Golden Hour (Crescent City)

by Campbell Reinhardt

  I pull back and catch my bottom lip between my teeth to tamp down my grin. “How long have you been working on that line, Warren?” My fingers run over his chest, and I feel the solid thump of his heart, beating for me. My entire body goes warm and soft in his arms.

  “Come on now.” He kisses me again, hard and a little wild. When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven. “Would I be here now if it were just to use a line?”

  “I was pretty terrible to you,” I say, running my palms up the front of his shirt. He’s out of his uniform, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and worn jeans that hang off his hips a little.

  “You were telling me what I needed to hear. I was the one acting like an idiot.” Caleb presses me back against the wall. “I missed you.”

  “It was only a day.” I try to sound tough, but it’s hard, looking into those eyes. So I let the tough act go. “I missed you too. I’m really glad you came here today. It was hard, seeing Gran off.”

  “I can imagine it was.” Caleb leans closer, his mouth hovering over mine.

  “Elise!” Charlie’s voice interrupts us as he barges down the hall. “Did they already—what the hell?”

  I jump away from Caleb, standing straight, and running a hand over my hair. Which is pretty much the ultimate way to look guilty no matter if you are or not. My brother stops in his tracks and stares, his eyes flicking from me to Caleb with a look of open disgust.

  I decide to ignore the sudden Arctic chill in the hall as Caleb and Charlie both scowl and stare each other down.

  “Charlie, hey,” I say, my voice too bright and phony for all the animosity swirling around this tiny space. I clear my throat and try to walk by, but my brother reaches a hand out and grabs my arm, holding me still. I feel Caleb move toward us, but put a hand back to tell him to keep still before I face Charlie. I pull my arm out of his grasp and speak calmly. “The medics just left with Gran, maybe ten minutes ago. Mom said not to worry about going over there today, though. Gran’s going to be tired.” I meet his eyes, but he’s not following my lead on the whole ‘keep calm’ bit. He’s practically baring his teeth.

  Charlie eyes Caleb with a wary look, then leans in close to me and says, through gritted teeth, “What did I tell you about staying away from him?”

  “What the hell is it with everyone telling me who I can and cannot spend time with?” I mutter under my breath. “This is none of your business. Caleb came here for Gran.”

  Charlie jerks back, looking confused. “I thought you said the medics already got her.”

  He looks over my shoulder and into Gran’s room, like he half-hopes she’s going to be lying in her queen bed under her silky covers. But the room, with the bold floral wallpaper and lacy curtains, has been stripped of Gran’s black and white photos and silver hand mirror, a gift from her mother. Her crocheted doilies, her faux gem-encrusted pillboxes, all her pastel printed nightgowns are gone, boxed and sent to The Estates. All that’s left of Gran is the faint whiff of the gardenia-scented powder she always wore.

  “I came to make sure Elise was doing alright,” Caleb says, coming up behind me and putting his hands on my shoulders. “I was here when your grandmother fell a few weeks ago.”

  Charlie zeros in on Caleb’s hands on me and shakes his head. “Oh, I remember you, Warren. And I did a little background check.”

  “Charlie,” I gasp. Not only is it incredibly invasive, it’s illegal for my brother to dig through records without reason, but he doesn’t look guilty or repentant in the least.

  “Elise, this asshole is trying to claim he was showing up because he’s so worried?” He snorts and jabs a finger in Caleb’s face. “I’m her brother. I’ll always be here to look out for her. And that includes keeping her from trash like you.”

  I bristle and feel Caleb go tense behind me. “Charlie, back off,” I say, holding my hands up. “I’ve told you already. Who I decide to be with is my own damn business.”

  My brother narrows his eyes at me. “I feel like I don’t even know you lately, Elise. You and Mike were the most put together people I ever met in my life. You had your shit figured out. I get you’re going to move one sometime, but with this guy?” The way he looks at Caleb makes it crystal clear just how little he thinks of him. “I’ll send his report over to you.” He throws us a smug smile.

  Caleb’s hands tighten on my shoulders, and fury washes over me. “I don’t want it, Charlie,” I say, breaking away from Caleb’s touch to get right in Charlie’s face. So he knows I’m serious. “I’m not kidding, Charlie. This isn’t cute. I understand you think you need to watch out for me, but Caleb is a good guy.” I don’t look back at Caleb when I say the words, but I hope he knows that that’s a tragically understated expression of how I feel about him. “Back off.”

  Charlie jerks his shoulders up and down and addresses Caleb instead of me. “It’s fine, man. I’ll always be here for my little sister. But, I’ll tell you right now, I’ve got my eye on you. You hurt a hair on her head, I’ll make sure they never find your body.”

  He stalks out, slamming the front door so hard, the pictures in the shadowbox on the wall rattle in their frames. I turn toward Caleb, who’s clenching his jaw so tight the muscles are knotted in a lump on either side.

  “So. My brother.” I open my mouth and close it again. “I can’t...I don’t know what’s going on. I think it’s just because Mike was his partner and all. I swear he’s not going to cause trouble for you. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Elise, I don’t need you to protect me from your brother,” Caleb says, his words clear and firm. “And you don’t need to explain. I get why he’s such a raging asshole. He’s your brother, he wants to see you protected.” He runs his hands through his hair over and over again. “And—here’s the thing. Wow. Shit. Okay. I do have a record.”

  I nod. “How bad are we talking? Murder?”

  “Uh, no.” He tries to smile, but it’s tight. “I’m not exactly a model citizen, but I’m not a homicidal maniac, either.”

  “Look, why don’t we go somewhere? To talk,” I clarify, even though my own tawdry brain screams, To rip each other’s clothes off and roll around in the sheets for a few hours! Then I glance down at me watch. “Shit. I actually have to get ready for work.” I bounce on the balls of my feet. “You could meet me for lunch? There’s a great coffee shop right around the corner.”

  “Okay. Are you sure you want to talk about all this in a coffee shop?” He looks nervous.

  “Wait. You’re not a murderer, right? Because you’re being pretty suspicious.” I watch him squirm and laugh all at once.

  “Just because I’m not a violent offender doesn’t mean I want to air my dirty laundry in some coffee place.” He pulls me into his arms. “But it’s fine. I’d rather get this over with sooner than later. It’s not like I was hiding it from you, but I think it might come across better from me than from my criminal record. Which was so nice of your brother to dig up.”

  “And, just in case you’re a compulsive liar and a serial killer, we’ll be in public.” It’s a joke. So clearly a joke! But he looks so embarrassed and miserable, I kiss him on the lips, so softly, it’s more of a tease.

  Well, it was supposed to be me teasing him. But it winds up that I’m the one revved up, not able to stop. It’s Caleb who holds me at arm’s length and reminds me that I should be getting ready for work. He gives me one final kiss before he leaves, and I go change.

  I’m not worried about our conversation. I’ve cleared murder. That’s kind of the big one. But there are lots of other, little, petty crimes that are still pretty awful, and he could have committed any number of them. Which sucks, but it’s fine. We can go out and lay it all on the table

  Something about this feels...official. Up until now, we’ve been bumping against each other, then splitting apart. I know it was at least partially because Caleb wasn’t invested in being around for too long, so sharing probably felt beside the point. But he cares.

  He’s wa
king up, painful as it might be. And I’m here to help him deal with the pain of coming alive again.

  I order coffees with cream. I think the girl behind the counter is about to faint.

  “Coffees? Like, that’s it?” she verifies, gesturing up to the menu that spreads across four plaques.

  I don’t really know what Elise likes. That bugs me. But it’s also what we’re doing here, today. For a few weeks, I’ve been admiring her. My gut was right on. She’s as tough as she is gorgeous, as smart and funny as she is humble and loyal. The last thing I was looking for was someone to pull me out of my funk, to force me back to the land of the living.

  But I’ve learned that life is really good at ignoring whatever it is you might want and handing you what you need instead.

  And I needed her. Bad.

  Now I just have to make sure I don’t lose her.

  “Uh, no. Two maple scones, too.” I watch her sigh so long and loud it practically blows my hair back. She repeats my order with an incredulous shake of her head, rings me up, and hands me a paper sack with the scones.

  I’m waiting at the end of the counter when Elise walks in, dressed in blue scrubs, her hair pinned back, a big smile on her face. Damn it feels good seeing her come to meet me with that smile.

  I wave to her and she hurries over just as the surly guy with snakes tattooed on his arms hands me the cups. “Coffees. With cream,’ he sneers.

  “Thank you,” she says as I pass her a cup and glare at the asshole coffee guy. I follow her to a table in the corner and watch her dump ungodly amounts of sugar into her drink before she takes a sip. “They have the best coffee here.”

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” I say, taking a distracted sip of the drink I’m not even thirsty for.

  “Usually a triple espresso, extra sugar.” When I raise my eyebrow at her, she shakes her head. “Do not give me that judgy look. I need to keep my energy up.”

  “You’re going to get an ulcer. And diabetes.” I hand her a scone, and she lets out a happy sigh before she grabs it and takes a bite.

  “Mmm. Maple.” She brushes crumbs off her lap and trains those big brown eyes on me. “I hate to rush this. I know you like to go for this kind of clammed up and mysterious thing. But I only have forty minutes, so we’re going to have to just be direct.”

  “Right,” I say, then frown her way. “I was never going for ‘clammed up and mysterious.’”

  She rolls her eyes and swallows a big bite of scone. “Sure you weren’t.” Her eyes dance. “Please don’t tell me you weren’t asking for every woman who saw you to swoon over the way you brood. You brood so much you need your own manor on a moor and a tragic backstory to go with it.”

  “I’ll assume you’re talking about some lady book. Probably written by Jane Austen or something,” I say, shaking my head even though she makes me want to smile. I guess I notice wanting to smile around her because it’s becoming a habit with me, when it used to be a rare occurrence.

  Maybe she’s right about the brooding thing.

  “Emily Bronte,” she says.

  “Who?”

  She laughs. “Emily Bronte wrote that book. The one that you’re the main character in.”

  “Well, I have a shack instead of a manor, and I live in the swamps, not the moors, but I’ve got your basic all-American tragic backstory.” Her smile falls and she presses her lips tight. Another thing I really love about this girl; she knows how to laugh and joke, and she knows when to button down and get serious. “It’s not that bad, I promise. I’m just going to exploit it to explain my youthful delinquency.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  I interrupt her before she tells me that I don’t have to tell her anything I’m not comfortable saying.

  “Elise, I know damn well you’d respect it if I needed space. But I care about you. I want you to know. Even if it’s embarrassing for me.” I focus on my coffee cup because, even though I’m probably more likely to dull the truth down than stretch it where my family is concerned, I still hate feeling like I’m talking shit on the people who raised me. I decide I’ll just keep it as bare-bones as I can. “My mama was a fall-down drunk. Daddy came in and out, mostly out. And he never, ever brought around money when he was in. I think Mama probably took on some less than reputable job opportunities to make ends meet.”

  I watch Elise’s eyes grow wide. One nice thing about being an adult is that I don’t have to worry about what people will think of me the way I had to live as a kid.

  When I was young, everyone in every class witnessed my mama storm the school in a drunken rage a few times a year to start fights with teachers who called child services because I was habitually underfed, underdressed, and so dirty I smelled. Everyone saw the sticker on my lunch card that meant I got mine for free because we were too poor to pay. Thank God, most of them had no idea that was usually the best meal of my day. Fairly often, it was the only one.

  I was the kid who never had a Halloween costume, who got random presents for Christmas for angel trees and toy drives, always nice enough stuff, but hardly ever what I’d really wished for. I never had a birthday cake in my life until Lopez scrimped up supplies and baked me a bootleg one when we were overseas. I lived my life waiting for the day when I could have a home of my own with fully stocked pantries, and no drunk fools parading in and out at all hours.

  “I imagine a mother does what she needs to do put food on the table,” Elise says, trying hard to paint my mama as something she never was.

  I get why. I get the impression Elise’s mother is a nag, but she’s always had a safe roof over her head, a family that conducts itself with dignity, and all her creature comforts taken care of. It’s probably hard for her to imagine hungers so deep, they strip your pride and leave you more animal than human.

  “Food?” My laugh sounds mean; which is how I feel when I remember growing up with my mama. Small and mean and defenseless. Itching to lash out because I was so tired of being beaten down. “Is that what parents use their money for? Because my mama scraped together money to get as much cheap booze as she could afford to pour down her throat. No wonder I thought that was what you worked for. I was blown away when I got my first check and realized people actually paid bills first when they got money. I probably would have gone out and blown it on booze anyway, just for nostalgia’s sake. Only I took my first sip when I could hardly see the over the top of the table. By the time the kids I was running with were trying to score a case of beer, I had built up such a crazy tolerance, I could drink a Russian general under the table.”

  I can see her forcing the look of pity off her face. And I truly appreciate her efforts. Because I’m fully aware of how pitiful I am. She said I could have been the hero of a book? Maybe one by Charles Dickens.

  “Did you stay with her? With your mother? Did you ever go to live with your father or some other relative?” Elise is doing what she does: trying to help. Even if the kid she wants to help already grew up to be the fucked-up guy sitting across from her.

  “I didn’t go looking for my daddy unless I wanted to be sent out to find him alcohol, then get my ass kicked when he got drunk and thought I was his dead brother. Winds up I look exactly like the brother he always hated.” I chuckle this time because that part is kind of funny. Sad and twisted, but funny. “I have half-siblings from my dad’s second wife. She was the meanest woman I ever met, and I used to think that I was the lucky one out of the crew. They had to live with two nasty bastards. I just had to put up with Mama, who loved me despite her alcoholism. And neglect.”

  Elise is not appreciating the humor I’m trying to weave into this story. I watch her twist her hands and decide that’s more than enough melodrama for one coffee date.

  “Hey.” I cup her chin in my hand and it breaks my heart, how furious and sad she looks. “It wound up fine.”

  “It did not wind up fine,” she says. “I hate thinking about little you getting treated like that.”

  “Little me wa
s a damn punk, darlin.’” I take a deep breath. “And little me knew exactly what he was doing when he racked up charges for two drunk and disorderly disturbances, a handful of shoplifting and petty thefts, one count of arson, and a grand theft. All before I was seventeen. Many of which landed my ass in juvie.”

  “Caleb.” She bites her lip, pushes her unfinished coffee and scone to the side, and takes my hand in hers.

  She had no idea how good it feels to have her to hold onto me while I take this trip down memory lane. It’s a trip back to a person I don’t recognize and truly want to forget.

  “I guess they thought juvie would scare me straight. By the time I was doing my sixth or seventh stint, I was a juvie legend. Which is when I was tapped by some of the local gangbanger wannabes who were looking to start their own drug cartels. Say what you will, they were master entrepreneurs.” I snort and shake my head at the memory of these seventeen year old, tattooed, hard-muscled, world-weary middle school drop-outs on their ways to being kingpins. “I started dealing and had a good business going. Too good. I wasn’t careful and I got caught three weeks after my eighteenth birthday.”

  “Is that when you joined the army?” she asks. I know from the way she’s looking at me that her perception of who I am has changed, but I don’t know how drastically different it is. As long as I can assure her that I’m not that cocky, law-breaking idiot anymore, we should be okay.

  Well, except for the fact that I’m still a little cocky. But that’s because I know what I’m doing. And I like to bend rules, but I try to keep the actual law on my good side. And I guess I’m a full-blown idiot to this day, but one and a half out of three ain’t bad.

  “‘Joined’ is a generous term,” I say with a wry grin. “Judge Allen had seen me so many times, so often, I think he just left my file on his bench at all times. But we connected, I guess. Wound up his old man and my grandpa has been drinking buddies, so he knew my dad. But, where my dad lived up to the Warren name and became a full-fledged alchi, Judge Allen turned his shit around. Anyway, he had a soft spot for me. So he sent me to a war-torn desert where I was regularly shot at and in peril, hoping it would make me a better man. And I guess it wasn’t a totally shit theory on his part.” I hold my hands out and shrug. “I think that’s the full story of my life of crime.”