Broken Bayou

by Rhonda R. Dennis

  “You didn’t say you were having company over, Sel. I’da brought a cake or something,” Viv says, pulling the dark wraparound sunglasses from her eyes. “Hi there, young ‘uns. I’m Viv, and this is Sam. We’re the Millers from around the block.” She steadily talks as she pours two cups of coffee. Frankly, I’m surprised she’s even noticed us sitting at the table since she hasn’t even glanced in our direction.

  “Viv, I think you and Sam should sit down,” Sugar suggests.

  “Hold your horses, Sel. I’m making my way over,” she says, picking up the mugs and sighing heavily when she reaches the table. “I thought you already had yours. You didn’t tell me you hadn’t started yet. These people must think we’re so rude. I apologize for…” She looks to Cal, and then to me, and then she freezes. “It’s not,” she says, looking to Selena. Selena nods. “Oh, dear Lord! Sam! Sam!”

  “What?” he asks, searching the room.

  “Take the glasses off Sam,” she fusses. He gives her a nasty look before sliding them from his face.

  “They’re off. What am I looking at? Huh?” he says, casually perusing the room. He does a double take when his eyes land on me. I can see his breathing become erratic as he reaches for a chair.

  “Maybe we should’ve warned ‘em before they came over. You okay, Sam? The ticker still ticking?” Nate asks. Sam points in my direction.

  “Is it? It has to be. She’s the spitting image of Nate, Jr. Oh, and those eyes. I haven’t seen those eyes in almost thirty years. How? Where? When?” he asks, finally taking a seat. He stares at me with disbelief.

  “She just showed up. We didn’t want her to have to tell the story over and over, so I called you over. Cheyenne—that’s the name she goes by now—Cheyenne, do you remember Viv and Sam?” Sugar asks.

  “Vaguely. Pop and Gran, right?” I ask. They nod. “Pop, I remember playing a game with you. I’d smooth down your cowlick, and you’d pretend to blow it back up.”

  His face softens. “It really is you. Where have you been, sweetheart? What happened to you?”

  “I wish it were a fast and easy story to tell, but I’m afraid it will take a while. In short, I spent the majority of my life in Oklahoma where I was raised by a couple who made me believe I was their birth child. I was so young and traumatized when everything happened, that I guess it was easier to wipe out that part of my life and start fresh. My mom, the woman who raised me, she had pictures that were supposedly of me all the way through my life. She even told me stories about my birth, and my firsts. It’s only recently that I discovered it was all lies.”

  “Did they hurt you?” Viv asks defensively.

  “No. They never hurt me, and they loved me very much. They may have been a little on the strict side, but they always encouraged me to excel. With their help, I became Dr. Cheyenne Douglas, and I’m currently the department head of the English department at Shadow Oaks University.” They all look around at each other. “What?” I ask.

  “Your mother, my daughter, was a high school English teacher,” Viv offers.

  “There’s so much information I need to get from you. What about my dad?” I question.

  “He was an engineer for a chemical company. Very smart man…,” Nate says.

  I smile. “Wow. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to me. My heart is bursting right now. I want to know it all. Everything. Their likes. Their dislikes. Were they fun parents? Strict parents? Did they have hobbies?”

  “We’ll get to all of that. We have plenty of photos, old videos, and documents for you to go through, don’t we, Sel?” Viv asks.

  “We sure do. First, we want to finish hearing about you.”

  “Of course,” I say. “But, I have to know… what made you believe I was still alive? The police ruled it a murder, but you told me you searched strangers’ faces with the hopes you’d find mine. Why?”

  “We’re family. Connected by blood. Sometimes you just know things in your heart even though you can’t explain them,” Selena says with a smile only a loving grandmother can give. “Now, how’d you wind up in Oklahoma?”

  I spend the rest of the afternoon and a good portion of the night informing, answering questions, and basking in the love that fills the house. Cal and I agree to see them again soon, in one week, at Thanksgiving dinner to be exact. I don’t stop smiling the entire ride home. I’m a different person. I feel lighter, happier, complete. I want Cal to experience it, too. I hope his family is as receptive as mine. I’ll find out soon enough when I sneak over to Cypress Grove in the morning. Cal’s not going to do it, and I have anonymity on my side. It doesn’t hurt to look, right?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cypress Grove is a tiny little bayou community much like ones Cal and I pass through on our way to New Orleans. I wouldn’t have known I was in Cypress Grove if it hadn’t been for the rickety wooden sign stating as much. I veer off the main road following the smug and confident voice that calls from my GPS device. I’m convinced the voice is wrong when I find myself parked in front of a car repair shop.

  I’m just about to drive away when a very loud whistle has me pushing the brake. “Hey, yo! I’m over here if you need something,” an older muscular guy calls as he peeks from behind the raised hood of one of the cars in the garage bay. Unsure what to do, I finally decide to get out mainly because I’d driven all this way, and frankly, I was sick of being in the car.

  “Yeah, you got something wrong with your car there, darlin’?” he asks, wiping his greasy hands on a red cloth as he makes his way towards me.

  “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me find the Belanger family,” I say, desperately wishing my voice sounded more confident. He sets his jaw and points upwards. Drawing my eyes to where he is pointing, I feel foolish when I notice the sign that says MJ Belanger and Sons. “Are you MJ or a son?” I ask, trying to break the ice.

  “What’s it to you? You a lawyer or something?”

  “No, no. Not a lawyer at all.”

  “So why are you here inquiring about my family?” he repositions the backwards ball cap he’s wearing before crossing his arms over his chest. He gives me the I’m waiting for an answer look.

  “I’m sorry. You’re obviously busy. I was looking for someone related to Gretchen Belanger, but I can see it’s not a good time, so I’m just going to go now,” I say, hastily making my way to my car.

  “Wait!” he says. He’d just as well held a gun to my back and yelled freeze with the posture I assume—hands up, unmoving, barely breathing. “What about Gretchen? She’s been dead for years now.” I slowly turn around.

  “I know, and I’m sorry for your family’s loss. I heard she was a beautiful and kind woman.”

  “Who’s been talking to you about Gretchen?” he demands.

  “Look. Mr. Belanger…”

  “Antoine,” he interrupts.

  “Mr. Antoine.”

  He rapidly shakes his head. “Just Antoine.”

  “Okay. Antoine, it’s a very long and complicated story. Are you familiar with Father Seamus Donnelly?”

  “Naw, can’t say that I am. Oh, but wait. Now that you mention it, I think he was the priest down here when I was a kid or something. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he was now that I think about it. What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “For me to tell you, I really need to know what your relation is to Gretchen.”

  “She was my older sister,” he almost shouts. “Look, can we stop with the guessing game and just tell me what in the hell you’re doing here?”

  “Gretchen’s son is my fiancé,” I blurt. He gives me a baffled look then smiles.

  “You’re confused, sweetheart. Gretchen didn’t have no kids. She went off to some island to do humanitarian work or something, and she was murdered.” I close my eyes. More secrets. More lies. I begin to wonder if people ever truly know who they are.

  “I don’t think you were told the truth.” I thrust my palms in the air to ward off the immanent verba
l attack. “Please, hear me out.”

  He considers it for a moment before conceding. “Let’s talk in the office. It’s cold out here.” I follow him into a room that holds a rolling desk chair, two metal folding chairs, and a recliner. He points to the desk chair as he sits in the recliner.

  “I’m sure this is going to be difficult to hear, but trust me, all of it is true. If you don’t believe me, a simple DNA test should prove that what I’m saying is accurate.”

  “I’m listening,” he says, once again wiping away at the grease on his hands with the rag.

  “Gretchen and Father Donnelly were in love. She became pregnant, and when your family found out, she was forced to live on her own. When her son Cal was two, she was murdered in a dark alley. He was with her when it happened, but he remembers none of this. Being that the family wanted nothing to do with her, much less the baby, Father Donnelly gave the child to a police officer named Felton Gage to raise as his own. We’ve only just found out that Felton had a hand in many other illegal child adoptions, one of them being mine.”

  “Don’t you think I’d know if my sister was pregnant? She would have come to someone for help. I was too young, but maybe Frank? He was older than her.”

  “I heard all of this from Father Donnelly himself. She followed him to his new congregation, and though they weren’t together romantically after that, he tried to support her and the baby as much as he could, which was very little considering his profession She needed to fill in the gaps with supplemental income she earned by cleaning office buildings at night. It was one of the only jobs she could find where she could bring the baby with her. She was walking home from work one night when she was murdered.”

  He shakes his head. “I always knew my dad was a mean son of a bitch, but I never knew he disowned his own daughter and grandchild.” Anger etches deep lines across his face and a tempest brews in his eyes. Family life must not have been very good for the Belangers. “Frankly, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Is your father still around? Maybe he could explain…”

  “Nah, old man’s been dead. Buried next to Ma and poor Gretchen at the cemetery down the road a ways. If only we’d known. Now the poor woman’s forced to spend eternity next to the old bastard.” He shakes his head with disgust. “So, what’s the kid up to? He’s not looking for money or something, is he?”

  “No, nothing like that. He’s the head of the history department at one of the local colleges.”

  “Don’t sound like he’s done so bad. So why ya here?”

  “Because he never got to know his real family. All he’s seen is a tattered picture of his mother. He has no clue who he’s related to or where he comes from,” I explain.

  “Yeah, well some things are better left unknown. He has an uncle who runs a garage. The end.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s about having a connection.”

  “Look, I ain’t into all the touchy feely crap, and if he is, then better he not know anything about me or this family. In fact, I think that’s for the best. Don’t even mention anything about this. Leave him be. He seems to be doing real good on his own.”

  “But I know he’ll want to…”

  “I said leave it be.”

  Feeling dejected, I slowly nod. “I’ll do as you wish, but if you ever change your mind, this is my number.” He quickly tosses the slip of paper into the trash can. Swallowing hard, I manage to thank him for his time before leaving the office.

  “Hey!” Antoine calls after me. “You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of him, would you?” I smile while scrolling through my phone. I turn the screen for Antoine to see. He nods. “He looks a lot like Frank. I see Gretchen, too, because them two always favored each other. I was told most of my life I wasn’t my dad’s because I looked so different from the rest of the family. Maybe it was true, and that’s why the old man went off on Gretchen. Guess it’s a secret that’ll never be found out. It’s good the kid didn’t get none of my looks; he might not have landed himself such a pretty lady.” He winks before closing my car door for me.

  I wave as I’m leaving the garage. Disappointed that it didn’t go smoother, at least I finally have an answer—even if it isn’t the one I was hoping for.

  The long ride home offers plenty of time for reflection. I missed out on so much with my real family, but it looks as though Cal was spared by being yanked from his. After pondering nearly every aspect of the issue, I conclude that there is no point in trying to figure out what life would have been like. What’s done is done. As much as I’d love to rewind the hands of time for a do over, it’s never going to happen. I’m determined to make the best of what I have. As for Cal, I’m going to remain quiet unless he happens to want information. It’s obvious that the love my family is willing to give is more than enough for the both of us, and I’m happy to share.

  Sleep comes easy that night, and it’s more restful than anything I’ve experienced since the move. No nightmares, no horrid thoughts, no uncertainty—just purely appreciated rejuvenation. At least it is until Brant calls at four in the morning.

  “What’s wrong?” I groggily ask while rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  “Do not come outside. No matter what you hear, stay put,” he whispers into the phone.

  “Brant, you’re scaring me. Where are you? What’s going on?”

  Cal sits upright upon hearing this part of the conversation to give me a questioning look. I shrug.

  “I can’t talk now. I’ll explain soon. Just stay insi….” The call ends suddenly, and I lurch from bed throwing on the first clothes I find. Cal does the same.

  “What’s happening?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. It was Brant. He said to stay inside no matter what and then the phone went dead mid-sentence.”

  “He said stay inside. He didn’t say anything about not looking outside,” Cal says, clicking off the bedside lamp I’d turned on. The room is pitch-black when he slowly peels back the curtains to peep outside. I’m on the opposite side doing the same.

  Nothing looks out of the ordinary at first, but after our eyes adjust to the very dim glow of the moonlight, it becomes clear that we’re being visited by the little girl in red again. She’s barely visible, as usual, and the figure looks more like a red dress floating through mid-air than anything else. Across the courtyard she bounces almost as though she’s weightless, and then out of nowhere, she launches from the ground and into the tree. Brant stumbles out of the shadows, and like an athlete completing an obstacle course, he makes a leap for one of the lower branches and swings his legs up to lock the hold. If the man wouldn’t be wearing a light colored shirt, it would look like a windstorm was raging around the massive oak. Branches bob and sway, leaves scatter to the ground, and Brant jumps limb to limb just as quickly as the red dress floats through them.

  We lose sight of them, but we know the chase is still on because of the shimmying tree limbs. Finally, an ear piercing shriek echoes through the night just as Brant takes a tumble from the tree onto the cold hard ground. I gasp loudly while fighting the urge to rush to him. I know he must be conscious because his hands clutch the red dress, but whatever is in it keeps trying to get away from him.

  The force of the fall leaves him stunned, and seemingly out of nowhere, a uniformed individual emerges from the vicinity of the driveway. The loud shrieks continue to spill into the night, so shrill, so loud, so familiar? Where have I heard that sound before? The commotion sends George outside, and soon as he flips on the overhead lights, Cal and I burst into laughter. Brant is on the ground rolling around with a chimpanzee wearing a little girl’s red dress. The shrieks I’d heard were similar to those at the zoo! As hard as I try, I can’t for the life of me figure out why a red-dress-wearing chimpanzee would be frequenting our courtyard, but seeing Brant wrestling with it is funny as hell.

  The other uniformed officer is animal control, who is trying his best to help Brant secure the beast. The chimpanzee clocks Brant one good time in
the face, and he loses his grip on the primate. Up the tree it runs, stopping to curl up like a scared little child. It stares down at Brant with a look that says, how could you do this to me? My heart melts, and be damned what Brant warned, I decide to go outside. Once I’ve got on my boots and coat, I crack the door and the new sounds filling the air are Brant’s swear words.

  “Son of a bitch! Stop! I’m going to kill you, you no good mother…”

  When I realize why Brant is cursing so much, I nearly double over from laughter. He’s ducks and weaves like a boxer waiting for the impending punch.

  “If you launch one more shit bomb at me, I’m going to skin you…” The pile lands dead center of Brant’s chest, and he tumbles to the ground where he dry heaves violently. The other person comes forward with a tranquilizer gun, and within minutes, the chimp is caught as it falls from the tree. The animal control officer wraps the sleeping mammal in a warm blanket before caging it. I rush down to check on Brant.

  He’s still flat on his back, staring straight ahead, and huffing angrily. “Brant?” I ask, squatting beside him.

  “Twenty-five years on the force, and I’ve been roughed up, shot at, spit on, puked on, bled on, and once, I’m pretty sure a drunk pissed on my boots. Never. Never have I ever been taken out by a chimpanzee shit bomb.”