Chasing the Wind

by Pamela Binnings Ewen

  "All right, then. Hire your man." Bingham liked the girl, but this was business. Besides, Robert had a point. There was too much at stake to ignore intuition. Bingham tore the paper off his ice cream and bit into it. The cold made his teeth ache, and he made a face. "But nothing comes up after a few days," he pushed out his bottom lip and shook his head, "then we forget it."

  "Tom will be down next week," Robert said. "We'll have this figured out by then." He set the Eskimo Pie stick down on the table.

  Bingham watched the remaining ice cream melting on the table. Robert was like that—thoughtless, unless it involved money. Bingham got up, walked to the counter, and pulled some napkins from a holder. Bringing them back to the table, he handed them to Robert. "Take care of that before we leave."

  Robert cleaned up the ice cream while looking at Bingham. "I talked to Tom this morning. He said to tell you we'll all celebrate in Cayman after we close. Back at the Sunset Bar."

  "That sounds good." Bingham gave Robert a sideways look, thinking of the diving trip he'd arranged last time they were all down there. Hundreds of fish coming at them, thirty, maybe thirty-five miles an hour through the gorge, and Robert pulls out a camera. "You going back to Tarpin Alley this time?"

  "What's so funny?"

  "The look on that guy's face when your flash went off."

  Robert shrugged. "He's lucky I didn't kill him. He grabbed hold of my fins in a panic." Robert tossed the paper wrapping, and napkins in the direction of a trash can. He missed. Then he turned back to Bingham, grinning. "But you should see the look on his face in that picture."

  Bingham shook his head. "We're lucky he let us back on the boat."

  "Wasn't luck, old man."

  "What then?"

  "Fear. It's more efficient."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amalise and Jude exited the cathedral, flowing with the crowd. As they stepped into the sunlight, both stopped and blinked. A couple more days would bring the beginning of November, yet heat still rose from the cement. Jude took off his sport jacket and slung it over his shoulder, then slipped on his sunglasses.

  He nodded his head toward the Café Pontalba on their right. "Coffee?"

  "Sure. I haven't seen Gina or Henry since the accident." She glanced at him. "What time do you leave?" He was headed down to Pilottown this afternoon.

  "The bus leaves at two."

  The usual Sunday morning melee at Jackson Square swarmed around them as they made their way toward the old café on St. Peter and Chartres where Amalise had waited on tables nights and weekends during law school. "I have to get to the office, but I've got an errand to take care of before then. Work's piling up. Murdoch's deadline is coming up fast."

  Jude reached for her hand as they walked. Amalise averted her eyes and shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other, putting it between them. Careful, Amalise. She felt rather than saw Jude's response, a subtle widening of the space between them.

  One step at a time, she told herself. If that's the way he wanted it, she would distance herself one step at a time. The sunshine seemed to dim for an instant at the thought.

  But children inside the park, behind the black iron post fence, still laughed and chased the pigeons. Amalise watched them, shooing away thoughts of Jude and Rebecca. The riotous group of boys and girls stalked the birds from the fountain to the grassy areas to the statue of Andrew Jackson astride his horse in the middle of the park. A cloud of birds exploded at each approach.

  She smiled. "It never changes, does it?"

  "No." But he looked off toward the café in a distracted manner. "You'd think the pigeons would figure it out sometime and find another place."

  She looked back over her shoulder as they walked on.

  Jude glanced at a spot near the fence where a friend of Amalise used to paint for tourists. "Where's that artist friend of yours?"

  She pursed her lips at the thought of Mouse, a friendship cut off by Phillip Sharp. "He's moved to Key West, I think." Looking about, it struck her how all the artists, clowns, mimes, and musicians on the square now were strangers.

  When they crossed St. Peter and entered Café Pontalba, Gina waved across the room from behind the cash register. Henry looked up and sauntered over from his worn path behind the bar. He shook Jude's hand and then came around the end of the bar to Amalise, arms open wide. After a brief hug, he held her at arm's length, studying her.

  "You're looking good now, Amalise. We worried when we heard about Phillip and the accident." His eyes grew serious as they flicked to Jude and lit on her again. Then he smiled and dropped his hands from her shoulders, stepping back. "Want your job back?"

  She laughed. "You never know."

  Gina walked up, and Henry leaned against the bar, stretching a black and white striped towel between his hands, twirling it. "Our girl is fine, Gina. Just fine."

  "Ready to work?" Gina stood, hands on her hips, looking Amalise up and down.

  Henry snorted. Popped the towel against Gina's hip. "I already tried. Pay's too low. Hours are long. Boss is cranky. What's to love?"

  Gina gave him a saucy look. "Me."

  She led them to a table in the corner facing the square. The full shutter doors were open to the sidewalk, and a pleasant breeze drifted in. "Lunch is on me," she said, handing them menus.

  Jude looked at Amalise, but she shook her head. "Thanks anyway," he said to Gina, pulling out a chair for Amalise. He took a seat beside her. "Just coffee. Amalise is in a hurry."

  "What a surprise." Gina's tone was dry. "Coffee it is, then." Ruffling Amalise's hair, she walked off, barking the order to a waiter rushing by.

  Jude settled back. "That client of yours, Murdoch, is a character."

  "He's not our client. We represent the banks."

  "Well, I enjoyed talking to him the other night at dinner." At last he smiled. "Those old troopers were tough."

  "He still is."

  "I'd take that bet."

  The waiter appeared with coffee, cream, napkins, and spoons. Amalise drank hers black. "I met a family living in the area that Bingham's going to demolish." She saw his quick glance and went on, wanting his reaction but conscious that she was treading a fine line. Confidentiality was essential, but Jude didn't know the location, she told herself. An older couple with foster children. They could be anywhere in the city.

  So she told him just that much, and then her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "They're fine people. I really don't know how they do it, Jude, with four foster children. The oldest is six, I think. And they're poor. He works two jobs just to keep them fed. They live in a nice enough old house, but it's run down. So they don't have much."

  "How'd you meet them?"

  She gave him a look that was deliberately vague. "Oh, just driving around."

  He lifted his coffee cup and stretched out his legs under the table, frowning. "What will happen to them now?"

  That was a bigger question than he knew. The idea rose again before her amid flashing warning signs. Jude sipped his coffee, and she looked off, fixed her eyes on the cathedral, and kept her tone casual. "They'll have to move." She hesitated. "It'll be hard on them."

  Seconds passed before Jude answered. "Do you think it's a good idea to get involved with these people, Amalise?" His brows rose and a corner of his lip curled down, giving him a quizzical look.

  She clasped her hands before her on the table and threaded her fingers. "No. It wasn't a good idea in the first place, I know that. But I was drawn in, and now . . ." She spread her hands and let them fall into her lap. "Now it's too late not to care."

  Jude made a sound deep in the back of his throat but said nothing.

  She leaned forward, wanting to explain. Rebecca or no, he was still her oldest, dearest friend. From her point of view, he always would be that to h
er, she knew. Squaring her arms on the table, she fixed her eyes on Jude. "There's one little boy with this family who's so lost, Jude. He's from Southeast Asia." A lump grew in her throat, and she hesitated.

  Jude looked at her. "Uh-oh."

  She nodded. She knew what he was thinking. "But he seems so lonely. Just doesn't fit in with the rest."

  Jude set down the coffee cup, traced the thick rim with his finger, and focused all of his attention on that effort. "What country is he from?"

  She shrugged. "No one knows."

  He looked up, frowning. "These people don't know what country their own foster child is from?"

  "No. He won't speak. Hasn't said one word. Not to the family, not in the children's home. Not that anyone can remember." She pursed her lips. "Apparently, he's been shuffled around from place to place for almost two years."

  A mule-drawn red-and-white Roman Candy wagon turned onto St. Peter Street. She watched as a crowd gathered and the cart slowed, rolling to a stop across the street. The window on the side slid back. A face looked out, and a mass of small arms reached up toward him.

  When she turned back, she found Jude's eyes fixed on her. "Tell me something, Amalise." She nodded. "Won't these people just sell their house and move?" He shrugged. "People do it all the time. I'm not sure I understand the problem."

  "No. They're renters, Jude. No lease. They'll be evicted."

  Jude leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Ah."

  "And there's the child." She looked off. "Luke is his name."

  He took a long breath. Picked up the coffee and took a drink, then put it back down on the table. When he looked at her, she saw such a mixture of emotions on his face that she couldn't process. Regret? The burden of nostalgia? Pity?

  Ah. That last was worst. It took all of her effort to sit still and not look away as he went on. His tone held a note of warning. "This transaction is an important one for your career, Rebecca says."

  Rebecca again. Of course.

  But Jude held her eyes, raised his brows, and nodded.

  She nodded too, mirroring him. But before she thought them through, the words escaped. "I'm not asking for advice, Jude."

  He threw up his hands. "Hey, none's on offer."

  In strained silence they both looked off and drank their coffee. She watched a boy about Luke's age standing on his toes at the Roman Candy cart and digging in his pocket for change. Then she turned back to Jude. "I'm sorry," she said. She pushed back her hair and tucked it behind her ear. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  "No need to explain." But his voice was cool.

  Her face grew hot, but she went on. "And while I'm at it, I want to apologize for leaving Clancy's so abruptly the other night." She shook her head slowly from side to side. "You arranged such a wonderful evening, and I was rude."

  He waved off her words. "Apologies aren't necessary." But his voice softened as he said, "It was good food. Good company."

  Sitting back she felt that space opening up inside her again. She realized that, despite everything, still she yearned to hang on to Jude. She looked down at her hands, longing to turn back time. If only she'd never met and married Phillip Sharp.

  But when she glanced at Jude, he was looking off again, as if just waiting for an opportunity to leave. The distance between them was real, she understood. This was a different Jude sitting beside her this morning, more constrained. Watching him under her lashes as they sat quietly, sipping coffee, she wondered if Rebecca was somewhere waiting for him.

  Silence, unusual for Amalise, took hold. Jude's eyes roamed over the busy square. He settled back, hooked his arm over the back of the chair and watched some street musicians unloading instruments from a rusted old red truck illegally parked in front of the Cabildo.

  He congratulated himself at least on steering a steady course with Amalise. The confession of love he'd planned about ten days ago at Clancy's would have been a mistake. She was too distracted, working her way through the usual list of priorities, and so far as he could tell, he was at the bottom of that list.

  Over the last few months, with God's help, he'd thought he had come to an understanding of the horror she'd lived through with the broken man she'd married. But while Jude's love for Amalise was an almost physical force, the lingering effects of her marriage to Phillip still stood between them.

  She looked at her watch. "I guess we'd better go."

  He nodded and stood, anchoring a couple of dollars under the coffee cup. They crossed the room to say good-bye to Henry, and then Gina in the kitchen, almost like old times. Like the times before Phillip had arrived.

  Amalise had parked in a lot on Royal Street two blocks from Jackson Square. When they reached her car, she stood there for a second before unlocking it.

  He wanted to reach out for her, to pull her into his arms and hold her. Standing close, she fumbled in her purse, pulled out the car keys, unlocked the door, and turned to him, looking up. His heart skipped a beat. No, this wasn't the little girl he'd known so well. He looked into her eyes, awed at the transformation of his feelings for her.

  But he stepped back and his words came out harsher than he'd meant. "See you in a couple weeks."

  "I miss you when you're gone," she said, then opened the door and slid in.

  He thought he'd heard a slight catch in her voice. But as she rolled down the window and tilted back her head and said good-bye, he said the same and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The errand Amalise had to run was a visit to Caroline's house. Just a quick stop before she went to the office. Ellis worked shifts, but he'd be home this morning. Caroline wanted Amalise to meet her husband.

  As she walked up the front porch steps, Amalise spotted Luke to her left, almost hidden behind a hedge of bushes that grew along the porch railing. He sat alone on a wooden bench swing.

  She walked over to the swing, set her purse down, and took a seat beside him. He didn't look up. His head reached only to the level of her shoulders. Thin legs poked out from his pants, dangled over the edge of the swing like two small twigs.

  "Hello, Luke." She kept her voice low and casual.

  He tensed like a small, trapped animal.

  So she turned her gaze forward through the clear fall light. From the interior of the house she could hear Daisy chattering to Caroline.

  A dove called to its mate in the tree behind her, the oak hung with Daisy's rope swing. Seconds passed and she heard the mate's answering call. The scent of nearby banana plants reminded her of Marianus and Mama and Dad and mornings sitting outside with Jude. In that moment she was filled with an unexpected, singular peace. Thoughts of the conference room downtown were far away.

  And then, in the shadowed stillness she felt Luke's hand move on the bench—a mere fraction of an inch—until the tip of his little finger touched the side of hers. With shallow breaths, she sat still beside him, waiting, feeling his loneliness. She wondered again where he'd come from. Did he mourn a mother and father? Did he have brothers and sisters in Southeast Asia?

  Abba, how can a child ever understand such things? It isn't fair. Help me reach him. Let me help.

  Minutes passed as they sat there, fingers touching, and then slowly she covered Luke's hand with her own on the wooden seat. When he didn't pull away, she began pushing the swing gently back and forth.

  Several more minutes passed, and then, as from a primal need, Luke moved closer to her, fitting his small body to hers like small animals will do when they seek warmth.

  When Caroline came out the front door, Amalise was conscious that she stopped and stood very still, watching them before she spoke.

  The kitchen was full of children and a cheerful-looking, round-faced man and redolent of garlic and onions. The man stood up when she walked in, trailing Caroline, still hol
ding onto Luke's hand. Caroline halted.

  "Well, Ellis." She stretched out her hand toward Amalise. "Meet Amalise Catoir."

  Ellis's face lit, and he raked his hands back through his hair in a self-conscious way. "How do?" he said, tucking his blue work shirt under his belt. He moved to reach out his hand and then quickly pulled it back, as if uncertain. "I've heard a lot about you."

  His chuckle made Amalise wonder exactly what he'd heard. Nick and Charlie looked up from their places at the table and smiled. Daisy held up her doll and waggled it in Amalise's direction.

  Ellis pulled out a chair, and Amalise sat down. She hiked Luke onto her lap. From the corner of her eye she saw Ellis raise his brows and give Caroline a look. With a slight shrug, Caroline picked up a large spoon on the counter and turned to a pot on the stove. Over her shoulder she said, "I've been wanting you two to meet, and . . . Ellis, I could use a pinch of salt here."

  Amalise curled her arm around Luke, and he settled back against her. Ellis rose, picked up a box of Morton salt on the counter and took it to where Caroline was stirring the huge iron pot.

  "Just pour until I say to stop, please." Ellis upturned the salt. Immediately Caroline shrieked and lifted the spoon. "That's enough! Not so fast. Stop. Stop. Stop!"

  Amalise laughed. "It smells wonderful. What are you making?"

  Ellis put down the salt while Caroline recovered. He patted his wife's shoulder and returned to his chair. "Creole Daube. Caro's a good cook."

  Amalise nodded. "Mama makes it. Takes all day to make, but it's one of my favorite dishes."

  "Stay and eat with us."

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling and made a face. "I wish I could. But I need to get to the office."

  "Then I'll save you some." Caroline turned her head, looking at Luke, sitting quietly in Amalise's lap. She smiled. "Looks like you've made a new friend."