“That woman thinks she’s psychic,” Buck said.
She shrugged. “I just see things, dear. Call it what you like.”
~~~~
After they left, I went outside to plant the azaleas I’d bought the week before. It was easily a hundred degrees, but I’d started to get used to the heat again. Vergie had always been able to make anything grow; now I hoped to channel a little bit of her—just enough for my azaleas. I was starting small.
I’d made decent progress in my plans to wrap things up in North Carolina and begin a new life in Bayou Sabine. I’d formed a business plan and put my assets in order. I didn’t have many, but I had some savings set aside and my house in North Carolina to sell. But before getting started with the business, I wanted to sell my house first and pay my father what I owed him. I wanted to settle as many debts as I could before flipping another house.
My new business seemed like it could have some potential. There were plenty of houses down here that had good character and needed a makeover. Jack was interested in helping with repairs to share profits, and he’d mentioned the idea to Buck too. Together we could knock out quality projects fast, and with Buck’s knack for using reclaimed wood, vintage fixtures and other salvaged parts of historic buildings, we could make impressive transformations. I already had my eye on a house on Buck’s side of the canal.
I spaced the azaleas out in front of the porch and started to dig. My mother’s letters still gnawed at me. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her. Was she living near here? Had she moved a thousand miles away to start over? Sometimes I pictured her in California, or Maine, or some nondescript place where she could just disappear. I’d trained myself to think of her that way over the years, but at Vergie’s funeral, when I thought I’d seen her, when I’d realized that was a real possibility—I’d thought my chest would collapse. If I asked enough questions around here, I could untangle the truths. Like Jack said, everyone knew everyone’s business. Someone would know about Vergie’s daughter. Someone would know if she’d come back here, and someone could tell me where she’d gone. If I wanted to look hard enough, I could find her. The question was: How badly did I want to find her?
After an hour of digging holes, my shirt was clinging to my skin. I was streaked in dirt, but I’d planted azaleas all along the front of the porch. Bella, splayed on her side like she was melting, watched me from under one by the corner. I was soaking the soil around them one last time when I heard the truck rumble along the driveway. Jack parked under the big oak tree and ambled across the grass in that slow, easy way of his that always made me feel like I was the only thing in his line of sight. He was still wearing his turnouts—the bottoms, anyway. Under the dark red suspenders he wore a tight white T-shirt that was gray with ash.
He stopped at the porch and smiled his crooked smile. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself,” I said. “You always wear that when you’re off duty?”
“Gets me lots of free drinks,” he said, looping his thumbs in the suspenders.
“I’ll bet.”
“I was in a hurry,” he said. “Just got finished with our training session, and the guys were going back to the station to eat. I knew that would take hours, and frankly I couldn’t wait that long to see you.”
I smiled at that, thinking of tackling him in the grass.
“Doing a bit of gardening, are you?”
“Maybe this bunch will survive,” I said. The first shrubs I’d planted had died in a week. Josie had told me they were invincible, but she didn’t know my history with flora. I’d crossed my fingers and hoped for good mojo as I’d poured water over these. I’d even opened up the last gris-gris Duchess had given me and mixed it in with the soil. It couldn’t hurt, I thought.
His eyes drifted over me, as if he were deciding where he would kiss me first.
“That was a long two days,” I said.
“Does that mean you missed me?” He stepped closer, his body a few inches from mine.
I slid my fingers down the length of the suspenders, stopping at his waist.
“Is it bad that I want to tear those pants off you with my teeth?” I asked.
He grinned, sliding his hands beneath my shirt, to the small of my back. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I have a surprise to show you inside.”
“Oh?” He had a devilish glint in his eye.
I backed into the house, inching out of his reach each time he got close. He looked at me quizzically as I dodged his hands.
“You playing hard to get now?” he asked in a throaty voice.
He lunged toward me, and I bolted. He followed me into the living room, and I pointed to the table.
“Surprise!”
“Lovely,” he said, reaching for me again.
I laughed, taking his chin in my hand, turning his face toward the table. “Buck made it. From floorboards he saved from this room.”
“Beautiful.” He turned back to me, tugging at the buttons on my shirt.
“Hey,” I said, gently smacking his hands away. “You’re getting me all dirty.”
“I’ll show you dirty, cher.” He lunged again, and I yelped, running into the bedroom as he bounded behind me. I stumbled into the room, thinking he was right on my heels, but when I turned, he was gone. I paused, listening for the sound of his boots, expecting him to tackle me on the spot.
Instead, I heard the stereo come on in the adjoining room, the volume rising as a sultry brass band pierced the air. There was the wail of a slide trombone, a slow bass line that I could feel in my chest. I heard a thump, then another, and there he was in the doorway, tossing his boots to the floor. He slipped his suspenders down, his eyes burning into mine as he walked toward me.
He took his shirt off, slung it once around his head and tossed it at me. I chuckled as he hooked his thumbs in the suspenders, swaying to the music and smiling his crooked smile.
I didn’t dare move and break the spell.
“I think you missed your calling,” I said.
“No, no, darlin’,” he said in his husky voice, “I don’t do this for just anyone.”
He unfastened his pants, and he slid them to the floor, hopping on one foot and then the other as he struggled to step out of them and still maintain a bit of dignity.
He looked as clumsy as a foal, trying to stay on his feet, but I was completely smitten. He was disarming that way—strong on the outside but not without his adorable moments of awkwardness. I laughed, and he sauntered over to me, stripped down to a pair of boxers with little red crawfish.
“Something funny?” he asked, sliding one finger along my arm.
He slipped his other hand along my ribs, where he knew I was most ticklish, and I squirmed, laughing.
He grinned and swept me onto the bed, kissing my neck, scratching me with his stubbly cheek.
I squirmed underneath him. “Cut it out,” I said, laughing and writhing in his grip. “You know that drives me crazy!”
“Mmm-hmm,” he said, squeezing me tighter. The more I laughed, the more he tickled me, brushing his lips over my ribs, my hips. He’d memorized my most ticklish bits and zeroed in when he was feeling merciless.
“I love that laugh,” he said, his lips moving against my neck. “I want to hear it the rest of my life.”
I liked the sound of that. It was a distinct possibility.
He loosened his grip long enough to pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. With one forearm resting by my head, he slid his free hand along my hip.
I wound my fingers in his hair and said, “How did I get lucky enough to find you?”
He kissed me lightly on the lips, his eyes steady on mine. “Vergie’s one hell of a matchmaker.”
I smiled, thinking she’d managed to look out for me one last time.
“You know, I’m really glad I didn’t kick you out of here on that first day,” I said.
He snorted. “You couldn’t have kicked me out. You were h
ot for me.”
My jaw dropped, and I swatted him with a pillow.
“I thought you were cute too. That wild hair and those beat-up cowboy boots. I dreamed about you for days.”
“Jack Mayronne, are you trying to tell me you thought you had me from the start?”
He grinned. “Not even. I just knew I couldn’t let you go.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t send you packing, mister. With that mouth on you.”
He grinned as he slid his fingers along my cheek. “Yes, I am, cher. Luckier than I ever dreamed.”
He leaned in to kiss me, and I clutched him tight. I was where I was supposed to be, and I was feeling awfully lucky myself.
Acknowledgements
This book couldn’t exist without the encouragement and support of my family, friends and mentors. A special thank you goes to Katie Rose Guest Pryal for being the best reader a gal could ask for; to Allen Gee for pushing me to be a better writer; to Sonja Greentree Rossow for encouraging me to keep going, always.
Thank you to Adria and Vicki at Velvet Morning Press for taking a chance on me. I’m grateful for all of your imagination, support and dedication to making this book the best it can be.
To my family: Thank you for believing in me and telling me to keep doing what I love. Without you, I couldn’t be a writer. To my parents: Thank you for making me think I could be anyone I wanted to be, for telling me I should keep writing, and for teaching me to see all the love stories in the world. To my grandmother and my great aunt Et: Thank you for raising me on good stories from the get go. To Andrew: Thank you for reminding me that a good love story is nothing without laughter.
About the Author
Lauren Faulkenberry divides her time between writing, teaching, and crafting artist books. She’s worked as an archaeologist, English teacher and National Park Service ranger. She earned her MFA in creative writing from Georgia College & State University, where she attended on fellowship. She lives in Whittier, North Carolina, where she is at work on her next novel.
Lauren hopes you enjoyed the book! If you did, she’d appreciate it if you left a review at Amazon. Your words may help convince other readers to embark on this voyage to the bayous of Louisiana with Enza—and Lauren would be most grateful.
Want more? Get Beneath Our Skin for free! Simply join Lauren’s mailing list: http://bit.ly/lauren-news.
If you enjoyed this trip to the Bayou, you’ll love the other books in the Bayou Sabine series:
Back to Bayou Sabine, a novella about Enza’s first trip back to the bayou as an adult, and all the trouble that unfolds from just that one visit.
Bayou, Whispers from the Past, a novel that picks up where Bayou My Love leaves off and explores Enza’s family history—and secrets—in the bayou.
For news about Lauren and her books, check out LaurenFaulkenberry.com. And you can always drop Lauren a line at [email protected].
Read on for a sneak peek at Bayou, Whispers from the Past…
Beneath Our Skin
Winner of the Family Circle Fiction award,
published in Family Circle March 2008
Lola’s sister Chloe has always been the perfect one. But Chloe has a secret that shows she’s not so perfect after all. And on Chloe’s wedding day, the two sisters may hold their own quiet revolution…
Get it for free! Join Lauren’s new release mailing list and she’ll send you a free ecopy of Beneath Our Skin: http://bit.ly/lauren-news.
Bayou, Whispers from the Past
a novel
Lauren Faulkenberry
Chapter 1
December had brought a treacherous heat wave to my part of Louisiana, but it didn’t stop me from stringing two boxes of Christmas lights across the front porch. Standing on the top rung of the ladder, I reached to the corner of the ceiling and stapled the strand to the wood. It had been almost five months since I’d moved all of my belongings here, but I still couldn’t break the habit of calling this house Vergie’s. She’d left it to me, but this little Victorian would always be my grandmother’s.
Lately, though, I’d begun to think of it as the house my mother grew up in. The kitchen she had breakfast in, the clawfoot tub she used for baths. I was starting to see my mother everywhere in this house, even though I could barely remember her face.
Her presence was everywhere. I hadn’t thought about her this much in fifteen years, since she first left my father and me. But returning to Bayou Sabine had begun to bring my fragmented memories of her back together, like shards of a broken vase that were just starting to take shape again.
The more I tried to push thoughts of her away in the daytime, the more they haunted me as I slept. I woke in the night, drawing panicked breaths and clutching the sheets in my fists. My nightmares always startled Jack awake as well, but he just wrapped his big arms around me and pulled me against his chest, sliding his fingers up and down my back. The thrumming of his heart against my cheek soothed me back into sleep—but only for a little while.
Last night was no different. I’d dreamt I was back at Vergie’s funeral, standing in the pouring rain while the church seemed to split open and fill the sky with the sound of hymns being sung. The air around me vibrated with a dirge that started somewhere far off in the distance. In the flashes of lightning I saw a long line of people, walking in pairs, carrying umbrellas the way they did in the funerals in Old Saint Louis Number 1. I couldn’t see the faces of those who marched by me, brushing past, knocking their shoulders against mine. It was as if they didn’t see me standing there, soaked to the bone. The crowd split in two, coming past me on either side, but still I couldn’t identify anyone. The faces were blurred, as if in an out-of-focus photograph.
My heart was banging against my ribs so hard it hurt. My breath caught in my throat as I tried to call out for Kate. She’d taken me to this funeral—she had to be there, she could take me away—but there was only the crowd shoving against me. I toppled in the wet grass, my heels sinking into the lawn, and still I cried out for Kate.
Lightning crashed, close this time, and I scrambled to get to my feet. When I stood, the crowd was gone, and I could barely see in the heavy rain. But a hand rested on my shoulder, and when I spun around I saw her. It was my mother. I was sure of it. She wore huge black sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. Nothing about her face was familiar, but I knew it was her. As I opened my mouth to speak, my heart still pounding in my ears, she shoved me as hard as she could. I staggered backwards, falling from an impossible height, and awoke when I crashed to the earth.
Jack had pulled me closer and slid his fingers through my hair as he whispered in my ear. I loved that this town had brought me to him, but I hated it for dredging up so much of my mother and the parts of her I’d let myself forget.
Some people are better forgotten, but sometimes they hold fast to you with claws and teeth and refuse to let you leave them behind.
~~~~
My hair was sticking to my forehead. I pulled a ponytail holder from the pocket of my jeans and pulled my long hair back. It still frizzed in the humidity, but it was getting more accustomed to the bayou climate.
Jack’s dog, Bella, was parked on the opposite end of the porch, eyeing me from the shade. Her mottled gray coat was dappled with sunlight, her front legs splayed out in front of her. She looked like she was melting into the floorboards.
When Jack’s truck came rumbling down the driveway, she raised one ear ever so slightly and then resumed her log pose.
I stapled more lights into place and climbed down the ladder to move it a few feet over. This was my first Christmas in Bayou Sabine and my first Christmas away from North Carolina. I was determined to make it feel like a proper holiday. My father had stopped decorating for Christmas after my mom left us. I was sixteen, and after that, any decorating was up to me. My mother had loved Christmas, right down to the plastic reindeer on the roof, and my dad had enjoyed it simply because she did. But once she was gone, he clearly d
idn’t want reminders of her and the things she loved.
Unfortunately, that included a lot of the things I loved.
He tossed out the boxes of plastic Santas and elves, and stopped hanging lights around the door. For the first few years he vetoed the holiday altogether, refusing to hang wreaths or put up a tree. I was in college by then, so I decorated my dorm room and got my fix before I came home for a school break.
This year was also my first Christmas with Jack. So I wanted everything to be as close to perfect as it could be. “Perfect” was a tall order, but I hoped for it regardless.
Jack parked behind the house and strode up to the porch, his dark hair standing out in tufts. He was wearing the same jeans and navy blue T-shirt he’d left the house in the day before.
I never tired of watching his slow, easy swagger, the way he fixed his eyes on me like there was nothing else in his field of vision. He moved with more grace than I’d expect from a man so tall and muscular.
“Hey,” I said, stapling the next section of lights into place.
He stopped at the ladder and slid his hand along my calf. “Hey yourself,” he said. “Are you getting in the spirit?”
“I’m trying, but it’s hard when it’s eighty degrees outside.”
I climbed down the ladder, pausing on the bottom rung so I could look him in the eye. As he pulled me close for a kiss, I tangled my fingers in his hair.
When I finally let him go, he said, “I think you might have missed me.”
“You have no idea.”
He lifted me off the ladder and set me down in front of him, leaving his hands cinched around my hips. “Can’t believe you’re not sick of me yet,” he said. “That’s the damnedest thing.”
I shrugged. “You keep this place interesting.”
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