I thanked them again and then drove to the next town to pick up a new cell phone. My father had probably left an array of messages ranging from curious to wrathful, but I couldn’t blame him too much since this was technically his money I was spending. When I turned the phone on, I expected it to light up with voicemails—weren’t these things saved in a cloud somewhere?—but there was nothing.
No messages.
No checking up on me.
Maybe he was starting to get it.
When I pulled into the drive, I was surprised to see Jack’s truck parked under the oak tree by the house. It was barely noon.
Inside, he was making pasta.
“You’re back early,” I said.
“You, my dear, scared me to death.”
“I have bourbon balls,” I said, holding out the tin.
He looked at me skeptically, then turned back to the pasta. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
I’d really hoped to avoid the Miranda conversation. “Try one,” I said, opening the tin. “These have orange liqueur.”
“You can’t distract me with boozy truffles. I was worried about you.”
“Sorry,” I said, sitting down at the table. “I didn’t want to get into details when I was with Josie and Buck. I didn’t know how much they knew about the Miranda situation.”
“What is the Miranda situation? What’s with these text messages?” He scrolled through them on the phone, and I felt ill.
“It was stupid. I didn’t want to bother you over this.”
“Go on.” His calmness was unnerving.
“That first text came, and I thought it was you being cheeky. So I answered.”
He raised his eyebrows and said, “OK.”
“Then I realized it wasn’t you. So I called the number to find out who it was. And Miranda answered.”
His eyes widened.
“I know it’s silly, but after the phone call I was worried she’d come over here again. So I went to Josie and Buck’s.”
“Jesus, Enza. Why didn’t you call me?”
“You don’t need to babysit me.”
He groaned, running his hands through his hair. “You’re impossible.”
“I got to visit your family. Not a bad day.”
He stood, aggravated, and began to pace.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“Damn right.” He leaned toward the window, gripping the frame.
“I wanted to avoid another scene.”
He shook his head, staring into the yard. “Miranda is my problem,” he said firmly. “She shouldn’t be yours too.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m supposed to be helping you, looking out for you. Not making your life more complicated.”
Complicated had happened the second I walked up and found him in the hammock, but I kept that thought to myself.
“It’s all right,” I said at last. “Let’s forget about the whole thing.”
“It’s not all right!” he said, his voice rising again. “I made a promise.”
He bit his lip like he’d said too much.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “What promise?”
He sat down across from me at the table and reached for his coffee. I’d never seen him so flustered before.
“Jack?”
He rested his elbows on the table and gazed at me. “I should have said something sooner. But it just seemed weird. I thought it would scare you.”
“What’s going on?”
He sighed. “I promised Vergie I’d look out for you, that I’d help you any way I could.”
At first I thought I misheard him.
“I wanted to tell you, Enza. But I knew it would make everything between us seem—contrived.” Beneath the table, his knee brushed against mine. “She knew she was sick.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “She knew you’d come take care of the house—after—and she asked me to stick around and help you however you needed. I promised her I’d look out for you.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You knew I was coming?”
He nodded.
“She knew she was dying?”
He nodded again, his eyes sad.
“Why didn’t she call me? I would have come down here. I could have helped her.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what she wanted. She didn’t want you to be sad or feel burdened. But she knew what this place did for you. She wanted you to have it.”
My eyes stung with tears. She’d been thinking of me all that time, and I’d been so oblivious. My chest ached as I held back sobs that would surely crack my heart in half.
Jack brought my hand to his lips. “She loved you so much. And she knew you loved her the same.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I mean, why would you? You didn’t know me at all.”
He was right, of course. I wouldn’t have believed him.
“And after, I just didn’t know how. I didn’t want you to think I was only here because Vergie asked me.”
What exactly did that mean? I started to ask him, but he spoke up first.
“I loved her too,” he said. “I know I’m not her kin, but she meant the world to me. And even if you’re madder than hell at me, I intend to keep my promise to her. So if you tell me to piss off and just show up with a hammer to finish all these repairs and never say another word to you, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. But I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
My head was pounding but not from anger. Under other circumstances, I probably wouldn’t have believed any of this. But people here were tangled in ways I couldn’t predict, and every time I thought I had them figured out, another loose end led somewhere I couldn’t imagine.
He held my hand in both of his. “Please say something,” he said.
“Why else would you be here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you didn’t want me to think the only reason you’re here is because of Vergie. Why else would you be here?”
“Oh,” he said, shifting in his chair. “I meant our agreement. The repairs.”
I stared at him, hard. Whatever he was hiding, he’d shoved it deep beneath the skin. He released my hand.
“Right,” I said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally I said, “I’m glad you told me.”
“I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us,” he said.
“It doesn’t have to. Though it’s certainly unexpected.”
“Are you OK?” he asked.
I laughed. “I’m not some delicate orchid, Jack. I’ll be fine.”
He smiled at that, seemingly relieved. But he didn’t look convinced.
“What are you going to do about Miranda?” I asked.
“Let me worry about her.”
I nodded, standing up from my chair. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” I said, ruffling his hair.
“I know.”
“How about we tackle this gnarly kitchen floor?” I said, eager to change the subject. “I’ve got a couple of days to make up for.”
With the dog banished outside, we set to work. The giant yellow spot from the spilled paint was far too stubborn to pull up without stripping the floor. I decided instead to paint it in a muted checkerboard pattern of blue and white. If we did it right, it would look farmhouse chic and blend with the rest. It was a technique I’d used only once before, and I’d forgotten the agony of sanding and laying strips of painter’s tape out with a T-square. It took two hours to sand and wash the floor, then another hour to get the tape just right, crossing at precise right angles to avoid any rhombuses or rectangles. Still, it was preferable to stripping and staining.
We’d moved the furniture onto the porch. The refrigerator was in the hallway, but I’d left the stove in its nook.
Jack
and I started in opposite corners of the farthest row, painting toward the hallway so we wouldn’t trap ourselves inside. He painted blue, and I painted white, so every few minutes we leap-frogged over each other to continue down the row. He hummed a little as he painted but was mostly quiet, like something was on his mind. I wanted to ask him more about Vergie and if he ever worked for her the summers I was here, but I didn’t. I was afraid it would embarrass him, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know.
When we were halfway across the floor, he blurted, “So you really thought I was texting you those messages?”
My brush wavered, crossing over into one of his blue squares. “Damn,” I said, wiping the smudge with my finger.
He smirked, his brush stopping as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye.
“Yes,” I said, with an exaggerated sigh.
He tried to hide his widening grin. “Didn’t know you had that in you, cher.”
“I’m just full of surprises.”
He moved to the next square so we were shoulder to shoulder. “Wicked little vixen.”
“You’re distracting me.”
He turned and dragged the brush slowly over the wood. “What are the chances you’d text me like that for real?”
“Help me pull off this miracle, and we’ll renegotiate our terms.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough, cher. But I’m holding you to that one.”
~~~~
When we finally finished, I was starving. The floors wouldn’t be dry for another hour at least, so we wouldn’t be able to cook anything.
“The bad news is we’re stuck with what’s in the fridge,” Jack said. “The worse news is I left the bourbon in the kitchen cabinet, way over there.”
“Looks like we’re having sandwiches,” I said, peering into the fridge. Inside was a loaf of bread, some deli meat and a jar of mustard.
“Or I could take you out to dinner.”
My arms were smeared with paint. My hair was frizzy and full of dust from the sanding. “It would take forever to get cleaned up and semi-girly. What about take-out?”
“Sure, I can get something at Brenda’s.” He pulled out his phone and started to dial. “You think of a way to get to the bourbon while I’m gone.”
“Roger that.”
He walked outside, ordering two specials as he sauntered to his truck.
It was sweet, the way he was so careful with everything we did. As soon as he was gone, I padded over to the cabinet barefoot. This floor was meant to be rustic, after all.
With the bourbon in hand, I slinked back into the hallway, keeping to the squares I thought were most dry. I made it across without pulling up more than a few flecks of paint. After some light sanding, those spots would blend right in.
I poured myself a shot—Jack would just have to catch up—and collapsed on the couch. Everything was aching from crawling around on my knees.
After a short while, my phone rang.
“Hey,” I said. “Forget something?”
“The station just called,” Jack said. “I have to go.”
“What? You’re joking.”
“Afraid not,” he said. “There’s a big fire across the canal. Probably the damned arsonist again.”
“You just got back. Can’t someone else fill in for you?”
He sighed. “We’re shorthanded as it is. It’s all hands on deck until they catch this bastard.” He paused, then said, “I left Brenda’s a few minutes ago. I have dinner, but I’ve got to go straight to the station.”
“It’s OK.”
“I’m sorry, cher. Raincheck?”
“Sure. Just please be—” I stopped myself before I jinxed him. “Break a leg. In a big way.”
He laughed. “Will do. I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 15
I made a sandwich and ate it on the porch while the dog stared at me. Tossing bits of ham to her seemed to buy her affection, at least for the time being.
“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you about the floor. That was unacceptable behavior.”
Her ears flattened.
“That checkerboard pattern turned out all right though.”
I tossed another slice of ham, which she snatched mid-air.
“It wasn’t a terrible turn of events, but you could be more graceful with your suggestions.”
She coughed.
We sat on the porch until the dark rolled over us. Me drinking bourbon and tossing deli slices to a dog, the dog likely plotting how to wreck the next room.
I stood to go inside and felt shooting pains in my back and shoulders. When I reached for the screen door, Bella sat up and stared at me, ears pricked forward.
“Come on,” I said, holding the door open. “I could use some company.”
She darted inside, then followed me as I poured myself another glass of bourbon.
Upstairs, I filled the tub with hot water and put an old blues record on Vergie’s turntable in the bedroom. The dog cocked her head, watching me light a few candles.
“What? No judging.” I slipped out of my jeans, and she sat on the floor, her eyes still fixed on me. The bathroom was one of the only rooms that didn’t need much repair. An old clawfoot tub was surrounded by a mosaic of white and cobalt floor tiles. Pale blue walls provided a respite from the scorching Louisiana summer. And a window sill above the tub held a row of candles.
As steam rose from the water, I tossed my shirt on the sink and stepped into the tub. Bella blinked at me, her expression a mix of curiosity and contempt. I was glad to have her in the house. It seemed less empty that way.
I leaned back in the tub, trying to forget the rotten roof, the painted skull, the figure in the woods. Harder still, I tried to stop thinking about Jack. We’d agreed this could be a casual affair, but it was getting harder every day to keep thinking of him that way. I’d let him get close to me, unlike most men before. I liked having him around, and—also unlike past experiences—I wasn’t already picturing how my life would be when he left.
I got out of the bath to turn the record over, and the dog whined. Music filled the room as I splashed back into the water. The old house was casting its spell on me once again—the smell of magnolia, the echo of the music. Everything reminded me of how free I’d felt all those years ago. For a long time, I’d convinced myself I couldn’t have that again, but now I was beginning to think that I might.
That I should.
I closed my eyes and sank deeper into the water. I thought of the way Jack had kissed me, slid his hands along my skin as if I was this rare creature he didn’t quite know how to handle. One moment, he was gentle, like I might break in his hands, and the next, he was wild with desire. No man had ever made me feel the way he did, and I wondered just how rare that feeling was.
The dog sat up abruptly, her toenails clicking on the tile. She turned to the door and growled. “Relax,” I said, but she only growled deeper, stepping out of the room. I sat up just as the lights blinked out. The record slowed to a stop. The candles flickered in the window, and the dog disappeared down the hall. I sat still, listening for any sound from downstairs. But there was none.
“Damn. I thought they fixed this.” I climbed out of the bath and cinched my robe around me, not even bothering to towel off. Bella whined and came back to the door.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing one of the candles for light. “Let’s go flip the breaker back.” She followed at my heels.
The flame flickered as I padded down the stairs, and the dog raced past me. Outside, the bayou was completely black. With no close neighbors, there was never any ambient light. The darkness stretched for miles, and the swamp always felt closer at night.
I opened the closet under the stairs and held the candle to the breaker box. When I flipped the main breaker, the house remained still and dark.
I cursed and flipped the other breakers two by two. None of them appeared to be tripped, but I tried them anyway. When I got to the bottom row, my skin tingled from my ne
ck to my ankles. My throat tightened at the thought of spending the rest of the night in total darkness, total silence.
I jumped when I heard a thump in the hallway, and I clung to the doorframe. “Jack?” I whispered.
Finally, the dog crept around the corner and looked at me, her head hanging low.
I clutched my robe to my chest. “Dammit, Bella,” I said, walking back into the living room. “You’ve got to quit doing that.”
I’d left my phone upstairs. Who would I call at this hour anyway? Jack was likely still fighting the fire across the canal and might not be back for hours. I trudged back up the stairs, the dog right behind. There was nothing to do but tough it out and call an electrician in the morning.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I heard what sounded like breaking glass, and I froze, my hand on the banister. The dog bounded back down the stairs, barking like the devil was after her. I ducked into the bedroom, my heart banging against my ribs. I held my breath, waiting for another sound, wondering how to get away. The crash had been real—I couldn’t have imagined it. Someone must be outside on the porch, smashing a window, unlocking the door. I tried to hold myself together, thinking of how to escape. I could hide upstairs, then sneak out if someone came up. I could crawl out the window and wait on the roof.
I felt around for a weapon. There was a pencil, a vase, a wrench. The wrench would have to do. I’d have to make it through the yard and down to the highway without being intercepted—and I’d have to make it in the dark. I strained my ears, listening for footsteps, for any other sound besides the pounding of my heart. But there was only silence.
I had to move. Frantic, I found my phone and shoved it in the pocket of my robe.
I blew out the candle and eased into the hall, tightening my grip on the wrench. Still hearing no sound, I paused at the top of the stairs. With blood pounding in my ears, I slipped down the steps on my tiptoes, wincing as the boards creaked. I continued, but stopped when I saw a light flickering in the corner of my eye.
Flames lapped at the curtains in the living room. An eerie orange light was cast over the room, smoke billowing toward the ceiling. I choked back a scream and ran into the kitchen, forgetting about intruders. The crackling of the fire filled my ears, but I dug through the cabinets under the sink, throwing everything onto the floor, searching for a fire extinguisher. I knew there was one in there, but as I dragged my hands along the wall by the refrigerator, along the cabinets, I couldn’t picture where I’d seen it. Everything had been jumbled in the chaos of repairs. I turned the faucet on full blast and grabbed a pot from the stove, filling it with water. The smell of smoke was stronger now, permeating the kitchen. I ran back to the living room and threw the water on the curtains.
Bayou My Love: A Novel Page 17
