Sam whistled as he strode into the kitchen. So much was going on inside of her. She couldn’t separate one feeling from another, feelings that were refusing to allow her to be happy: doubts, anxiety, pity, and the fact that she was losing control of who she was; all mixed up with the fear that she was falling for Sam big time, all because he dictated, took charge, looked after things for her, and protected her. She felt inadequate, which made her furious, because out of all of this, somehow he’d stolen her heart. Marcie stomped into the bedroom, afraid of the lighthearted giddiness fluttering through her heart. She viewed this unknown element with such distrust that a familiar misery leaked out from some secret compartment locked deep inside her.
* * * *
Sam choked on his coffee when he heard the door slam. He knew she was mad but couldn’t help the devil in him, who enjoyed getting a rise out of her. He couldn’t figure out why he was drawn to her. He barely knew her but couldn’t keep his hands off her. She was trouble, in an honest sort of way—a way he couldn’t explain. He told himself that if he was smart, he’d have walked away; but some feeling he couldn’t shake had him believing, as was the case with his own circumstances, that she, too, may have been a pawn for someone else’s gain. He knew the criminal element darkened some people, and no part of that greed or manipulation filled her. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he had already lived with that. Deep down, he had always suspected Elise had her hand in some pot, skimming off the top; except, he loved her so much that he had thought he could change her. The icing on the cake was that Marcie had more fire and passion knotting him up than any woman he had ever met—even Elise. An inner war waging inside had him bouncing back and forth between anger, honest-to-goodness chivalry, needing Marcie, and just plain lust.
Then guilt washed over him. He closed his eyes to block out her face when Elise crept into his thoughts again. He refused to be sucked into that despair. He had to let her go.
Marcie was different. She piqued his interest, and he craved being with her in a way he had never experienced before. Right now, it had thrown him a curve ball he wasn’t sure he wanted. He shook off this craziness. Still, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he had a burning need to keep her with him. She was now his lover, his friend; and what did he know about her past? Nothing, but his gut and heart urged him not to walk away.
Marcie erupted from the bathroom five minutes later. She shimmered in her red cotton sundress, with her miles of hair hanging past her shoulders, and it punched up his heart a few notches. Wow. It was the only word his brain could produce. Thin spaghetti straps enhanced her lovely breasts, and the soft cotton fell loosely from her waist to mid-thigh, magnifying her curvaceous body. Alarmed, he realized his mistake. She now stood out.
“Thanks for the dress. It’s beautiful.” He turned away and poured her a cup of coffee.
“I like my women wearing a dress,” he said. When he handed her the steamy mug, a harsh glare greeted him.
Where the hell did that come from?
Then his cell phone buzzed on the table. “Good timing.” He reached for the gifted reprieve when Marcie gave him her stiff back and sauntered into the bedroom.
This was an emotional roller coaster. His nerves were stretched thin, and he had no desire to traipse after her and smooth over ruffled feathers. He had to deal with things—more important things. Didn’t she get that?
“Sam here.” Now he was pissed, too.
“Whoa, bad time?”
“No, Jesse, we’re about to leave. What’s up?”
“Lots. Derek figured out where you are. Time to move it.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
Sam disconnected and stuffed his cell phone in his back pocket. “Marcie, hustle your butt. We’re leaving now.”
Sam rushed Marcie out the door. A warm wind rustled her hair from the Camaro’s open window. Sam hurried across the bridge on Highway One to Lafourche Bayou.
“Sam, where are we going?”
He met the fire still brimming in her eyes, then put his focus back on the road. “We’re going to see a friend of mine, Mama Reine. She lives outside Thibodaux.” He pointed out her side window. “Those are sugar cane fields. Ever seen one?”
* * * *
She shook her head at the stately view of moss-laden oaks and sugar cane fields filled with an active labor force. Several dark bodies were at work in the field. A chill swept outward from some part in her center. There’s no happiness alive within these people. Maybe times have changed, but also not. What she watched reeked of despondency, drudgery, and dictatorship, which had manifested itself and become stronger over time.
“Sam, what’s going on with us? I’m scared. I need to say that much.”
Sam reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be okay, Marcie.” But with the way he said it, she wondered if he truly believed it.
“Tell me about Mama Reine. She sounds like an amazing woman, taking kids in and living way out here.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “She is. I guess you can say Mama Reine was kind of a surrogate mother and father to me. My own parents sucked. My daddy grew up in violence, so that was all he knew, how to be mean. And that was what we got. I guess you learn from what you see. Anyway, he used to smack Mama around, threw her down the stairs. I was just a little kid. I’d hide and watch, and she’d always make excuses for not leaving. ‘He’s a good provider.’ ‘He meant nothing by it.’ Or even better, ‘I made him angry.’ How many women say that, Marcie, huh? Tell me. Then he started in on me until I was big enough that he couldn’t push me around.
“Mama Reine provided us local vagrants with a safe place to come. If we were hungry, she’d feed us. If we were hurt, she’d patch us up. She did weird stuff, too, like always having a line drawn in the dirt outside her front door so no one bad or with evil intent could cross. We’d always be safe, and to a little kid, that’s a slice of heaven.”
Marcie frowned at his comment. “Line? What do you mean, a line? I don’t understand.”
Sam laughed. “One of her many superstitions. It’s a line in the dirt with red clay, like she cast a spell of protection. Some folks out here lay them in front of their doorways, but you need to believe in them for it to work.” The last part he whispered, spiking an icy shiver up her spine. Sam averted his gaze, but not before she saw generations of hurt transform his face. Once again, he had shut her out.
He slowed the car right before a narrow dirt driveway appeared, like a magical trail, among thick, moss-laden oaks. Sam turned. The car jolted over ruts and potholes. An old wood cabin emerged, weather worn and raised on stilts. Sam parked beside an old rickety shed. He leaned his head back and let out a heavy sigh, pulling a thick wall around him as if drowning alone in some private hell he wouldn’t let go of. Then he climbed out without a word or a glance, clutching his keys and slamming his door. He didn’t come around for her. He walked away, self-absorbed, and she felt abandoned and discarded—a woman of no importance, triggering a flood of memories, filled with hurt, pain, and everything she’d forgotten. The locked door hiding her past suddenly flew open, and it was time to accept what she’d done.
She remembered Dan and how self-centered he could be, how he kept her at arm’s length despite what she willingly did for him. From the fire in her first dream, the memories of him were packed with hurt, wanting, desire, degradation and lust—memories of their time together as lovers, but only when he was playing. His charm and charisma exuded a powerful need to be surrounded by people—lots of people. His gifted ability to transfer his entire focus in an instant to her, with those whiskey-colored eyes, became an addiction. Even now, she felt a familiar tug inside of her, a connection to his magical presence, that left her obsessed with a fiery need to be his one and only; to please him, to help him, to do anything for him, except the outcome was always the same. Their past had been saturated with pain, hurt and scandal; never the fairytale she dreamed.
She closed her eyes when bitter n
ausea burned in the pit of her stomach. The bile climbed. Each hazy blank filled, one by one, until her keen awareness acknowledged one thing—what she’d experienced the past few days had been a blessed gift.
A lone tear weaved a path down her damp cheek. She understood, now, the difference between lust and love. She was worthy of being loved—worthy of honest caring given by a real man, an honorable man. Sam oozed respect in his role toward women. She’d honestly never experienced this before. Dumbstruck, she wondered if she’d have seen the gift in Sam before her memory loss. Probably not. Now what she feared more than anything was her weakness. Had Dan snared her so far into his treacherous web that she’d lost any chance for happiness with a man who could be her everything? She was faced with a choice that only she could make—to continue on this path of destruction or walk the right road.
She opened her door and climbed out into the stifling humidity, closing her eyes and lifting her face into the bright sunlight. Marcie followed the rough dirt path to the rickety front steps with a rough, narrow railing hammered together with two by fours. Marcie clutched the green cloth bag Sam had bought her, filled with her clothes and Jerome’s letters. The warm air was so damp and heavy that she found it hard to breathe. She grabbed the railing with a trembling hand and forced herself to climb until she stood, shaking, outside a torn mesh screen door.
“Well, I’s been waiting for ya. Come on in,” came a voice from inside the house.
Marcie pulled on the broken handle dangling by one screw. Rusty hinges protested with an angry squeal. Small bones dangled from a string and caught in her hair when she passed over the threshold.
“Chicken bones, to keep the bad spirits out.”
Sam shrugged as he leaned against the light brown paneled wall. His whole body, his spirit, appeared coiled so tightly that she was positive he’d snap if she dared to touch him. It had to be ghosts of painful memories: Elise, Della, and Leon. There was so much someone needed to atone for, but who?
“Step in here so I can have a look at ya.”
Marcie shuffled past Sam, still hurt by the rebuff that had triggered her unwanted memories. She swallowed her fear when she faced him. “You left me out there, why?” she said.
He knitted his brows. Something harsh faded from the confusion outlining his face, but he said nothing.
Marcie faced a large woman wearing a sleeveless blue housedress, rocking in her chair. When she smiled, her aged, dark, spotted skin creased like worn leather. She was the image of a sightless old gypsy woman, with the way she watched Marcie with those unseeing eyes. Marcie was positive this woman could tap into her very soul and rip open each vile secret she’d hidden. She swallowed hard. Her weak knees threatened to give out.
“Spirits talk, they share. You listening there, girl?” The white covering her eyes was indicative of her long-since diminished eyesight in this world. How did she look after herself?
“Marcie, this is Mama Reine. Mama, meet Marcie,” Sam said.
The old woman with bony knees had crammed her plump body into an old rocker, with not an inch to spare. Bunions on her crooked toes peeked out through the tops of worn dark sandals.
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Marcie stepped closer to shake Mama’s hand but teetered back a step. Feeling foolish, she yanked her hand back. Marcie glimpsed a bookshelf behind the rocker, jammed with photos. Mismatched frames, wood, silver, brass and gold, were filled with faces of children, adults, families, graduations and weddings. One stuck out like a sore thumb amid all the colorful, unfamiliar faces. The gorgeous dead woman from her dream, a ghost she had really seen, was wrapped in the arms of Sam as he gazed adoringly at her in a way that said, You’re everything to me. The younger Sam sported a mustache and spotted red bandana tied around his head. He was leaning against his Harley, his wife tucked safely in his arms. The woman was a knockout. Her long, blond hair swung free and loose with the same radiant smile that had beckoned in Marcie’s dream, and it hurt Marcie to see how much he loved her.
“You ache just looking at that photo? Don’t deny it now, girl. Any fool can feel the air spark when you two are in a room together. You want his love so much it damn near kills you. But that’s all you’ve ever wanted.” Mama pursed her fat lips. “I may be old, but I remember what it’s like to want nothing more than to be loved by the right man. That’d be Elise in the photo. But you already know that.”
“The first night here, I dreamed of her.” Marcie pointed her finger as if Mama could see.
“What kind of games are you playing?” Sam snapped. His words hurled daggers at her heart. “You don’t—whoa, stop. How do you know Elise? And don’t you dare give me any more bullshit about a dream. That’s not real.”
“Oh, hush up, you,” Mama said. “What do you know about what’s real and what’s an illusion? Get your lady a chair, and you’d best listen this time. She knows some, not everything, though.”
Tears burned from the ache Marcie felt in that moment. He didn’t understand, and he didn’t move. Sam stood there declaring mutiny, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His face contorted with a crimson hurt, exposing the depth of his despair. Somehow, Marcie knew Sam felt responsible for Elise having killed Leon and for Della, Leon’s mama, serving life in prison for her role in this tragedy; shooting Elise in a fit of grief out of some sense of misguided justice. Of course, he couldn’t help but take this on. It was how he was made.
“You don’t understand, my boy. She’s not to blame. Go ’n collect yourself. The girl will stay here.”
There was kindness in the rude, harsh commands. Those sightless eyes saw more than a person with twenty-twenty vision, right into the soul of the man. She jumped when the screen door clattered. The rusted hinges wobbled as they fought to remain rooted in the rotted wood.
“Pull up a chair so I can see you,” Mama said.
Marcie dragged over a straight-backed chair by the door.
“I knew you were coming. Elise told me.”
“Ah.” A chilling tingle pinched Marcie’s skin. She knew the room was full. She remembered that her granny and her teacher, Sally, had also seen through the veil. Angels and spirits surrounded each person, and they could hear messages sent from the other side.
“Open your eyes, child. Don’t be afraid.”
“I didn’t know she was his.” Marcie’s unsteady voice broke when panic of her unknown future rose.
“Their time’s over, so, let it go.” Mama was so matter of fact. But these feelings weren’t so black and white, not when Marcie was drowning in them.
“Girl, do you remember now? You were walking the wrong road, but you know that now. You don’t know it yet, but you were sent to him.”
“No I wasn’t. I was delivering something for a friend.”
The old woman’s face tightened. Her angry glare reached out and snagged Marcie’s heart. “Oh, no, don’t you lie to me. I see and know what you had with you. You’ve been the broker, a mule, carrying drugs to destroy some poor kid’s future. Fate intervened and stopped you. Right now, you have a choice to make. You and I both know what happens if you don’t pick right.
“You were born with the sight, but you abused it. Everything you did for that guy, you believed it was the only way he’d love you. Haven’t you learned yet? That ain’t love. You even believed he was the one you’d been asking for—your soul mate. Be careful what you ask for. He’s a lesson you needed to learn. You were together before, in another life. Soul mates isn’t always who you should be with. Understand the difference.
“You just want to be loved. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. You turned away from your teacher too early. You’re vulnerable, and you didn’t listen to your angels, guides, and the good spirits around you. They warned you about him. I do understand why you didn’t hear. You’d lost the one person who centered you.
“Marcie, we all need a teacher when we’re learning how to channel the spirits and talking to the other side. You can’t do it alone. That’s how y
ou end up targeted by darkness. And you were an easy target, swept up in the lies of a predator. He had you right where he wanted. The only way to break his hold was to give you a taste of freedom; and you got it when you hit your head.”
Shame warmed Marcie’s face, and she knew that wasn’t the old woman’s intent. Tears spilled and dripped onto her lap.
“You need to tell Sam everything,” Mama said.
“I can’t.”
“You need to tell him. You need to trust him and have enough faith in him, or there’ll be no change.” Mama said nothing more, leaning back and rocking. She raised her bony hand at the pictures behind her, where Marcie saw the dark teenage boy with dreadlocks. A shiver slid up her spine when she looked at his eyes, eyes that held secrets along with hurt, anger, and greed, appearing to slither down into nothingness. She knew those lost eyes were the same as those plastered on wanted posters, filled with darkness, exposing a dangerous thug, someone not to be trusted.
“That’s Leon, my grandson. That was taken the year Katrina ripped through. He was lost to us then. We saw it. His mama did, too. And my son, well—he did poorly by that boy’s mama. He’s still out there wandering, just another lost, angry black man, trying to find his way. He could see nothing, let alone the gift God gave him. Enough.” She swept her hand out in front of her face.
Marcie saw regret in Mama’s loss with her son and grandson.
“Della, that’s her up there at the top with a lively spark. Leon was five in that picture. He had hope then, until the city got hold of him. And Elise killed him. You afraid to ask what your part is?”
Caught off guard, Marcie jerked her head back to Mama.
“It’s time to pay the piper, girl. Your friends brought the drugs. Leon worked for your guy down here, the same one you were delivering to.”
“Mama, I didn’t know the guy. This is the first time I’ve carried marijuana.”
“Maybe so, but your man’s been grooming you for this. He has plans for you.”
Hot color flamed Marcie’s cheeks. Her mouth dropped open, unable to hammer down the betrayal she felt at that moment. “He’s been grooming me? He told me…” She couldn’t finish. Her voice broke when a horrible ache ripped through her heart.
Danger Deception Devotion The Firsts Page 81
