He held her with one arm and the dock with another. The water wasn’t as cold as she thought, but she had chills nonetheless, thinking of how exposed they both were. Her back pressed into the wood piling as Peter began his fevered lovemaking. Maureen smiled and moaned in all the right places, but her mind was elsewhere.
She saw herself in his kitchen. She hadn’t been in many kitchens, so this was the kitchen from Bewitched, which was her favorite show because she could appreciate irony from time to time. Maureen wore a pink apron with frilly lace, because pink was her color, and the smells coming from the kitchen would send any man into spasms of joy. In this fantasy, Maureen was a phenomenal cook, which of course she would need to work on in real life because she had turned away any attempts at learning from her mother.
Peter came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her tiny waist. He asked her what smelled so amazing, then made a joke about how the food smelled great, too. She laughed, kissed him. Everything was so wonderful. She couldn’t imagine being happier. Except… she had news for him. Huge, wonderful, important news. I’m pregnant, darling.
His shuddering orgasm pulled her back to the strange, cold moment in the still water of the Pontchartrain.
Eight
You Stupid Girl
Jared said he had something for him.
Charles tensed as he sat in his car, waiting. He rolled his hands over the wheel, squeezing, releasing. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips, waiting to be useful. A part of him thought Rory had to be full of shit. No way was Maureen involved in trouble. The girl wasn’t clever enough to tie her shoes on the first try. It was highly unlikely she’d been hiding anything from anyone.
But Jared said he had something, and that he wasn’t comfortable sharing over the phone. Jared was a conspiracy theorist who assumed the government was always watching and listening. Though utterly ridiculous, it nonetheless left Charles feeling ill. If Jared thought whatever news he had to share was serious enough to put on his tinfoil hat, then it was serious.
Charles lit the cigarette and inhaled a lungful of calming smoke. He released it into the warm car and rolled his head over the seat back.
Maureen, you stupid, stupid girl. What have you done?
* * *
Jared checked the area extensively before sliding into Charles’ passenger seat. Charles had the keen urge to smack him over the head, but he needed the information first, and he was already well past the point of losing his patience. Jared was twenty minutes late.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Jared gripped the folder like a man holding another man’s death sentence. “I took a longer route to make sure I wasn’t being followed.”
“Why the fuck would—” Charles forcibly stopped himself. The information first. “I don’t have a lot of time,” he lied. “What do you have?”
“Well,” Jared said, and Charles had a suspicion the dude was going to draw this out for effect, “Maureen is definitely involved with someone.”
“Who?”
“A man.”
“Jesus Christ, Jared, who?”
Jared again checked the exterior perimeter. Charles thought to himself that he really might become a murderer before this encounter came to an end.
“My sources say their little tryst has been going on since before the last school year ended.”
“Jared, if you don’t tell me…” Charles frowned as a thought silenced his words. “Wait, did you say man?”
Jared closed his eyes and drew in a dramatic breath. He slowly handed over the folder. “Peter Evers. As in—”
Charles ripped the folder open. “Mr. Evers? That middle school idiot who taught Dickens or some shit?” He laughed. “Nah, man, there’s no way. There. Is. No. Way.”
“Shakespeare,” Jared corrected solemnly, “and there is. Halfway through the stack, you will find Exhibit C.”
“Exhibit what the fuck?”
“The pictures, Charles.” Jared was clearly annoyed at his lack of enthusiasm for the details he’d lovingly prepared.
Charles threw one discarded page after another into the back seat as he shuffled through meaningless paperwork. When he got to the first of the grainy black and white photos, shoddily developed in the high school lab, it looked like, he stopped breathing.
Maureen, sitting atop her English teacher in the backseat of his beat-up sports car.
Maureen, pressed into the pilings of a dock by the flabby frame of Mr. Evers.
Maureen, kissing Mr. Evers behind a building.
Maureen. Maureen. Maureen.
“This man taught me. Taught all of us.”
“I was in one of his classes, too,” Jared added, as if Charles gave a shit.
Charles slammed back into his seat. His mind was overloaded with all he’d seen, and with the budding rage clouding those thoughts with new ones. This man… this teacher… was a criminal, and he had chosen the wrong girl to practice his sick perversions on.
“Hey, Charles, I was thinking… I’ve got tickets to Jethro Tull at The Warehouse tonight. You in?”
“You’re still here?”
Jared flashed him an appropriately pathetic look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Do I need to answer that?”
Jared paused, as if waiting for Charles to say he was joking. When that didn’t happen, he sighed and opened the door. Before stepping out, he said, “Should I stay on her?”
Charles set the pictures down to his lap. He ground his teeth together, a small grunt escaping. “No, and if I hear about this from anyone, anyone at all, even some random starving kid someone adopted in rural Africa, I’ll come for your nuts, turn around, and feed them to those same starving kids.”
“Hey, now—”
Charles threw the car into reverse and peeled through the gravel. Jared jumped back as the door flapped in the wind, and though Charles didn’t look in his rearview, he knew the dolt was still standing and watching, dumbfounded.
He stretched across the passenger seat and pulled the door closed.
* * *
Colleen knew she was supposed to enjoy sex. She knew this because she had a strong clinical understanding of all the body’s responses, and the response to sexual stimulation was one of the most powerful and most unique. Sex had literally started wars, ended careers, and offered the one who was desired a power and advantage unlike any other.
She did enjoy it, to an extent. Rory never rushed; was always attentive to her needs, which even she didn’t quite have a hold on yet. He always checked to see if she was enjoying herself, and she had learned to sometimes fake this, for his sake, for any disinterest on her part wasn’t his fault. Her mind was simply too full to invite in anyone, or anything, else. Her intellectual mind knew she should not only be having a great time whenever she was with Rory, but that she was fortunate to have such a tender and mindful lover.
But her intellectual mind was the problem. She could not turn it off, not for a minute. She loved Rory, in her own way, even if it was not the same way he loved her. But Colleen had always seen the path she wanted and had followed it. No man would change that. Even her dedication to her siblings couldn’t change that.
Yet Rory viewed their union as a pivotal shift in their lives that warranted compromise. He lay at her side after they made love, one hand lazily stroking her hair as the other animatedly swept through the air with his proclamations of the plans they’d make. They were both going to Tulane for their undergraduate studies, so they didn’t have to break up or attempt a long-distance relationship. That gave them time to pick a graduate school together, too, where they could attend jointly. By the time they were done, they could have their nice wedding and begin planning their family. Two kids, he said he wanted, though he would welcome a third if God intended it, or if Colleen really wanted more.
He never stopped for her approval, only to see if she was tracking. Rory wasn’t an innately selfish person, so she interpreted his lack of concern for her feelings more
as him misreading her own interest in the plans he proposed. He simply couldn’t imagine she didn’t see the potential in what they had, as he did. And so she smiled and kissed him back, unsure how to tell him she was mostly indifferent to where things were going, while her mind wandered to those things more pressing to her.
They’d been at Ophélie a month now, even Charles and Augustus who could have gone anywhere. Irish Colleen allowed Rory to stay over now that Colleen was eighteen, but Colleen almost wished her mother hadn’t permitted it, so she had an excuse to be alone and think.
Ophélie was the home of their ancestors, and Colleen felt most connected to her heritage when she walked the long cypress boards and ate from the china purchased by her great-great-grandmother. Irish Colleen took this a step further, believing it had restorative properties for her children, though she never gave a reasonable explanation for how this could be possible. And Colleen had only seen everyone, herself included, struggle this summer.
Elizabeth’s visions were stronger now, and she rarely emerged from her room outside of mealtimes. Maureen walked around with a strange grin and a dazed demeanor, one that made Colleen think they might have a problem on their hands. Evangeline had pulled away since Colleen had been dating Rory, or whatever it was they were doing, and nothing Colleen could do would sway Evangeline into spending time with her, not even the reminder that college would take up more of her time.
Madeline, though, she was the worst of all. Coming and going at all hours, locking herself in her room when she was home. Hunger strikes had become the norm, and the strong smell of marijuana wafted from under the old door to her room every night. Then, the other night, she’d come in past midnight with Augustus, who was plainly furious with her. Augustus was never angry with Madeline, so what could that mean?
Rory had rolled atop her and was making earnest efforts to gain her interest in some foreplay. Colleen played along, but as usual, her heart wasn’t in it. She could never surrender to her own happiness when others suffered.
“Goddammit, Sullivan, get the fuck off my sister!”
Colleen had never seen Rory move so fast. He held tight to the blanket as he scrambled to the other side of the room. Colleen tugged her sweater back down over her stomach and glared at her brother. “You need to learn to knock, Huck!”
“This is my fucking plantation, and I’ll do as I please.”
“Say that to Mother,” Colleen retorted.
“We have bigger issues. In fact, we have one very big fucking issue, Colleen.”
“I should go,” Rory said as he searched around for his trousers.
“You think?” Charles snapped.
“I’ll call you later,” Colleen said, because that was the sort of thing people said. She sighed. “I’m sorry about my brother.”
“Don’t apologize for me, when I don’t mean it,” Charles said with a heavy smirk. As Rory gathered his backpack and went to move past him, Charles puffed out his chest with a tight jerk, like he was challenging him to a cock fight.
Rory waved from behind Charles and ran out the door.
“What a fucking dolt,” Charles said with a thumb behind him. “Are you decent? If I sit on the bed, am I gonna regret it?”
Colleen threw her blanket aside. “I’ll accept your apology whenever. While you’re at it, apologize to Rory, too.”
“Yeah, right.” Charles laughed. He tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt. “Maureen is in some deep shit, Colleen. Like waist-deep and sinking fast.”
She crossed her arms and leaned into the heavy frame of the bed. “Oh? And you suddenly care what she’s up to?”
“She’s fucking her middle school English teacher. I sure as shit care about that.”
The room went utterly still and cold, and Colleen couldn’t have moved if she tried. “No. That’s not… which one?” She shook her head. “No, that can’t be right.”
“Mr. Evers. That middle-aged fuck who drives the old Camaro he can’t afford to fix up, and has a beer belly the size of a regulation basketball.”
“Mr. Evers? The man is married. He has kids.”
Charles threw his hands up. “And he’s sticking his dick in our sister.”
“Why does everything have to be so vulgar with you?”
“He’s had our sister in the Biblical way. Many times. Better?”
“Let’s back up.” Colleen’s mouth was a bed of cotton. Her heart had picked up to such a pace she knew she needed to measure out her breathing or she’d be in a full-blown panic soon. “How do you know this?”
“I have my ways.”
“Not good enough, Huck. Not for this.”
He heaved a large sigh. “I had one of my fuckwit lackeys follow her for a month. The evidence is real, Leena. I’m not making this up. There are fucking pictures of this pedophile fu—having carnal relations with our Maureen.”
“Okay.” Colleen closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Steady. In. Out. “Okay, let’s think.”
“Think?” Charles shot up off the bed. “I think I’m going to murder this perverted fuck, is that what you meant?”
“Don’t even joke about something like that,” Colleen hissed. “Before we do anything, we need to talk to Maureen.”
“And say what? She’s going to deny it.”
“Of course she is, but if we show her she’s safe with us, that we can help her through this. We can help her, come up with a plan.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Colleen, she’s not the least bit rational. If she has a brain cell not devoted to this motherfucker, it’s probably wasted on cotton candy and those weird little balls on her sweaters. This is Maureen we’re talking about, not Evangeline, not Madeline. She only knows what she wants, and if we tell her she can’t have it, she’s going to want it more. If that happens, who knows what she might do?”
Charles’ words gave Colleen pause. She thought, maybe, he was speaking from his own experience, and that made sense, for if Maureen was like anyone in the family, it was Charles. It was also the only wisdom she’d heard from him… maybe ever. If he was espousing wisdom, he wasn’t out acting irrational and getting himself in trouble. “Maybe you’re right. Then what do you suggest?”
“We could get Augustus to talk to her. Convince her she hates the guy.”
Colleen shook her head. “No, we have always promised in our family never to use magic against one another, not without consent. I won’t break that rule. Not even for this.”
She expected Charles to argue, but he only nodded. “Maybe we can get Mama to send her away to boarding school.”
“No,” Colleen said. “When this all comes out in the open, we will need her here, so we can look after her.”
“Right.” Charles pressed his palms to his temples. “Let’s get Augustus. He always knows what to do.”
Colleen found this curious, how Charles was so unlike his brother but often sought him out when he needed guidance. She balked at the notion that hers wasn’t enough, but also realized the more heads they had in solving this, the better they could support their sister.
“He’ll be home in a couple hours. Mini family meeting?”
Charles smacked her shoulder. “Great. Grab her. I’ll meet you downstairs in a couple hours.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
Nine
It Only Stops When it Hits the Wall
Madeline rifled through the drawers in her mother’s bedroom with only a moderate sense of urgency. Tonight was Bridge Club for Irish Colleen, and though it was scheduled until nine, Irish Colleen capitalized on her twice-a-month adult time by drinking with her girlfriends well into the evening. Everyone knew Irish Colleen didn’t actually enjoy a real friendship with any of these women, all legitimate PTA mothers who had entered their marriages with their own money and pedigree. They all knew Irish Colleen had simply come about the best luck ever catching August Deschanel. She didn’t really belong. But none of them were stupid enough to piss off
the woman who had married into the most prominent family in New Orleans and was mother to the new heir.
Madeline often wondered how much her mother knew of the icy two-faced nature of these carnivorous women. Though there was no love lost in her own relationship with Irish Colleen, she nevertheless felt a fierce protectiveness when she thought of how these women viewed her mother. As if the nature of one’s birth had any bearing on their character and worth. Irish Colleen, for all her shortcomings, was twice the woman that any of those biddies were, and Madeline waited for the day they would come to eat their words. Few things rankled Madeline more than those who used their power to harm or control others.
They used Irish Colleen for her name and her connections. Madeline once confronted her mother, in an albeit angry moment, about how she allowed the women to walk all over her. Irish Colleen had smiled as she dusted the table and said, “Don’t feel sorry for me, daughter. Think about what it must be like for them, knowing they have to play nice to maintain what they must see as a connection necessary for their status. It’s sad, really. All that work being fake, and they’ll never get anything from me outside the bottle of wine I bring to Bridge Club.” She set down her rag and the smile deepened. “It’s not even good wine.”
“So why do you go?”
Irish Colleen had looked at her as if the question warranted no serious answer. “I love bridge.”
Her mother didn’t love much, at least not anything of a frivolous nature, so this always stuck with Madeline. Irish Colleen might have thought it was sad that the other women pretended to be her friend, but Madeline thought it equally sad that her mother had to put up with it in order to do something she actually enjoyed.
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