. “What were they talking about?”

  “When Felton showed, he must have used his old credentials because Billy said he flashed a badge and carried a side arm. I’m guessing it was for the intimidation factor. Odell started to freak, confessing right away that he’d been the one leaving the stuff here at your place. He’d been threatened with arrest for stalking before. Sorry to say, you weren’t his first crush.”

  I playfully roll my eyes. “I’m so jealous,” I say monotone. “Get back to the story.”

  “This is what struck Billy as odd. He said Felton asked Odell about the Nuit Rouge murders and wanted to know why he would tell you to search them out in the library. Billy said that’s when Odell really freaked because he couldn’t figure out how Felton knew he’d suggested that to you. He started going on about government conspiracies and wire tapping and all kinds of other nonsense, but Felton finally calmed him down. He told him it would be best for him to not have any contact with you again. Odell refused—said he was too in love with you.”

  I put my head in my hands. “This is so unbelievably strange.”

  “Felton said he understood and encouraged him to leave a final gift for you at your apartment. He must’ve waited for the right time to slip a noose around his neck, sling it over the branch, and leave him bobbing like a piñata in front of your bedroom window.”

  “You’re so crass,” I scold even though I’m really not offended. Being around Brant has made me more appreciative of gallows humor. “So you think Felton murdered Odell because he didn’t want me researching the Nuit Rouge case?”

  “That’s exactly what my thoughts are. He needed to pin the crime on someone, and who better than a jealous ex-husband?”

  “And that’s how Luke became involved.” I sigh. “Felton had every bit of it planned out, and it would’ve worked, too. Wouldn’t it?”

  “Sorry to say, but I think it would’ve. He certainly covered all his bases. Some say the best cops make the best criminals. There’s obviously some truth to that.”

  The shock of it all starts to wear off, so I stand. “Want some coffee?”

  “I’d love some. It’s freaking cold out here,” Brant says quickly rubbing his hands together.

  “You can come inside to get warm.”

  “Nah, I want to finish this up, but thanks.”

  I pause for a moment. “What mystery are you trying to solve, Brant?” I question.

  “The little girl in the red dress. That’s the only thing we haven’t been able to figure out yet, and damn it, I’m going to do it.”

  I laugh. “Hey, as long as she stays outside and doesn’t end up in my apartment, she doesn’t bother me anymore. Her little spirit can play all it wants to out in the courtyard.”

  “There are no such things as ghosts.”

  “Suit yourself, but you might want to keep an open mind. Actual children don’t float around in trees, glide across pavers, or vanish into thin air.”

  “Hence the camera.” He points at it, and I shake my head.

  “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

  Cal has coffee brewed, and it’s not until I feel the sting of the warm heated air that I realize exactly how cold it truly is outside. I give him a quick rundown of what Brant said, and I also explain why Brant is outside hooking up a camera system.

  “Is that considered detective work or paranormal research?” Cal chides.

  “According to Brant, detective work. He’s very adamant that there are no such things as ghosts.”

  “And what do you think?” Cal asks.

  “I honestly don’t know what to think. If you’d have asked me the question last week, I’d have easily answered no. But now…”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling the same way. Have you made up your mind yet as to whether you’re going to search for your real family?”

  “Not really. Curiosity is pulling me in that direction, but then again, these people withstood and overcame a terrible tragedy. Suddenly popping into their lives after all of these years might be devastating for them. Maybe it’s best that Cynthia Badeaux stay dead and forgotten.”

  “That’s a valid concern, but trying to put myself in their shoes, I think I’d want to know. Even if they decide they want nothing to do with you, or if it upsets them, at least they will have the knowledge. Maybe Cynthia was never forgotten. Only one way to know for sure.”

  I mull it over. “Maybe I can find them and do one of those things like pretend I’m selling magazines or something just so I can get a sneak peek at them?”

  Cal shrugs. “I don’t see why not. I’ll go with you.”

  “Thanks. What did you decide?”

  “My family is a little more complicated than yours. My family disowned me and my mother once she became pregnant out of wedlock. They cast us aside when she was alive, and obviously, they didn’t come looking for me once she died. It’s pretty obvious they want nothing to do with me.”

  “That’s just your mother’s side. Does Father Donnelly have living relatives?”

  “I guess that since the secret is out, he might divulge that information to me. I’m not ready to see him yet, though. It’s hard not to be bitter knowing my father chose the church over his own flesh and blood.”

  I place my hand on his shoulder. “You were in the dark about his true ties to you, but he did make a point to always be a part of your life.”

  Cal considers what I said. “Felton was a good father to me, but I’m secretly relieved that he isn’t my real dad. Learning that his character wasn’t actually what he presented to the public, knowing that he’s actually a cold blooded murderer, and also knowing how many lives he’s ruined, it all makes me grateful that my real father is a mild-mannered priest. Don’t get me wrong—I know he did some heinous things by helping Felton, but he’s not a murderer, and my gut is telling me that he truly believed he was doing what he thought was in the best interest of those children. He was a good man doing bad deeds, whereas Felton was a bad man doing bad deeds.”

  I sigh heavily. “Cal, so much has changed, and we have so much to think about…”

  “
I know one thing that hasn’t changed—I still love you very much. I’m sorry this is happening, but I’m glad we can get through it together.”

  “So, you’ll help me track down my family?”

  “Of course. What do you think? Should we work for the electric company? Be religious disciples spreading the good word? Hot couple looking into settling in the neighborhood? I can be whoever you want me to be.”

  I arch my brows. “Ah, good looking couple interested in settling in the neighborhood might get us invited in for coffee.”

  “I like the way you think. I’ll search out the Badeaux family and make sure they’re still in New Orleans.”

  I place my hand on his forearm, and he sits back down. “Search for the Belangers, too. Just see if they’re in Cypress Grove. You don’t have to tell them who you are, but at least check them out.”

  He gives a tight lipped smile. “I’ll think about it.” He gently taps my hand before jumping on the computer. Brant comes inside, washes out his mug, and makes to leave without saying a word.

  “Hey, you all done out there?” I ask.

  “Yep. I’ve got it set up to where I can monitor it from my place. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Brant.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Get some rest.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

  I playfully shake my head. “Goodbye. Be safe.”

  “You know it,” he says, giving a quick salute as he walks out of the door.

  I’m a nervous wreck when we park in front of the beautiful Garden District home that belongs to Nathan and Selena Badeaux. Cal’s research shows that they are the parents of my father, Nathan Badeaux, Jr. I rub my sweaty palms against the cool fabric of my pant suit and immediately start fanning myself with a pamphlet we picked up from a local real estate office.

  “Sweetheart, it’s forty-two degrees outside.”

  “But it feels like a hundred and ten in here,” I nervously snap.

  Cal turns in his seat. “You are Dr. Cheyenne Douglas, and you and your dashing fiancé, Dr. Cal Gage, are in the market for a lovely Garden District home.”

  “Boy, you sure are getting into the role playing thing,” I say, finally releasing a pent up breath and looking toward the large white two story as I gather the courage to open the car door.

  “You’re the only real thing in my life, you know that, right?” I turn to him and smile.

  “I love you,” I say. “Thank you for being here with me.”

  He begins to forage around in one of the pockets of his sports jacket. “This has been on my mind for a long time. Names don’t matter. Cheyenne or Cynthia, Cal Gage or Cal Donnelly, or even Cal Belanger. Who knows who we’re supposed to be? But I know who I WANT to be. The only thing that matters to me is spending the rest of my life with you. You are my world, and together, we can overcome anything. We’re proving that right now. Cheyenne, I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?”

  With fingers as shaky as mine, he props open the lid of a black velvet ring box. Nested inside is a very simple, yet elegant diamond ring. “You decided that this was the best time to propose?” I ask, choking back tears and laughter at the same time.

  “I probably could’ve waited until tonight, but I figured the ring would be a good prop for this afternoon.”

  “I love it. It’s absolutely gorgeous,” I say, pulling the ring from the box and sliding it onto my finger. I’m awestruck as I see it sparkling in the sunlight.

  “Cheyenne?”

  “Hmmm?” I ask, admiring my ring.

  “You never answered the question, sweetheart.”

  I gasp. “Oh! Of course I’ll marry you. I’m going to save all the mushy stuff until tonight, because I’ll start crying if I do it now.”

  “Hey, I got my answer,” he says, proud as a peacock when he exits the car. He opens my door for me, and once I’ve finished straightening my outfit and smoothing my hair, we walk hand in hand up the steps to the magnificently decorated front porch. Hay bales, pumpkins, scarecrows, and gourds are all perfectly arranged to welcome future Thanksgiving guests. A glistening lead glass door stands between us and the people inside. Cal gently raps on it, and I fight the overwhelming urge to run away.

  After a series of clicks, a gentle looking elderly woman with silver hair tucked high in a bun opens the door. She smiles genially at first, but she quickly loses the smile as her face goes ashen and slack. “Nate!” she yells into the house. “Nate, I need you.”

  “Wait,” I say, rapidly because I’m thoroughly ashamed that we scared the poor woman. “I’m sorry to have startled you, but my fiancé and I simply had a couple of questions about the neighborhood. We are thinking of buying the house…”

  “Nate!” she yells again. A dark complexioned man with a face full of wrinkles slowly shuffles towards us with the help of a cane.

  “What’s wrong, Selena? Are we being robbed?” his asks with a feeble voice.

  “No. You need to see this,” she says, pulling the door open more widely once he joins her.

  “We should be going,” I say, shifting on the balls of my feet for a quick getaway. “We’ve clearly upset you, and I’m very sorry.”

  “Wait!” the elderly couple calls simultaneously. “Please. Stay there for just one moment,” Selena says as Nate’s eyes stay fixed upon mine. I can see a storm brewing behind his thick glasses, and I grow more anxious with every passing second. He wants to speak, I can see it, but he resists the urge.

  Selena returns with an old metal picture frame tucked in her arms. “I’ve had my heart broken many times before because I believed, but I was always wrong. How many Cynthias have I passed on the street, begging and praying for it to be OUR Cynthia? I’m not wrong this time. I feel it in my heart. You’ve come home to us. You’re finally home.” Her eyes are brimmed with huge tears that begin to slide down her cheek when she turns the picture to face me.

  I can barely breathe. In the frame are my parents, and me! My father finally has a face, and that face is almost identical to mine. I shake my head in disbelief. Selena looks at me expectantly, and I do what feels most natural to me at the time—I pull her in for a tight embrace.

  “It’s me. I’m home,” I say between gasps. She squeezes me tightly, and for the longest time, we stand in the doorway sobbing.

  “Nate,” she says, breaking the hug to reach for his hand. “Cynthia found her way back to us. It’s her. Our grandbaby. Our beautiful, beautiful grandbaby.” She takes my cheeks in her hands and dots my face with kisses. Normally, I’d likely be repulsed, but the act is so unbelievably comforting that I hate for her to stop. “Look at her, Nate. Isn’t she gorgeous?” She spins me so that I’m facing the older man. His eyes question whether it’s real or not, but I see that deep down, he’s begging for it to be so.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember what I used to call you,” I say, truly perplexed. Are they Nate and Selena? Grammy and Grampy? Grandmother and Grandfather?

  Selena answers, “You used to call me Sugar and you called him…”

  I interrupt her because it rushes back to me, “Cookie because cookies are my favorite.” I nervously laugh between tears. “I guess it was a bad idea to let me pick my own names for you.”

  He drops his cane and snatches me into his large arms. “It really is you. Oh, my sweet girl. We prayed so hard for this.” His smell is familiar, warm, and welcoming, and for someone who was so terrified to visit their home, it’s funny that I now have an overwhelming desire to stay forever.

  We’re dashing away at the tears with a box of tissues that Selena pulled from the entryway table when I joke that maybe I should come up with new names for them.

  “No way,” Nate argues. “Are cookies still your favorite?”

  I give a guilty grin. “They truly are.”

  “Then Cookie I will remain.”

  I feel emotionally drained, yet unbelievable refreshed and relaxed knowing that I’m right where I’m supposed to
be. “Oh goodness, Cal! Cookie, Sugar, this is my fiancé, Dr. Cal Gage.”

  “Doctor? Impressive,” Sugar mentions.

  “Not really. History, not MD,” Cal says, shaking each of their hands.

  “Do you teach?” Sugar asks.

  “I do. At Shadow Oaks with Cheyenne.”

  “Cheyenne? Is that what your name is now? And you teach?” Sugar asks.

  “I suppose I should explain it all.”

  “Before you do, have you been by Viv and Sam’s? Obviously not because surely they would’ve called,” Sugar states.

  “Viv and Sam?” I ask.

  “Vivian and Sam Miller—your mother’s parents.”

  I’m taken aback. “We searched for them, but found nothing. You’re still in contact with them?”

  “Of course. They live about two blocks away. I’ll give them a call and invite them over for coffee. We’ll save the big surprise for when they show,” Sugar says picking up the phone.

  My eyes once again brim with tears. “Two sets of grandparents. My cup runneth over,” I whisper to myself.

  “Darling, you don’t even know the half of it. Wait until you meet the rest of the family,” Sugar says with a huge smile. “I think Thanksgiving is as good a time as any. What do you say? Will you join us?”

  I’m truly overwhelmed. “Uh…” I look to Cal, and he nods. “Okay. We’ll be here.”

  “Excellent,” she says with a huge grin while dialing the phone. “Viv, this is Selena. Are you and Sam free for coffee? Good. No, right now is perfect. Come on over.” Once the receiver is back in its cradle she asks us to join her in the kitchen. It’s large, with huge glass windows that let the afternoon sunshine stream in. We get situated around the table as Selena handles the coffee, and we’d no sooner settled in when a spry looking elderly couple comes up the back porch steps and marches right into the kitchen.

  The woman has freshly dyed black hair tightly curled and stiff as a board which makes me believe she spends a lot of time in the beauty parlor. Behind her, wearing a matching zebra print wind suit is an elderly man with thick gold rings on every finger, a large gold chain around his neck, and wayfarer sunglasses. The memories begin to flood back. The only thing that has changed other than he’s much more aged, is that his wardrobe choice used to be a leisure suit instead of a track suit. Grandpa must always be a decade or two behind the fashion trends. Nearly everything else is the same. He even has the same cowlick poking up in the very back of his head. I remember a game he used to play with me where I’d smooth the cowlick then he’d shove his thumb against his lips and blow. I’d burst into peals of laughter each time it sprang back into place. How could I have forgotten all of that, and why is it coming back to me so easily now?