by Lynn Shurr
“I guess there’s always pencil and paper.”
“He did exactly that, stayed up writing hard copy to be put on the computer when the ban lifted. No idea what’s going on this time. Dad didn’t say. Look, I have to shower and get moving. It is three hours up and three back, and I’ll be expected to stay for dinner. See you around nine or ten. Will you be okay?”
Tom watched her face change from avid to disgruntled. “Do you think I need a babysitter? I can go for a long run, do some shopping, walk over to Mariah’s Place tonight if I want company. I am a big girl, a very big girl.”
Tom backed off immediately. “All that sounds great. Only promise you won’t walk alone in the Quarter. Call a cab.”
Relenting, Alix nodded. “You want to take some of the pork patties for your dad?”
“He’ll love them, guaranteed.”
****
All things considered, the family meeting at the ranch went very well. Puzzled at first that honorary family members, Knox and Corazon Polk and the Brinsleys, had been included, he soon learned why. A debate ensued about continuing the dragon boat races in the future. He and Dean spoke up, saying they’d never had an accident before, and the fun shouldn’t be stopped because of two jerks who could easily be banned from participating.
“Yeah, his mama and papi are so embarrassed about how Prince acts, they do not come to the barbecue this year,” Corazon said with her arms crossed under her ample chest.
“Yes, I missed them, but I’m glad they were spared witnessing their son’s latest act of arrogance.” Nell shook her head over a child ill-raised and spoiled. Not on her watch. She eyed each and every one of the kids she’d brought up as if searching for weak spots and flaws, then smiled having found none.
Of course, Mom, Corazon, and Nurse Shammy voted against further racing. They were outvoted by the men and children. Democracy at its best.
Stacy took the floor next standing in the center of the circle of elders on the long leather sofa and recliner chairs and the children, even grown ones, sitting on the floor. Dean stood beside her, but let his wife do the talking. “We are also pregnant. When we first got to Germany, I thought the strange food and water made me ill. As it turned out I had morning sickness of Duchess of Cambridge proportions. It’s fading now. Regardless, the baby is due in January and appears to be a girl—whom we will not be naming Princess.”
That drew laughter from the ring of relatives, both the elated and those concerned for her health. Dean spoke up. “We wanted to tell just the family last night after the fireworks but with all the hoopla about Prince and Ilsa and then the boating accident, we decided to wait until today. Sorry you had to make the drive to the ranch twice, Tom.”
“It’s not like we didn’t have to come back, too,” Jude said, but she received a rare poke in the ribs from Annie.
“Stop complaining. It’s a baby, Jude, another Billodeaux girl.”
“Fine. I’m happy about that.”
“You gonna call Mawmaw Nadine now?” Corazon asked.
“Um, no. I’m not up to the battle over what Stacy should be eating or whether we’ll raise the child Catholic yet. We aren’t announcing to the press right now either. So, let’s keep this at the ranch, okay.” Solemn nods all around.
Corazon threw out another question. “Who’s ready for baked potatoes stuffed with pulled pork?” Despite a few groans, especially from the children who would be dining on pig the rest of the week, they all sat at the large dining room table and ate without complaint because that’s what it meant to be a Billodeaux. Despite being wealthy, you ate leftovers, never hired a caterer as long as Mawmaw lived, and carpooled whenever you could.
Tom dropped off the twins in Baton Rouge with Jude still complaining that all this business could have be done by phone or email. Sometimes, he thought she didn’t get how important family should be, and he was the adopted one. As he drove along the side street to the garage, he glanced up at Alix’s bedroom window. No lights shone. Possibly, she was dancing in Vince Barbaro’s arms at Mariah’s right now. Maybe he should go over there and cut in, but no, six hours on the road were enough even for a major birth announcement. He parked and headed for the condo.
As he entered his apartment the sweet whiff of baked goods loaded with butter, sugar, and eggs tickled his pug nose. Alix sat in one of the recliners holding a blond child in footie pajamas half asleep in her arms. In the dim light, he thought he saw his future as the child’s brown eyes opened wider. “Unca.” He held out his toddler arms.
“What’s Beck doing here?”
“Ilsa dropped him off when she found out Stacy and Dean weren’t home yet. She said the nanny is ill, and she doesn’t want her son to catch it. He’s had some milk and a tiny piece of cake for being a good boy, and his bath. I almost had him asleep.”
“Sorry. Hey Beck, you want to sleep in Unca’s bed or with Auntie Alix?” Alix beamed at his bestowal of the honorary title.
“Unca.”
Not the choice Tom would have made, but Beck was only a baby. “Let me tuck you in then. Did I hear we had cake?” He scooped the boy into his arms.
“I made two, a chocolate and a brown sugar bundt. Mom left me plenty of pans.”
“Cut me a slice of each, and I’ll fill you in on the Billodeaux team meeting. Let’s go nighty-night, buddy.”
After Beck settled, Tom returned to the dining area where his dessert waited along with a tall, cold glass of milk. Alix joined him with her own full plate. She hadn’t brightened the lights, simply lit a pair of yellow beeswax candles placed in wooden holders and centered them on the table.
“I own candlesticks?” Tom questioned.
“No, my mother left them and the candles. Beeswax doesn’t drip and make a mess on the table. She read New Orleans has plenty of thunderstorms, and I should be prepared for power outages.”
Tom watched her wide blue eyes glimmering in the candlelight, the best way to appreciate flames. “We have flashlights under the sink, but I like this better.”
“Me, too.”
Wanting to make up for leaving her behind, he told her every detail of the team meeting.
“I’m so happy for Stacy and Dean!” she exclaimed. “More cake?
The wedges she cut had been generous, and he shook his head. “How did your day go?”
“I went for a long run, but passed up shopping. I’m really not a girly-girl and need someone along to tell me what looks good. Instead, I baked cakes, one thing I excel at doing.
“Xo or Uncle Brian would go shopping with you. I’ll give you their numbers. He loves to tell people how to dress, but I warn you, Xochi likes bright colors and low cuts. Besides, you excel at lots of things, and the cakes are delicious. A man would marry you for your cooking alone.”
“You think so?” Her face lit brighter than the flames of the candles.
“I know so. Sorry if you didn’t get to Mariah’s because of being stuck with Beck. During the football season, Dean has him Mondays and Tuesdays and during the off-season on weekends. I think Ilsa is pissed because he and Stacy were gone so long. She likes to party on Friday nights and Saturdays. It’s not like she doesn’t have a nanny for the boy, but even that poor woman gets some days off, so Ilsa dumps him on Stacy whenever she can. Good practice for the new baby coming, I guess, but unfair.”
“I didn’t mind. I’m not the best dancer and don’t drink all that much. Mariah’s is only a place to hang out where I know a few people. Morfar didn’t spoil his grandchildren. We were expected to earn our spending money babysitting and also lifeguarding in my case. He did put all of us through college though.”
“A good man and a great kicker. Anyhow, thanks for taking care of Beck.” Tom leaned in and put his lips softly on hers. She tasted of brown sugar and chocolate, and he wanted to lick the tiny crumbs from the corners of her mouth and delve inside exploring her many tastes more deeply. Alix seemed a little stunned and unprepared. Too soon, no rush, no hurry. Take it slow.
> “Ah, that was for the babysitting. I’d better get to bed. If Beck wakes and finds out I’m gone, he’ll start screaming. I think he gets shifted around so much he doesn’t always know where he is.” Tom shoved his chair back and stood.
“I understand.” Alix dabbed at the cake fragments with the tip of her finger as if only now aware of them, then put that finger in her mouth and sucked it clean. “You know, Tom. You don’t need an excuse to kiss me.”
“Really? That’s good news.” He started to lower his head, but a wail with the volume of a police siren sounded from his bedroom. “Gotta go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Thoughts of Tom’s kiss kept Alix awake that night. How soft and gentle it had been as if she were tiny and precious and easily broken, not some big, sturdy girl whose past sexual encounters had always been athletic romps, enjoyable but soon over. She knew she didn’t read men very well. Her mother warned most of them only wanted sex, and that seemed to be true. Women could want just sex, too. Something her mother never mentioned. She liked intercourse, only not the stuff leading up to it. She didn’t flirt well, and obviously her attempt to tell Tom he had a green light fell flat as he hadn’t attempted to sneak away from Beck and be with her. Maybe he really had been thanking her for babysitting.
In the morning, she woke to the cry of the toddler, soon quieted, but she got up and dressed to see how she could help, maybe by making pancakes for all of them. As she clattered the pan and bowl from the cupboards, Tom appeared with Beck wearing only a sagging, bulging diaper and snuggling sleepy-eyed against his bare chest in the nest of rusty curls. How confidently and lovingly he held the boy. What a great father Tom Billodeaux would make—and between them, they might create a child who looked very much like this one, only in her fantasies, she favored red hair for her offspring. If Tom could read her mind, he’d probably thrust the kid into her arms and run like most men at the mention of children.
“Say, did Ilsa think to leave any clothes and diapers? He probably has some at Dean’s house, but I am clean out of nappies, and he is really, really soggy. So are his jammies and my sheets. Sorry about the partial nudity. I couldn’t see getting baby pee all over a clean T-shirt.” He shifted the child’s squishy bottom as if to cover more of himself.
“I’m sure I’ll see worse in the Sinners locker room. There’s a small bag by the sofa. Do you want me to change him?”
“Hey, I’m the second of twelve kids. A male Billodeaux in my family who can’t handle a diaper change is not considered a man.” Tom moved to retrieve the diaper bag with Beck now clinging to his chest hair like a little pet monkey and his big brown eyes peering over his shoulder at Alix.
She wiggled her fingers at him, but Beck didn’t release his grip to return the greeting. “I thought I could make pancakes.”
“No, as soon as I get both us cleaned up, we’ll go to the coffee shop. They actually make cups of oatmeal with chopped fruit for kids, I guess for anybody, and Stacy approves of that. We can have whatever we want.” Tom pried a few of his nephew’s fingers from their clutch. “That hurts some, buddy. I don’t know how orangutans do it.”
“Orangutans?” Alix questioned.
“Never mind. Let’s get you all nice and dry, Beck, and don’t you dare piss all over me.”
“Piss,” the boy said, savoring a new word. He did wave a bye-bye to Alix as they moved down the hall to Tom’s bedroom.
Alix put away her utensils and not long after, Tom appeared fully dressed and smelling sweetly of baby wipes. Beck wore tiny cargo pants, a bitty Sinners tee, and very small sneakers.
Tom held Beck’s hand as they all moved downward in the elevator after the child pushed the button. Once on the street, he mounted his nephew on his shoulders. “He likes it and can’t get away,” Tom said. Now the monkey clutch applied itself to his curly hair. “I think I need to get it cut before training camp.”
“Oh, I kind of like it long,” Alix said.
“I think I’ll be saving on barbershop visits then.”
They rounded the corner onto Canal Street. Passersby took them for a happy family and offered up benign smiles. Alix returned them as she strode along only realizing Tom and Beck had fallen behind when she reached the door of the shop. Her companions stood in front of the news and tobacco shop staring into the window. Beck poked a finger against the grimy glass and uttered, “Dat.” Exposing his little milk teeth, he looked at Alix and grinned.
“That’s Who Dat, little man,” Tom corrected, but he seemed to have gone a bit white under his freckles. “Let Auntie Alix hold you for a minute.” He deposited the boy into her arms. “Go ahead and order some oatmeal for him.”
Beck stuck out his lower lip. “Cookie!” he demanded.
“After the oatmeal. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Alix held onto Beck while she ordered the hot cereal, two grande coffees, and a large plate of mixed croissants: two almond, two chocolate, two plain. Fortunately, Tom appeared before she had to juggle all that to a table with a toddler in tow. He carried a bundle of magazines still in their strapping tape and a loose issue under his arm. Choosing a table deep within the shop, he set his burden on the floor and placed the last paper face down on top. He moved a wooden highchair in place and deposited his nephew.
Alix placated the boy with a half a chocolate croissant while Tom waited for the hot items to come up. Idly, she turned over the tabloid, and there she stood with Lorena draped over her arm like a dying black swan. The headline proclaimed, Sinners Amazon Saves a Sister.
“Oh, no!” she whispered to herself and glanced at Tom pouring almond milk over the oatmeal and mushing it around in the cup. She skimmed the article. The account sounded remarkably like the description she’d given her sisters when she’d talked to them while the bundt cakes baked yesterday. Okay, she’d been bragging, not about saving Lorena, anyone would have done that, but about being invited to the Billodeaux ranch and meeting all the famous people there. She wasn’t a big talker and never chattered like Tille and Rika, but she’d had something fabulous to share for once and hadn’t stinted on the details from the two roast pigs to the dragon boat collision.
Noting that Lorena Billodeaux had been rendered unconscious by an oar to the head and drifted downstream in her life jacket, the Sinners new female punter, Alix Lindstrom, courageously swam after her and rescued the young woman, towing her to shore. Mighty Alix carried her burden singlehandedly over a mile to a place where first aid could be applied and an ambulance called.
Alix doubted if the distance had been even a quarter mile, but what disturbed her the most was being called an Amazon. She always imagined them to be big, muscular women who hated men. What did Tom think of her now, especially when she’d refused his help in carrying Lorena?
He set down the three containers. “I fixed your coffee with lots of milk the way you like,” he said just before noticing the stricken look that must have covered her face like the chocolate streaks coating Beck as he reached for more croissants. Tom moved the plate out of reach and began shoveling oatmeal into the open maw of his nephew. “Damned vultures. Only two days, and they’ve already got the story. If my dad finds out who took and sold that picture, they will never be invited back to the ranch. I bought all the copies next door and the one in the window so we can at least have breakfast in peace before being recognized. Not that it isn’t a great picture.”
“Damn vullers,” Beck repeated with oatmeal oozing out both sides of his mouth.
Tom scooped up the dribbles and shoved them back between the toddler’s lips. He glanced back at Alix. “No need to be so upset. At least, they painted you as a heroine. Could be far, far worse. You should’ve seen what they did to Dean last year.”
Alix nodded. She had saved the clippings as she did all things Billodeaux. “Oh, Tom, this might be my fault. I-I told my sisters about the barbecue yesterday on the phone. I told them everything, and I wouldn’t put it above Tille not to sell the story. I simply didn’t thin
k before opening my mouth. Now, your family will hate me.” She bent her head over her coffee cup so deeply it might have held consecrated wine. The wings of her pale, blonde hair swept forward hiding her face. Her shoulders shook though she tried to hold them still.
“Boo-boo?” Beck asked.
Tom raised her chin with the fingers not engaged in shoveling oatmeal and caught a few tears that hung there. “Hey, hey, Sinners do not cry, not about garbage like this. First of all, you certainly didn’t take your own picture and send it to anyone. I’d suspect Prince Dobbs of doing that, but that’s only because I don’t like him and he’s a publicity hound. Jude was chewing out him and Vince when this happened. They’re off the hook. My guess is one of my many Billodeaux cousins. You know my dad would, and has, put a bunch of them through college and trade school, but every family tree bears a few rotten apples.
“But they called me an Amazon. I’m not. I mean I know I’m big, but I do like men, to be with men.” She knew she blubbered and couldn’t seem to stop. A few people glanced their way, probably suspecting a public breakup scene, but Tom had chosen their table in the shady depths of the shop well for some privacy.
“Once I tried the other way with a coach I admired, and she knew exactly what to do. It felt good, but not right to me.” Alix ducked her head again, not able to meet his warm, brown eyes. “Only one time, Tom, I swear.”
“That’s how I thought of you when I saw you carrying Lorena, an Amazon, strong and beautiful like Wonder Woman. As for the rest, glad to know it, but your life is your life, Alix. You do what you want with it. I don’t judge. After all, I slept with Ilsa. Major lapse in taste. At least, you admired the woman.” He handed Alix a few paper napkins.
She tried to blow her nose like a lady, but the honk came out louder than intended and made Beck laugh. He buzzed his lips at her and blew oatmeal across the table. She managed a little smile as she cleaned up both her face and the bits of cereal.
