by Sandra Hill
“I beg to differ. Does ‘my brother’s keeper’ ring any bells?”
“That brother’s keeper bullshit was old the first time you said it. By now, it stinks like a loaded diaper.”
“You’re depressed.”
“So the hell what?”
“Ever since you quit medicine and Mom died . . . hell, ever since we came to Louisiana two years ago, you’ve become more and more withdrawn,” Aaron went on, ignoring Daniel’s comment. “And that’s despite the warm welcome extended to us by all the LeDeux family.”
“Except for our slimy no-good father.” To say Valcour LeDeux hadn’t laid out the welcome mat was a vast understatement. He was more worried that they might want something from him, like money.
“Daddy Dearest doesn’t count.” Aaron wasn’t about to let him divert his attention as he continued on his tirade. “Those years spent with sick and dying kids killed something inside you, Dan. All that on top of losing Mom.”
“So now you’ve become Dr. Phil of the Bayou?”
“Whatever works. Anyhow, look around you. Bayou Rose Plantation is a gem just waiting to be polished.”
“More like sandblasted.” His brain snagged on something Aaron had said. “You bought a house with a name? Bayou Rose Plantation? A better name would be Weed Jungle.”
“Tsk-tsk! It hasn’t been an operating sugar plantation for well over a hundred years. This stretch of the bayou was wider back then and deep enough for flatboats.”
“Crap! Now you’re gonna give me a history lecture.” Daniel raised his eyes heavenward, as if for assistance.
“I prefer to call it a mini-mansion with commercial development prospects.”
“Now you’re a Dixie entrepreneur, as well as a historian. Have you lost your mind?”
“No more than usual. C’mon. Hop in. I’ll give you the tour.”
He got in the passenger side of the truck, and Aaron turned the motor on, moving slowly up the horseshoe-shaped driveway to the front steps, which were located more than two hundred yards from Bayou Black, via a sloping overgrown lawn, through a canopied alleé of live oaks dripping moss. After parking, Aaron sat quietly for a moment, for dramatic effect, no doubt, taking in the ambience—Can anyone say creepy?—then grinned. “Actually, I didn’t buy a mansion, Danny boy. We bought a mansion.”
Daniel turned slowly, inch by inch, to stare at him. It was the stare he’d perfected to make nurses and interns cower.
Pilots were immune, apparently, because Aaron just grinned. Some more.
“You didn’t!” Daniel ripped out.
“I did,” he said cheerily. Reaching over to open the glove compartment, he handed him the official sales agreement with the bank loan document attached. Both of their names were on them.
“You forged my name.”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“You have a better credit rating than I do.”
“Son. Of. A. Bitch! How did you manage it?”
“Combed my hair like a nerd, wore sunglasses and dorky clothes.” Aaron tended to wear jeans and T-shirts most of the time while Daniel preferred Dockers and golf shirts. “Oh, and I perfected your frowny face.”
Daniel frowned at him. “There’s no way you could have gotten away with that. Don’t all parties have to be present at a closing?”
“Not when you have Tante Lulu on your side with her friends in high places.”
That explained it. The old lady seemed to be able to get around all kinds of regulations and red tape with her network of friends and politicians.
“We’re not nine years old anymore, Aaron. You can’t keep pulling this crap.”
“I know,” Aaron said, with not an ounce of regret. “By the way, you owe me twenty-five thousand dollars for your half of the down payment.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Don’t tell me you’re short of cash.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who sold half of an air shipping company for a bundle.”
“No, you’re the one who made a killing in IT stocks before they crashed.”
A stalemate.
They both got out of the pickup truck and stood, scanning the building and grounds. Daniel idly kicked a black snake out of the way. They’d both become accustomed to the reptiles after living in this semitropical climate. There must be a thousand varieties here, and they bred like sex machines. Snake heaven!
Taking center stage was a once-stately, raised-style plantation house, three stories above an open loggia, or verandah, or porch, or whatever the hell you called it. Massive wood columns, at least fifty feet high, stretched from the ground to the top of roofed galleries that encircled all sides of the mansion’s second and third stories. A wide staircase rose majestically to the middle of the second floor, which was obviously the main living quarters, the norm here in bayou land where you only had to dig a foot to reach water.
“It’s a Creole building in the Greek Revival Style, in case you aren’t familiar with historical architecture in the Southland.”
Daniel looked at his brother as if he’d grown two heads and remarked, “Bite me!”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk. It’s not as run-down as it looks,” Aaron said.
Daniel raised his brows skeptically.
“Okay, so it needs a little work.”
“Like new plumbing, electricity, a roof, landscaping, and paint?”
“Yeah, but other than that it has great potential. Besides, we can both work on restoring the place in our spare time.” Spare time being the key words here. While Aaron worked as a pilot for Remy LeDeux, Daniel did pretty much nothing, in Aaron’s opinion. Therefore, the not-so-hidden message here was that Aaron thought it was time for Daniel to stop licking his wounds and get a life. Although why Aaron would think turning him into a carpenter was a step toward getting a life defied understanding.
“Aaron, what makes you think that you or I have the talent for restoration?”
“How hard can it be to sand wood and pound nails? Don’t you ever watch Home and Garden on TV? Oops, I forgot. You don’t have a TV. It’ll be our DIY project. That’s code for Do It Yourself. What we need is a trip to Home Depot.”
“What we need is brain transplants if we take this on.”
“Do they transplant brains now? Golly, gee, ain’t science amazing!”
“Aaarrgh!”
“C’mon, Dan. We can do it. Remember that time in wood shop when we made those little cars for the Pinewood Derby?”
“You idiot! We were cub scouts. And my car looked like a brick with wheels. Yours was lopsided and wouldn’t roll, even down the inclined plane.”
“We can learn.”
Daniel leaned against one of the columns and his elbow broke through. They both went wide-eyed at how rotten the wood was.
“Seems the termites have been kissing the oak,” Aaron remarked with dry humor.
“Who are you kidding? The termites have fucked that wood to dust.”
“Guess they should have used cypress. That’s more resistant to pests, according to Tante Lulu. That’s what we’ll use in restoration. She knows someone that can give us a truckload cheap.”
“That is just great. Why don’t you just make the old lady building supervisor and be done with it.”
“Good idea,” Aaron said as he checked the sturdiness of the steps with his boot, then sat down, elbows on knees, chin braced in his palms.
“You better be kidding.” Daniel sank down beside him. “Why did you do this? And why involve me?”
“First of all, I think we’ve both decided not to go back to Alaska. There’s nothing for us there anymore. A few friends, and Aunt Mel . . . that’s about it. And I for one prefer the warm weather.”
“Go on,” Daniel prodded. “This ought to be good.”
“Second, there’s a lot of acreage. I’m thinking about putting a mini runway in here, buying a small plane, and opening my own business. Aerial swamp tours, transport, that kind of thing. Same as I had i
n Alaska, but here in Louisiana.”
“An investment, then?”
“Could be. We don’t have to decide right away.”
Draping an arm over his brother’s shoulder, Daniel said, “Show me around this dump, and tell me what you have in mind.”
Aaron walked Daniel through the house, praising all the highlights, or potential highlights, skimming over the problems. “The electricity and plumbing are antiquated, but they work. So, at least we can move in while the renovation goes on.”
“Together? You and I are going to live together again? Next we’ll be having sleepovers.”
“Only if they involve women. Hey, we can divide the house into apartments if that’ll make you feel better, but it would mean more expenses and delays.” Aaron widened his eyes and stared at him with innocence.
Which Daniel wasn’t buying. He knew a con job when he heard it. “I’ll probably regret this . . . in fact, I’m already regretting it . . . but I’ll give it a try.”
They bumped fists.
“Truthfully, I’ve got to move out of that fishing cabin. And I haven’t been able to exert myself enough to find my own apartment.”
“See, it was meant to be.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe it will help me get away from Tante Lulu and all her machinations. She claims St. Jude has his eyes on me for some love bolt thing.”
“He’s the patron saint of hopeless cases,” Aaron informed him, as if he didn’t already know that.
“Which is Tante Lulu’s unsubtle way of saying I’m hopeless, I guess. But I have no idea what that has to do with thunderbolts.”
“Thunderbolt of love, baby,” Aaron explained.
“Pff! She keeps telling everyone we meet that I’m not gay. As if that were even in question. Just because I don’t have a woman in my life, just because I won’t let her set me up on dates,” Daniel complained. “I don’t look gay, do I?” He turned to face Aaron.
“Well . . .”
Daniel swatted his brother on the arm for his teasing.
“Hey, she’s got me in her crosshairs, too,” Aaron said. “Except in your case she has a specific woman in mind. Samantha Starr.”
“What? Is that old biddy nuts? Not gonna happen.” Samantha Starr had become the bane of his life since he’d first met her at his half brother John LeDeux’s wedding. For some reason, she’d taken an instant dislike to him, just because he was a doctor and her ex-husband had been a doctor. Of course, it didn’t help that he baited her every chance he got. It didn’t help, either, that he seemed to run into her everywhere, probably Tante Lulu’s doing. At the foundation board meetings. At LeDeux family gatherings. Even the fish and bait store where she’d been buying a fifty-pound bag of dog kibbles. She was irritating, sarcastic, condescending, and for some inexplicable reason, sexy as hell. Inexplicable because she was not his type of woman. An erotic splinter, that’s what she was to him, and it was lodged smack dab where it would hurt most. Down yonder, as Tante Lulu would say.
Not that the old lady would remark on his down yonder.
On the other hand, maybe she would.
“Samantha is a good-looking woman,” Aaron said.
“If you like full-body freckles.”
“I suspect you do.”
“She hates my guts.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. She told me so. More than once.”
“That’s like Suzi Benton telling me that I stink like frog spit before she kissed me. On the mouth. Yeeew!”
“Aaron! You were eight years old.”
“I’m just sayin’.” Aaron grinned at him, then went serious. “But . . . um, about Tante Lulu—”
“Yoo hoo!”
Both of their heads snapped up at the same time. Then they stood, walked to the end of the gallery, and peered around the side of the house. The old lady was approaching from the backyard. Do they call the back area of a plantation a yard? Daniel wondered with what had to be hysterical irrelevance.
“Holy hell, Aaron!” he said then, just noticing all the outbuildings surrounded by metal fences. “What in God’s name are they?”
“The former slave quarters made into kennels. The previous owner, who died thirty years ago, was a dog breeder. Showed Redbone Coonhounds all over the world. Blue ribbons out the wazoo. The property was fallin’ down even back then.”
Tante Lulu was huffing and puffing closer.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Daniel asked him.
“Uh.”
“Oh, no! Don’t tell me you invited her here today?”
“Uh.”
Daniel smacked him on the arm, again, then walked back, and stepped doggedly down the rickety steps. Aaron rushed to catch up, probably hoping, with futility, to do a bit of damage control before Tante Lulu barreled in.
The petite Cajun lady was outrageous as ever in a glittery red T-shirt with the logo, “There’s Still Plenty of Zippedy in the Old Doo-Dah,” tucked into child-size capri pants. Her hair was bright curly red today, matching her lip gloss. Typical Tante Lulu. “Hey, y’all. My niece Charmaine dropped me off a bit ago soz I could have a look around. Ain’t this nice?”
Without waiting for an answer, the old lady reached up to give Aaron a hug. When she turned to do the same to him, his glower stopped her short. But only for a moment. She yanked him down by the ears and gave a big smack on the cheek.
“Are ya sure ya ain’t gay, Daniel?” Tante Lulu smiled with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Daniel growled, and Aaron stepped between the two of them.
Tante Lulu craned her little neck around Aaron and addressed Daniel. “Congratulations, boy. I guess Aaron tol’ ya ’bout all the plans fer Bayou Rose Plantation.”
Daniel turned slowly to look at Aaron. “All what plans?”
“The animal rescue operation,” Tante Lulu informed him gleefully. “Lordy, Lordy! My charity’s been concentratin’ on orphans and poor families startin’ back after Hurrycane Katrina, but no one’s lookin’ after all the animals left behind. So many of them got loose and were never rounded up. They been begettin’ and begettin’ ever since, lak the Bible. Lots of them need homes, and some of them need doctorin’. Good thing—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Daniel knew about Jude’s Angels, Tante Lulu’s charity that operated under the umbrella of the Hope Foundation. Hell, he served on its board. He ought to know. But this was the first he’d heard about animals. “What animal rescue operation?” Just then, the fenced-in buildings out back were making sense. “You can’t possibly think that I’m going to work with animals.”
Tante Lulu waved a hand airily, like she was the queen, and they were her minions. “Jist ’til ya get back ta reg’lar doctorin’, honey.”
“I’m a physician . . . not a veterinarian.”
“Same thing. But not ta worry. It’s jist a blip of an idea fer now. Mebbe sometime in the future. Mebbe you’ll have a better idea.”
Daniel didn’t trust the old lady’s blips. Not one bit. As for other ideas, he couldn’t say out loud what ideas were in his head at the moment. “I thought you were going to build a flight operation here,” Daniel accused Aaron.
“Can’t I do both? That’s the great thing about twins. We multitask.”
Daniel told him what he could do with his multitasking.
Ignoring them, Tante Lulu was on a tear. “—and the doctor’s office in the garconniére?”
“The garden-what?”
“Not garden. Gar-son . . . garconniére.” She waved her hand toward an odd-shaped building off to the side of the house. Sort of hexagonal in shape. It wasn’t very big. There couldn’t be more than one or two rooms on each of the three stories. “Bachelor quarters. These kinda buildings were fer the planter’s sons once they were growed up but not yet married.”
“Sort of a nineteenth century bachelor pad,” Aaron elaborated.
“Lots of hanky panky went on in them, I understan’.”
“Sex o
n the Bayou, for sure,” Aaron commented.
He was going to whack Aaron a good one when they were alone. “That’s where I’ll stay then,” Daniel decided.
“Not on the bottom floor, though. Thass fer yer doctor’s office.”
“Whaaat?”
Tante Lulu walked over to a straggly plant and was examining it. Being a traiteur, she was always picking up new herbs or seeds and putting them in little plastic zipper bags in her gigantic purse.
“Don’t ignore me, old lady.” Daniel put his hands on his hips and glared alternately at Aaron and Tante Lulu. “You think I’m going to treat cancer patients out here in the boonies, when I’m not out rounding up mutts?”
“It won’t jist be dogs. There’ll be dogs, cats, birds, and other things.”
It was the “other things” that worried Daniel. He gritted his teeth and counted to ten in silence.
“As fer cancer patients . . . not ta worry! Yer gonna try yer hand at being a GP. A GP is a general practitioner.” She was still yanking up plants while she spoke. Bending over, she gave them a good view of her tiny little ass. Not a pretty sight.
“I know what a GP is.” He pulled at his own hair with frustration.
“It’ll be a first step back ta yer callin’.” Tante Lulu closed her purse and walked back toward them.
Daniel, hands still on his hips, glared some more. “You have no right to interfere in my life.”
It was Tante Lulu who now put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “Thass what family does, boy.”
“You aren’t my—”
Tante Lulu put up a halting hand. “Doan you dare say that we’re not family. We are. And we care about ya, even though ya make it sore hard sometimes, bless yer Yankee heart.”
Daniel put his face in his hands, then raised his head and said, “Sorry.”
Tante Lulu nodded.
“But I still say I’m not Yankee. I’m from Alaska.”
“Cain’t get any farther north than that.”
“I need to get out of here.” Daniel looked at Aaron, pleadingly.
“You take Samantha out on a date yet?” the old lady inquired of Daniel.
“No, and I don’t intend—”
“Best ya hurry up. I read in Cosmo that men reach their sexual peak at thirty.”
