Easy Reunion

by Jerald, Tracey

  “What? Buy shoes?” Angel says excitedly.

  I glare at her. “Bite your damn tongue. I need to buy a house. If I walk into a shoe store, I’ll end up screwing my down payment for sure. No, I was thinking about beignets from Cafe du Monde.”

  “Ooh, honey, that’s an even better idea.”

  My stomach rumbles in complete agreement even as my mind protests consuming the sugary delight.

  Maybe I’ll have half.

  After all, I can’t let myself be like that ever again. I just can’t.

  * * *

  Angel and I wander through Jackson Square. Along the way, we laughingly sit for a caricature of the two of us to hang in her daughter’s nursery. I’m gasping for breath when the artist cleverly transforms our likeness into Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck, respectively. Pursing my lips, I try to squeak in a high pitch, “Well, I never!”

  Angel almost knocks over the artist’s easel as she pays him. Tears are falling down her cheeks. “Just don’t start singing the song that never ends,” she warns me.

  Narrowing my eyes at her, I curse. “Great, now that’s stuck in my head.”

  Linking her arm through mine, she says, “Then let’s distract it with some sugar.”

  Thanking the artists, we continue past talented street performers juggling more items than I can hold let alone toss. Musicians render the air with the blues, everything from the sweet and sad to the haunting and seductive. Finally, we make our way around the square and cross the street to the ever busy Cafe Du Monde.

  “Do you want me to wait in line while you get a table?” I suggest, but Angel shakes her head.

  “Nope. I figure you can use the time to tell me why you chained yourself in your room for three days.” The woman waiting in line in front of us turns around, startled. Angel winks. “It’s not what you think.”

  I decide to mess with her. “Maybe it is. You keep telling people you don’t like chaining me up, but we both know that’s a lie.”

  “You know there are bars for that kind of stuff here in the Quarter if you were into that,” Angel snickers.

  The pretty brunette smirks. “I can tell y’all get into the right kind of games for women to play.”

  I tilt my head. “Really? What kind of games are those?”

  “Your shirt. Totally gives your secrets away. I love it.” Her smirk turns to a beautiful smile that lightens her deep blue eyes that, unfortunately, remind me of a pair I stared into in great depth just a couple of days ago. Shaking my head in bemusement, I wonder if all blue eyes from now on will remind me of Rierson’s. Trembling a bit, I smile back.

  “All women should.” I’m wearing a T-shirt that declares I’ll work for shoes and wine over a pair of Bermuda shorts with matching espadrilles.

  “If you like shoes, you should drop by this amazing store on Royal,” the woman mentions casually.

  “See, you can’t get away from temptation anywhere,” Angel teases.

  I shake my head vehemently. “No. Just no. I told her”—I stick my thumb out at my laughing best friend—“I need to buy a home. I seriously debated a beachfront getaway in Rhode Island due to its proximity to a shoe store. I’m not picking my forever home because of another,” I declare triumphantly.

  A weird look flashes across the woman’s face. “Beachfront? Due to shoes?”

  “You’d have to know me to get it. I’m obsessed with them.” And have been since I dropped two shoe sizes with my weight loss.

  “This store causes obsessions,” the woman assures me. Even as the line surges forward, I remain in place, gaping at the petite brunette with dawning horror.

  “Nooo,” I whine pathetically. I glare at Angel accusingly, who’s trying to look innocent. “You! You lured me to move here knowing I’d fall prey to the demons inside of me. I’m trying to behave, damn you.”

  We’ve made our way to the counter. The woman quickly places her order and steps aside, shoulders shaking. Angel and I order two large ice coffees and an order of beignets. “You two are a stitch. But if I don’t get this order to the guy who asked for it, he’ll be ready to kill his coworkers with his bare hands. If you’ll excuse me.” She turns to accept a to-go order handed to her. Before she leaves, a devilish smile crosses her lips. “But seriously, you really should go visit Head Over Heels. Charly owns the place. She could hook you up.” With a laugh at the groan that erupts from my chest, she waves, then begins edging toward the fringes of the crowd.

  After Angel and I get our food and find a table, I take a long drink of my chicory coffee, lightened only with a splash of milk. There’s a smile flirting around my mouth. Now, I have it all: Angel, my future niece to love, a city filled with a hugely creative vibe, and shoes. Who could ask for anything more?

  “Listen, it’s not like you can’t afford to indulge yourself,” Angel protests with a smile.

  Putting my cup back down on the white-topped table, I lean in to take a nibble of the flaky square donut heaped in powdered sugar. “So delicious,” I moan. Which is why I’ll only allow myself half, I think determinedly.

  I’ll never go back to being that beast of a girl, but I can go forward to being more.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I say slowly. “Once I’m a little more settled, maybe it’s time to stop being so…closed off like I was when I lived in Connecticut. I mean, I lived there for years, and I never felt like I got to know anyone who lived there.”

  “True, but maybe that’s because you have family there? Maybe you didn’t have to make an effort?”

  Taking another sip of the delicious coffee, I think about my Mom’s cousin Ava and the coffee shop she and her husband own in Collyer. How many days did I curl up in the back corner booth going unnoticed, writing away while Ava spun around serving the patrons? “Maybe,” I answer, doubtfully. “I think that there’s something I’m missing, someone I could help. I write books about being bullied. But I wandered through life in Connecticut, and I feel like I shouldn’t here. I feel like there’s something I can do—help more.” I’m frustrated. I can’t put into words what I want to say. “Maybe I can do something at Le Cadeau,” I say, naming the center where Angel volunteers. With a whisper, I add, “Maybe someone out there is waiting for someone like me, but I’m too closed off for them to reach out to?”

  Angel jerks back in surprise, spilling heaps of sugar down the front of her purple tee. “Whoa, Kels. What makes you think you’re closed off? You talk with your fans all the time online, right?” At my emphatic nod, she adds on hurriedly, “Not that I don’t think it’s wonderful. I have some ideas we can talk about when you’re ready.”

  “Probably not until after this next book is sent off,” I think aloud.

  “That makes sense. And you have to balance this with that part of your life.”

  “True. But I’m blessed, Angel. With my health, with you, Darin, Lucy.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “I’ve been fortunate enough to have my words read by people who relate to my stories. And, yet, I feel like there’s a barrier between me and the world.”

  “Well,” she hedges, but I pick up on it immediately.

  “Well, what?”

  “I don’t know if that’s you, the author, holding yourself back, sweets, or you, the woman.” Before I can speak, she holds up her hand. “They’re not the same. You were devastated by what happened to you. How much have you allowed yourself to heal?”

  “I thought more and more with each book. But seeing those people again this weekend…” My voice trails off as my fist clenches on the table. “I could have walked in there and held my head up. Instead, I walked away.”

  “Well, as your best friend, I can tell you all the reasons why or let you figure them out.”

  Leaning back, I gesture for her to continue.

  Angel leans back as well. “Part of you decided they weren’t worth it. You looked the worst of them in the face, and you decided letting go was a better decision than holding on to that anger. And you’re not the type
to jump into the fray to confront someone.”

  I swirl my cup. “Is that why you encouraged me to go? To get past all of that.”

  “I’d have been happy if you slapped each one of those assholes across the face for everything they did to make your life a living hell, but no. I just wanted you to see they don’t have the power to hurt you. Did you?” she retorts.

  I laugh, releasing even more tension. “Maybe? I guess time will tell. But I will say it’s yet another reason I love you.”

  “Because I’m the angel on your shoulder telling you to fight?”

  “No, because you’re the angel at my back. Always. But, back to what I was saying, it’s not solely because of the reunion I’m having these thoughts. Even in Collyer, I kept thinking I should do more. I mean, I participated in local events that Ava or her coffee shop sponsored, but I truly believe it’s time I did something more substantial about the issues I’m passionate about. Besides—” I shake my head ruefully. “—it might keep me away from the shoes.”

  “Darlin’, ain’t nothin’ gonna keep you out of that store,” Angel drawls. We both laugh because it’s true.

  “I don’t want to turn into one of them.” I straighten in my chair. Angel does as well—well, as much as her pregnant body will allow. “I want to keep the magic alive inside my books that every day can be a miracle, where castles can be built, and if you close your eyes, Prince Charming will pop up out of thin air.”

  A shadow passes over our table. “I’m glad to hear you think that, Kelsey,” a dark, somber voice says from beside me. Twisting, I gasp when I find myself staring into Rierson Perrault’s bright blue eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper. I can hear Angel’s sharp inhale of breath. After all, it’s not just practically unheard of for a man to call me by my given name. It just never happens.

  The real question is, how did he figure it out?

  “I’ve lived here for quite a while. The real question is, what are you doing here?”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.

  A bleak expression crosses his face before it goes carefully neutral. “Then, you now understand how I felt when I woke up in Savannah, realizing who you were.”

  And just that quickly, I want to throw up the tiny piece of delicious beignet I’d just swallowed. After all, why am I surprised? It’s why I never gave him my real name to begin with.

  I’ll never be able to shed the image I’ve carried around with me. I’ll always be overshadowed by the past, unable to shed the weight of it. I’ll never be free from the heartache I ran from fifteen years ago. I’m about to speak when out of nowhere, the brunette from the line slides up next to Ry. She lays her hand comfortably on his arm. “Hey, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You’re going to be late. Here’s your usual.” She hands him a white paper bag and a paper cup. “Have a good day. I’ll see you at home later.”

  Oh, my God. He’s living with someone, maybe even married. What did I do? Shoving away from the table, I grab my purse. “I’ve…” Wildly, I look around.

  Like always, Angel reads me. “Go. I’ll meet you by the car.”

  I take off without another word, knowing Angel will quickly extract herself, and we’ll soon be on our way. Then, I can be back behind my computer where nothing can penetrate the barrier I put up between my heart and the world.

  Chapter 9

  Rierson

  Judging by the look on Kelsey’s face, she’s misconstrued my words and is berating herself up about what happened in Savannah. Fuck. Taking the coffee and treats from my sister, I lean down and brush my lips against her cheek. “Thanks, darlin’. Now, don’t let Professor Owens scare you in class again.”

  Lisa shudders. “I don’t know what made me decide to do this.”

  Brushing my hand over hair the same shade as my own, I grin. “I do.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass.” Lisa wraps an arm around my waist and gives me a brief hug before disappearing into the crowds.

  I open my mouth to ask Kelsey’s friend where I can find her, but I’m taken aback by her full-on attack. “You’re even more of a piece of shit than she described you over the years. When she got home the other day, I scolded Kelsey for not allowing you to explain what happened all those years ago before she snuck out the other night, for not facing her insecurities. And now I know nothing even comes close to what you did.” As she stands, I see Kelsey’s friend is ripe with pregnancy. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Perrault, I have a ride to catch.”

  Stepping in her way, I block her. “By her not telling me who she was, she never gave me a chance to explain what happened all those years ago. I went to that damn reunion with the sole intent of apologizing,” I snap.

  “And instead, you compounded your atrocity by cheating on your wife?” She makes a tsking sound. “A classy move.”

  “Wife? What the hell are you talking about?”

  She grabs my arm and jiggles the bag of beignets I’m holding. “Spousal equivalent? Girlfriend? Live-in lover? Whatever you call the woman who brought you these. Kelsey would never cheat,” she declares.

  “But she’ll lie by the sin of omission?” I throw back hotly. “And not for nothing, I call the woman who gave me this ‘sister.’”

  “How dare you, you son of a…wait. Did you say sister?” Her head jerks in the direction Kelsey went in.

  “Yes.” The sudden paling beneath her caramel-colored skin hits me like a ton of bricks. I let out a harsh sigh at what Kelsey must have thought. She didn’t recognize Lisa. Crap. “Christ, can one thing go right with Kelsey since that damn day?” And I don’t mean the reunion; I mean our graduation day.

  A brief flash of empathy crosses her face. “That sums it up beautifully.” Turning, she heads off in the same direction Kelsey went in, leaving me standing there holding a bag of almost nauseating-smelling sweets and a full cup of coffee.

  The cup’s overflowing with sweet richness, but I couldn’t swallow it right now if I tried.

  Having lost my appetite, I walk over to the nearest trash can and throw away my breakfast my sister bought me while I took a call from the office before heading to Bayou Enterprises. I keep searching for a glimpse of Kelsey or her friend as I cross Jackson Square, but of course, I can’t be that damn lucky.

  * * *

  Later that night, I’m at my local fitness center, burning off my frustration by swimming lap after lap. I replay my last three encounters with Kelsey in my head. So much misunderstanding with no resolution, I think angrily. My arms rotate over and over, hands cupping and pulling back until I reach the wall, execute a turn, and push off again.

  The burst of adrenaline I feel when my body sluices through the water leaves my mind blank, and at that moment, I’m weightless and free. Kicking to the surface, I begin to wonder what it must have been like for Kelsey to have lost all of that weight, to feel less burdened.

  I’m so proud of her for her accomplishments, but is that what I said today? No. Of course not. I immediately went on the attack, thereby giving her more reason to reinforce her fortress walls. While I glide through the water, I recall the creative-writing assignment I failed that almost got me thrown off the swim team. She was asked by our teacher to work with me. At first, I was resentful a teacher had asked another student to assist me until I was handed a one-page paper. All Professor Wiley said was, “Read this,” before she walked away. And so I did.

  I can’t remember every word of Kelsey’s essay, but I’ve never been able to forget this one line. It made me begin to look at her differently. Her words gave me the window to see her—beneath her skin, inside her heart. I knew the calm facade she used to ignore the bastards was simply a coping mechanism. She refused to show them she was broken. She would never let them see how she used everything inside of her to deal with the trash thrown at her. It’s why her words grabbed me by the throat, the guts, and the heart. And they still do. So much so, I’ve had
them etched on glass where they rest in my study at home.

  “The worst thing that’s happening to you is the best thing that will ever happen to someone else. All you can do is move past it. After all, if life were meant to be easy, I’d have already won the game.”

  My hand slaps the wall a final time. I’m breathing hard when my head breaks the surface. I go to rip off my cap and goggles when I get a glimpse of long legs standing at the edge of the pool next to me. Sinking further beneath the surface, I follow the line of them up, over the hip where the Speedo emblem rests, past the intricate tattoo I touched, tasted, only a few days before. Her body is fit, conditioned, but not so skinny that I’d wonder if I was going to break her in bed.

  Then again, I already know the answer to that: I won’t.

  She swings her arms around in windmills to warm them up. Her dark hair, still loose, doesn’t hide the troubled expression on her face. Unlike the dimly lit hotel room, I can make out her tattoo more clearly. My eyes widen when she turns her back to slip on her own cap and goggles. From this angle, it’s easy to notice that on one side her skin is discolored outside of the tattoo’s delicate lines.

  A scar.

  The urge to pull Kelsey into the water and to demand what happened is overpowering. But I have no right, particularly after my spectacular display of idiocy at Cafe Du Monde. She’d likely wrap the lane line around my head and send me into the deep end to sink.

  What happened to her? Quickly I think through everything I devoured on the internet about Kee Long after I got back to New Orleans. Nothing mentioned an accident of any kind to cause that kind of scarring.

  I stay submerged while she scoots to the edge before letting her legs effortlessly slide out from beneath her into the warm water. Without a look around, she sinks into the deep blue and pushes off.

  Her stroke isn’t that of a competitive swimmer. I stand to my full height to watch her as she makes her way to the deeper waters. But her kick is surprisingly strong.