“Better check on that nosebleed, sister,” Charles accused. He regarded both hands, now pristine, and shook her away. He should thank her, but he didn’t. He never did. Her role in the family was healer, just as his was to lead. “Awfully elevated there on your high horse.”
“I stood by you last summer. You did what you had to do. But this?” She gestured toward the stairs, where every last one of the Deschanels had fled the scene in one form or another, except them. “You went too far, and what’s worse is you know it. You know it, and you’ll never apologize, because you’re the heir and you think that somehow places you in the pecking order just south of God.”
Moments later, Charles found himself alone in the parlor, with only their string of accusations and one hell of a headache.
Eighteen
We Are Not Partners
The Deschanel Magi Collective Council met quarterly as a matter of protocol. Twice annually for the broader Collective. The frequency increased only in their times of great need. A good year had no more than the standard four and two.
Despite the turmoil in Colleen’s own household, this was a rare moment of peace for her family as a whole. As the final Council meeting of 1970 came to a close, in the earliest hours of December 24, and Kitty Guidry filed away their notes, Colleen took only small comfort in this peace.
The Gardens was lit ceiling to floor with white lights. Garland wrapped around bannisters and columns, while brilliant shades of red and pink blossomed with the hundreds of poinsettias, small and large. A tree fit for a more public affair stood sentry at the bay window facing Jackson Avenue, for all the passersby to see. Everyone in Uptown waited for the Deschanel Tree to go up in the window so they could take their children by the hand and point at the splendor.
Colleen said goodbye to her cousins, one by one. Most were headed for a brief rest and then off to some family affair or another. Christmas was a holiday like no other for Deschanels, Broussards, Fontenots, and all the many other branches down their lines. A time for joy and ceremony.
Aunt Ophelia’s frail hand squeezed hers as they stood in the doorway and watched the others file away, returning to the dark night and their own lives.
“You seem in no hurry to follow,” Ophelia wheezed. She coughed into the sleeve of her green satin smoking jacket. Colleen steadied her until she was finished.
“How could you tell?”
“With age comes wisdom.” She coughed a gravelly laugh. “Or finer observation skills.”
Colleen pressed her body into the heavy double doors to close them. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so lost, Aunt Ophelia.”
Ophelia took her niece’s arm. “That’s a feeling as predictable as death and taxes. One you’ll feel many times over your life, and when you think you’ve felt it enough, you’ll feel it again.”
Colleen steered them toward the back porch overlooking the generous gardens for which the property was named. Crepe myrtle and bird of paradise lorded over the luscious space. It had always been a retreat of safeness for Colleen. Where everything came together, and all was right.
“I wish it were so simple.”
“Shall we waste time having you recant the past couple months of your life, my dearest, or will you allow me to stop pretending I don’t already know?”
Colleen couldn’t help but laugh. “I know you know, Tante. And I was hoping you might have some of your famous wisdom for me.”
“Wisdom or divination?”
She considered this before answering. “Mostly wisdom. Maybe a touch of the other.”
Ophelia eased down into her rocker with some aid from Colleen. The cicadas were loud tonight, louder than usual for the winter, but this time of year they faced no competition. “The Deschanels will come out of this, as they always do.”
“In one piece?”
Ophelia waved her hand back and forth. “You asked only for a touch of divination, my dear.”
“I don’t know how to help my family anymore.”
“Do you mean your brother being a murderer? Or your sister a victim of an older man? There are other transgressions and sins, I know, but we can begin there.”
Colleen was shocked. “You know about those things?”
Ophelia’s wrinkled mouth curled in a smile. “Don’t insult me, child.”
“My mother doesn’t know.” Colleen slumped in her chair. She exhaled, watching the swirl of breath dance on the night sky. “About either thing. She can never know.”
“She never will,” Ophelia replied. “And yes, that is divination. You can thank me, for taking that burden from your shoulders.”
Colleen twisted her hands in her lap. “Good. I think it would kill her.”
“Your mother is far stronger than you give her credit for.”
“Just the same.”
“Do you think it is you, Colleen, who must protect your mother from the ills of the world?”
“No—”
“No, not to me. You won’t lie to me,” Ophelia said. “I’m weary tonight, child. Wish I could stay up into the sunrise with you. But my old body no longer supports the whims of my mind. Shall we get to the advice you sought so dearly?”
Colleen nodded.
“What you desire is wisdom, but what you need most is to make peace with your anger.”
“My anger?”
“At your siblings. At the world. At yourself,” Ophelia answered. “You carry it like an old, expensive handbag you’re too stubborn to discard.”
“That’s not fair,” Colleen began. “You don’t know—”
“I do know, and I’m tired, so let’s cease with the interruptions. You must learn to forgive and move on, before it’s too late. Nothing has been done that cannot be forgiven, Colleen. Your family needs you, though not in the way you seem to want to believe. They need you to be their daughter and their sister. Their friend. There will come a time in your life when your authority will be the more pressing need, but that day is not today. It is not tomorrow, either.” Ophelia pitched forward and wrapped her bony hand around Colleen’s knee. “When the time comes, you will know. I promise. But it’s Christmas, and there is no better occasion for good old-fashioned forgiveness, would you not agree?”
Colleen nodded through her tears. She’d gotten what she came for, but she wasn’t confident her aunt was on the mark this time. She’d lived many years, maybe too many, and the length might be diluting the content.
“Thank you, Tante,” she whispered and kissed her aunt good night.
“Thank me by enjoying this Christmas with your family,” Ophelia replied, and Colleen was left feeling as if there was a second half to the sentence left unspoken.
* * *
Irish Colleen waited for her on the couch in the parlor.
Colleen leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You didn’t have to wait up, Mama.”
“I always wait up after your meetings.”
“I know, but I’m an adult now. I’ll be all right.”
“Just the same.” Irish Colleen looped her fingers through the knits of her shawl. “You were later than usual tonight.”
“I spent some time with Aunt Ophelia,” Colleen said. “I don’t get much time with her anymore.”
Her mother nodded, her face unreadable in the dim light. “Did she have good advice for you?” They both knew the old woman was the only person Colleen ever solicited or digested advice from.
“She thinks I’m holding onto anger,” Colleen said. She told the truth before she thought too much about whether she should. “That instead I should learn to forgive.”
Irish Colleen cracked a smile. “There’s wisdom in the old bat yet. And did you find this advice helpful?”
“I found it confusing,” Colleen said, continuing her streak of stark honesty. “I don’t think she’s wrong, but I don’t know that she understands, either. She hasn’t been here this year, experiencing everything we’ve all experienced.”
“Sometimes an outside opinion can help put t
hings in perspective.”
“You agree with her? You think I’m angry?”
Irish Colleen shrugged with her hands out. “I think you carry more than you should. If it’s anger, that’s between you and God.”
“God,” Colleen said. “Anger is a sin in his eyes.”
“So is deception, even when the person you’re deceiving is yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Colleen, you speak to me as if we’re equals most of the time. As if you think it’s your responsibility to raise this family. Just the other day you asked me what ‘we’ were going to do about Madeline. My child, ‘we’ are not going to do anything. I’m going to pray for guidance while you focus on getting your education, and God willing, both will work out in the end.”
Colleen was speechless. Of course she knew she wasn’t an equal with her mother. “I’m trying to help you! I know you’ve had it hard since Daddy died, and there’s seven of us and one of you. I stepped up when no one else would.”
“You stepped up when no one asked,” Irish Colleen said, direct but gentler than usual, as if she understood it was needed.
“That’s not fair!” she cried, for the second time that night.
“It’s life, which has never been fair,” her mother replied. “We’re not partners, Colleen. When you act like we are, it doesn’t relieve my stress, it adds to it.”
“How am I adding to your stress?”
“All I’ve ever wanted was to see you seven happy and healthy. And all of you, right now, are sick, and I don’t know if prayer is enough. Yes, even you, Leena. Your sickness is you’re not able to live your life. God help me for saying this, but I used to wish you’d go to parties! Unlike Charles, or even your sisters, who I’ve always had to rein in, I thought, if only you could do normal things with your friends, maybe, just maybe…”
“Just maybe what?”
Irish Colleen suppressed a yawn and pulled herself to her feet. “I don’t say this often, but you should listen to that old woman. Sometimes she gets it right. You do need to let go, and you need to forgive, starting with yourself.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Irish Colleen kissed the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Colleen. Sleep and think of a way to make yourself happy.”
Nineteen
Dream a Little Dream of Me
The veins in Augustus’ neck strained so tight he wondered if it was possible for them to pop. If they did, would they spray blood everywhere? He supposed if his carotid artery went, that would be the end of that, but he might survive the destruction of a lesser vein.
His most effective method of stress moderation had always come in the form of making a conscious decision to not let things get to him. He told Colleen this once, and was met with the forehead bulging incredulity he expected. The girl who carried the stress of the world couldn’t fathom just deciding things didn’t bother her.
But it worked. Where Charles and the girls got spun up about every last thing, Augustus was able to focus on those things in life that would move him forward, not pull him back. School had never been a problem, and his goals were clear. He loved his family, even if they weren’t exactly the Cleavers.
This moderated approach to life was why he’d been the best equipped to weather Madeline’s storms. She could cry, scream, throw things, and he never matched her pique, never rose to her level of outrage. He thought, just maybe, this was what she needed most. Someone who could listen and be there without being just like her.
The stint in the drug house changed all that. Every faded smile was a warning sign. Smart-ass comments between sisters could send everything in his unsteady house of cards crashing to the floor in pieces. And he’d promised her. He’d sworn a vow that what she was coming back to was safe.
But it wasn’t, because even when everything changes, nothing does.
* * *
First, he’d watched Maureen hurl a plate at Madeline’s head when Madeline made an offhand comment about “that warmonger Nixon.” Maureen, who hadn’t the faintest head for politics, declared that she was “done, just done, and tell Mama she can take her allowance away because she can’t do what she asked anymore.”
As it turned out, what Irish Colleen had asked was for Maureen to hold her tongue around Madeline, and the reward was double the usual five dollars. Augustus later learned she’d tried to bribe the other kids as well, with varying levels of success.
Charles went out of his way to ignore Madeline, and when they were forced into close quarters, like at dinnertime, his avoidance was so obvious it put a finer point on his anger than an outburst would have. Instead, that bomb just ticked, ticked, ticked, magnifying the inevitable blast radius.
Evangeline retreated into her own world, more so even than usual, flashing only occasionally guilty looks at her older sister that she never explained. Something had happened between them, but neither was talking.
Only Elizabeth held onto a genuine compassion for her sister. Wordless, she’d cling to Madeline everywhere she went, or follow her, offering help with menial tasks like carrying her laundry basket, and even folding and putting away the clothes. She tidied her room, and one day left flowers on her dresser. This was all very curious when Elizabeth’s room looked post-apocalyptic unless Mama decided to surrender and clean it for her.
Instead of being a comfort, this inexplicable shift in Elizabeth’s behavior only left Augustus feeling more unsteady. And he could see it was doing the same to Madeline.
Everything came to a crashing conclusion in the early morning hours of Christmas Eve.
Colleen had come in late from her Council meeting. On her way up to bed, Madeline tried to say something to her. Augustus never heard what it was, because he only woke up to the aftermath.
“I don’t know anything about that part of your life. I’m just trying to take an interest in what you do,” Madeline defended. These were the first clear words Augustus heard.
“Since when!” shrieked Colleen, and that’s when he knew this was headed nowhere fast.
“Since now, I guess,” Madeline said. By then, Maureen had spilled into the hall, moments before Augustus. “We’re sisters, Colleen.”
“Sisters,” Colleen repeated. Augustus could see she’d been crying. Whatever caused her distress, it began before she’d ever ascended the steps. “Right. A little late for that, isn’t it, Maddy? Now you want to be sisters? I’ve been here all along, where have you been?”
“Come on,” Charles growled. He stumbled out in his boxers, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Do you assholes know what time it is?”
“I’m trying,” Madeline pleaded. “I’m not like you.”
Colleen laughed. The callous sound was nothing like her, and Augustus was concerned for them both then. “Trying looks a little different in your world, doesn’t it?”
“Colleen…”
“Leena, stop.” Elizabeth’s small voice called from down the hallway. “Don’t.”
Augustus pulled up behind Colleen and tried to whisper in her ear. To get her to stand down. But whatever had affected Colleen had taken over. Later, he wondered—many, many times—if he had broken their family rule and got into her head to stop her, would things have been different?
“Why did you even come back, Madeline? For food? Shelter?” Colleen swung her hands around the hall, now filled with all seven of the Deschanel children. “You’ve never hesitated to make sure we know just how much you hate us all. Your complete and utter disdain for what we stand for. So don’t call me sister when we both know you’re using that word as a means to an end that has nothing to do with kinship.”
“Hey, hey,” Charles started, coming toward them both with a hand in the air. “Come on, let’s all just get to bed.”
Evangeline pulled Elizabeth into her side when the little girl burst into tears.
“That’s awful rich coming from someone who can’t even hold on to her boyfriend because she’s so cold and dead ins
ide.” When Madeline threw this punch back, Augustus knew it was over.
All of it.
Every last thing he’d tried to do, and any progress made with it.
Colleen laughed through her stuttered speech. “Dead inside? If I’m dead it’s from the stress of watching you throw your life away! It’s from watching you suck the life from our mother. You weren’t here, Madeline! You didn’t see our mother’s hair graying and her sleepless nights. Why? Because you only ever think of yourself!”
“Colleen, the exact opposite of that is true. I am who I am because I’m incapable of thinking of myself first. Don’t you think I’d be happier that way?”
Colleen pointed at her. Her arm trembled in the socket and the finger bobbed up and down, up and down, a buoy of accusation. “I don’t think you’ll be happy until the world burns around you and you’re the goddamn glowing center of it all.”
Madeline blew past her sister, past the others, a blur of wavy hair and pajamas flying down the stairs.
“What have you done?” Augustus demanded before running after her. He didn’t stay to wait for the answer.
* * *
The bus station was empty at this hour.
Evangeline showed up with the bag an hour after they arrived. He’d felt bad dragging her across New Orleans at this godforsaken hour, and on Christmas Eve, but who else could he ask? He was grateful it had been her, and not one of the others, who answered when he called from the payphone.
“Yeah, well, there’s zero chance of hitting rapid eye movement sleep after that Broadway show,” Evangeline said and put up no fight when Augustus made his request. He only hoped she’d packed the bag sensibly enough, though the cash he slipped into Madeline’s jacket pocket should more than compensate for any oversight.
“Thanks, Evie,” he said and took the bag.
“Thank me by paying the cab. I don’t have any cash, hombre.”
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