Bitter Root

by Laydin Michaels

  She would use the extremely high rate of runaways as a starting point for a cover. When she approached the families, it would be to hear how losing their child affected them emotionally and economically. She could explore the possibility that the recessed economy was a contributing factor to the runaway issue, and the effect such an event had on the most vulnerable families.

  She headed south on state Highway Fifty-seven. The rural highway was sparsely traveled. Most of the buildings she encountered were metal frame buildings housing oil and gas enterprises. She did pass a couple of restaurants, but none that encouraged her to stop.

  She noticed suddenly that water was now on both sides of the highway. She slowed to a stop. That wasn’t right. Dulac was just before the waters of Lake Quittman and Bayou Dulac converged. She looked at her GPS and realized she had driven right through the small town. She turned her car around and slowly backtracked.

  Apparently, Dulac was really more of a postal code than a town. Her GPS assured her she had reached her destination, but there wasn’t really any way of knowing you were there. She pulled to the side of the highway and reached for her tablet. She punched the address of the Baptiste family into her maps app and the computerized voice directed her to the small house on piers.

  The cedar-sided house was elevated about ten feet off the ground. She pulled into the driveway and parked. She looked up at the house, wondering if she was making a mistake appearing unannounced. She opened her door and started up the wide staircase.

  “That’s far enough, lady. What you want here?”

  Griffith couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. She smiled and called, “Hello. I’m here researching a story. My name is Griffith McNaulty. I’m a freelance journalist.”

  “A reporter, huh? What story are you here about?”

  “I’m writing a story about the high number of runaways in this area. May I come up?”

  “Well, sure, come on.”

  Griffith climbed the remaining steps to a wide wooden deck. She could feel the salt in the air that blew steadily from the Gulf. The woman who had spoken to her was waiting at the door of the house. She appeared to be in her fifties, dressed in a light cotton housecoat and slippers. She had her hair wrapped in curlers and an unlit cigarette hanging from her overly rouged lips.

  “Hi, Mrs.?”

  “I’m Mabel. Mabel Baptiste. Come in out of the sun.”

  Griffith entered the darkened house. She was hit with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and musty furniture. She waited while her eyes adjusted to the light.

  “Mrs. Baptiste, thanks for being willing to talk to me.”

  “It’s Mabel. Here, let’s sit.” She pointed to the scruffy sofa.

  Griffith walked to the hard wooden dining set and pulled out a chair. “Is this okay? I have a bad back, and I have to sit on hard chairs.”

  “Heck, I know just what you mean, dear. Want something to drink?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “So you say you’re writing about runaways? What’s that got to do with me?”

  “I’m exploring how families cope with the long-term effects of losing a child. I understand you have a daughter who ran away in her teens.”

  “Kendrick? Oh Lord, you’re digging up really old news there.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m opening old wounds, but when she ran away, and you reported her missing, what did you feel? How did you manage the anguish of not knowing where she was?”

  “Anguish? Nah, you got that wrong. I wasn’t worried. I mean, sure, she ran away, but I knew where she’d gone. Ran right to the scumbag she’s with now. She wasn’t even gone from home more than three weeks. I turned her in to the cops so they’d scare her into staying home. I knew she’d turn up, just like a bad penny.”

  “I guess I was given the wrong information. I understood she was still missing.”

  “No, no way. She was freeloading here till last March.”

  “Oh, I see. So she wouldn’t really fit into my story.”

  “What? Aw, come on now, I’m sure I can think up something that would be a good story. Lemme just think a minute.”

  “Oh no, really, that’s okay. I need to talk with parents who haven’t recovered their children.”

  “Well, couldn’t you use Kendra as, like, I don’t know…the happy ending, kind of?”

  “I don’t know about that…”

  “Really, I mean, sometimes kids run away and come on back home. I think that’s important to show, you know? Come on, please?”

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to hear your story. So tell me about when Kendra ran away.”

  Mabel’s eyes lit up and she railed about her wayward daughter and the fights they’d had.

  “Really, I mean, what was I supposed to do? Her daddy sure wasn’t interested in helping keep a handle on her. So I grounded her. No way did I think she should be running off to see a twenty-year-old man when she was just coming up to fourteen. That just wasn’t right. Didn’t do me no good, though. She waited till I had to work a double down at the diner, and she packed up and left. I was madder than a nest of hornets when I found her gone. I called up the sheriff right away to hunt her down. She never let me forget that.”

  “I’m sure it must have been a trying time. Did the sheriff locate her or did she just return home?”

  “Ha. That sheriff was just about as useful as a case of ringworm. No, he didn’t help at all. I finally got tired of her running wild and went after her. She came home, but the sour grapes. Ugh. Anyway, that’s all I can say about it.”

  “Well, thank you for your time, Mabel. And thanks for sharing your story with me.”

  “You going to send me a copy of your story when you get it published?”

  “It will probably be in an online journal. I can send you a link.”

  “Well, shoot. That isn’t going to work. I don’t have a computer.” She looked thoughtful. “Are you going to talk to any other folks around here? Some of them has computers and might let me take a peek.”

  “Yes, actually. I was going to talk to the Nerbass family next.”

  Mabel’s entire body stiffened and she squinted suspiciously at Griffith.

  “Nerbass? You mean J.B. Nerbass?”

  “Yes, John Bertram and Eloise. I understand their daughter ran away.”

  The tension amped up in the room. Mabel grabbed Griffith by the elbow and propelled her to the door.

  “I never did talk to you, you hear me, lady? You were never here. I swear on the Bible, I never laid eyes upon you. Now you get on out of here.”

  “What is it? What did I do?”

  “You just get on out of here. And don’t you be talking to no one else, if you know what’s good for you. Just get back in your shiny car and get.”

  Griffith was stunned by the vehemence in Mabel’s voice and puzzled as to what she had said. She complied with the request and drove out of sight before pulling over to assess the situation. Something she had said had turned an attention seeking woman into a closemouthed, hostile person. Who exactly was John Bertram Nerbass, and why did his name inspire fear?

  She considered her next move carefully. Her plan had been to do much the same as she had done with Mabel. Enter the Nerbass address into her maps app and show up at their door. Now she wasn’t sure that was a good idea. She drove up the highway a little farther and found a small diner. She would call them first, get an idea of how she would be received. She could always come back on another day.

  She ordered a shrimp po’boy and an iced tea. Armed with her search engine, she looked for a contact number for the Nerbasses. The number of pages that came up with the J.B. Nerbass search surprised her. She’d expected it to be hard to find anything about the family, but clearly, the name J.B. Nerbass held some clout. She randomly clicked a link. It opened to a picture of Mr. Nerbass with a state senator at a black-tie function. She read the text.

  “Senator Landry shakes hands with businessman J.B. Nerbass at annual gala.
”

  She looked at other articles. John Bertram Nerbass was a self-made millionaire. He owned a multistate sports fishing tour company and a helicopter ferry service that transported workers offshore to oil rigs in the Gulf. It appeared he had amassed his wealth in the past ten years, starting with a small bait shop in Dulac. His JB Dulac Transport now had helipads up and down the Gulf Coast. His fishing charter companies set out from Morgan City, Louisiana, as well as Galveston, Rockport, and South Padre Island in Texas, and Gulfport, Mississippi. He had been fortunate to contract with BP prior to the spill and was responsible for all transport to and from the spill sight. He also had contracts with several other large multinationals.

  Was that what caused the animosity with Mabel? The fact that this man had started in Dulac and had become overwhelmingly successful? It had seemed deeper than simple jealousy; she’d looked terrified. If Adi was his daughter, surely he would’ve exhausted every lead searching for her. That is, if he wanted her found. Men with money were so often dangerous, it was almost cliché. But was that the case now?

  She would have to tread cautiously. He was probably unapproachable without an appointment. Her oil spill cover wouldn’t work with him, but she figured selling the interview as a rags to riches feature piece might. The one thing she couldn’t do was mention Adi in any way. After Mabel’s reaction, she wouldn’t dare bring attention to her. She called the number listed as his headquarters in Morgan City. The person who answered dutifully took her information down. She was unable to speak with him, but was assured that her query would be given to Mr. Nerbass directly.

  Griffith didn’t hold out hope that he would get in touch anytime soon. She paid for her meal and decided to head back to New Iberia. She would mosey down to Morgan City in the morning and see if she could find out anything else about Mr. Nerbass.

  She was unlocking her car when her phone rang. She smiled at the number displayed. Adi.

  “Hi there, tall one.”

  “Hey, yourself. What are you up to?”

  “Just about to get in my car and drive back to the hotel. I’ve been doing research today.”

  “Cool. You want to come by here and spend half an hour with me?”

  “Sure I would. It’ll be a couple of hours before I can get there, though.”

  “A couple of hours? Where are you?”

  Griffith hesitated. She knew Adi would be upset if she knew where she was, so being vague was better than an outright lie.

  “I’m just out and about in the countryside.”

  Adi was quiet, and Griffith worried she could tell she was prevaricating.

  “Okay. I’ll keep working until you get here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Griffith pulled into the parking lot of the Boiling Pot two hours later. Adi was waiting on the porch.

  “Hey,” Adi said.

  “Hey, yourself. So what are we going to do for your thirty-minute break?”

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Okay.”

  Adi held out her hand and Griffith took it. They walked to the back edge of the parking lot where there was a trail beside a small waterway.

  “Is this a creek?” Griffith said.

  “No, this is a coulee.”

  “A what?”

  “A coulee. That’s what we call them anyway. I suppose you’d just call it a ditch anywhere else. It’s for drainage.”

  “Why do you call it a coulee?”

  “Just Cajun for ditch.”

  “Hmm. Okay. Are there any fish in the coulee?”

  “Just crawfish,” Adi said.

  “Well, it’s pretty anyway.”

  “I think so. This is one of my favorite walks. Even though we’re pretty much in the middle of town, it feels like we’re out in the country because of all the trees.”

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  “I missed you today.”

  “I missed you too.”

  “I think we need to get to know more about each other. Let’s play a game,” Adi said.

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s play the question game. I ask you a question, then you ask me one. You have to answer or the other person gets to give you a task.”

  “So, like truth or dare?”

  “Yeah, but not as treacherous.” Adi shrugged, almost embarrassed to suggest it. But she’d realized during the day she hardly knew anything about Griff, and she wanted to know more.

  “Okay. Ask.”

  “Who was your first kiss?”

  “Easy, Eleanor Grimes. I was twelve. My turn. If you only had one day to live, what would you do?”

  “Hmmm. I guess I’d spend it out on the bayou in the canoe. Just being with nature. What’s the most embarrassing thing you ever did?”

  Griffith winced. “I got a story wrong. I defended someone who was guilty, and she ripped my heart out and nearly destroyed my career. All because I didn’t check my facts thoroughly enough.”

  Adi stopped walking abruptly, suddenly understanding Griff’s obsession a little bit more. “Wow, I’m so sorry. That had to be horrible.”

  “It wasn’t a walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

  “That’s awful. You want to tell me about it?”

  Griffith sighed and closed her eyes. “Yeah, I would. Can we sit somewhere?”

  “Over there, by the oak tree, there’s a bench.”

  Adi led Griffith to the bench that encircled the wide oak. They sat side by side, leaning on the tree.

  “It happened two years ago. I was doing an in-depth story on the players in a big fraud scheme at an energy trading corporation. There were a lot of innocent people who lost everything they had saved because of these crooks. I was interviewing Tabitha Moore, the financial planning and analysis manager, and she convinced me she had been completely duped by the chief financial officer. Unfortunately, I let myself become infatuated with her and missed the red flags that would’ve given me the truth. She was a liar.

  “She wouldn’t tell me much about her past. I went to her hometown and talked to people who knew her, or tried to, anyway. Every door was closed, though. No one wanted to talk about her. I just blew it off as jealousy and accepted what she was telling me. In the end, she was indicted, and she would’ve gone to jail, but she fled the country. She had me completely fooled.”

  “That’s horrible.” Adi’s stomach turned at the thought of Griff being infatuated with anyone else. Don’t be stupid. She’s got history. So what?

  “The worst part was that other journalists had no trouble seeing her for who she was. They were able to get the background story because they hadn’t written pieces defending her. I was scooped and betrayed. Not to mention heartbroken. I’m still working on regaining my credibility.”

  Adi processed what she said and asked, “What were you researching today?”

  “I drove down to Houma and looked at old records.”

  “What records? What were you looking for?” Adi felt like she was going to be sick. She knew the answer, but needed to hear it anyway.

  “You. I was looking for you. I have to know your truth, Adi. I don’t have a choice. I can’t print an unsubstantiated story again. That could mean I don’t work anymore.”

  “But I’m not her. It’s not at all the same. I haven’t stolen anyone’s money. I’m no liar.”

  “It’s about my journalistic integrity, Adi. Telling the whole truth.”

  “You can’t tell my whole truth, Griffith. You can’t. You said you wouldn’t. People I care about could get hurt. Don’t you get it?” She wanted to scream, to shake Griffith by the shoulders until she could see.

  “How can I get it? You haven’t told me a thing. Only that I can’t know. That’s not okay with me. I can’t ever let that be okay with me again.”

  “You’re mixing up two very different situations. You had a liar, a crook, who convinced you not to look into her past. I’m not a liar or a crook, and I want to tell you my past. I just don’t want you to write about it.
You’re supposed to write about the restaurant, about me as a cook. What’s that got to do with my past?”

  “But where is my integrity in that? Huh, Adi? If I promise you I won’t write about your past, and then your past turns and bites my ass where does that leave me? I can promise that I’ll be careful, and if it doesn’t matter, genuinely, to the story or to the magazine, I won’t say anything about it, but I can’t promise not to check the facts. I just can’t. It’s what I do. It might not matter a lot to the article, but it matters to me.”

  “You’re not being fair. I told you I would tell you. I said I would. But you can’t promise to keep my past secret, even if it means the people I love will be hurt or worse? I can’t trust you. Just get away from me.” Adi jumped up from the bench and turned away from her. I knew better. Trust is for weak people.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Get away from me, Griffith. You have to leave me alone. You lied to me, and I’m not about to put people I care about in danger because of some article in a magazine. Find someone else’s life to blow to hell.”

  *

  The empty feeling grew and threatened to overwhelm her as Adi rushed back the way they had come. What had just happened? Griffith leaned against the tree, its solid mass grounding her, helping to keep her from drifting away. What could she do to repair the situation? She watched the ground blur and realized she was crying, tears obscuring her field of vision. Damn. Why did I get so obstinate? I’ve already decided not to write about her childhood. Why couldn’t I just say that? Because I’m a stubborn oaf. It felt like her soul was being stripped away as she watched Adi leave. She needed to get a grip. Pull it together. She rubbed furiously at her eyes. Damn tears. She went after Adi, but she was fast, and already out of sight.