A Billion Reasons Why

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “You okay?” She felt Luc’s hand in the center of her back.

  “I’m home,” she yelled over the noise of the tarmac. “It’s been eight years!” Her mind filled with thoughts of food. There were delicacies that could only be found in New Orleans, and when her feet hit the ground, dreams of oyster po’ boys and blue plate mayonnaise made her lick her lips. “Can we eat now?”

  “You’re home in style.” Luc waved a hand toward a waiting limousine. “A triumphal entry. Did you notice how quiet my jet was compared to all the rest?”

  “Luc, sweetie, you have the biggest trophy and the best.”

  “I only meant—”

  She slipped into the car. “My mother will say I’m putting on airs.”

  “That she will. Wait until she gets a load of the feathers.”

  “Where do the pilot and Linda stay while you’re gone?”

  Luc touched her face. “You always did make sure everyone was taken care of, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not a doormat any longer, if that’s what you mean.”

  The driver appeared at the door, slammed it shut, and came around to the driver’s seat. He was a fat black man with an affable smile and a silver front tooth. “Where y’at?”

  “I’m good, Leon, how are you?”

  “Oh, you know, I’s all right. Who dat ya got wit ya?”

  “This is Katie, but she’s no tourist, Leon. She’s from the Irish Channel. It’s been eight years since she’s been home.”

  “No kiddin’?” Leon whistled. “Eight years. You ain’t gon believe the changes. What street? You gon yo momma’s?”

  “My momma moved,” Katie said. “To the Upper Garden District.”

  “Too bad. Master DeForges, you’ll have to take her by the new Irish Channel. She won’t believe her eyes. All them new shops and restaurants.”

  “Katie’s dad owned my first shop. That’s how I got my start.”

  “The one on Magazine Street? No kidding. Well, ain’t that something. Where you live now?”

  “California,” she answered. “Northern California.”

  “That’s a right shame.”

  “It’s not home, that’s for certain.”

  Naturally, the Irish Channel would be up and coming once her mother moved away. If there was a way to lose money, her family had always been gifted with the ability. If Luc was gifted with an ability to turn vegetables into gold, her mother was gifted with the ability to melt precious metals into useless minerals. Fortunately, her mother cared little for the finer things in life, so Katie imagined it didn’t make much difference to her one way or another—as long as there was a bounty of food on the table.

  The drive from the airport brought her to the harsh reality of seeing Mam, and Katie’s pulse increased with each passing block. Luc slid closer to her in the limo, as if he sensed her rising anxiety. It was as though she felt the cloud lowering over her, the fog muddying her mind and her goals getting lost.

  Luc took her hand and held it on the black leather seat. “It will be fine. I’m with you.”

  “You’re going with me?”

  “Don’t you want me to? It’s been a long time since you saw your mother. Have you even met her new husband?”

  Katie shook her head, and he tightened his grasp around her fingers. She ventured a look at his face and immediately averted her eyes. She pulled her hand out from under his.

  “It’s all right to ask for help, Katie. Your mother never was the easiest woman to get along with. She just wants you to be happy.”

  They looked at one another and laughed.

  “No, she doesn’t!” they said in unison. Her mam wanted to tell her how to be happy, tell everyone how to be happy.

  “Do you think she’ll give me the ring?”

  He glanced out the window before answering. “If she has it, I do. What could that ring mean to her now? It belonged to your father’s mother, not hers. It’s not worth a lot. It isn’t as if the stone’s the size of a golf ball.”

  She paused. “How would you know that?”

  “Know what?”

  “That the ring isn’t valuable. How do you know that? My grandmother died before I ever met you or Ryan.”

  “I just assumed that your grandfather came from Ireland to work the docks. He didn’t come with much, right? I’m sorry, maybe I assumed too much. I didn’t mean—”

  “No, you’re right. He didn’t. The ring isn’t valuable, in fact. I mean, it’s priceless to me, but in terms of . . .” She was blabbering. Eileen had told her to keep it brief, not to engage Luc any more than she had to, which is why she’d stuck her nose in a book for the entire flight. “Never mind.”

  “Don’t you think your mother will want to meet Poindexter before you’re engaged?”

  “Dexter. His name is Dexter. Could you give me the benefit of calling him by name? And no, I don’t think my mother will want to meet him.” She fought the urge to say more.

  “Your mother isn’t going to meet Dexter until your wedding day? That seems strange, Katie. Even for you. I know this place brings up a lot of emotion for you, but it’s in your blood. Can’t ignore it forever.”

  “I’ve done a pretty good job for eight years.”

  “That you have.” Luc sat back in his seat. “What did Dexter think of the magazine cover?”

  “Gosh, would you look how this place has changed? I hardly recognize it,” she said, gazing out the window. “So many new buildings—”

  “Meaning, you didn’t show the magazine to him?”

  She turned toward him, her face red with shame. “Not yet, but I will. See, Luc, you get that I’m the type of girl who ends up with my bum on the cover of a national magazine and why I would be doing something like smacking my ponytail across somebody’s face. But I’m not that girl anymore, so explaining that scenario to Dexter isn’t as easy as it sounds. He knows me as the lead singer in the church band and the hardworking teacher who takes her job home with her at night. He doesn’t remember an awkward, gangly girl who posed as a lounge singer to make her way through college.”

  “What do you mean, awkward? When were you awkward exactly? You were stunning then, and you’re stunning now. And I thought the pictures were very telling. Dexter should know he’s getting an Irish temper, don’t you think? Full disclosure and all that?”

  “I don’t have an Irish temper with Dexter. He’s a calming influence, like the sea. You are the only one who brings out my temper, which is ultimately why it was a good thing you dumped me.”

  “I didn’t dump you, Katie. When I watched you in the sound booth, Ryan told me you were way out of my league and not to bother. I never got that out of the back of my mind, I guess.”

  She forced a laugh. “So that’s why you turned down my proposal? I was out of your league? Really, Luc? That’s so convenient, and I’ll bet it works great in the Southland. Here, let me try it. You were too good for me”—she draped the back of her hand on her forehead and took on a Southern accent—“so I dumped your sorry self.”

  “You should try that. Want me to dial Poindexter for you? He’d buy that line easily enough. He obviously believes in his own magnificence. But just for the record, things did not go down that way between you and me. Your memory is flawed.”

  She could feel Luc’s voice, low and rich, in her chest. Somehow she’d never managed to shed the sense of security that resonance gave her.

  “Luc, you’ve had eight years to fix whatever happened between us. You want me to believe it’s a coincidence that you have to ensure I sing at your brother’s wedding? Tell me this isn’t just your ego and your competitive nature kicking in. Once you were convinced I’d choose you over Dexter, you’d fly off into the sunset and do whatever it is billionaires do with their time. Nibble on gold bars? Silverplate your toilets?”

  “Are you through yet?” Luc asked in a tone that told her no one questioned him any longer. “I suppose it’s useless for me to keep saying multimillionaire?”

&n
bsp; “It makes no difference to the rest of us, Luc, but if it helps you sleep at night, go ahead, correct me. I’m more curious about your selective memory on dumping me. Tell me, what is it a billionaire such as yourself calls it when a young woman such as myself asks a man she loves to marry her because he said he wanted to get married, and such a young woman believes he may be too frightened to ask, so she, not being a wilting violet . . . and seeing as how she already has the engagement ring—what would you call it if she asked, and he said no?”

  “Simple, really. I’d ask why.”

  “Rejection, thy name is Luc. Or is there a fancy French word for it? A Creole word? Acadian? Something you say up in the Garden District that works better than dumped? Please do inform me, so’s I ain’t so ignorant.”

  “Ooowee, she got yo numba,” Leon said from the front seat. “She from the Channel, all right.”

  With that, Luc punched a button, and the window between them closed. “As I was saying, I did not dump you. I wanted you to finish grieving your father before we made any big decisions. I’m a planner, Katie. I was trying to do what was best for the two of us, and you were just moving full steam ahead rather than face your father’s bankruptcy, then his death.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” She tilted her chin toward the sun. “As you said, it was for the best. Oh, Luc!” She pointed out the window. “There’s one of your stores! What does that feel like? To see something you built right out on the street like that?”

  “I didn’t say it was for the best, I said—”

  She cut him off. “I promised Eileen we wouldn’t talk about this without a chaperone. She said I need a witness or my brain gets all scrambled. I want the truth, but I need to take my time digesting it, like a good jambalaya—and maybe have the aid of a good friend, like Tums.”

  “Your brain was well enough to devour that book so that you didn’t have to engage in conversation on the plane.”

  “Eileen says that you need to respect my boundaries. She told me that it’s all right for me to set limits on what we discuss.”

  “Fine, Katie. I’m respecting your boundaries, not to mention all this New Age crap Eileen’s spouting. Let’s change the subject. Do we have time to stop by your father’s store? I’d like you to see what I’ve done to it.”

  She twisted her knees around and faced him again. “Luc, you could have bought any business in the city. Why my father’s?”

  “Are you willing to hear the answer, or will the truth cross your boundaries?” Luc pressed the button again, and the window between the driver and the backseat lowered. “Leon, don’t take us on St. Charles.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Luc raised the privacy window again.

  “Thank you.”

  “You have to face it sometime.”

  “But not yet, thank you. I’ll bet Leon’s never seen you so indecisive.”

  “Redheads scramble my brain.” Luc took her hands into his. “Some part of you still trusts me, Katie. Some part of you questions what’s written about me, because you know the truth. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t ask me about your father’s store at all. You’d believe I bought it only because I saw dollar signs where a feeble old man was running out of energy to sell his vegetables.” He pressed her hands to his chest. “You can feel the truth. Why can’t you own it?”

  She raised her eyes to him and felt his warm breath and the heat from his neck. When she looked into his eyes, the questions evaporated. “My family lost everything.” She pushed off his chest and sat up straight. “How did that happen if you paid a fair price for the business? Paddy died before there were any answers, and you certainly didn’t offer any. What was I supposed to think? What were any of us left to think?”

  “I thought you’d give me the benefit of the doubt. Because I loved you, Katie. Because I still love you.”

  His words stopped her cold. “Eileen was right. You’re scrambling the facts again, and I know less than I started with. I should never have come here with you. You’re right, that I do want to believe you, but the fact is, I have no reason to trust you. Do I?”

  “I suppose you don’t.”

  “I’m not the same ignorant girl who followed you around like a puppy dog. I don’t fall for your sweet words that drip like honey from your mouth anymore. That may work on your Hollywood starlets, but it won’t work on me. Not anymore.”

  The way he looked at her, with those deep and meaningful gazes, she knew she was no match for him or his wiles. Why did she want to believe in him so heartily? She pictured Dex’s bouquet in the kitchen pass-through—every Monday, come rain or shine. The little hearts and smiley faces that marked her scrapbook with all the thoughtful things he did for her. Stability. Luc’s love went in and out with the tide. He’d perfected luring women. All the tabloids said so. He scooped them as easily up as an Arabi boy trapped crawfish.

  As the car drew them farther into the city, she turned and faced the window again. Remnants of Hurricane Katrina loomed everywhere. Mostly in vast improvements, not the devastation. Granted, they weren’t in the Lower Ninth Ward, but the city appeared cleaner. N’awliners had taken pride in their city, and when she was threatened, showed what they were made of. The changes reminded her of what her heart once looked like after Hurricane Luc DeForges.

  She heard a click, and Nat King Cole’s smooth voice emanated from the sound system. “I Love You for Sentimental Reasons.” It was their song, the easy, smooth jazz stylings, the simple melody with a voice and feeling so pure, the words so haunting. It erased so much and took her back to those early moments when Luc introduced her to the jazz music scene, when one could easily pretend that the 1940s were alive and well and a poor college student, so inclined, could make a pretty penny singing the standards for visiting tourists. As though in a trance, she laid her head back on the seat and listened to the words. I hope you do believe me. I’ve given you my heart.

  Luc sang the last part along with Nat, and when Katie opened her eyes, she saw him as though for the first time: worldly, knowledgeable, gorgeous, and oh, so very dangerous. Her mother had warned her what boys from the Upper Ninth used girls like her for, but she was putty in his hands. Luc’s mother may have introduced her to Jesus, but Luc introduced her to the Swing Era, and it was hard to say which one had changed her life more. If her faith were stronger, Luc would be no threat to her. Or to her life with Dexter. So why did she feel Luc’s very presence beside her?

  The limo pulled up to the house. She clutched the door’s armrest. “Luc?”

  “You knew her address,” he said. “It’s impossible to avoid St. Charles altogether, Katie. At some point—”

  “But why here?”

  Luc pulled her hand from the door and held it tightly. “She always wanted to be Uptown. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “This can’t be a block from where Paddy was killed. How could she? Does she pass it every day without so much as a glance?”

  “Your mam might wonder how you could leave home without looking back.”

  Katie yanked at the door handle and let herself out before Leon could come around. She stepped onto the banquette and stared up at Mam’s new house.

  No shotgun houses here, with clumsy air-conditioning units poking out from the windows of buildings that showed their wear and tear. Uptown’s houses stood tall and romantic with their ornate spindles and fancy porches, with upper terraces under the old shade trees.

  “She started a new life here, so let’s assume the best. Perhaps it was to honor your father.”

  “I don’t think I can go in there.” She knew everything about her stance screamed of desperation, but she didn’t care. “Luc, I need to find a hotel. I can’t stay here.”

  “Come to my mother’s. She’ll be happy to have you.”

  “Your mother won’t have any room with the wedding on Saturday. Just take me to the French Quarter for the night.”

  “I’m not taking you to the French Quarter by yourself.

 
; You’ll stay with us. If the rooms are filled, you’ll stay in my room. I’ll sleep in the pool house on the sofa.”

  “No.” She straightened. “I don’t need to be rescued. I’ll do this.” She strode toward the streetcar’s tracks. “I’ll do this alone.”

  He kicked his long legs out of the car and stood. “No,” he stated plainly. “You won’t. Leon, keep Katie’s things in the trunk. She’ll be coming with me to my mother’s house.”

  Leon smiled as though he was used to Luc pulling that trick.

  “I’m not staying at your mother’s. Leon, I’ll need to go to a hotel after this.”

  “Leon, I pay your salary. Katie’s coming with me.”

  Katie heaved a sigh and climbed the front steps to her mother’s new home, which wasn’t actually all that new. She’d lived there for six years, been married to a new man for five. The house was a Queen Anne Victorian, divided into two townhouses. No doubt it was the only way her mother could afford to live Uptown, even with the insurance settlement after her father’s death. Katie peered through the beveled glass window that lined the doorway.

  “It’s already been salmonized,” she said, referring to the way her mother painted all interiors with a bright orange/ pink color that made Katie feel as though she was living inside a fish. “It’s another shrimp boil in the house.”

  Luc looked inside. “It’s not that bad. It’s Southern, and she likes it.”

  “You can take her out of the Irish Channel, but you can’t take the Irish Channel out of my mother.”

  Katie rang the doorbell and tapped her foot on the painted front porch.

  Luc shielded his eyes and peeked in the window again. “Is she expecting you?”

  “I told her I was coming.”

  “Maybe she got the day wrong.”

  “She’s really not in there?” She peered in the window again. All of the knickknacks and tchotches of her past lined the clean white mantel. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. The house had rich cherrywood floors, an ornate white banister, and gold bars lining each step, but her mother’s touch was everywhere. If Irene McKenna Slater could make an Uptown house look early-American garage sale, she could do it to perfection. “I don’t think she’s here.”