by Amber Stuart
I kissed her forehead and berated myself for bringing it up, but Lottie put her arms around me and held onto me so closely, like she was trying to combine our bodies into one, grabbing fistfuls of the back of my shirt, a mooring in this turbulent sea we’d been thrown in, and I could feel the warm wetness of her tears spreading on my chest.
“Having to remember you like that was the worst part of all of this,” she cried. “I thought it was going to kill you.”
“I thought it did.” How could I explain to her that my life – my afterlife – since her death had been a living Hell? That some days, I hadn’t known for sure if I had survived or not; if maybe I had descended into some underworld that didn’t need fire and brimstone and demons to be terrifying and painful and miserable. It only needed to be a world without her in it. As far as I could tell, I had died. How could anyone have survived losing his own soul anyway?
“I thought I wanted answers, but I don’t even care anymore. You’ve stayed. You know who I am, and you’ve stayed.”
It was a startling revelation: not that I had stayed with her – I had always known that I would, but that I wanted her just as she was; that somewhere along this incredible journey we had been on, I had fallen in love with her all over again, as the woman I had known since I was seventeen and the woman I had only recently met.
As she clung to me so terrified and small and looking so fragile, but knowing just how remarkably strong and courageous she really was, I realized what I hadn’t been able to see before, what Lottie had been trying to tell me all along. I had kept the two women distinct in my mind, two persons sharing the same body, but I understood her now. She wasn’t Lottie and Kyrieana. She wasn’t two women trying to coexist in one mind. She had always simply been her.
For every moment that reminded me of being with Lottie again, there was another moment of discovery – something that was unique, like her fascination of every living thing at the Aquarium or the persistent search for the kitschiest souvenir we could find in New Orleans. And I wouldn’t change anything about her.
I kissed the top of her head, and leaned my lips down next to her ear, and whispered, “Of course I stayed. I love you.”
Chapter 16
I left Eric and Mark to finish discussing our options. It didn’t seem like we had many. Lydia had most likely been taken to Lake Charles, and Eric and I needed to go to at least see if we could find her. Probably not, but if we were in the city when something did turn up, at least we’d be that much closer to getting her back alive.
I figured I had a few hours before Eric and I needed to leave so I led Lottie out of my apartment, away from this discussion that was slowly chipping away at the brave façade she was trying to keep up for my sake. I wanted to get her away from this complex but it was almost 3:00 a.m. I wasn’t sure where I could even take her. The only thing I could think of that would be open right now were the riverboats. I didn’t think either one of us was in a gambling mood.
I started driving downtown anyway, not to go to a casino but so we could walk along the levee and, if we were lucky, find some sort of distraction from the chaos our lives had become. I found a place to park and we walked quietly to the river, the Mississippi River Bridge twinkling in the distance.
As we reached the top of the levee, we could see the river below, rippling black in the darkness. Even at this time of night, it wasn’t deserted out here; the riverboat nearby ensured there was always a trickle of patrons anxious to lose their money within. Lottie led me to the steps on the levee and we sat, watching the river sluggishly drift past us.
The first Fourth of July celebration I had ever gone to was with Lottie. It was like something out of a magazine or a Rockwell painting. Her parents insisted we arrive at their house early – before noon – because Lottie’s dad was barbecuing and, as I learned that day, in Louisiana, this was an all day affair. There were neighbors and coworkers and family friends already gathered in the home and in the backyard despite the oppressive heat, and I got passed around like a souvenir from a summer vacation. That was the summer Lottie and I had moved in together, and Cathy apparently liked showing me off.
She would always introduce me like, “This is Dietrich, Lottie’s boyfriend, he’s from Germany” and she made it sound like Germany was some exotic island rather than a country that really wasn’t that different from here. After bragging about my recent graduation and degrees, she’d always say, “Tell them something in German, Dietrich!” like this was the most exciting thing to happen to a Theriot barbecue. Ever.
The first few times, I know I must have turned at least three different shades of red but Lottie just smiled at me and mouthed, “Sorry,” like “Well, that’s Mom, what are you gonna do?” and it was Lottie’s mom, so what was I going to do? After the seventh time of being asked to say something in German for someone’s amusement, I finally realized nobody had a fucking clue what I was saying anyway so I started telling them shit like, “Ich bin sehr geil,” and “Du hast den Arsch offen” and then I felt a little better about being paraded around like a show horse. Of course, I later felt insanely guilty when Lottie went on and on about how proud her mother was of me, and I thought, “If she ever buys a German dictionary, I’m going to kill myself.”
By the early afternoon, we were stuffed with barbecued meats from every mammal on the planet, and so many guests had brought sides and desserts and I was skeptical about trying anything called Mississippi Mud Pie, but Lottie bravely told me she would eat a piece first to prove there was, in fact, no mud in it. Really, though, I wanted to try the Better than Sex cake because I was really skeptical about that one.
That evening, after all of the guests had gone home and the mess cleaned up, her parents and Lottie and I came down here to this levee, well armed with canisters of mosquito repellant, to watch the fireworks display. And Lottie curled up beside me as they exploded overhead, and from somewhere, patriotic music played. At least, I assumed it was patriotic music. I didn’t recognize most of it. But it seemed like something Americans would do.
Afterwards, as we trudged slowly with the crowd back toward the River Center where our car was parked, Lottie sleepily resting her head on my arm, I realized it had been the first time I actually felt like part of a family. Lottie and I met around Thanksgiving, and knowing I had no family, her parents insisted I come over for Christmas, but Lottie and I had just started dating; I hardly knew her parents. And for every holiday and every family meal and every family gathering I had attended, I had always felt like an outsider, there for Lottie’s sake. By that July, though, I finally had somewhere I belonged.
Sitting on the levee now, Lottie put her arm through mine, and said, “You’re awfully quiet. Don’t tell me you’re worried, because I will get frantic and panicky. I’m just warning you.”
I didn’t doubt her, but I still had to laugh. “I’m not worried,” I assured her. “I was actually just thinking about the first time we came down here for the Fourth of July.”
She smiled and leaned against me. “Did I ever tell you I looked up some of those phrases you were saying? It really wasn’t nice to tell Mr. and Mrs. Soileau that you were really horny.”
I wanted to laugh again, but I actually choked on it. “Shit, Lottie, if you tell me your mom knows too I’m jumping in the river.”
She held onto my arm tighter. “Like hell you are. And no, Mom never knew. She adored you.”
I had never heard Lottie talk about her mother, not recently, that is. Yet another instance of Dietrich the Selfish Asshole. I had been so focused on getting her and keeping her in my life, I had completely overlooked the other people in her life she had loved and lost.
“God, Lottie, I’m so sorry. You must miss her so much.” I put both arms around her and kissed her head, her cheeks, those lips.
Lottie nodded but buried her face into my shoulder. She had been through too much tonight. I should have kept my fucking mouth shut.
“She couldn’t
handle it. You know she couldn’t. She’s so religious, so Catholic, if she knew what happened to me… it’s better for her to think her daughter’s someplace wonderful and peaceful and perfect.”
“What do you believe in then?”
Lottie already knew where I stood on this; two years ago, I knew Lottie was stuck somewhere between wanting to believe and not being able to.
Lottie looked up at me and studied my face carefully. “I think I’ve lived on two different planets and I’ve seen life on both. I’ve seen these incredible, living creatures that somehow exist and unlike most humans, I know there’s a lot of life out there I’ve never seen or touched and know almost nothing about, but I know it’s there. But there are a lot of people here who insist it’s impossible just because they’ve never seen it.”
Even my cynical brain had to admit that was a pretty damn good answer. I kissed her again and told her, “Maybe one day you’ll convert me.”
Lottie just shook her head. “I’m not trying to. I don’t want you to change at all. Even during those times you are being a bit of an ass.”
“That’s pretty much all the time.”
Lottie shook her head at me again. We obviously had very different definitions of what being an ass was. Or she just had an extraordinarily high tolerance for my bullshit. Probably the latter. After all, she’d lived with me all those years.
“Dietrich,” she said, and I could tell by the tone of her voice she wanted to ask me about Lydia. She was terrified. “They want her dead, too. They can sell her body, and they’re going to kill her, aren’t they.”
It wasn’t a question. She just wanted me to confirm it. “I think that’s what they’re planning on doing, yes. It would erase her memory, assuming something like this doesn’t happen again.”
“This is rarer than smallpox in this country. It won’t happen.”
“I still think they want to try to use her to get to you if they can, though. There’s a good chance she’s alive still.”
Lottie’s tears were falling silently; she had buried her face inside my shoulder again and I only knew she was crying because I felt the damp sensation on my skin.
“Oh, Lottie, we’ll do everything we can, you know we will.”
“I know,” she whispered, “just please be careful I can’t survive losing you, I can’t.”
It was one of those moments when she felt so familiar yet strange, but those no longer alarmed me. She could be so happy, she could have so much peace, if she could just know the people she cared about were safe. She carried the pain and grief of so much loss, both from her decision to leave her family and friends to save herself and Lydia from a future they didn’t want, and the loss of everyone in Lottie’s life, except Eric and me. She couldn’t lose Lydia, too. Not after losing so much, so many people. I would find her. I would get her back. My Lottie would not suffer another loss like this again.
I kissed each of her fingers I held in my hand, and tipped her face toward mine. “My love,” I said softly, as I brushed my lips against hers, “It’s time for me to go to Lake Charles.”
Chapter 17
I had been wanting time alone to talk to Eric for a while now, and here we were, alone in a car driving along I-10 to Lake Charles, and I couldn’t think of where to start. At least one problem had resolved itself: I didn’t have to tell him I had fucked up my relationship with Lottie by sleeping with her and having her vow to try to pretend to be my dead fiancée for me. I was pretty sure that was one secret I was going to take with me to my grave. I still felt confused about it, unsure if I had done anything wrong or not, but I couldn’t shake the guilt I had felt and Lottie had never brought it up again, so I was perfectly fine leaving it in the past. At least for now. If she wanted to, we could deal with it after people stopped trying to kill her and kidnapping her best friend.
Instead, I asked him about the other thing that had been bothering me.
“Um,” my conversational skills hadn’t improved.
Eric was driving and glanced over at me as he slowed down to get on the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge.
“So, there’s really nothing going on with you and Lydia?” Tact still wasn’t my strong suit either.
Eric sighed. “No. But Mark knows about her, uh, crush. He doesn’t care. He’s crazy about her.”
“I noticed.” I felt sorry for Mark. I had only ever loved Lottie. I guess that could count as being in love twice. But I couldn’t imagine Lottie having feelings for someone else. “Mark’s a good guy. She’ll change her mind, right?”
Eric smiled but kept his eyes on the road. “Mark’s got something better going for him than being a good guy or even having that whole ‘tall, dark and handsome’ thing working for him. He’s stubborn as hell.”
Sometimes Eric made it too easy for me. “You think he’s handsome?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Do you think I’m handsome?”
“Goddamn it, Dietrich, you can be such an ass.” But he was still smiling.
“That sounds like guy-code for ‘What I really mean is I love you.’”
Eric snorted. “Well, I do, and if I were gay, you’d totally be my type.”
I didn’t know what was worse: the fact that he said it or the fact that I was a little flattered by it.
I watched the marshy land fly past us, the rising sun behind us casting a pinkish orange glow over the water. As much as I complained about living along the Gulf Coast, I loved it here. I had never lived anywhere else in the U.S. but I had traveled all over and while there were a lot of states I enjoyed visiting, none of them had ever felt like home.
“I won’t be able to go back to Houston, you know.” Too many people in Houston knew Lottie. If I went back, she couldn’t come with me.
Eric didn’t answer me right away. He kept his eyes focused on the road but I was watching him. “Yes, I know,” he finally said.
“You could transfer, too.”
Eric thought about it, or at least I thought he was thinking about it, but when he spoke again, he surprised me. “Are you sure you want to transfer? They know about her. Just because they’re telling you now they’re ok with Lottie being here, you know they can change their mind. You and Lottie… you could just…”
I knew what he was suggesting. I also knew he must be suffering from sleep deprivation to think we could just disappear. “They’d find us, Eric. You know they would. You of all people should know that.”
Eric finally glanced over at me. “I know you’ve got more friends than you ever realized.”
Considering I had only ever thought I had one, that wasn’t saying much. If I counted Mark as a friend now, I had already doubled my friendship base. But I was getting uncomfortable with how quickly this conversation had gotten so serious.
“One thing at a time,” I deflected. “Let’s find Lydia first. Figure out who is behind trying to get Lottie killed. Take care of that problem, and then we’ll deal with what comes next.”
“Oh, is that all? Good, because I thought we were pretty much fucked.”
“Not the worst odds we’ve ever had.”
When we reached Lake Charles, Eric drove into the downtown area, toward the lake itself and we parked near the Civic Center. Lottie hadn’t known where in the hospital this room was and even if we could just start randomly searching rooms there, it wouldn’t do any good. It would just be a room to us. And Lydia could still be anywhere in the city.
One of the few good things about having an eidetic memory was that I never had to write anything down, and Eric had come to rely on that over the years.
As we walked, I recalled everything we had learned from Abram: Willis McGrath never traveled alone; Lydia must have recognized whomever had shown up at the bookstore and there are a handful of people McGrath could have been traveling with that Lydia would have known; only one of those people was not currently in his home city; there were a number of places they could have gone, but the
y were mostly interested in Lottie, and would stay close to Baton Rouge until they had her; and Lake Charles had an unusually high concentration of people they were associated with because they were working in the petrochemical industries concentrated along the lakes and river there.
We reached Millennium Park where a noisy and very wet group of children were playing in the water and found a bench that wasn’t too damp. I watched the kids for a long time, thinking of Lottie.
The first time she had told me she wanted to have kids, we were sitting outside the LSU Union near the Parade Grounds. We had been dating for about two months. It was a Saturday and a family with very young children, one strapped onto the father’s chest in a baby carrier, was walking around the Grounds, the two older children occasionally breaking away from their parents and running into the grass to chase after a bug or a college student’s errant Frisbee or maybe even their own shadow. Hell, what did I know about kids?
Lottie’s voice had snapped me out of puzzling over what those kids were chasing. “When I graduate, I’m going to come here, major in English, and then one day, I want to get married and have kids. Three seems like a good number.”
I told that story to Eric once, and he told me that no seventeen-year-old boy ever wants to hear that his seventeen-year-old girlfriend is thinking about marriage and kids. But at the time, I had no idea Lottie was even thinking about a future with me. I thought it was just personal information she had suddenly decided to share. But I was a castaway: a child who had never belonged to anyone and no one had ever belonged to me. What did I know about normal?
So I told her, “Three seems like a good number. That would be a lot for Germany though.”
“Would it?”
“We have one of the lowest birth rates in the world.” At seventeen, I still used words like “we” when referring to Germany.
