by Liz Talley
“You haven’t cared in years.” Her voice was solemn, not the least bit flippant. He figured she’d been thinking about him and their past. Being alone with fear picking at a person gave him or her plenty of time to examine and reexamine life.
“Did you think I wanted my brother to die? Jesus, Court. I’ve been angry a long time, but I never wished harm on either of you.” Lucas stood, outrage coursing his blood. She thought him that sort of monster? Had she ever really known him?
“We haven’t seen you since the night we told you we had fallen in love. You disappeared and blocked us out of existence. What do you think we were supposed to think?”
“That you broke my heart. That my brother betrayed me.”
Silence reigned on the other end.
“This is a bad time to bring up the past. Ben’s awake. That’s what matters. Be happy and don’t jab old wounds.”
Courtney inhaled and exhaled. “Yes, that’s the most important thing, but I’ve been thinking about you and about Ben. What happened to you both doesn’t seem fair. That was my fault. I’m the one who ruined everything. I shouldn’t have… I should have resisted him.”
“And been untrue to your feelings for Ben? Pretended to love me when you didn’t? How would that have been better? It wouldn’t. What happened happened, Courtney. From the looks of things around here, I’d say it worked for the best.”
“But not for you.”
He couldn’t deny that. Or maybe he could. If he hadn’t left New Orleans, he wouldn’t have picked up a camera and taken the chance on a new career. Never would have seen the beauty of the Hill Country in Texas or tasted Angela Vera’s tamales or climbed through the canyons of New Mexico. His life would have been lesser if he’d stayed in New Orleans with a woman who didn’t love him. “I’ve made a life I’m proud of.”
“Your pictures?”
“That and I have a home, a place where I belong.”
“But no family.”
He didn’t have words for her. He had his parents, but rarely saw them. An occasional cousin passed through, and he had an aunt and uncle who sent him cards on his birthday. But he’d never been lonely. Not really. “Get some rest, take care of Ben, and call tomorrow. The kids will want to know their father is okay.”
“Not yet. Ben’s better tonight, but the doctors are cautiously optimistic. It’s the cautious part that scares me.”
“But soon.”
“Soon.”
Lucas hung up and turned out the lights downstairs before trudging up to the bedroom his brother shared with Courtney. When he’d first arrived, he’d balked at sleeping in their bed. Didn’t sit right with him. But there were no other beds to be had, and Lucas’s frame didn’t fit on the sofa. So he slept in their bed.
He tried not to think about the irony of lying where they’d made love, made the family that should have been his.
But he was a practical man. Mostly. So he sucked it up and placed his head on their pillows, trying not to think about how much it bothered him.
Of course, Lucas didn’t love Courtney anymore. Maybe he never did. She’d been his shadow during his childhood and then suddenly she was beside him. It was a natural progression, almost comfortable, to concede spending the rest of his life with her.
As he tugged off his clothes, he looked hard at the room his brother and sister-in-law shared. A collection of photos of their children cluttered the simple oak dresser. Hand-painted pictures drawn with little fingers were framed on the wall. Worn quilts he recognized from his mother’s house. The gun cabinet, holding his great grandfather’s rifle, locked and sitting in a corner. A rocking chair to nurse babies. All these things represented a life built between a husband and wife.
And then there was the canvas framed in simple silver stretching across nearly an entire wall. Sunset at Havasu Falls. He’d taken it the year after he’d graduated from art school. Rich orange and sunbaked yellow stretched by the shadows of the canyon where the clear waters poured into blue depths. It was an original piece sold in his gallery in Manhattan. Probably cost at least ten grand. Not an easy sum for an insurance salesman/National Guardsman and a realtor with three kids and a hefty mortgage.
Lucas snapped off the bedside table lamp and slid beneath the sheets, determined to shut his mind off and not think about the resentment he still held against him or the trembling in his gut when he thought about facing Ben again. Nor did he want to think about Addy and her silky hair and reticent smile and the fact she skirted around something more with him.
He wanted to think about nothing.
Darkness and quiet.
And then he heard footsteps… and a horrible noise.
He’d heard the same noise days ago when Charlotte had tossed her cookies in Addy’s flowerbed.
Dear Lord, no.
When Friday morning arrived, Lucas rolled over and blinked at the alarm clock. 6:00 am. He pressed the snooze and contemplated going back to sleep, but then thought better of it and struggled from the bed, marveling he’d actually been able to sleep the whole night through.
Tuesday night after Lucas had switched the lamp off preparing to block his mind and catch some zzzs, Chris had thrown up all over the hall floor. Then he’d been up all night sick. When morning had come, Michael joined his brother, clinging to the porcelain throne between the boys’ bedrooms.
The stomach virus had arrived for a spring visit.
Wednesday evening Charlotte started throwing up and the misery had lasted until Thursday night.
Lucas had never prepared for anything like three sick children, especially ones apt to launch their stomach contents all over carpet, bedding and, once, the cat. Mean Mittens probably deserved it, but Lucas hadn’t deserved having to bath a cat. Hadn’t been pretty.
He’d found cleaning solution and had done his best to clean the carpets. Washing quilts and comforters was a new challenge but he managed, and Addy was nice enough to go out for ginger ale and disinfecting spray, delivering it to the back door with a comforting pat.
“You want me to help with the kids?”
“No, I’m doing okay. No need for you to be exposed to the sickness.”
“So what do you think about this weekend? I can take the whole day Saturday.”
A sweet piece of satisfaction sank into his bones. “They should be okay by then, but we’ll play it by ear.”
Dear God, please let the kids feel better by Saturday.
He wanted to spend time with Addy. Who knew how much longer he’d be in New Orleans. He’d hate to miss even a minute with her. But barfing kids kinda put a lid on his plans for spending nights in Addy’s kitchen, with or without “tea.”
And he had kicked DeeAnn out why?
Lucas padded toward the shower, turned it on, and went to wake Chris and Michael who had recovered enough to go to school that day.
“Wake up,” he said switching on Chris’ bedside lamp.
“Grrr,” Chris groaned tossing the covers over his head. “I’m still sick.”
“No, you’re not. And you can’t go on Uncle Lucas’s Weekend Extravaganza if you don’t get up and go to school.”
The covers flipped back and a burr-headed Chris peeked out, blinking owlishly in the light. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Chris’ feet hit the floor. “I’m up.”
Next was Michael’s room.
“Wake up, buttercup,” Lucas trilled in a falsetto voice.
Michael, wrapped like a burrito, didn’t move. Lucas reached out and tapped his shoulder while turning on the lamp. “Come on, Mike. Up and at ’em.”
“Go away.”
“Come on, if you don’t get up and go to school, you won’t be able to go on Uncle Lucas’s Weekend Extravaganza.”
“You promise?” Michael rolled over and grabbed at the lamp.
“Let me try this again. If you don’t get up and go to school, I’ll tell Chris your new Instagram passcode.”
Michael sat up
. “How do you know my passcode?”
Lucas picked up Michael’s phone and wagged it. “I have my ways, 1–0-2–3.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open.
“Your birth date, right? You really need to think outside the box next time.” Lucas tossed the phone onto the bed.
“Fine.” Michael rubbed his messy hair and yawned. He’d slept in a too tight t-shirt and a pair of plaid boxers. Lucas noted the kid had started growing hair on his legs. Michael was growing up and Lucas had never been there to see a sleepy sweet toddler in airplane jammies and dinosaur slippers. Regret flooded him.
He shouldn’t have stayed away from his family. He’d allowed his anger to keep him from a blessing. Even after cleaning up vomit and spooning chicken broth into Ben’s kids, he realized he’d made a mistake with Michael, Chris, and Charlotte.
He bypassed Charlotte’s door, allowing her to sleep in. The little girl had been sickest of all and had finally started feeling better last night. She wasn’t going to preschool.
The boys were surprisingly cooperative at breakfast, having only one fight over who had drunk the last of the sports drink. While they packed up their lunches and combed their hair, Lucas slipped over to Addy’s. If Aunt Flora would keep an eye on Charlotte, he wouldn’t have to wake her and load her into his truck in order to take the boys to school.
He’d only knocked once when the door swung open.
Addy stood in pink silk pajamas, tangled hair, and sleepy eyes. “Everything okay?”
He couldn’t help himself—he dropped his gaze and took in every inch of her. He loved the gap revealing her delicate collarbones and he could see the faintest outline of her nipples against the soft fabric.
Stop looking, weirdo.
“Stop staring at my boobs and tell me why you’re here so early. Is everything okay with the kids?” She crossed her arms over her bosom but smiled.
Busted.
“Yeah, they’re all on the mend. About to take the boys to school and wondered if Aunt Flora might go over and stay with Charlotte. She’s still sleeping and I didn’t want to wake her.”
“Let me grab my robe and I’ll go over. Flora’s still in bed. She’s been sneaking vodka every night before bed. Think she’s been having some trouble sleeping. Give me a sec. Grab some coffee if you want.”
Lucas shuffled into the kitchen, closing the door so he let no more cool air inside as Addy padded barefoot out of the kitchen.
She had nice feet, something he’d failed to notice in the moonlight nights ago. But he’d been busy with other delightful parts.
Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, he poured himself a cup and stood sipping, enjoying the quiet of the house. No arguing, no screeching, and thankfully, no retching. Just brilliant silence.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Addy said, entering the kitchen in a pair of yoga pants and sweatshirt. Her face was bare of makeup and her hair was in a low ponytail. She looked about as glamorous as a wet cat, but somehow it made her all the more desirable. He loved how comfortable she felt around him, loved how much more he wanted her when she was naturally Addy.
“Wait,” he said, scooping an arm about her waist and spinning her toward him. “A kiss before I go.”
He didn’t wait for permission, just lowered his head and stole a kiss. She tasted warm and toothpasty. She relaxed against him and kissed him back.
He broke the kiss and looked down at her glistening lips. “You just made my morning, lady.”
“Hope I don’t get the stomach virus.”
“If you get it, that means I have it. We can throw up together.”
“How romantic.”
He laughed. “I’m in the clear which is good because I got plans for you this weekend, lady.”
Addy lifted herself on her toes and kissed one of his dimples. “I’ve decided to embrace the opportunity, Lucas.”
The horn honking next door was the only thing that could tear him away from her. “Guess I better get those monsters to school before Chris decides to try his hand at driving. Wouldn’t put it past him.”
“He’s a daredevil.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Lucas said, holding the door for her so she could slide by and head to his brother’s house. “Thanks for helping, Addy.”
She saluted. “That’s what neighbors are for.”
Addy rushed into the Fleur De Lis with a folder of bills that needed paying, a bag of bay leaves, and the FedEx box of wire that had been mistakenly delivered to her home address. She dropped the box and exhaled. “Whew, that was heavy.”
Shelia turned and grabbed the scissors, starting on the box. “Wondered where you were. You’re never late.”
“I volunteered to watch the little girl next door so Lucas could take the boys to school. There was a wreck on Earhart Expressway and he had to reroute. Then Charlotte pitched a fit because I had to leave. Man, kids are hard.”
“I wish I’d had known,” Shelia said her voice soft in the quiet.
Addy squeezed her hand. “I know you do.”
“So those kids are better?”
“Yeah, I think poor old Lucas got more than he bargained for when he sent Courtney’s cousin away. Lucas isn’t warm and fuzzy, but he’s competent. You should have seen his procedure for dealing with the sick kids—gloves, mask, Lysol, and a schedule of medicine and hydration. Plus he actually rocked Charlotte to sleep.”
Shelia clasped her heart. “If you don’t keep him, give me his phone number. Nothing I’m a bigger sucker for than a man rocking a sleeping baby… except maybe a passel of kittens.”
Today Shelia wore a wig with looping black curls down her back. Big fluorescent earrings matched her sweater and dangled to her shoulders. Her stretch pants were denim and the turquoise ballet slippers looked somehow right with the flashy duds. Addy wished she had the balls to pull of the same look. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to pull out clothes with color. Dressing in something other than black and gray was suddenly desirable.
She shook her head.
Remember your rational voice, Addy. You can’t change all of who you are because you have the hots for Lucas Finlay. It was enough she took this slice of a chance, going out with him, kissing him, pretending she was a regular girl and not one haunted by a mad man.
Better to cling to her black pullovers and plain jeans.
Addy glanced around the workroom. “So what’s on our schedule today? I think we have some deliveries to a couple of funerals, right? Better check the gladiolas and lilies. I don’t know why everyone wants those waxy flowers.”
“People like what they know. Traditional flowers and such. And that’s not just with flowers if you know what I mean.”
Addy rolled her eyes, ignoring the pointed comment, and instead focused on the reason she hated the ho-hum in her work. In her designs, Addy saturated herself in wild color. She hated traditional, unimaginative bouquets taking up shelves in supermarkets. She preferred mixing flowers, grasses, mosses and unusual reeds to create emotion. And her visionary approach to creating floral designs had paid off—creativity rewarded by lucrative business. Sometimes she was too busy, which was a blessing.
The front doorbell jingled, and Addy glanced up to find her parents pushing into the shop, arguing about her mother’s parallel parking skills.
Addy glanced at Shelia who grinned. Shelia loved Don and Phylis Toussant because when they appeared, the shop became a stage for a Vaudeville act. Like the classic show The Honeymooners, Addy’s parents’ bickering was grounded in sincere affection, but their interactions were amusing… to everyone but their children. The constant sniping annoyed Addy, especially when it was over her mother’s driving skills.
Phylis thought everyone was an idiot who was out to rear end or side swipe her. The strange irony was the woman had never been in an accident, much less received a traffic ticket.
“She’s crazy,” her father said, jabbing a finger toward his wife.
“Pfft!” Phylis huffed, cro
ssing her arms. “This from a man who ran over the curb at the church last week and nearly hit poor Mr. Martin. The man nearly had a heart attack, and he’s got a bad heart to begin with.”
“He should look where he’s going. Blind as a damn bat, and he was halfway in the road.”
“It’s a parking lot, Don.”
Her father rolled his eyes, and Addy waited for the canned laughter. All she got was Shelia’s titter so she turned away from her parents, stalking to the back of the store.
“Hey, where you going?” her dad called.
“I’m too busy today to play referee.”
Addy swept the stems Shelia had cut that morning into the compost bin and sprayed a vinegar mix on the counter, rubbing out the residue and the irritation she felt over her parents constant sparring.
“Hey, sweetie,” her mom said, rubbing her shoulders lightly before sinking onto a stool.
“What are y’all doing here, Mom?” Addy finally glanced at her mother.
Her mother had grown up in Gentilly, raised by a traditional Italian mother and an Irish father who drank too much. Passionate, stubborn with a cute, curvy figure and shoulder-length dark hair she tinted the same color of brown as Addy’s, she looked pretty much how Addy expected to look at age sixty-six, sans the childbearing hips. “Your father has an appointment with the urologist, and then he’s dead-set on talking to Lt. Andre Greer.”
“Andre can’t do anything about the hearing.”
Phylis sighed. “How do you feel about the possibility Robbie gets out? Have you talked to your group?”
“I didn’t go last night.”
Her mother frowned. Addy had a lot of trouble before she found Survivors of Violence. Once she’d spent several months with women like her, she’d begun to trust herself, to actually heal from the attack and learn how to control her fear. She rarely missed a meeting because it was through SOV she remained grounded.
“You rarely miss anything at SOV.”
“Lucas needed me to help him with his niece and nephews. I had to go to the store.”
“And that was more important than preparing for the potential problem you’ll face when Robbie is out?” Her mother ran a hand down her back and Addy moved away. She didn’t need her mother applying her pseudopsychology on her. The fact she watched Dr. Phil every afternoon did not make her qualified to cross examine Addy’s motives behind not attending the meeting. She’d gone Tuesday night, hadn’t she?
