Volume One: In Moonlight and Memories, #1

by Julie Ann Walker

  “Y’all remember the night we came here after Cash got the stitches in his eyebrow?” My words are garbled around a bite of beefy goodness. “Luc, you ordered two cheeseburgers and two baked potatoes when Cash said he was picking up the tab.”

  “Least I could do after you guys waited with me in the emergency room for three hours,” Cash says around a mouthful.

  “For such a skinny kid”—I nudge Luc—“you sure could put it away. I used to wonder if you had a hollow leg.”

  He chuckles. “Just the metabolism of a growing seventeen-year-old boy. Reckon I was burning five thousand calories a day back then.”

  I turn to Cash. “So, you finally ready to spill?” When he frowns at me, I hitch my chin toward the fine, white scar cutting through his eyebrow. “You showed up at the park that afternoon bleeding like a stuck pig. Fess up. Who’d you get in a fight with that time? Shane Moore? Daren Trapper? They were both sporting black eyes at school the next day. Vee told me she heard they got into a brawl in the locker room, and I always suspected you had something to do with it. Not that I’d blame you. They were such a-holes, always calling Luc names.”

  “I told you,” he says. “A man needs his secrets.”

  “Ugh.” I glare at him. “You’re more annoying than a rock.”

  “I’ve never understood that expression.” He makes a face. “What’s so annoying about rocks? I mean, most of them are more boring than annoying, and—oh, holy demented shit.”

  “What?” I blink.

  “Sally Renee Rutherford.” He points toward the front door, causing Luc to glance over his shoulder.

  I peer around Luc’s back. Sure enough, Sally Renee is standing in the doorway in painted-on jeans and a T-shirt that clings to her medically enhanced boobage. Two women I recognize from Aunt Bea’s social circle stand behind her.

  I don’t exactly know what I’m feeling. All I know is the last bite of cheeseburger I took is sitting at the bottom of my stomach like a two-ton anvil.

  When Sally Renee sees Luc, she squeals. A second later, she’s headed our way.

  “Is it me,” Cash whispers in my ear, “or does she look like the kind of woman you can find by going into the bathroom of any bar in town? I bet her number is scrawled on the walls under the message, ‘For a good time, call…’”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Luc hisses.

  I’m shocked by the venom in his tone.

  “Sorry.” Cash pantomimes zipping his lips as Sally Renee and her entourage arrive.

  “It’s a small world after all,” Sally sings, and I grudgingly admit she has a nice voice. Smoky and sexy, like a lounge singer. “Luc, you remember Jenny and Joyce, don’t you? They were at the ball.”

  “Of course I do. Ladies, always a pleasure.” Luc flashes his dimples at the double Js and both women blink and titter.

  “Sally Renee, Joyce, Jenny, these are my good friends, Cash Armstrong and Maggie May Carter,” Luc introduces us.

  Cash and I say the appropriate things, although neither of us shake their hands, since ours are covered in melted cheese and burger juice.

  “I love your aunts,” Sally Renee gushes to me. “Just yesterday, Miss June came over to help me switch my air conditionin’ to heat. Silas never showed me how. He was always just so good about takin’ care of everything for me.”

  I’m shocked to see her eyes grow bright with tears.

  “I’m your typical blonde,” she continues self-deprecatingly. “Why did the blonde get fired from the M&M factory? ’Cause she kept throwin’ out all the Ws.” She laughs. “How do you confuse a blonde? You don’t. They’re born that way.”

  Despite myself, I’m smiling.

  “I could go on all day,” she says. “Two things I’m good at, manicures and tellin’ dumb-blonde jokes. Sorry, when I’m nervous, I babble.”

  “No call to be nervous,” Luc assures her.

  “Are you kiddin’?” She looks at him disbelievingly. Then she turns to me and Cash. “The way he talks about y’all, I feel like I’m meetin’ the King and Queen of England. Don’t mind me, though, I was raised country and poor. And by country, I mean catchin’ crawdads in the crick and chuckin’ Natty Light cans at cop cars. And by poor, I mean my ramshackle house was eight miles past the holler at the end of a dirt road with a front yard that was decorated by a rustin’ car on blocks, a busted water heater, and a stub-tailed dog who welcomed everyone by tryin’ to strangle himself by lungin’ against his chain. And there I go again, babblin’.” She turns to the women with her. “Y’all can stop me anytime. I mean, what are friends for anyhow?”

  Dang it. I think maybe I like Sally Renee. She seems…sweet. Ditzy, but sweet.

  “You ladies aiming to join us?” Luc motions to the three empty barstools next to him.

  “Oh, no.” Sally shakes her head. “I don’t want to intrude on your day. But you’ll call me later?”

  Luc winks at her. “Looking forward to it.”

  She blushes and bites her lip before waving goodbye to me and Cash. Then the trio heads off to grab a table in the dining room.

  “The sight of her makes me want to tear out my eyes and shove them in my ears so I never have to hear her say another word,” Cash mutters.

  Luc glowers at him. “It’s fine if you wanna bust my apple bag, but you do not get to hate on her.”

  “Please.” Cash snorts. “She married for money and is more plastic than flesh. I’d say that makes her fair game for hate. Plus, she thinks it’s cute to play the idiot. Although, I’m not sure she’s playing. I get the impression if she had one smart thought in her head, it’d perish pretty damn quickly. You know, from sheer loneliness.”

  Luc wipes his hands and throws down his napkin. “What the hell d’ya get outta living up there in your intellectual tower and sneering down on the rest of us, huh?”

  Cash snorts. “I’m just saying I’ve known women like Sally Renee before.”

  “Horseshit,” Luc snaps. “I’ve eaten gumbo that knows more about women like Sally Renee than you do. For your information, she was raised by a drunk father who ran her down every chance he got. All that plastic surgery was her way of trying to build just a smidge of self-esteem. Then Silas Rutherford came along. The old codger was probably aiming to make his golf buddies jealous by having a sweet, young thing on his arm, but Sally doesn’t know that. She thinks Rutherford loved her. He spoiled her and coddled her and made her feel worthy. For the first time in her life, she was shown some human kindness, and she idolizes the bastard even in death. She’s heartbroken over him.”

  “Yeah,” Cash scoffs. “Shtupping a total stranger she bought at an auction seems super heartbroken.”

  “Cash—” I try to defuse the situation, but Luc interrupts me.

  “People deal with grief and pain in different ways. I mean, look at you.”

  Ruh-roh.

  “What about me?” Cash demands.

  “Your grief and pain have turned you into a drunk asshole.”

  “Check!” I holler at the bartender. “Gentlemen”—I lay a hand on each of their arms—“the bell has rung. Please retreat to your corners.”

  They vibrate like live wires, and they both reach for the bill when it arrives. But I slap their hands. “My treat.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re piled into Smurf and headed north on Highway 10 toward Jazzland. For perhaps the first time ever, no music issues from the truck’s speakers, and the tension inside the cab presses against all of us, taking up too much space. I hold my breath and wait for Cash to say something to cut it. But as the miles fly by, it becomes obvious he needs some coaxing.

  I elbow him in the ribs.

  “Ow!” He glares at me. “What was that for?”

  I jerk my head toward Luc, who’s watching the road like he expects a schism to open up in the asphalt at any moment.

  “What?” Cash demands.

  “I think you owe him an apology,” I mutter out of the side of my mouth.

  “He called m
e a drunk asshole!”

  “You are a drunk asshole,” I say, and he blinks, taken aback. I hastily add, “But you’re our drunk asshole.”

  A muscle works in his jaw. Finally, he curses under his breath. “Sorry, Luc. I shouldn’t have said those things about Sally Renee. She seems like a decent enough person.”

  Luc is quiet for too long. Now it’s his turn for an elbow in the ribs.

  “Ow!” he complains. “Those things are as sharp as knives.”

  I give him the stink eye in the rearview mirror.

  He sighs. “I accept your apology, Cash. And you’re right. Sally is a decent person.”

  I can see Cash is chewing on something. I get my elbow ready in case what he says next needs to be cut off midsentence.

  “It’s just… I want nothing but the best for you, man. And I think you could do a whole hell of a lot better than Sally Renee.”

  I put my elbow away. Even though I’m beginning to like Sally Renee, I have to agree with Cash’s assessment.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ______________________________________

  Cash

  To stick your foot in your mouth is human. To ask for forgiveness for sticking your foot in your mouth is divine.

  “I really am sorry. Should’ve kept my thoughts to myself at Port of Call,” I say to Luc as Maggie scrambles up the chain-link fence surrounding the one-hundred-fifty-acre site of the former Six Flags amusement park originally known as Jazzland.

  Luc zips his jacket. The November sun shines down on us, warming our heads. But a brisk wind blows, making it feel colder than it is.

  “Forget about it.” He never takes his eyes off Maggie as she throws a leg over the top crossbeam and starts clambering down the opposite side.

  “So…we cool?”

  Now he flicks me a glance. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Yeah.” I grin and nudge him. “We’re cool.”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “So you keep reminding me. After you.” I motion to the fence now that Maggie has touched down on the far side.

  Luc was always an ace when it came to the cargo net obstacle on the ropes course in Basic, so I’m not surprised when he scales the eight-foot barrier like a spider monkey.

  “Agile for his size, isn’t he?” I wink at Maggie as I grab the chain link and hoist myself up. “Good thing, too, since he needed to be to save my bacon. Twice.”

  “Really?” Her voice drifts up to me as I climb. “Do tell.”

  “It was nothing,” Luc is quick to interject. Always so humble. If it wasn’t so admirable, it’d be disgusting.

  “Bullshit it was nothing,” I counter. “We were way up in the mountains, the Taliban hot on our trail, when I was knocked unconscious after tripping over a rock.” I throw my leg over the metal crossbeam, breathing heavily. Ever since the bombing, my endurance has been shit. “Luc had to toss my heavy ass over his shoulder and scamper over the foothills to escape. It was a close thing.”

  “Good Lord,” she whispers.

  “The other time, he caught me by one arm when the cliff face under my boots gave way.” I hop to the ground and dust off my hands. “The only thing saving me from a fifty-foot drop was his catlike reflexes.”

  Fear. That’s what I saw in Luc’s eyes that day. There I was, dangling like a marionette attached by one string, and I could tell he didn’t think he had the strength to hold me.

  “Let go!” I yelled at him. “Run!”

  On Luc’s orders, the rest of our twelve-man commando unit had already beat feet. The whole side of the mountain was threatening to come down.

  “Grab on to me, you sorry sonofabitch!” Luc snarled, big veins standing out in his neck, his face nearly purple with the effort to hang on. “Climb over me!”

  “Luc—”

  “Climb!”

  He’d die saving me. That much was obvious. And damned if I could let that happen.

  Grabbing the collar of his shirt with my free hand, I began the arduous task of using him as a ladder. Hand over hand, I grabbed fistfuls of his clothes and gear until finally, when too much time had passed, when the low grumbling of another landslide threatened, I found myself lying next to him.

  I barely had a moment to catch my breath before he hauled me up and pushed me in the direction of our retreating unit. We made it to safety just as the earth shifted and the path we’d been on disappeared under falling rubble.

  “Don’t let him having you believe that whole ass-saving business was one-sided,” Luc says, dispelling the memory. “He kept me alive twice as often as I ever kept him alive.”

  “I’d say you probably kept each other alive,” Maggie insists. “I still can’t picture y’all as soldiers. I suppose you’ll forever be unruly teenagers in my eyes.”

  Luc shoots me a look. “You reckon that’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “Hell if I know.” I shrug.

  Maggie laughs. “Come on, boys. Let’s go exploring.”

  Hurricane Katrina’s wrath blew through Jazzland like a banshee. What the winds didn’t destroy, the water did. Since the amusement park was already in the red, the Six Flags corporation decided not to rebuild.

  Now, with the water long receded, the whole place looks like a post-apocalyptic dreamland. Or maybe nightmareland is a better description.

  Empty roller coasters, a dilapidated Ferris wheel, and rotting bumper cars sit frozen and silent. A large pool that, according to the sign, was once home to the Spillway Splashout is filled with…one, two, three, four alligators. Real ones. Live ones. And mud-covered figurines of clowns and Mardi Gras models lay strewn about, their wide smiles made macabre by the desolation and disenchantment that permeates the air of this theme-park-turned-ghost-town.

  “Damn,” I whisper after we’ve gone about a hundred yards, picking our way through weeds and dirt, debris and the remains of the Crescent City’s broken dreams.

  Besides the chill of the wind blowing around me, I’m hit with a sense of forsakenness. The world has abandoned this place, cast it aside as if it never existed.

  “It’s just so…” I search for the right word, but the only thing I can come up with is, “Sad. Why did that guy who came into your bar think you should come here?”

  “For the memories, I think.” Maggie stops in front of a gate that leads to a roller coaster called the Zydeco Scream. “Most of us city kids came here during the summers. The lucky ones had season passes. You probably look around and see nothing but devastation, but I look at it and remember that the summer before the hurricane hit was the first time I was tall enough to ride this thing.” She points to the rusting tracks overhead. They swoop and loop through trees that are threatening to overgrow them. “My dad went on it with me once. And then Vee rode it with me three more times after that. I can still hear Vee screaming and giggling. Still taste the cotton candy. Still smell the popcorn.”

  All I smell is rusting metal, dry grease, and bayou dirt.

  “Violet knows how to giggle?” I lift an eyebrow. “Color me skeptical.”

  “I told you she was different when Momma and Daddy were alive,” Maggie insists. “She looked out for me and let me tag along with her anytime I asked. And then after…” She swallows. “She was so closed off. She hardly spoke a word for a year.”

  When I harrumph, she slaps me on the shoulder.

  “Dammit, woman! First the elbow, now the slapping? Keep it up and I’ll be black and blue before the sun sets.”

  “Just like old times,” she jokes.

  I fake an ornery smile before looking away. I’m not proud of how I handled myself back then. I picked some of the fights because of shame and the need to hide what was happening in my life. But I picked most of the fights because fighting was the only thing I knew, and it was certainly the only thing I was any good at.

  Well, that and loving Maggie.

  I was pretty good at that too.

  “I only came here once as a kid,” Luc muses, hands s
tuffed in the pockets of his jeans. A lone crow is sitting on the tracks overhead, eyeing us coldly and scolding us for intruding on its territory.

  “When Dad was alive, he always said we could find all the fun and excitement we needed in the swamp. But after he was gone, Mom was determined we should come see the place. She musta sewed about a hundred quilts that first year. Sewed until her fingers bled. Sold ’em to the ladies in town in order to save up enough to come here. She wore her green sundress and her best sandals.” He shakes his head. “Like we were going to church or something.”

  Maggie grabs his hand and lays her head on his shoulder. I watch them standing side by side and feel a familiar longing. They’ve always been connected to each other in a way they’ll never be connected to me. They are of this place. They share a culture, experiences, a collective set of memories.

  They both lived through the storm.

  “Need to take a piss,” I say, making my way around the side of a nearby booth. Once upon a time, it sold cheese fries and corn dogs. Now the roof is falling in, and the shelves on the back walls are dangling by corroded nails.

  Out of sight, I take my flask from my back pocket. My headache has ratcheted down to a low hum, thanks to that triple shot I downed at Port of Call. I’d like to keep it that way. But my real reason for coming back here isn’t to take a nip or a piss, it’s to give them privacy.

  Maggie’s right. I don’t see what they see. They look at this place through rose-colored glasses. I look at it through no glasses at all. Or maybe I look at it through mud-covered glasses. Glancing down at the mounds of dirt piled up against the back of the booth, I decide that’s probably a more accurate description.

  Waiting a good amount of time—and after one more pull on the flask—I recap and make my way back to them. Except, they’re not there. When I round the corner of the booth, I see nothing but decay, overgrown vegetation, and that dastardly crow.

  If I thought this place was creepy before, it’s downright disturbing now that I’m alone. I turn to retrace my steps and run smack into Maggie. She’s leaning against the front of the booth.