by MC Webb
I wiped my hands on her duster, ignoring Nana’s protests, then walked to the living room and stood at the door as the men talked. They were talking about things needed. I could follow the conversation but was relieved of the effort when Jean-Paul stood up and walked to me.
I supposed we were friends, maybe acquaintances. I’d known him for a while, but this time his greeting was not a simple hello. This time he came directly to me, and in sight of Lana, Nana, Papaw, and Maurice, reached out his arms and hugged me. I surprised myself by automatically returning the hug. I smelled his scent, which was woodsy and smoky. He was handsome and strong. In spite of my misery, I was momentarily happy at his attention.
“Are you well?” he asked, pulling away from me, looking at my face searchingly.
I stuttered for a second and heard Lana snort. I felt my face turn crimson.
“I wanted to say hello to you and your dad.” I looked up into his face and wished I hadn’t. Boy, was he pretty. I had the sudden urge to touch his face, to see if it were real. He had skin the color of light mocha, hair shiny and black, eyes just as dark. He smiled at me as if he knew my thoughts. I smiled back thinking my face would crack.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I tore my gaze away. What was the matter with me?
“Papaw? Mr. Duchete?” Papaw held up his glass of tea, and Mr. Duchete said, “Please, call me Maurice, and no, nothing for me. Thank you.” I glanced at Jean-Paul.
“No, thanks,” he said, with his eyes on mine.
I turned and went back to the kitchen feeling flushed. Lana had a wicked grin firmly on her face.
“Shut up,” I said and continued to mutilate my potatoes.
Nathan arrived home that night. He was skinny, and his face was drawn. Nana fussed about his eating, and Papaw played guitar with him.
It was almost a normal time for us. Jean-Paul and Maurice were out of place in their very nice, and I’m sure very expensive, dress shirts and slacks. The rest of us were casual in jeans and T-shirts, except for Nana who always dressed for dinner. Her dress was never fancy, but like the lady she was, it was feminine and soft.
We listened to the guitar playing, and idly chatted until the end of the evening. We talked about who would sleep where, and exchanged good-nights. Lana would sleep in my room, as she always did when she stayed over. Maurice and Jean-Paul would take a guest room each, and Nathan wanted to sleep on the couch in the grand room.
He could have taken the pull-out bed in Papaw’s office, but opted for the couch instead. Nana made him put sheets on top of the cushions before he could lie down. She was a tiny thing beside Nathan, but he didn’t dare argue with her. He looked as meek and mild as a child when he spoke to her.
Obediently, he placed clean white sheets over the cushions, as Nana instructed him on precisely how it should be done. I hugged them both good-night, feeling happy and peaceful for the first time in ages. At the top of the stairs, I turned to see Jean-Paul heading to the hall bathroom, his toothbrush in hand. I smiled at him feeling self-conscious.
“I’m sorry for the recent death in your family,” I said truly meaning it.
Maurice had gone into his room already, and Lana kept walking toward mine not waiting on me. The door shut behind her.
“Yes, thank you. A beloved cousin. She was into drugs for a while and could not be saved.”
I went icy inside. I wondered what drugs. Nothing I did, surely. I just took pills and smoked weed.
I turned to go to my room, flustered by his stare.
“Piper?” he called to me, when I reached my room.
I stopped; hand on the doorknob looking back at him.
“Yes?”
“May I take you to dinner while I’m in town?”
I took a breath and thought of Matthew. I missed him every minute of every day. Then I thought of what Josh told me.
“Yes. That would be nice.”
He shot me his playboy smile and walked to the bathroom. Once inside my room, Lana pumped me for information. Nana came by, and poked her head through the door.
“You girls don’t stay up late now. We will have to get to cooking very early, okay?”
I hugged her and kissed her cheek.
“Yes, Nana. Good night.”
Lana blew her a kiss causing Nana face to light with beauty with her smile.
“Good night, Mrs. Mitchell, and thanks for having me.”
As soon as Nana had enough time to walk to her room I turned the lock on the knob. Lana and I snuck to the roof and lit a joint.
“He’s gorgeous,” she said. “But the age difference doesn’t bother you?”
I looked at her confused. I would be eighteen in a few months.
“He couldn’t be more than twenty?” I asked her.
Lana laughed. “He’s twenty-six,” she said.
I gaped at her.
“Twenty-six? Are you sure? And how do you know?” I eyed her suspiciously.
She shrugged.
“Can’t remember, but I think I heard him talking to your papaw. What difference does it make anyway? That’s not much when you’re a grown-up.”
I was going to be a grown-up. Had I ever been a child? I took a drag off the joint. A voice came from my window behind us.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
I jumped and Lana squealed.
“Shh!” Nathan said, climbing out to join us.
I slapped his arm.
“You nearly gave me heart failure! How’d you get in? My door was locked.”
Nathan took the joint from me and inhaled it deeply.
“Please. No lock can keep me out,” he said, not letting a whiff of smoke out as he spoke.
I shifted slightly uncomfortable. I’d never smoked pot with Nathan. It was an odd feeling and I half expected him to chastise me.
We talked a good while, as the night sky got inky black. Nathan told us how he had been busy with another soundtrack for a Hollywood studio, working from Nashville. Told us of the celebrities he had seen.
“You know me and Piper have a cousin who acts, Molly Rowland?” he asked Lana sounded a bit prideful.
“No way,” Lana said, excited. “Why have I never seen her here? Or why haven’t we visited her?”
Lana turned her dark eyes on me as if I’d kept this secret from her on purpose and we could have been in Hollywood all these years.
I shrugged. We were not close with Molly. She was a Hollywood star and we were the cousins in the country. Her father, Roger, was a major Hollywood agent to the stars and is the reason Nathan got the first chance at recording for movies. He visited some, but Roger worked a lot and didn’t taken many vacations.
“What about Ryan Knox? I know him, you know.” Nathan bragged further. “He’s a weird cat, but his best friend, Sheldon, is a kick-ass performer. Nothing he can’t play or sing. Very talented. I’m going to travel with him a bit.”
Lana sat still, not talking. She acted different with Nathan. Almost ladylike. I had a sneaking suspicion she liked my brother more than she would ever admit.
Nathan poked her thigh.
“You wanna go for a walk?” he asked her sheepishly.
As if someone flipped on a switch, she beamed. “I sure do.”
I rolled my eyes and lay back on the roof, pulling my quilt from Nathan. They climbed through the window, and a few minutes later I heard them laughing in the woods. They had been each other’s bed-buddy every time Nathan came home. I tried to ignore them, but I was also jealous.
I went in, popped a couple of pills, and lay down. I thought of where Jean-Paul would take me. I had a dull hope that maybe I would enjoy the company of a man again.
Daniel’s voice in my head was saying, they can never love you.
I put my hands over my ears to try and shut this out. I drifted away to sleep only to wake up feeling Daniel’s weight on me. I jerked with fright,
“Shh! It’s just me,” Lana said, climbing in beside me.
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br /> She wrapped her cold hands around mine, and I could smell sweet tobacco on her hair, the cigarettes Nathan smoked. Lana looked at me in the soft lit room. Her dark hair gleamed blue in the light of the small nightlight I always left on. I tried to adjust my eyes.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I hope I will be someday,” I told her.
I shivered from the cold coming off her body.
“Piper?”
“Hmm?” I said sleepily.
Lana didn’t say anything at first, and I was nearly asleep again when she spoke
“Will I ever be okay?”
I wrapped my arms around her body, hugging her to me.
“If there was ever anyone who will be okay, I believe it will be you,” I told her.
She buried her face in my chest. It felt wet with tears. I never pushed Lana to talk about things. She talked when she needed to. I knew most things about her.
I knew she had no idea who her father was. She had a horrible mother who was gone most nights, not knowing or caring about her daughter. She had a morbidly obese grandmother, who lived like a pig and reminded Lana daily that she was just like her mother.
Lana was using pot and pills for the same reasons I did. She had to escape her mind to get relief. We slept holding each other that night, my wildflower best friend, feeling loved by me, if only for a night every now and then. In the morning, she would return to herself—mischief-loving, loud, and funny.
When the sun was bright the next day, I looked for signs of the sorrow she felt the night before. I saw none. I was struck by the notion that we were as alike as we were polar opposites. We both had brown eyes, but she was dark, and I was pale. She was living life at full speed, when I was content with just moving. I loved her. She was imperfect, yet perfect in every way.
We ate our turkey dinner happily and chattily. Nathan turned on the game, and the men retired to the grand room. I wanted to join them, but of course the women cleaned. We had friends over for coffee and desserts later. It was a great Thanksgiving.
Jean-Paul did not bring up our date, but sought me out to chat on this or that every so often. He stood almost seductively close to me as he talked. My head was a little fuzzy when I was around him, but I had to admit, I thought I could like it.
While I was in the kitchen with Nana washing dishes, I asked her opinion of Jean-Paul.
“He’s an onion, that one,” she said and nodded.
I laughed, “An onion?”
Nana smiled, “He has many layers. He is rough around the edges, but in some ways spoiled. He needs a woman in his life. He seems kind enough, I suppose. Why do you ask this, love?”
I sat down at the table, glancing around to make sure we were alone.
“He asked me to go out on a date,” I said in a low voice.
Nana was silent for a long moment. She dried a dish and then came to sit with me. I said nothing, as I knew she was thinking. Pouring tea into her cup, she knitted her brows.
“You like him?”
“I think I would. He’s awful kind.” I told her.
She pinched her lips together and shrugged. “It’s a date. Go out. Find out if you like him or not.”
I nodded again.
“He’s twenty-six,” I said flatly.
“Does this bother you?” she asked.
I looked at her. I had thought she would disapprove of this, not be so matter-of-fact.
“No, I don’t guess so,” I said.
Nana shrugged again.
“There are worse things. As long as he is what you want, age don’t matter none.” She held up a finger to make a point, “Within reason. If he was thirty, I’m not sure that would be good for you, Piper, but go. Get to know him. Go out. Have fun.” She touched my cheek.
I thought maybe she just wanted me out of the house—to live, as Josh had said. I hugged her and left the kitchen to find Lana.
chapter fourteen
The date Jean-Paul took me on was dinner and a movie. The time I spent being held prisoner by Daniel, I watched old black-and-white movies. Those were my only joys as I lived each day in hell with him. I could escape just for little while inside of one of the characters. I loved movies, and I still found myself staring blankly at the screen if one of Lucy’s movies was playing or if Papaw had on a western. I could sit for hours forgetting to eat if a marathon ran all day.
Jean-Paul was delightful and refreshing. He was kind, and well-spoken. He told me stories about growing up in Louisiana. He explained that the rich, warm color of his skin came from his Cajun descent.
“If you marry me, and we have children, I hope they have your skin tone. I don’t like mine very much,” he told me seriously.
I didn’t know what to say to that. This struck me as a bold conversation for a first date. Not that I knew the proper talk of first dates, but I was sure it didn’t involve marriage and kids. He noticed my uncertainty.
“Does that make you uncomfortable? Me speaking of marriage and children?” he asked with mild curiosity.
“I just never think about it anymore. After the accident, I kind of forgot about a husband and children. My life was so planned out before.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say, “After Matthew died,” but Jean-Paul understood.
“Well, maybe you will begin to think about it again. Maybe you can entertain the idea of me?”
He eyed me hopefully.
Wow. I was shocked. I just stayed silent. He held my hand during the movie. I was comfortable, whether that was because of the Valium I’d taken, or because I genuinely liked him, I wasn’t sure. I did feel the crusted edges of my heart soften just a little. I wanted to hope that maybe I could love him. I could try. I wanted to live, but to move on would mean forgetting what Daniel said about me. It would mean letting go of Matthew, and I wasn’t sure I could do that yet. Matthew was such a bright light that he drowned a lot of the dark in me. The chance of anyone ever being that again had to be next to none.
After that first date, Jean-Paul and I began to see each other when he was in town, and we spoke on the phone a few times a week. It’s was strange talking with a man that was not Matthew.
I found myself looking ahead. Future was a foreign word to me, but I was trying. By my eighteenth birthday, I had a ring.
Once the solitary diamond was presented to me I felt wooden and spoke mechanically as if my body worked, but no heart was beating inside it. I said yes. I’m not completely sure why I said yes except I couldn’t find a reason to say no.
Nana and Papaw sat down and spoke to Jean-Paul of his intentions and where we would live and on and on. Jean-Paul told me he wanted to live in Cosby, with me, and raise our children here. He was still in the beginning stages of building his company.
Right now, it was just him and a semi, hauling meat and produce from the South. Jean-Paul had said to me many times that his goal was to have a fleet of trucks. He would commute back and forth for work every few days and be gone for a week or two at a time.
“We would live here if Piper wishes. I am happy at the thought,” he told them.
This pleased my Nana and Papaw. The last thing they wanted was to see me move away. I had no desire to leave home myself. Then Jean-Paul said the words that got them completely on board with our marriage.
“While I’m building my business as an independent driver and owner, may we live here in your home, while we save to build a house?”
With glee, Nana and Papaw agreed. The house was huge, and I think they dreaded being alone in it. Nathan was a little less happy about it, but agreed that if it made me happy, then he would support me. Jean-Paul and I set a date for June.
“A June bride. Just graduated, and then married. I’m so happy for you, love,” Nana told me at least once a day.
“It’s a good thing I got my career lined up then, I guess, huh?” I said, smiling.
Nana and I would be midwives together. I was handling full-term deliveries and was learning more and more. I love
d it. Nana told me it was in my blood. This made her swell with pride each time she said it.
It was all so practical, so normal. These things did not come to me easily. The life I had planned did not turn out the way I wished so this was a good enough plan B.
I was counting down the days till my wedding. I cared for Jean-Paul, but the truth was, I had settled for never being in love again. I would be satisfied like the brides of old who married not knowing their husbands. Maybe eventually I would get to a place where I was deeply in love with him. Right now I settled for being in love with the idea of love.
He could take care of me. We would be husband and wife, not expecting too much from one another. We would grow together. Jean-Paul loved that I was a midwife and supported my working although when I spoke of working he called it a “hobby.” My work was special and important. Jean-Paul at times belittled and found it humorous.
He liked that I worked mostly at home, occasionally helping a woman who delivered in the hospital, and that wasn’t often and was only a short drive away. Nothing like a “real” job of 9 to 5.
I gathered from little comments Jean-Paul made that he was relatively old fashioned and expected me to be as well. Taking care of the home, having babies. Like a true fifties housewife.
“Your being a midwife is excellent, but know I do want a clean house and things a man needs when I am home,” he would tell me.
I never could tell for certain if he were merely teasing me or warning me. He lit up at the idea of me cooking for him and being home when he got there. Jean-Paul had told me his mother and father had married and divorced young. He had lived with his mother until he was fourteen, at which time he wanted to stay with his dad. She had moved to South America a few years ago, and he only saw her on occasion.
“I maintain contact, but I work a lot and she has a life of her own,” he would say, adding dryly, “She knows how to reach me if she needs anything.” And that would slam shut the door on the discussion.
We were going to have a garden wedding, outside at sunset. I had my dress. Both dresses actually—one for my graduation, the other to say my vows in.
