Sweet Talking Man

by Liz Talley

  “So what really happened to Simeon? I heard that—”

  “Your mother killed him?”

  “Pretty much,” he said with a shrug, trying to distance his emotions from the facts. This was why he’d come to Magnolia Bend. He needed to know what happened when his mother lived here, needed to know who his father was. The key to his future lay in his mother’s past.

  “Are you here to clear your mother’s name? And if so, what took you so long?”

  “I didn’t know anything about her life in Louisiana until she passed away several months ago.”

  “I’m sorry. She passed at a young age.”

  “Cancer.”

  “Mmm.” Hilda’s expression was somber and respectful. “And your father?”

  He stayed quiet for a few minutes. Hilda watched him.

  Finally he bit the bullet. “That’s the thing. I don’t know my past and that keeps me from my future. Not knowing my father didn’t really bother me before. As a child, if I thought at all about him, it was in the context of some fairy godfather who might swoop in and save me from being normal. Beyond that, what did I care? As I grew into a man, I put away thoughts of who my father was or what had happened between him and my mother.”

  Hilda stopped. “So now we reach your real reason for being in Magnolia Bend. It’s not about a job or even clearing your mother’s name.”

  “I guess.”

  “You seem embarrassed. Why? Everyone wants to know who they are. Everyone needs to belong to someone.”

  Leif stiffened. “No. I don’t need a relationship with him. I just want to know who he is. Calliope admitted he didn’t know about me and she wanted me to right that wrong. To fix it for her.”

  “That’s a little selfish of her.”

  “How?”

  “She left the dirty work to you…and obviously gave you no idea of where to start. Why didn’t she reveal his name?”

  “She was dying. It wasn’t a good death.”

  Hilda started walking again, her gaze fastened on the houses they approached. “Well, if you can forgive her, I certainly have no business criticizing. I’ll do what I can to help you discover the truth.”

  “I don’t want people knowing, especially since most think my mother’s a murderer.”

  Hilda shook her head. “I never thought Calli could do something so heinous. Some people were willing to believe because money was involved.”

  “My mother didn’t care about money.”

  Hilda sighed. “Yes, but people are foolish. They like to believe the worst, and money always seems to be motive. Besides, half the women in town disliked your mother solely because she was beautiful. They didn’t like their farmers’ attention on another woman. Rumors ran rampant that spring and summer. Some implied your mother was more than a free spirit, more like a free woman.”

  “So she was painted a whore before she was painted a murderer?”

  “Only by some small-minded people. Calli didn’t like conventions and some people are scared of letting go of their godforsaken morals about what is right and wrong. For them, it was easier to cast your mother as some loose woman who sculpted naked people and nosed around after Harvey money.”

  They walked a little farther, nearing the two-story Victorian Hilda called home. “I’ll try to remember who Calli ran around with. I’m sure Simeon kept some kind of record of the artists who were there. A few local boys chased her a bit, but I can’t remember who tickled her fancy. I’ll look through my old albums. I have pictures from the festival that year since I was the historian for the Laurel Woods Art Foundation. Maybe something will ring a bell. You can also talk to Carla Stanton. She now lives south of Baton Rouge but she worked for Simeon back then.”

  “Thank you. I figured I would talk to Mr. Desadier and see if he remembers my mother…or anything from the night Simeon died.”

  “Good plan. The person who would have the most knowledge is Bartholomew. He was there that night, but be careful. Bart gained a lot the night his great-uncle died and he might not be willing to tell the whole truth. Know what I mean?”

  Leif jerked his head around. “Do you think he’s covering up something?”

  “I’m not saying that. Just reminding you this is a small town and the Harvey family is still influential in this state. What Bart said, no matter that he was likely half-drunk with strong motivation to run your mama out of town, carried weight then…and still does now.”

  “I’m not afraid of the truth, Hilda. I’m willing to bet my next paycheck that my mother had nothing to do with Simeon’s death. She might have been there that night, but being responsible? No.” He climbed the front steps.

  Hilda pulled her keys from her pocket and inserted one in the lock. “Just a friendly reminder because you’re an outsider and, though Magnolia Bend is filled with hospitable people, they can close ranks pretty fast. Doesn’t mean there’s not a place for the truth, but you might not get much help.”

  He nodded. “I’d appreciate your discretion in regard to my father.”

  Hilda smiled. “Oh, honey, I’m the soul of discretion, and I won’t tell anyone about any potential button-popping because, Lord Almighty, that woman needs a good screwing.”

  “I never said I would,” Leif said, entering the overly warm house, inhaling the cinnamon smell wafting from the kitchen.

  “But I’d bet my next paycheck you will.”

  “Do you get a paycheck?” he asked.

  “No, but if I did, I’d bet it,” Hilda said, sweeping a hand toward the dining room shining with crystal and silver. “Let’s eat, darling. I’m starved.”

  *

  ABIGAIL WASHED THE DISHES, handing them over to Shelby to dry. Sunday dinner at her parents’ house had been almost comforting in its normalness. Abigail, her brothers and their families gathered after church every Sunday to dine on Cajun ham, gumbo, rump roast or some other equally delicious fare while catching up with each other. Another Beauchamp tradition.

  “So are you excited about the art festival in March? John told me you’re on the committee,” Shelby said as she brushed by Abigail to set the dried platter on the counter. They’d drawn cleanup duty after playing Rock, Paper, Scissors with Abigail’s brothers, but she didn’t mind. Standing at the sink of her childhood home always made her feel normal.

  “It’ll be good for Magnolia Bend.”

  Shelby chuckled. “You sound like you work for the tourism department. This family is so funny that way.”

  “Well, it’s our town, you know. Magnolia Bend is important to us from the rusted old jungle gym at Meyer Park to the almost dried-up Hunter Mill Pond. This art festival will bring in tourists and help local businesses. So I’m all over helping the town and myself.”

  “I wasn’t being critical, just teasing. John gave me the old soft-shoe sell on staying here every time I spun around. I actually like how much this family loves their community.”

  Abigail sighed and shut off the hot water, handing over the last serving bowl. Outside she could see her brothers helping their father move a huge barbecue he was planning to clean up and use to smoke chickens during the festival in order to raise money for the church’s youth program. “I’m sorry. Just prickly today.”

  “Because of Cal? Or Leif?”

  “What?”

  Shelby started putting away dishes. “Well, Jake told John that your ex-husband’s been going around acting like you never got divorced.”

  Abigail frowned. “I can see you’re going to fit right in with this family.”

  “What?”

  “Nosy people.”

  Shelby immediately looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t gossiping. You’re almost my sister-in-law and I care about you.”

  Now Abigail felt like crap. That’s how Shelby made people feel—as if they should apologize. She was too damn nice. “It’s okay. I guess I never stopped being prickly about Cal.”

  “His leaving was hard.” It was a statement, not a question.

&nbs
p; Every time Abigail thought about the day Cal left, her stomach cramped. She knew—hell, everyone knew—that the reason she was so careful with herself was because she’d essentially made a complete and utter ass of herself that night.

  People didn’t forget a woman begging a man to stay…and then passing out in the driveway.

  Five years ago Cal had chosen the annual Fourth of July family-and-friends picnic for his big getaway. Abigail had pleaded to host the festivity at Laurel Woods instead of having it at her parents’ house. She and Cal had worked so hard getting the grand old house ready to open as a bed-and-breakfast. Fresh paint, new doors and windows and all the trim complete on the new house had Abigail itching to show the place off several months before they were to open for guests. The day had been perfect—low humidity, plenty of good Louisiana food, old-fashioned games on the lawn and, outside of Speedy Wilson losing his best hound dog somewhere in the fields, incident free.

  Until Morgan arrived.

  Cal had been going to Houma to play some sets at a local club. Abigail had chalked it up to something he needed to do to blow off steam and make the extra money they needed for the new cabinet hardware. So she hadn’t said boo about his disappearing a few times a week to do something he loved. But as soon as Morgan arrived, walking down the long driveway carrying a suitcase and with her guitar slung over her back, Abigail had gotten a weird feeling. She’d rushed out to greet the singer even though she’d met her only twice. Cal had introduced her to all their friends, telling them they’d been playing together for the past two months. Abigail had had no clue Morgan had been playing gigs with Cal.

  Just before dark, Abigail headed to the detached garage to grab some bricks to anchor the cylinders Jake had brought for launching the fireworks being set up in the field. And that’s when she’d seen Morgan loading her suitcase into Cal’s convertible—the one he’d bought only months before. He’d come around the corner carrying the red Samsonite luggage—the same set they’d taken on their cruise a few years ago—walking quickly, smiling at Morgan.

  When Cal spied Abigail, he froze, his smile turning into an expression of panic. “Abi.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Cal looked at Morgan, who dropped her gaze and studied the cute sandals Abigail had complimented her on earlier.

  “Well, I left a note, but you might as well know,” Cal said, walking to the car and placing his suitcase next to Morgan’s.

  “Know what?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  Her brain couldn’t seem to process. “Leaving? To go where? Everyone’s waiting on the fireworks to start.”

  “No, I’m leaving for good.”

  Abigail struggled to make sense of the words coming out of her husband’s mouth.

  “Morgan’s coming with me. We’re going to California. There’s a guy out there who thinks he can get us on a label. Until then we’re going to play some shows and get some exposure.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’m sorry, Abi. This—” he turned to the house and spread out his hands “—isn’t what I want anymore. Maybe I never wanted it.”

  “You’re the one who bought this house. I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

  Cal shook his head. “I can’t stay here anymore. I don’t love you and I can’t be who you want me to be.”

  A baseball bat smacked her in the face. Not literally, of course, but it might as well have been. Felt the same. “You’re leaving me? Like right now?”

  “We have to be there by Thursday, so we need to go tonight.” Cal sounded matter-of-fact. Like he was settling a bill or discussing the likelihood the Saints would make it to the Super Bowl.

  “Don’t do this,” Abigail said, dropping the keys to the storage shed and stepping toward Cal. “We’re about to open the bed-and-breakfast. We’re married. We have a child. You can’t do this.”

  “Everything will be fine,” Cal said, his voice soothing, the way he calmed Birdie when she had a nightmare. “You’re strong and Birdie will understand. I have to do this. I have to try.” He nodded at Morgan, who slipped into the car.

  “Try what?”

  “Try to be something more than what I am here. Being with Morgan has helped me realize I gave up on my dreams too early. I have to do this. I have to try.”

  Abigail looked at Morgan’s bowed head. “With her? Wait, you’re with her?”

  He looked away quickly and took a breath. “We fell in love. Real love.”

  “You’ve been sleeping with her? This is insane. Cal, you can’t do this.” Abigail placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t do this. You have a family. I love you.”

  Cal patted her hand and pulled out his car keys. “I’m sorry, Abi. I know you don’t understand. I wanted to get out of here and save you from a big scene. Just go on back with your family. Let’s make it easy on both of us.” He removed her hand from his arm and opened the car door.

  “Cal. Stop. You can’t. This is crazy,” Abigail cried, trying to hold the door. He tugged it from her grasp.

  “Don’t do this. You’re making this hard.” He made it seem like she was the one in the wrong.

  “Making this hard?” she screeched, finally losing it as he cranked the engine. “You’re leaving me in the middle of a party we’re hosting, and you think I’m making this hard? You’ve lost your goddamned mind, Calhoun.”

  “Let’s just go,” Morgan said, her voice rising in a panic.

  Cal put the car in Reverse and gave it gas, not saying another word. His handsome face was set in stone, his dark eyes refusing to make eye contact as he applied the brakes and then put the car into Drive.

  “Cal, don’t do this. Please stop. You can’t leave us,” Abigail said, feeling the tears on her face, her heart shattering in her chest at the realization her husband was walking—no, driving—out on her.

  The car leaped forward, kicking up gravel, and rolled down the side driveway of the house. Abigail jogged behind him, slapping the rear fender. “Stop. Cal, please stop!”

  But he looked straight ahead, moving fast toward the front of the house, toward where everyone they knew and loved milled about eating watermelon, drinking bourbon and lighting sparklers for the kids. Abigail had strung red, white and blue paper lanterns around the perimeter in order to bring some festive light to the celebration. When Cal’s car rounded the house, half the people turned and watched with puzzlement at the sight of Calhoun Orgeron sitting beside the young Morgan, driving away without a backward glance.

  Abigail ignored the guests, focusing singularly on her husband racing out of her life.

  “Cal! Please come back. Don’t do this!” She ran behind him, certain she could change his mind. Make him see what he was doing. Make him understand that she loved him and couldn’t live without him. She had to stop him. For Birdie.

  For herself.

  “Cal!” she screamed as he passed the entrance to the circular drive and picked up speed. “Please don’t leave us. Stop!”

  But he wasn’t stopping.

  Abigail jogged halfway down the drive, watching the taillights bounce toward the highway. Finally bending over with her hands on her knees, she gasped for air…and for her sanity.

  What had just happened?

  It didn’t seem possible that the man who had massaged her shoulders that afternoon after she’d rinsed out all the drink tubs had loaded up his car with his guitar and a barely legal karaoke singer.

  And left her and Birdie.

  Jake reached her first. “What in the hell is going on?”

  Matt screeched to a halt seconds behind his younger brother, not even winded by the run. “Did Cal just drive off with that singer?”

  “He left me,” Abigail said, wrapping her arms around her waist, suddenly chilled despite the heat of the July night. “He’s gone.”

  “That motherfu—”

  But Abigail didn’t hear the rest of Jake’s oath. The ground had come up to meet her, and the last thing she saw be
fore the sweet gift of darkness enveloped her was the sight of two taillights turning west onto the highway.

  Shelby dropped a serving spoon and jarred Abigail from the horror of that night.

  “Sorry,” Shelby said, her ponytail swinging as she shelved the bowls in the built-in china hutch, her rounded belly brushing the ceramic tiled counter. “I know you don’t want to talk about Cal. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “It’s okay. Truly. It happened long ago and I’m mostly over it.” In her mind she still smelled the acrid fireworks, still felt the nausea when she’d opened her eyes to her friends and family looking at her with pity.

  Absolute pity.

  “So if it’s not Cal making you prickly, is it Leif?”

  Abigail turned away, pretending to wipe up soap suds. “Why would my daughter’s art teacher be on my mind?”

  “He’s really cute. And nice. And he asked me about you the other day.”

  “Wait, he asked about me?”

  “He wanted to know if you were seeing anyone. He seemed interested.” Shelby’s eyes danced with excitement. Typical of someone who had just fallen in love. They thought everyone should be as happy as they were.

  “He’s not,” Abigail lied, wishing she had the guts to nod and say, “Damn right he is.”

  “Yeah, he is. And though not many people could see you with someone like him, I think you’d be good together.”

  “That’s crazy. We have nothing in common.”

  “Neither did me and John.”

  “Well, I’m different.”

  “How?” Shelby cocked her head like a little bunny…a little bunny Abigail wanted to punch. She didn’t want to talk about Leif. Or Cal. She’d made up her mind to tell Leif she wasn’t interested. That was a rational move. She couldn’t take watching him walk away from her. She been there, done that, barely recovered from it. Better to keep him where he was—her daughter’s art teacher.

  “I’m not you.”

  “No, duh. But you’re still pretty, young, available. You don’t have to let it get serious. Just have some fun with him. Cal won’t be so presumptive if you’re dating someone else, right?”