He’s a small, dark man with eyebrows that meet at the top of his nose and a shadow of a mustache on his upper lip. He reminds me of a male version of Frida Kahlo, and the look on his face says he couldn’t be more bored if he were staring at a pot of water, waiting for it to boil.
Other than him, we’re blessedly alone. After Abelman assured Luc he’d arranged to get Luc in front of a judge tomorrow morning, he left to stand in the hall while I broke the news about what happened to Cash.
“Dr. Beckett says he’ll release Cash day after tomorrow, barring any setbacks,” I say now.
“Good God Almighty.” Luc pushes a hand through his hair.
I notice the way it makes the muscles in his shoulder bunch. Even in prison orange he still looks good. Skinny, shy Lucien Dubois has turned into the kind of man who wears his sexuality like a pair of well-fitted jeans, there for all the world to see.
Who’d a thunk it?
“Has he been caught?” he asks. “Rick, I mean?”
“Don’t know,” I say tiredly. “I haven’t spoken to the DA since yesterday.”
Yesterday…which will officially go down on record as one of the top five worst days of my life. Although, in truth, today isn’t shaping up to be much better. My stomach’s been in knots so long I’m not sure they’ll ever come undone.
“I’m so sorry you—” He swallows and looks away before snagging my gaze again. “I wish I coulda been there when you found Cash. I know how scared you musta been. If I’d just—”
“Shush,” I stop him. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for.”
He’s always taken too much on himself. Always been the one to shoulder the blame even when it’s not his to bear. It’s one of the things I love best about him.
As soon as I have the thought, I look down at the bloody hangnail on my thumb, resisting the urge to pick at the scab.
Yes, I love him. Yes, I want him. But am I in love with him? And if I am, how is that possible since I’m still in love with Cash?
He reaches across the table to thread his fingers through mine. They’re rough and warm and—
“No touching!” the guard barks.
When Luc pulls away, the heat of his touch lingers.
“Will you come to the bail hearing tomorrow?” he asks with uncertainty in his eyes.
“A swamp full of gators couldn’t keep me from it,” I assure him and feel a bit guilty when his shoulders notch down an inch in relief.
How relieved will he be once I tell him the other night was…not a mistake. I’d never say that. But it was a…miscalculation on my part. I should never have gone to him before I settled my feelings for Cash.
Cash…
After so many years, what is this thing between us?
I’ve always looked to my parents’ abiding love during their separation in college to explain why I haven’t been able to let go of him. I’ve held them up as the perfect example of what true love should be. How it should abide. But maybe that’s caused me to mistake still being in love with Cash with being in love with the idea of still being in love with him.
Is that possible?
“The nightly news ran a story on Sullivan’s death last night.” I watch Luc closely to see how he’ll react to the world—or at least Greater New Orleans—knowing he’s accused of fatally shooting the superintendent of police.
He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Damn. I hadn’t considered that.” Then his face drains of color. “Mom…” he rasps.
“Don’t worry. I called her straightaway and explained what happened.”
His expression is one of surprise that slides into curiosity. “What exactly did you explain?”
“Um…everything?” I admit hesitantly. Then I hastily add, “I’m so sorry, Luc. It wasn’t my place, but she was asking all sorts of questions, and it’s all going to come out now that we’ve given our statements to the police. I didn’t want her to think you—”
“Don’t apologize, Maggie May,” he interrupts. “You did the right thing by telling her.”
“Really?” I ask hopefully.
“Absolutely,” he assures me.
“I’m glad you said that, because I told Jean-Pierre and Eva too. They were waiting on me when I got home from the hospital yesterday evening.” As soon as they heard what was happening with Luc and what had happened with Cash, they immediately closed ranks and formed the friend brigade, complete with a bottle of wine and two large pizzas. “And after I filled them in, I called and told Vee and the aunts too. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, Luc. After ten years, it’s like the dam inside me busted, and the truth just came gushing out.”
“I’m happy you were finally able to talk about it.” His voice is soft. His eyes are softer. “And I’m sorry as all get-out that I didn’t realize you thought you were the one to kill—”
“It wasn’t you’re fault.” I’m quick to cut him off. “We were both young and dumb and scared out of our wits. It’s no wonder we misunderstood each other.”
He neither agrees nor disagrees. Instead, he asks, “How’d everyone take it?”
“Better than I thought they would,” I tell him. “I mean, I was prepared for folks to be upset when they found out I’ve been lying to them for over a decade. But everyone’s outrage over Dean attacking me seemed to outweigh any hurt they felt at my deception. Even Vee cried and told me how sorry she was.”
“Of course no one blames you, Maggie May. You’re an innocent victim in all this.”
“So are you, Luc.”
He studies me darkly.
“You’ll see,” I tell him. “When you’re cleared of all charges, you’ll be able to—”
“When I’m cleared of all charges?” His mouth forms a small smile. “You’ve always been an optimist.”
I think of that tender time at the start of my freshman year of high school and sadly admit, “Not always. But I like to think I’m getting better at it as the years go by.”
His expression is straight-up Luc, so compassionate. It has a deep burn igniting behind my eyes. Noisily, I clear my throat and change the subject. “Your mom is driving down today. She’ll be there with me in court tomorrow.”
He passes a hand over his face. “I wish I could spare her this. I wish I could spare everyone this.”
I go to reach across the table and tug on his ear, then remember the rules and fist my hand in my lap. “Stop it. You didn’t have a choice in the matter. Sullivan didn’t give you a choice. And after you’re out on bond, you can go back to your life and let Abelman prove that.”
“You really think the judge is gonna grant me bail? You heard Abelman. It’s rare for murder suspects.”
“I think with the preponderance of evidence in your favor, the judge will see you’re not a murder suspect.” I paste on a confident smile that feels only a little forced.
“Ah, there it is.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“There what is?”
“That smile. The one that’s like all the lights coming on in the house after a power outage. I see it, and all the tightness in my chest comes undone.” He taps a thumb over his heart. “I can breathe again.”
“Luc—” I try to head him off. I recognize his tone.
He ignores me and adds, “I wish I could kiss you. The thought of kissing you again is the only thing keeping me company in this place.”
Ho-kay, then. I was going to wait until he was out of prison to bring this up, but apparently there’s no dodging the issue.
I open my mouth, but then close it.
“Uh-oh.” His eyes narrow. “You’re about to say something I’m not gonna like, aren’t you?”
“You don’t miss much,” I say.
“Actually, I miss a lot,” he counters. “I miss my dad. I miss my best friend spending his days sober. In here, I miss the soft sounds of the bayou.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He’s patiently waiting for m
e to stop prevaricating and say what I need to say.
Come on, Maggie. Hoist up those big-girl panties.
After a steadying breath, I launch into the tale of opening Cash’s email from the neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins. And then I tell him my theory that the email was behind Cash’s behavior on New Year’s Eve.
“He’s lost hope, Luc. You should see him lying in that hospital bed. There’s a darkness separating him from the rest of us. It’s like I’m looking down at him in the bottom of a pit. I don’t know how we shine a light to show him the way out.”
“He might be giving up on himself,” Luc says, “but we’re not gonna give up on him.”
When he uses that voice, wearing that face, I believe him. I also dare to hope, once again, that he might see things my way.
Gathering my courage around me like a suit of armor, I burst out with, “And since he’s in such a dark place, I don’t think we should tell him about what happened between us on New Year’s Eve.”
His face falls. Or at least I think it does. The expression is there and gone so quickly I’m left wondering if I imagined it.
I’m not imagining how still he’s become, like a statue. Nothing on him moves. Not a flare of a nostril. Not a flicker of an eyelash. If I put my ear to his chest, will I hear his heart beating, or has that stilled too?
His silence is worse than a scream.
“Luc?” I prompt when I can’t stand it anymore. “Say something. Please.”
“What exactly d’ya mean by not telling him, Maggie May?” When he speaks, his tone is flat. Not Luc-like at all. “That you don’t want him to know what happened, or that you don’t want a repeat of what happened? Those are two different things.”
“I know they are. And I…” I lift my hands helplessly before letting them fall back to my lap. “I think we should put things between us on hold until we have a better handle on Cash’s condition. Until he’s in a better place to deal with everything.”
And until I can untangle my twisted-up, knotted-up feelings.
“Of course that’s whatcha think,” Luc says. The weight of his stare presses down on me, making my neck and shoulders ache. It’s like, even though I didn’t say that last part out loud, he heard it anyway.
“But none of that is important right now,” I tell him, hoping to cut through the tension vibrating like a live wire in the air between us. “What’s important is clearing you of any wrongdoing and getting you out of here. After that, we can talk about—”
He cuts me off by pushing to a stand. The bored guard snaps to attention. “I’m ready to go back to my cell,” Luc tells him.
“Wait.” I swivel around. I’d hop up too, but my legs have turned into cooked spaghetti. “Luc, please. I don’t want to hurt you or Cash. Can’t you see that? I’m trying to do the right thing for everyone involved. Please, don’t walk out of here mad at me.”
He looks at me over his shoulder. “You think this is mad? This isn’t mad, Maggie May.”
He’s right. But what I see in his eyes is something just as raw and powerful.
“Come on, Luc,” I plead, feeling like there are splinters behind my eyes. “You’ve got to see that we’re in an impossible situation here, and I—”
“No,” he interrupts me. “Actually, we’re not. We’re in an incredibly easy situation. All you gotta do is stop worrying about hurting us and make a damned decision.”
Chapter Seventy-one
______________________________________
Luc
The one thing you can count on is that life is full of surprises.
To my amazement, the judge granted me bail this morning. After reviewing the evidence, he agreed I wasn’t a flight risk or likely to be a danger to myself or others. However, he also saw fit to keep the potential outrage of the New Orleans Police Department in mind by setting my bond at a hefty half a million dollars. A sum too rich for my blood or for the blood of anyone in my social circle except for Maggie’s aunt. And God knows I’d never ask Beatrix Chatelain to pony up my bail. (Even though she probably wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly that.)
After the judge’s pronouncement, I glanced over my shoulder at Mom and Maggie. They were huddled together on a bench behind me inside the courthouse. I shrugged as if to say, Well, that’s that.
I reckoned I was in for the count until Abelman could prove my innocence and get the charges dropped, or until my trial was scheduled. So you can imagine my shock when a guard came to my cell a handful of hours later and said, “Get up, Dubois. You’ve made bail.”
Now here I am, standing in a drab hall constructed of painted cinder block. A loud buzz is followed by a mighty clang, and the metal door in front of me swings wide. A rush of wind ruffles my hair, sweeping away the scent of industrial-strength cleaners and the sweat of too many men sharing a confined space.
The guard who escorted me here says, “Go on, then, git.”
Not bothering to acknowledge him, I step into the sunshine and let the warmth of the day melt into my bones. A deep breath assures me that freedom smells like damp air, purple oleander, and the sweet olive trees growing beside the road leading into the parking lot.
I spot Mom and Maggie waiting for me. Mom’s Honda is parked next to Maggie’s hybrid SUV, and even though I saw both of them earlier, they’re still a sight for sore eyes.
Mom’s wearing the same dress she had on at my bail hearing, a flowery number with big, bell sleeves and a pleated skirt. But Maggie has changed into a pair of jeans and a thick, ribbed sweater in blush pink. (The color reminds me of the swamp rose mallow that grows beside the bayou house.) The rays of the afternoon sun tangle in her hair, highlighting hints of deep auburn in the otherwise raven-black tumble, and my mind drifts back to her visit yesterday morning. To the words she spoke there at the end…
They were land mines. Each one blew more of my hopes and dreams apart, and it took everything I had to scoop my bloodied heart off the floor and walk away from her before she could see my devastation.
Shuttering my expression now, I meet Mom halfway across the parking lot. Her arms wrap around my waist and squeeze me hard enough to make me see stars. But I don’t care. There’s nothing in this whole wide world as comforting as a mother’s embrace.
“Sorry for putting you through this, Momma.” I breathe in her uniquely mom smell. Herbs and flowers and (ever since she opened the salon) the faint tang of hair dye.
She steps back, shaking her head as she wipes away a stray tear. “Nonsense. From all accounts, you handled yourself in the most honorable way you could. I’m proud of you, Son. I’m so sorry you had to do it and that you’ve been living with this terrible secret about Dean Sullivan for so long. It breaks my heart to think of you suffering.”
A hot feeling prickles behind my eyes. It’s probably fine and dandy for some guys to burst into tears after getting released from prison, but I’m not sure a two-day stint qualifies for waterworks. So I throw an arm around her shoulders and hasten her over to Maggie, taking deep breaths the whole way.
“Luc?” Maggie blinks at me uncertainly.
The way I reckon it, I’ve got two choices. I can give in to my heartache and turn a cold shoulder, play it all emotionless and aloof. Or I can listen to the words of the venerable Otis Redding and try a little tenderness.
Since only one of those lets me pull her into my arms, it’s a no-brainer.
She chokes on a sob and goes up on tiptoe, threading her arms around my neck. I rest my cheek atop her head. Like always, the feel of her (so soft) and the smell of her (both sweet and wild) are enough to have my stomach turning cartwheels.
When she steps back, I force myself to drop my hands from her waist.
“It’s good to see you out of orange.” Her eyes are overly bright.
Glancing down at the jeans and heather-gray sweatshirt one of them must’ve brought for me to change into, I twist my lips. “Oh, I don’t know. I could get used to prison-wear. It’s like going ’round in pajamas and sli
ppers all day.”
“Don’t say it.” Mom waves her hands as if to scrub my words from the air. “Don’t even think it.”
I give her a wink to let her know I’m kidding, then I let my expression turn serious. “Now, which one of you posted my bail?” My eyes fix on Maggie. “Please tell me you didn’t hit up Miss Bea. I hate thinking of her—”
“Maggie put up her own money,” Mom declares. “And forevermore, she’ll be first in my nightly prayers.”
Maggie tries to make light of the situation. “Out of curiosity, where did I rank before today?”
Ignoring the joke, I frown at her. “You had half a million bucks lying ’round?”
“She had to use the bar as collateral.” Mom beams at Maggie. “The building, all the liquor, the whole shebang.”
And now my stomach isn’t cartwheeling. It’s sinking.
She put her livelihood, the thing she bought with her parents’ life insurance money, her most prized possession on the line. For me.
“It was nothing,” she’s quick to assure me. “I mean, it’s not like you’re going to skip out or anything, right?”
“Maggie May…” For a guy who’s supposed to be good with words, I’m at a loss.
“Like I said, it’s nothing.” She changes the subject. “So what do you want to do on your first day of freedom? Take a walk by the river? Stop by Central Grocery for a muffuletta? Go have a Grasshopper at Tujague’s?”
“You make it sound like I’ve been locked up for twenty years instead of two days.”
“It felt like twenty years,” Mom insists. Winding an arm around my waist, she hugs me again. When I complain she’s cutting off my circulation, she squeezes me harder.
“I think number one on the agenda should be a visit to the hospital. How’s Cash?” I’m looking at Maggie, but to my surprise, she’s looking at my mother. “Mom?” I lift an eyebrow.
“I took him some crab cakes while Maggie was making the arrangements for your bail,” she explains, her face clouded with worry. “He seems fine. I mean, he was cutting up and carrying on like always, but…”
Volume Three: In Moonlight and Memories, #3 Page 6
