Chapter Twenty-Nine
After I finished my meal and tourist-watching, I cleaned up the dishes and settled in for some serious channel surfing. I flicked from channel to channel, but couldn’t find anything on TV that held my interest. I turned the TV off and went outside to check on BG. She perked up when I opened the screen door. The courtyard was fully enclosed, with no way for her to escape. I assumed she was hooked up so she wouldn’t chew on Kate’s cushions, since goats had a bad rep for chewing on pretty much anything. I undid the tether and let her wander. She was so small, so adorable, so alone. Maybe it would be best for her to be with other goats, join a herd.
My thoughts turned to me and my circumstances. Dad was dead. Mom was God knew where in the Middle East, if she was even still alive. I had Kate, Angel, Simone, and Miles in my life, but my relationship with all of them was currently way less than stellar. I’d much rather Kate be my friend than my enemy. If I did as she asked, got a job and did her version of community service, it would probably help take care of mending her fence. Counseling? Ugh! I’d have to see if I could get out of it somehow. I had absolutely no interest in counseling. Baring my soul to a complete stranger was simply not going to happen if I could help it.
How would I ever get back in good graces with Angel and Simone? That would take some real planning. And Miles? He was a whole other story. He would take more time than planning. As my all-time favorite heroine, Scarlett O’Hara, would say, “I’ll think about it tomorrow . . . I’ll think of some way to get him back. After all, tomorrow is another day!”
I watched BG nibble her way around the yard and was glad she was safe. If Angel and I hadn’t been at the Voodoo ceremony, BG would be dead; I shuddered. Thinking back to the Voodoo ceremony, I was curious about the expression on Marguerite’s face while I was escaping. She looked almost happy for me, which seemed strange. Perhaps, at that particular moment, I reminded her of her own daughter. I’d probably never know. Before he left the hospital, Detective Baptiste warned me again to stay away from Madame Marguerite and her Voodoo shop. I agreed it was for the best. What should I do with the Voodoo stuff? Throw it out? Box it up, mail it back to her? Keep everything as a reminder? Whatever, I’d figure it out later.
I hooked up BG for the evening and went inside to get fresh water for her. I wondered what goats ate besides grass; a bit of research on the Internet would help me find an answer. After booting up and perusing numerous websites, I discovered that goats like a variety of plants and weeds. Weeds in particular are high in nutrients for goats; that explained why goat landscaping businesses were popping up across the country. Eco-friendly weed clearing, how PC! It really would be the perfect place for BG to call home. For now, Kate’s luxuriant courtyard was just fine. I was happy to have her here and would be sad to see her go.
I checked my e-mail. There was the usual spam and one e-mail from Sam. He had wired $750 to my account. Money was good. I needed a new phone and wasn’t sure if the protection plan covered replacements. And I owed Kate money for the car detailing. He’d sent the rest of my things by ground; two trunks were scheduled to arrive soon. It would be good to have the rest of my things.
I looked around my mother’s old room. It was quite a lovely, comfortable room, very bed-and-breakfast. For my taste, the room was a little too floral, a little too formal, most definitely not my style. I could easily make it mine with a few changes here and there. Switching out the current bedspread, chenille with little pink flowers cut into the design, for a plain white, lightweight quilted comforter would be a good start. If it ever gets cool enough here to use a comforter, that is. Something reversible would work: dark on one side, light on the other, like my ever-changing moods. My comfy chair was an absolute keeper. I looked down at the rug and spotted something peeking out from underneath the chair’s pleated skirt. Curious, I went over to see what it was. I bent down and retrieved the photograph of Marie Laveau.
I curled up in the chair and studied the image of the enigmatic woman that had started it all, my great, great, great, great grandmother. Who was this woman, really? How are we related? How exactly did our family happen?
It was time to find out.
I removed Women and New Orleans: A History from the stack of books on the table and began to read, not in horror this time but with genuine interest. The chapter was titled “Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen and Much More.” The author described her as one of the most popular but least understood women in New Orleans history, a woman surrounded by myths. She was born sometime after 1790, and in 1827 had a daughter named Marie Laveau Paris. The daughter, who was one of fifteen children, carried on her mother’s tradition of Voodoo rituals, curses, and cures. She passed away in 1890; her mother died in 1881.
There were only three pages of text. It didn’t take long to finish reading, but now I was on fire, hungry for more. I wanted to know everything about this ordinary hairdresser who possessed an extraordinary gift for making people believe in her power. I wanted to know how she could be a practicing Catholic and a Voodoo high priestess at the same time. Most of all, I wanted to know where I fit in; Angel, too.
In a moment of clarity, I knew how I was going to repair my damaged relationship with Angel and Simone. I went back to my laptop, found the webpage for Ancestry.com, and got started. To begin with, I signed up for the free trial membership. I wasn’t sure precisely how much information I would be able to add with the limited family history I knew of. I started a new tree and named it April Claire Lockhart. First, I added my personal details. Next, I added as much information as I could for my mother, my father, Kate, and my grandparents. While my focus for now was on the maternal side of the family, I was curious to know if there were any skeletons on my father’s side of the family. At some point I would work on his branch, but not yet. I sat back and reviewed my efforts. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I was excited. I saved my tree, signed out of Ancestry.com, and got ready for bed.
My head was throbbing again. It was time to call it a night. I heard the front door open, then close. Kate was home from work. I thought it was best to give her some space. I needed space myself. The last few days had ground us both down; both of us were feeling pretty raw. I’d seen the tiredness in her face this morning and doubted it had gotten any better after a long day at the restaurant. I stayed in my room, shut off the lamp, and toddled to the bathroom using the glow from the laptop to light my way.
Before logging off the computer for the night, I typed in Marie Laveau and got over three hundred thousand web results. Research would take time but, at the moment, I had plenty of time. The doctor said I needed a few more days to recover. Not really enthusiastic about finding a job, I might milk the concussion thing a bit longer. After that, for sure I needed to find a job. Having no real skills and ill-equipped to do much of anything, my job options were going to be limited to low-level drudge; I wasn’t looking forward to it.
I could hardly wait to see what Kate had in mind for my community service. Most likely, more drudging. Whatever she had in mind, it would be seriously better than being incarcerated. Being behind bars was nobody’s idea of a good time. I shut down the computer and climbed into bed.
Resting on the pillows, I inhaled the scent of night-blooming jasmine floating in on the warm summer breeze. I thought about Miles. The best thing to happen to me in a long time was meeting Miles and I’d completely blown it.
What kind of crazy am I? How on earth am I ever going to redeem myself? Will I even be able to?
Chapter Thirty
I awoke to yet another morning of blazing sunlight streaming through the window. Unquestionably, it was time to consider a room-darkening shade. I’d never been an early riser and wasn’t inclined to start now. Once again, the air was filled with delicious aromas wafting up from downstairs. I threw back the sheet, got out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Eek! Ugh! My face was still a bumpy red mess; arms and legs, too, though not as bad as yesterday. I slathered on the antibiotic ointment, carefu
lly dressed in shorts, tank top, and slippers, and headed for the kitchen.
“Morning,” said Kate.
“Morning,” I said, pouring myself a glass of orange juice.
I sat at the table, which hadn’t been set for breakfast. Another sign I was no longer a guest here?
“What are you making now? Whatever it is, it smells really good.”
“Since you’re grounded and you won’t be going out in public until your wounds heal and your concussion is gone, I wanted to have a variety of healthy food choices in the house. I’ve grilled some vegetables and am roasting a turkey breast. There are homemade veggie burgers in the freezer and pretzel rolls in the bread bin. Would you like the vegetables plain or marinated with a little lemon juice and olive oil?”
“I’m good either way, whatever is easiest for you,” I replied. “Thank you for doing this.”
Kate got a juicer from under the counter, retrieved a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil from the pantry, and took two fresh lemons from a wire basket near the window. She squeezed the lemon juice, added a pinch each of salt and pepper to the olive oil, and whisked everything together. She sprinkled the citrus vinaigrette over the vegetables; the whole process had taken her less than ten minutes. Really impressive.
“Bleat!”
“How’s BG this morning?” I asked.
“She’s fine. I don’t know anything about goats, but she looks pretty happy here. She likes my grass, I guess.”
“Have you decided yet what we’re going to do with her?”
“I haven’t. I’d like to find out at what point she can give milk. I wouldn’t mind trying my hand at making fresh cheese. I need to find out if I can even keep a farm animal in the city. The answers to those questions will help me decide a course of action. You’re quite fond of her, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah! Extreme circumstances create extreme bonds, right? Would you like me to find out for you about the milk thing? I bet I can find the answer on the Internet. I can try researching city regulations for farm animals, too, if you’d like.”
I rambled on and told Kate everything I had learned about goat diets the night before.
Kate looked at me and smiled, “Yes, I’d very much like for you to help. You’re pretty good with computers? Like your dad?”
“I guess so. I think I learned quite a bit from him, more than I realized. I’m not anywhere near as good as he was, though. But, then again I.T. was his profession.”
“I’m sorry I never really got to know him. He sounds like he was a good father.”
“He was. You would have liked him.”
“I did like him. Very much. He was always nice to me when he came over to see Julia. That was such a long time ago. I haven’t seen him since your mom got pregnant. Not surprisingly, he was banned from coming around here.”
I traded my empty juice glass for a mug filled with steaming hot coffee and a little cream. I selected a muffin from under the glass dome and sat back down at the table.
“Did your mother teach you how to cook?”
Kate laughed, “Good heavens, no. I know it sounds like an old joke, but the only thing she ever made was a reservation. I learned from our cook, Sadie Lee. Her biscuits were so light that if you didn’t get them covered in her pan gravy right away, they’d float right off your plate! Sadie Lee instilled in me a passion for food. We’d cook and laugh for hours on end. It was the best part of my childhood. Growing up, I devoured cookbooks like they were romance novels. I spent most of my free time learning from Sadie Lee; learning things that were never written in cookbooks, tricks of the trade so to speak. I always knew I’d be a chef.”
Kate continued, “What about you, April? What do you want to do with your life? What’s your passion?”
“Um . . . I don’t know. I don’t think I have a passion for anything. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Well, you’re still young. You have time to decide. In the meantime, you can try different things, see what fits. And that brings me to this.” Kate reached into her carry-all, retrieved the morning paper, and handed it to me.
“Here you go. You can start looking through today’s classified ads to get an idea of what jobs are available. I left a map of the French Quarter for you on the hall table. It’s time you learned your way around.”
Yikes, that was fast, I didn’t think I’d have to start looking so soon.
“Kate?”
“Yes?”
“I’m happy to look at today’s paper, but would it be all right if I set up interviews for a few days from now, or maybe next week, after my face heals up? I don’t want to scare anybody off.”
“Not a problem. Go through the ads, circle the ones you think you might be interested in. Look at the map, find out where they’re located, call them up and see what you can do. Once you find a job and get a schedule, we’ll sort out your community service and get you set up for counseling.”
“I don’t need therapy.” I pouted and pushed my chair away from the table, ready to bolt.
“Since you won’t talk to me about your parents, grief counseling is on your horizon. You don’t have a choice.”
When the timer sounded, she turned away from me to remove the turkey from the oven. Kate, looking very much like the star of a Thanksgiving commercial, turned back around and presented a crispy golden brown turkey breast. She inserted a meat thermometer and, satisfied it was done, covered the fragrant breast with a tin foil tent, leaving it to rest on the counter. She chopped up some flat-leaf parsley and sprinkled the bits over the grilled, marinating vegetables, then stretched plastic wrap over the platter and put it in the refrigerator. Her movements were effortless, practiced. Watching her was like having a private showing from a Food Network celebrity. I was in awe of her expertise, or at least I would have been if I hadn’t been so annoyed about the grief counseling thing.
“I never asked, April, but what kind of food do you like? Do you have preferences? Food allergies? Anything you could tell me would be helpful. If you’d like anything in particular from the market, make a list and put it on the refrigerator door. I’ll pick it up for you,” said Kate, her cheerfulness sounding a bit forced.
“Thank you.”
“My apologies, but I’ll be out of the house most of the day today. I had hoped to spend some quality time with you this morning, but my schedule got jammed up. Later in the week, perhaps?”
“No problem. I have things to do anyway,” I said, waving my newspaper. “Whatever I find out about goats and milk production, I’ll print out for you. I’ll leave everything on your desk, same for any farm animal regulations. If I feel well enough, I’ll get back on your photo-scanning project. Have you thought about Photoshop?”
“It’s on my list of things to do today. Do you know how to install it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I know how to install it. Not a problem.”
“Thank you for taking care of this project for me. I’ve wanted to scan those photographs for a long time,” she said.
Our conversation had turned excessively formal and claustrophobic. I needed to get out of the kitchen.
“May I be excused?”
“Yes, of course. You can go,” said Kate, who seemed as anxious for me to go as I was ready to leave.
I cleared the table, put my mug in the dishwasher, picked up the newspaper, said “goodbye” and “have a lovely day” to Kate, and left the kitchen.
I collected the map from the hall table and went back to my room, closing the door a little harder than I needed to. I slouched in my comfy chair and kicked off my slippers. My bedroom was rapidly becoming my “go to” place, my safe haven. I wanted to throw the newspaper, but didn’t. Instead I set it and the map on top of the stack of books. I had no choice, I needed to find a job soon—but I didn’t need to search for one right this minute. Kate would be gone most of the day. I had loads of time and could spend it any way I wanted, as long as it was within the confines of this house.
I had no ankle monitor, but clearly I was under house arrest.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was only 7:30, way too early for me. I looked around the room. Where should I begin? First things first: I got up, retrieved the bag Marguerite had given me, cleared the dresser of all Voodoo swag, and put everything back in the armoire. Final destination TBD.
I looked at the clock, 7:35. A whole five minutes had elapsed. My day was going well so far. I sat in the chair and looked around the room again, but couldn’t find my focus. I felt restless, caged. I wanted Kate to leave, to get on with her day, so I could get on with mine. I wanted to start my research on Marie Laveau. I was already alone in my room, but I wanted to be alone in the house. I didn’t want to be interrupted once I delved deeper.
I picked up the map, flipped it open then over. It was a colorful laminated double-sided thing with indexes for streets, government buildings, hospitals, and points of interest. I found our block on Royal between Ursulines and Governor Nicholls. I traced my finger from our place to Royal and Marigny, where Miles lived with his dad. It wasn’t very far. I traced my finger in the opposite direction on Royal and found the police station where Detective Baptiste worked. Over by the Mississippi River, was Café du Monde, where Miles had taken me for beignets and café au lait. The French Quarter was laid out in a simple grid pattern; I now understood why it was so easy to get around. Everything was within walking distance.
I picked up the newspaper. The headlines were of no interest. The weather was of no interest. Big shock—it was going to be hot and humid today, just like every other day in New Orleans. The classifieds were of no interest, but I had no choice. I needed to get started with my job search and get it out of the way. When Kate got home tonight, she would ask me to report on my efforts. Kate was very old-school, she apparently didn’t know anything about searching for jobs online. Since I wasn’t overly enthusiastic at the prospect of getting a job in the first place, especially a low-level one, I saw no point in speeding up the process by telling her about how user-friendly the job-hunting search engines are.
Color Blind Page 14
