I look around the room but no one else’s bodily energy is visible to me. Maybe I can spot my daughter’s aura because we once shared cells.
Suddenly, Michael lets out the tiniest sneeze. It’s adorable, of course, and we all smile but the lights flicker in response.
“What was that?” a nurse asks.
“We need to check on that,” another says anxiously, and leaves the room.
I look at TB who returns my concerned gaze. Did we just birth a witch and a descendant? On command, we both break into laughter.
* * *
Because of my heart attack and the C-section, I remained in the hospital for several days. Fine with me because after the week I had I needed the rest. Not to mention that my life from here on out means two babies to care for — at the same time!
My parents arrived, my mom promising to assist until college resumes after Labor Day; she has a full schedule ahead at Tulane. Portia agreed to help out as well, in between representing Sebastian with his insurance claims and helping some of the town’s residents with lawsuits involving abusive spouses.
Clayton showed up the morning after the twins were born, explained how Stinky appeared at his car, howling like a hound from hell.
“I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, Vi. I’m so sorry.”
I took his hand and assured him I had it all under control. I laughed at the thought which failed to relieve Clayton’s guilt.
“I’m glad that you arrived in the nick of time,” I said and gave him a big hug. “Glad that Stinky’s okay.”
Turns out Stinky suffered from the impact with that tree but ran for help. After he woke Clayton from his dreams, he headed for the window outside of our bedroom. TB had sensed that Dwayne was afoot, had woken up, and was already halfway out the door by the time Stinky arrived. The lot of them could have showed up earlier, I’m thinking, but then I wouldn’t have found my inner strength, wouldn’t have experienced what Maribelle had taught me all those months.
Speaking of my neighbor, Maribelle’s not the same, appears in a dark place despite the two babies she consistently insists upon holding. She arrives today with a potted herb and a present, but no smiles.
“You okay?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “There’s a lot to process. I’ll be all right in time.”
“Sebastian will get the buildings back in shape,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Things will turn around.”
She nods, deep in thought.
“Dwayne’s in a high-security facility. Not too far from your brother, in fact.”
My nemesis didn’t die after all, which makes me happy. As much as my actions were in self-defense and no one would have blamed me for pushing Dwayne into Emma’s Cove that night filled with lightning, I didn’t want murder on my rap sheet.
“He’s not going anywhere,” I add.
“I’m not thinking about Dwayne.”
“Then what is it?”
She hesitates, finally answers so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“That gold mine Touché mentioned. The one he said we were sitting on.”
“Yeah?”
She fiddles with the blanket draped over my feet, appears contrite. “He was right.”
“What?”
I don’t have time to inquire more because the family arrives, everyone pouring into the hospital room, talking at once. Who should be bringing up the rear but my Aunt Mimi, arms full of stuffed animals, flowers, and a book on what to expect raising twins. Wait until my aunt discovers my children carry their parent’s weird DNA.
Maribelle gets absorbed by the crowd, starts heading toward the door, mentions how a group of Emma’s Cove’s best are meeting to discuss turning the brown patch into a children’s park and she’s late. I stretch my head trying to make eye contact, find out what she meant about the gold mine, but she’s already out the door. I catch up with family and Aunt Mimi, still pondering Maribelle’s cryptic message. And I can’t help recalling the emphatic words of Jack and Caroline: “Ask MB!”
“What’s the present?” My mom brings me back.
I look down and realize I never opened Maribelle’s gift. I tear off the paper and find a wooden plaque with a quote by Marianne Williamson written on top of a photograph. The image is Emma’s Cove at sunset. It’s gorgeous.
“ ‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,’” I read. “ ‘Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.’”
I smile because right now, I’m invincible.
Author’s Note
South Louisiana summers suck the life out of the hardiest among us. During a particularly hot summer writing this book I decided to live vicariously through my supernatural couple and set the story in the mountains of southern Tennessee. Emma’s Cove, however, doesn’t exist. Neither does a town called Lightning Bug and Smoky Mountain University. All were born from my imagination hungry for cooler weather. Emma Harrington never existed either and her quilt doesn’t hang inside the Hunter Museum of American Art in Chattanooga, although some wonderful artwork does and I highly recommend a visit.
Acknowledgments
In addition to raising children, it takes a village to produce a book. Thanks go out to my amazing editors who save me from embarrassment. Pamela Keene you’re a wizard with a red pen and Danon Dastugue, you balance my boat. Thanks, too, to my wonderful partner in crime Bruce Coen and the amazing Joshua Coen for his dreamy covers.
About the Author
Cherie Claire is a native of New Orleans who like so many other Gulf Coast residents was heartbroken after Hurricane Katrina. She works as a travel and food writer and extensively covers the Deep South, including its colorful ghost stories. To learn more about her novels and her non-fiction books, upcoming events and to sign up for her newsletter, visit her website www.CherieClaire.net. Write to Cherie at [email protected].
Also by Cherie Claire
Viola Valentine Mystery Series
A Ghost of a Chance
Ghost Town
Ghost Trippin’
Give Up the Ghost
* * *
The Cajun Embassy
Ticket to Paradise
Damn Yankees
Gone Pecan
* * *
The Cajun Series
Emilie
Rose
Gabrielle
Delphine
A Cajun Dream
The Letter
* * *
Carnival Confessions: A Mardi Gras Story
Give Up the Ghost Page 27
