Bayou, Whispers from the Past: A Novel

by Lauren Faulkenberry

  “I know Josie doesn’t like asking for help,” I said. “But now that you’re here, if you need help with Buck, or if she does, you’ll let me know, right?”

  “Oh,” she said. Her tone lightened. “Of course I will.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  She nodded, staring at the swampland whizzing by.

  “How’s Buck doing?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “OK. He hates not being able to do anything. The pain seems to be getting better.”

  “Probably a good thing your boyfriend’s here too. The more help the better.”

  “Yeah.”

  “When’s the last time you were here?” I asked.

  “Back in the spring, I think. Right after break.”

  “It’s hard to get home when you’re in school.”

  “I know I should visit more often,” she said. “I’m only a couple of hours away, but I just get so tied up with things. It’s easy to forget.”

  “Has Toph been here before to meet your folks?” I glanced in the rearview mirror again, expecting him to perk up at the sound of his name, but he didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. He was focused on tapping the screen of his phone.

  She picked at her fingernails. “They met him once,” she said. “This is the first time I brought him home though.”

  “How’s that going?”

  She sighed, then spoke softly. “I’m sure you can guess.”

  When we pulled into the yard of the river house, I saw Jack’s truck parked by the garage.

  “Guess we found him,” I said.

  Lucille slipped out of the Jeep and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Neat house.”

  Toph climbed out of the back and followed us up the walk.

  “I’ll give you the quick tour if you’d like,” I said.

  Inside, we found Jack replacing some baseboards that at some point in time had been chewed by mice. I’d never actually seen a mouse hole that looked like the ones I’d seen in all the childhood cartoons until we’d found them in this house. They were almost perfect little arches that could be plugged with a cork from a wine bottle. We’d trapped a few mice when we first got the house, but since then we hadn’t had any more. Jack had cringed, but I was used to flipping houses that had way more damage than a few mouse doors. What infuriated me was when the mice came back and chewed holes in the new baseboards. So far it hadn’t happened here.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting up on his knees. “What are y’all doing here?”

  “Looking for you,” I said.

  “Sorry. I should have called. I’d planned to stop by for only a few minutes on my way home, but I ended up having to leave Josie’s earlier than expected.” He glanced at Lucille and to me said, “I just needed to get my hands into something for a while.”

  Toph had pulled his earbuds free and stood in the center of the room, slowly taking everything in. As he walked from one end of the living room to the other, he spoke for the first time all evening. “This is cozy. You’re moving out here?”

  “No,” I replied. “We’re flipping this one and putting it on the market next month.”

  He opened one of the kitchen cabinets, as if examining it. “How much do you make doing something like this?”

  Jack shot him an irritated look.

  “It depends,” I said.

  Toph peeked into the adjoining room and said, “Not bad. Maybe I’ll buy it when you’re done. It couldn’t cost me much, right?” He glanced at Lucille. “Babe, that way we could live closer to your family when we’re done with school, like you wanted. We could fit a foosball table over there, and I could have the guys over to grill.”

  I felt my entire chest cavity heave, as if my body were about to turn itself inside out.

  Toph grinned. “We could get jet skis.”

  Jack stood up and brushed his hands on his jeans. “I doubt you’d like it out here. Doesn’t seem like your style.” His tone was cool, but his eyes flashed in the way that meant he had plenty more he wanted to say. “This area doesn’t have the kitsch and the flash of the big city. It’s quiet out here, with good people.”

  Toph glared at him and looked like he wanted to say more too. Before he could, Lucille stepped closer to Jack. “Can we talk? I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.”

  A look passed between Jack and Lucille that I couldn’t quite decipher.

  “How about I let Jack show you the house?” I said to her. “He can bring you home afterwards.”

  Jack nodded. “We won’t be too long.”

  “Toph, you want me to give you a ride back to our house?” I said. I figured Jack would want to talk to Lucille alone. He was clearly annoyed she’d brought him.

  Toph looked at Jack, still bristling from their exchange. “I’ll wait here with Luce,” he said, sliding his hand around her back. “I want to see the rest of this place.” He whistled as he turned and walked down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

  Jack shot me a wary look. To Toph, he called, “You should check out the yard, man. It’s nice out there.”

  Toph stepped back out of the hall and moved toward the back door. “Good idea. I like a big yard.”

  “I left Kate with Andre,” I said. “I should get back and make sure they haven’t gotten into trouble.”

  Jack’s face lightened as he cocked his eyebrow.

  “Andre said he wanted to talk to you,” I said. “But it must not have been awfully pressing, since he was easily derailed by Kate’s chutney and pork chops.”

  He smiled at that, shaking his head. “We’ll see you in time for supper,” he said.

  As I left, Lucille pulled a chair back from the dining table and sat facing Jack. His brows had furrowed, and I could tell something had been bothering him for a while.

  They kept their voices down as I walked to the front door, and I wondered what had happened over at Buck’s to send him over here to attack the baseboards. He’d been putting off repairing those for days. It was likely the same thing that brought Lucille to our house looking for him. Whatever had happened at the Gareau house had sent Lucille and Jack to their respective corners to cool off, and it likely had something to do with Toph. They wouldn’t have much of a chance to say what they needed to say to each other with Toph there though. I’d hoped he would be bored enough to leave with me, but now I hoped he’d just stick his earbuds back in his ears and stay in the yard long enough for Jack and Lucille to settle whatever had been stewing between them.

  Chapter 7

  That night when Jack got home, he didn’t tell me what he talked about with Lucille, and I didn’t ask. He was being secretive about her all of a sudden, but I figured he’d say something when he was ready. His sleep was fitful, and he’d woken me several times with his tossing and sighing. The next morning, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he left me shortly after downing his customary two cups of coffee.

  He’d eked out monosyllabic answers to my questions, to the point that I’d decided he wasn’t in a mood to talk about much of anything. When he left for the river house, he kissed me and said, “Say hi to Buck for me, huh?”

  “Of course. Are you sure you don’t want some help over there today?”

  He shook his head. “No, you and Kate should have some time together. Take a break.” He ruffled my hair and gave me a warm smile.

  ~~~~

  When I went over to Josie’s, Buck was carving a small rabbit out of wood.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  His hair was rumpled from having lain in a recliner most of the morning, with a cowlick in the back that would have made me laugh in any other situation. He stopped carving and laid the rabbit and knife in his lap.

  “Better,” he said. “As long as I don’t breathe deep or move around much.”

  “What’s that you’re making?”

  “It’s for Josie,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “She’s got a thing about rabbits. A special kinship with the little beasts.”

/>   “Looks like it took a long time to make,” I said.

  He held it out to me and flinched as his arm straightened. “Only a few hours.”

  I tried to intercept him before he moved too much, catching it in my fingers. The wood was soft, a honey blond color speckled with darker tones. The rabbit was a little bigger than the palm of my hand, sitting on its haunches with its front paws raised. One ear was cocked higher than the other, as if something had caught its attention. The shape was still coming together, but already it looked realistic.

  “It’s lovely,” I said.

  “When we first lived together, we had a rabbit named Burt. He was this spotted fluffy thing that roamed all over the house like a cat. Hell, he probably thought he was a cat. He got loose one day and ransacked her flower garden. Ate every mum, every hosta, every sprig of rosemary. I thought she’d roast him that night with potatoes and carrots, but she just brought him inside, plopped him down on the coffee table and had a little come-to-Jesus meeting. That rabbit’s ears twitched like he had complete command of the English language. He never ate her flowers again.”

  “She’ll love it,” I said, handing it back to him.

  He whittled away at its neck, slowly revealing the curve of the spine and shoulders. Tiny shavings fell into his lap, and he stopped every so often to turn the figurine and gauge his progress.

  “How’s everything here?” I asked.

  “A little crowded, if I’m being honest. But they all mean well.”

  He glanced up as Lucille came in carrying a glass of water. “Hey, Enza. You want to stay for lunch?”

  “Of course she does,” Buck said.

  He insisted on eating at the table. “I’m not an invalid,” he said, hoisting himself from the recliner. “I’m not ready to be banished to the living room with a TV tray just yet.” He winced as he hobbled into the kitchen, but he refused to let any of us help him walk unless it was absolutely necessary. Lucille told me he was getting better every day, but he’d still be slow to heal.

  I couldn’t help but think of my father as I watched him. They weren’t that far apart in age—Buck was a few years older—but seeing how easily he’d been put out of commission by a fall, it made me think something similar could happen to my own father.

  “He’s mostly just cranky as hell,” Lucille said when he was out of earshot. “I mean, I would be too. It bothers him to be stuck at home while Josie runs the store. If he had his way, he’d be planted in a chair behind that store counter right now.”

  “Would it help if I came over more often?”

  “Nah,” she said. “Toph’s here. He can help me if I need it.”

  Buck eased into his chair at the head of the table, and Lucille went to the stove to fix his plate. I poured some iced tea into glasses as Toph sauntered into the kitchen, a laptop tucked under his arm. He was wearing another button-down shirt and khakis, and boat shoes that looked like they had never touched any dock or stern.

  “Hey,” he said. “Cat’s brought something in the house again.”

  “What?” Lucille said.

  “A mouse,” he said, setting up his laptop on the kitchen island. “Or maybe a chipmunk. I couldn’t really tell.”

  Lucille groaned. “Where is it?”

  “Likely eviscerated under the couch,” Buck grumbled.

  “Did you let her in with it?” she asked.

  Toph hunched over the keyboard, staring at the screen. “She was howling at the door. You told me to let her in when she did that.”

  “I told you to check her mouth first!” Lucille said. “Would you go get it from her please? She’ll make a huge mess.”

  “No way,” he said. “I don’t do dead things.”

  She set Buck’s plate in front of him and stomped into the living room.

  Toph ignored her, his eyes glued to the screen.

  “Always have to check her mouth,” Buck said. “Sadie likes bringing us gifts.” He bit into a dinner roll and winced as Lucille shrieked from the living room.

  “Toph!” she yelled.

  The black and white tuxedo cat streaked into the kitchen in a blur, her ears flattened against her head. She skidded to a halt by the refrigerator and began licking her front paw. She was so round it was hard to imagine her being quick enough to catch anything.

  “Sorry,” Toph said flatly. “That’s above my pay grade.”

  There was a groan of protest from the living room.

  “Just let her eat it,” Toph said.

  “Gross,” she called. “I’m not leaving entrails to soak into the carpet.”

  “Cats are self-cleaning,” he said. “They destroy the evidence.”

  Obviously he’d never lived with a cat.

  Buck shot Toph a look that the younger man didn’t see. His eyes were still fixed on the computer screen, one hand absent-mindedly raking through his hair.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked Buck.

  He glanced at Toph again and took a bite of meatloaf. “It’s probably too early for bourbon,” he said.

  Lucille jogged into the kitchen, carrying what was presumably a dead rodent in a wad of paper towels. Her nose wrinkled as she went straight for the back door, holding the towels an arm’s length in front of her. The screen door slammed behind her. The cat’s tail twitched.

  “It’s nearly two though,” Buck said. “I suppose that’s close enough.”

  “That sounds like an affirmative,” I said.

  “Why don’t you get us a couple of coffee mugs?” he said, nodding toward the stove. “The good stuff’s on the shelf right above them.”

  Toph paid us no attention, too enthralled in whatever he was reading. Like a lot of twenty-somethings of our era, he appeared to disconnect completely from the world around him as soon as there was a screen in front of him. It was like someone pulled the plug that allowed his senses to gather information from the visceral world. Cars could have crashed into the front yard, and he wouldn’t have blinked.

  Buck winked at me. “Top shelf.”

  I poured us both a single shot in handmade ceramic mugs and paused as I handed him one. “Is this a bad idea, what with your medication and all?”

  “I’m off the horse pills,” he said. “What I’m on now’s weaker than baby aspirin. Docs around here are so afraid everybody’s going to get hooked on prescriptions they wean you off as soon as they can. It’s criminal.”

  I handed him the mug, and he took a quick sip as Lucille came back in, the door slamming behind her once again.

  The cat stared at her, her green eyes tiny crescents. She yawned and then trotted over to the kitchen island and leapt into the empty chair next to Toph. When he paid her no attention, she butted her head against his elbow. Still staring at the screen, he reached over and scratched her head until she purred.

  “Don’t let her in again without checking her mouth,” Lucille said to Toph. She scrubbed her hands under the faucet, still grimacing.

  Toph said nothing. I couldn’t imagine why he’d wanted to come here with her, since he seemed bent on tuning all of us out as soon as he had the chance. Nor could I imagine what exactly drew her to him. I envisioned thumping him upside the head to see if that might elicit any reaction from him, and wondered what the chances were that the cat might go on another hunting spree and leave a gift of some sort on Toph’s pillow as he slept.

  Buck fell asleep shortly after lunch, snoring in the recliner. Toph announced he needed to “get out for a while” and drove off with no further indication of where he was going or when he might get back. Lucille looked irritated, but in a way that seemed like it was a habit she’d gotten used to a long time ago.

  When we were alone in the kitchen, preparing a stew that would feed everyone for a few days, I said, “Are you and Toph staying here for your whole break?”

  She winced, just slightly, as she chopped a fat red onion into tiny cubes. She moved the knife expertly, like the chefs on TV. I was much slower, wary of my fingertips and my ten
dency to slip.

  “He won’t stay that long,” she said. “He’ll go back to Baton Rouge the day after Christmas maybe.” The lilt in her voice made it sound like she wasn’t entirely unhappy with that plan. “He can come pick me up again before school starts. He gets bored easily. Needs a city to run around in.”

  “Has he been here before?”

  “No,” she said. “It probably wasn’t the best timing, but he didn’t want to be alone at Christmas, and I didn’t want to not be here.”

  “Doesn’t he have family to visit?”

  She tossed the onion into the pot and started on the carrots. “They all went to Tahoe this winter. He hates Tahoe. He hates snow sports and people who get excited about them. Especially people who don’t live in cold climates to begin with.”

  She read my expression quickly and said, “He can be a dick about stuff like that.”

  I chewed my lip, turning back to my bell pepper.

  Lucille’s knife clanged against the chopping block. When I looked up, she was staring out the window, biting her lip. She looked like she might cry.

  “Oh, hey,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

  “He’s just a dick in general,” she said, straightening her face. “I know everybody around here thinks I’m an idiot for putting up with him. Jack’s about ready to lock me up in the basement until I come to my senses, and Mom and Dad can’t stand him. They try to be civil, but I can tell.” She said this last part more matter-of-factly, the tears forgotten. “Every time I look at Dad, he seems to be deciding what caliber to use.”

  “I know it’s none of my business,” I said, “but if you think he’s a dick, why are you with him?”

  She dropped the minced carrots into the pot and tossed in a chunk of butter that started to sizzle and hiss. She looked at me then, her green-brown eyes narrowed in a conspiratorial way. “I didn’t always feel this way about him. He had a certain swagger when we met. He’s obviously used to getting his way and pulling strings to make things happen for himself. He also likes to win people over by making things happen for them. It’s a huge ego thing, and for a while it’s nice, having someone snap their fingers and talk to the right people, make a sly suggestion over cocktails and boom—your wish is my command.”