“You’re gonna be feeling something—”
“Breakfast!” Irish Colleen’s voice boomed through the hallway. Charles waited until her footsteps disappeared back down the stairs, and then nibbled on Cat’s nipple.
“Hey!” she cried and pressed the stiletto of her heel into his bare chest. “If I have to wait, so do you.”
“I said I was hungry. I never said what I was gonna eat…”
“Charles August Deschanel.” She threw his shirt at him. It landed on his head.
“You do have your loafers, right?”
Catherine looked offended. “As if you really think I’d wear these heels in front of your mother.”
He shrugged. “You did tell me you wanted to make an impression.”
“A good impression,” she chided, and then the illusion was over. The heels lay in a discarded pile in the corner, for later. She slipped her sundress over her narrow frame. The fabric brushed across her breasts, which gave a light bounce at the resistance. No bra. His stomach quivered.
Cat ran her fingers through her hair in a frenzy before his mirror. She stopped. “Charles, do you really think this is a good idea? Truly?”
“You don’t want to eat with my family?”
Her hands dropped to her sides. “You know that’s not true.”
They both traded places, back and forth, on the efficacy of telling their families and bringing their relationship out in the open. Some days, Charles was convinced the world should know, and that it would all work out. Others, he despaired to the point of making himself physically sick.
Was gaining Cat worth more than losing Colin?
Some days, he thought he knew the answer. But how could he think straight, when she looked at him the way she always did?
They couldn’t go on like this, either, though. Loving her was exquisite torture. It was having what you wanted, while knowing it was never really yours. And he had never wanted anything more.
Catherine opened the door and winked. “Let’s go eat so you can refuel, old man.”
“You’ll pay for that.”
“I sure hope so.”
As Charles hopped into his pants and buckled them, he heard an exclamation from the hallway. Catherine gasped.
He shuffled out, and there was Rory.
His mouth flapped through a series of attempted starts.
“Rory…” Catherine started. She took a step and stopped. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“That’s what you have to say?” He was aghast. “You didn’t know I was here?”
“You can’t tell him.”
“Can’t tell who?”
“You know who.”
Rory moved toward them. “Say his name, Cat.”
“Back off, Sullivan,” Charles warned. “This isn’t your business. Don’t make me make it your business.”
“That doesn’t even make sense, Charles.” He shook his head. “Cat, I didn’t ask to be put in the middle of this. You did that. But he’s my brother. I can’t lie to him.”
“It’s not lying to just say nothing,” she said. Her voice cracked.
“Why are you so hot about this anyway?” Charles barked. “They broke up months ago. I know Colin won’t be too stoked, but he can’t expect her to stay single forever.”
Rory laughed. He ignored Charles and looked directly at Cat. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Know what?” Charles asked. The shithead needed to stop, and now. He didn’t want to have to pulverize Colleen’s boyfriend. She’d never let him hear the end of it.
Catherine burst into tears. She buried her face in her palms.
Rory said nothing. He waited, and in the silence, Charles deduced what they knew and he did not.
She’d been seeing them both.
“It’s not what you think,” Catherine sobbed. “Colin needed someone when Josephine got sick, and he didn’t have anyone else…”
“He had me!” Charles boomed. He backed away from them both, until he smacked into the wall. “He had Rory, and Patrick, and Chelsea!”
“He was so sad, Charles… you don’t know how hard it was to see him like that… I don’t love him like that, anymore, but I didn’t know how to say no.”
“Should probably tell Colin that,” Rory snapped. “News to him.”
Catherine turned her back to Rory and implored Charles with those eyes of hers, those beautiful, searching eyes he’d murder for. Wouldn’t be the first time. “I should have told you. I wish I’d told you. But, Charles, what I feel for you…”
He wanted to shove her, shove her so hard she bounced off the wall and fell into a heap at his feet, reduced to begging. His breathing raged out of control, and he thought for a moment he was actually crying.
“You can’t even say it,” Charles said. “Because it was just fun for you.”
Her head shook so hard her face was a blur. “No, it wasn’t just fun. It’s not just fun, Charles. It’s… it’s…” She choked on her sobs and curled her lips inward.
“Jesus Christ, Cat. I’m going home. You either break this off, or you tell Colin, or I will.” Rory pushed past them and ran down the stairs.
“Go,” Charles said. “Maybe he’ll drive you home, if you ask real nice.”
Cat reached for his face, and he broke away. “Charles—”
You broke my heart. You ripped it from my chest, when until you I didn’t even know I fucking had one. You set it on fire, and now there’s a hole in my chest where all the good stuff died.
Charles disappeared back into his room and locked the door. When she beat her fists against the wood, he flipped on the radio and sent the dial to max.
With closed eyes, he rifled through the drawer. He didn’t need to see. He knew where it was.
He pressed the tiny spoon to his nose and inhaled, once, twice, three, then four times, until he was dizzy once more, but with something safer, safer.
* * *
Colleen waited until the intense confrontation at the top of the stairs had come to a dramatic conclusion. Rory said only that he’d call her later as he blew past her without so much as a proper goodbye. So much for not waking him.
She found Catherine outside Charles’ room, beating her fists weakly at the wood as her knees buckled.
“You should go,” Colleen said, as gently as she could manage. “When he’s made up his mind about something, he needs time.”
“I’m in love with him,” Cat whispered. Her hands fell back from the door, and she looked surprised at her own words. “I love him. I love Charles.”
Colleen sighed. She touched Cat’s arm and guided her away from Charles’ door. “Okay, maybe tell him later, when he’s not so angry, all right?”
“He should know,” Cat said, faraway, tired, dreamy. “He needs to know.”
It won’t matter a whit. Charles isn’t capable of what you want from him. And he’ll be married off to someone he didn’t choose, and there’s nothing he or anyone can do about it. “And you should. When you both have had some time to cool off.”
“Yeah,” Cat said. “Okay. Sure. You’re right.”
Colleen knew she shouldn’t let the poor girl wander off in this state. With another sigh, this one more controlled, she said, “I’ll drive you into New Orleans. I’m headed there anyway. I’ll meet you out front.”
“Thanks, Colleen.”
Colleen went to grab her purse. On the way back out, Evangeline flew by in tears, past the room, and to the end of the hall, where their shared bathroom was.
Colleen paused for a moment, and then left.
Fifteen
Peace is at Hand
Augustus had never tried his powers of persuasion by phone. Even now, he didn’t entirely understand the conditions required to make it work. When he’d resolved to use them on someone, he went through a sort of physical change; straightening his shoulders, assuming a veil of authority. He focused his mind on sharing a belief, and the belief was shared.
The dean at M
IT was a friendly, if somewhat humorless, man. With great surprise, Augustus learned the man already knew who Evangeline was, and, in fact, had her college transcript in a file for prospects.
“I must say, I was disappointed when we didn’t receive an application from Evangeline. I can’t imagine a better school for a student of her caliber.”
Augustus adjusted the phone. “Forgive me, I don’t understand.”
“The top schools in the major metropolitan areas send us their most promising candidates each year. Think of it the way college sports recruiters scout high schools for prospects, except we aren’t out in the field, and we don’t pay for talent.”
“If you went to all that trouble, why just put her in a folder?”
The man coughed. “We aren’t in the business of soliciting students, Mr. Deschanel. As you may well imagine, we receive far more submissions each year than we know what to do with. Having the top minds already identified helps us ensure that none of them get lost in the system.”
“I see,” Augustus said. It seemed he wouldn’t get the chance to test his skills by phone, after all.
“May I ask, where has your sister been attending college, if not here?”
“She hasn’t,” Augustus replied gruffly, and this, he thought, was where it all unraveled.
“Oh. Well then.”
“It’s not for lack of motivation,” Augustus explained. “Evangeline has been helping me start my business, Deschanel Media Group. She’s learning many practical aspects of business, which are invaluable to anyone. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That’s splendid. Work ethic is, sadly, the one thing we cannot teach our students.”
“What would it take to get my sister enrolled for winter term?”
Papers shuffled on the other end of the phone, across the country. “Well, you see, winter term is for existing students only. All new students to MIT come through our orientation week in the fall term, which has a number of events assigned to help them feel at home. As a second year student, of course, she could choose to skip her fall term, though I don’t know why anyone would.” He covered the phone with his hand, and what he said next was unintelligible. “Ah, yes, my secretary has kindly reminded me that we now do orientation in spring as well.”
“Spring term, then.”
“We would be honored to have her here, of course,” said the dean. “It would only be a formality, but I do need her application on file, for accounting and auditing purposes. “Are you using a facsimile machine yet?”
Augustus had considered the investment, but saw no use in owning a system most of the world couldn’t afford to use. “I’ll have my assistant send the application by mail, the fastest speed available.”
“Wonderful. You can let your assistant know that both Tulane and Loyola have copies of our application. Will she be needing financial aid?” The dean must have realized his error, for he chuckled. “Forgive me, I know she won’t.”
“You’ll have it on your desk by the end of week.”
“Very good. And Mr. Deschanel?”
“Yes?”
“Please, there’s no need to send the application fee. The paperwork is for our records only. Evangeline may consider herself an MIT student this spring.”
“Pleasure talking to you.”
Augustus cradled the phone. The large, open office space was empty now, but hours earlier had been abuzz with activity. Their first edition of Deschanel Magazine was nearly ready, and his ad-man, James, had secured support from some of the leaders in New Orleans business. Restaurants and hotels had already ordered their copies, and he’d even gotten calls from Baton Rouge asking after availability.
He should be happy. He understood, at the surface, all was well in his life. His goals were coming to life right before his eyes. He was on the precipice of something great, beyond his imagination.
Where there should be joy, there was only hollow acceptance.
The reasons were no mystery. And while what Augustus told the dean was true, that he couldn’t have done any of this without Evangeline, he was now somewhat of a reluctant expert on the topic of a drowning loved one. She was drowning here, and he wouldn’t lose her, too.
Augustus hadn’t yet hired an assistant, so he grabbed his coat and briefcase and went to go see about the application.
* * *
Carolina had been hanging around again. She came and went like the wind, and Colleen couldn’t decide if she was just late to the realization they’d grown apart, or knew and didn’t care.
To make matters weirder, Carolina knew Colleen and Rory were in an “on again” phase of their relationship saga, and, worse, knew she was second fiddle, the one Rory ran to when Colleen turned him away.
Carolina’s constant checking of doors, no matter what room they were in, eventually gave her away.
“Car… you’re going to get your heart broken, you know.”
“What’re you talking about, Colleen?” She rifled through the box of records she’d brought over. Colleen had noted Carolina flocked to music as therapy the same way Colleen retreated into studying. The more anxious her friend was, the more she changed the record, the artist, the volume, the song. “I told you, I was only having fun with Rory. He loves you. I’m cool. I dig it.”
“You know I don’t mean Rory.”
Carolina flashed her doe eyes, which might work on others, but had never worked on Colleen. She tried to push her annoyance down. Carolina might be playing at something, but there was no maliciousness in her. No guile. “What? Oh, Augustus?” She waved her hand, which held a Supremes record. “We’re just talking. It’s nothing.”
“He’s not like other men, Carolina.”
“You think he’s into boys or something?”
“No, I don’t think he’s into boys.”
Carolina flung her blond hair over one shoulder. She checked the door again, likely without realizing it. “You don’t have to protect your brother from little old me.”
“It’s not Augustus I’m trying to protect,” Colleen said.
* * *
Augustus parked his car at the gap in the levee, a mile from Ophélie.
On the passenger seat lay the newspaper he’d picked up at the office after he’d finished running his errands to get Evangeline’s paperwork completed and sent to the appropriate place.
PEACE IS AT HAND, the headline read. Top foreign policy strategist, Henry Kissinger, following a visit to South Vietnam, has announced the administration is one session away from ending the war.
He looked again to his right. Madeline sat in the seat, picking at the shreds of denim fraying around her thighs.
“When will you be okay?” he asked her.
“I’ll never be okay,” she said. She licked her fingers and ran them over the fractured denim, smoothing out the damage. “But the war ending would give me some peace. I just hope I’m alive to see it.”
Augustus laid his head on the hard leather steering wheel and sobbed.
* * *
Colleen was a light sleeper, so light nothing more than a gust of wind could rouse her. So she heard the door downstairs open and close, and through deduction, reasoned it must be Augustus.
She was also awake to acknowledge Carolina carefully setting her blanket aside and slipping out of the room.
This is another example of something outside your control. Let it go. Let others make their mistakes. They are theirs to make, not yours to fix.
Colleen closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she wouldn’t get much. Staying out of it was one thing; being rid of her worry was another.
* * *
Augustus lay on the top of his bed. He didn’t bother with his clothes, or the covers, though his mother had turned them back, as she had since he was a boy.
He wasn’t a boy anymore, though. Nothing about him felt like that person anymore, and it wasn’t any one thing, but a culmination of events and losses, working together to reshape him.
He didn’t belong in this world, but he didn’t know how to leave it behind.
Augustus didn’t look up when his door opened. With luck, they’d see his closed eyes for the lack of invitation they conveyed.
The door closed again. He opened his eyes, but the visitor wasn’t gone.
Carolina looped her hands behind her back and regarded him with a soft, curious look.
“I need to get some sleep,” he said. He truly didn’t want to hurt her, but it seemed inevitable, past the point where that was still possible.
“But you’re not,” she said. “I can’t sleep either.”
“I’ll fall asleep. I always do.”
She sat in the middle of his bed, and her back brushed his torso where he lay. The back of her hand fell against his cheek, and she brushed it gently. Her finger passed over the corner of his eyes, still damp. “I don’t have anywhere for the hurt to go either.”
“Carolina…”
“Everyone thinks I’m the fun, bubbly friend who always wants to have a good time. They don’t think there’s much else to me,” she went on. She brought her hand back and wound it in with her other one. She wrung them in her lap. “Not even Colleen realizes I do that because I don’t want anyone to know how dark I feel inside.”
Augustus pulled himself up. He didn’t know how to respond, but he was listening.
“When Daniel died, the whole community came together for my parents. I don’t think my mom made dinner for at least half a year, we had so many casserole dishes. I didn’t realize you could put so many damn things in a casserole.” Carolina looked at her hands. “They tried to be there for me, but they were broken, too. I didn’t want them to hurt more by seeing me hurting. And by the time they pulled their lives back to something normal, I’d never learned to process my grief, but I’d learned how to hide it.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“The summer between my sophomore and junior years. All my friends were on vacations with their families. Colleen was at summer camp. I spent all day and night in my bedroom, and when school was back, I’d figured out how to answer people’s questions without breaking down.”
The Seven Boxed Set Page 35
