by B D Grant
“I only want to know how my grandmother is doing. She isn’t doing good.” He leads me out the door. I hate being pitied, but I’ve got to find out how she’s doing, “She’s all I have left.”
He looks me in the eye when I say the last part. “If she’s still here I’ll tell her,” he says closing the door before I can thank him.
In my next class there is a welcomed surprise waiting for me. I walk in the classroom at the stage two building and a dozen strangers’ eyes fall on me. Then, I see Anne. She grins when she sees me. I happily take the empty desk next to hers thankful I to know someone.
“Are you checking up on me?”
“Yeah I had to pull some strings, but I’m in every one of your classes.”
She rolls her eyes, “Whatever.”
I stay seated when the teacher walks in. Anne looks at me anxiously, “You better get out of here.”
“I really am in this class.”
The teacher has Anne and I stand up to introduce us to the class. Anne puts up a nice front, smiling and giving the class a wave. I avoid making eye contact with any of them. I stare at the teacher until she says we can take our seats.
During class I hear girls behind us talking. One girl asks the others if we’re related. I can’t hear what the response is but then I hear, “Well why else would he talk to her?” I steal a glance at Anne but she is vigorously copying what is being written on the board.
When class gets out I ask her how she’s doing. She just shrugs, “It’s school.”
“But how do you like it?”
She gets irritated with my prying, “I fit in better here then at any other school I’ve gone to.” She looks up at me like she has just figured something out, “Are you having a rough go here?”
I grin, “Everyone loves me.” I rub my hand over my chest, “Who could blame them?”
She laughs and playfully pushes my arm, “You are so full of it.”
“I’m serious, I’ve already had to break five girl’s hearts because I wouldn’t date them.”
She’s not buying it, but she plays along, “They must’ve been devastated. Try not to break every heart while you’re here.” Anne stops in front of a classroom, “This is me.”
“Oh. See you later then.”
“Good catching up.” She walks in and a girl chatting with friends motions for Anne to join them.
At lunch I find Boston and Mick. They ask about my uneventful morning.
“Don’t dwell on your classes too much, all you have to do is make decent grades and they will move you to stage three classes,” Boston says.
“It’s not that big of a deal. I have a class with Anne. It’s not like I know any stage threes either.”
“You know us,” Mick says.
“And don’t forget your buddy, Mase,” Boston adds.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to see him again,” I say sarcastically looking around the cafeteria for him.
He’s not at his table with his clique. “You’ll get to see him plenty,” Boston tells me, “You’re on the football team with stage three Dynas.”
Being able to openly pummel a guy that’s all ego, like Mase sounds like fun.
“I really can’t wait then.”
“Did Anne ask about me?” Boston asks, ruining my good mood.
“You aren’t the lady’s man you think you are.”
He smiles at me. “So that’s a yes.”
“No, it’s not. We didn’t talk about you once.”
He goes back to eating, a little deflated.
The next two classes I have are with Mick. The last is back at the stage two building.
By my last class I still haven’t seen Lia any where. When class lets out I find Mick in our room doodling in his notebook.
“Hey I need to see Dr. Baudin. Do you know where his office is?”
Mick looks up from his notebook, “I can help you with physics if you need help.”
“No, it’s about something else.”
“Oh.” He sets his notebook down and stands up. “In that case I’ll walk you.”
In the study center, we get to his office only to find the door locked with the lights out. His office hours listed on the door state that he should be there, but after knocking a couple times another teacher in the office beside his informs us he hasn’t been in since lunch. Next, Mick takes me across campus. He has to stop and ask a student if we’re going to the right house. We get to a small cottage-style house sitting by itself closer to the woods than the activity center.
The window is open next to the front door. The blinds are closed but I can hear someone inside when I walk up. I knock once when the door swings open. I can smell alcohol when the breeze from the door opening reaches me.
“What?” Dr. Baudin barks leaning against the door with one arm bracing the wall, blocking me from seeing inside.
“I was wondering if you talked to Lia Heincliff for me?”
He looks at me a while then drops his arm that was leaning on the wall by the door. He’s holding a gun. I step back, looking at Mick who doesn’t seem at all surprised.
“Not very patient, are we?” He asks while he stretches his arm over the doorframe, doing something with the gun. He withdrawals with nothing in his hand.
“She told me she would keep me updated on my gra—”
He cuts me off, “Calm down.”
I am totally calm besides the fear that he was about to shoot me. I look at Mick again and he isn’t even paying attention to us. He’s looking at a fresh pile of dirt we walked past on the way to the front door.
“I told her at lunch that you were looking for her so the ball’s in her court,” he says before he shuts the door in my face.
“Thanks,” I say to the closed door.
I hear him say on the other side of the door, “Yeah, yeah.”
“He isn’t too friendly after lunch. I should have warned you,” Mick tells me as we walk away.
“You think?” I say sarcastically.
Mick stops at the dirt pile as we leave.
“Do you think he buried something or got something out?” He asks examining the small pile of freshly upturned dirt. He picks his foot up to kick at the dirt.
“Pressure-sensitive explosives!” Dr. Baudin yells through the window.
Mick’s foot freezes right above the dirt. I look at the window. The blinds are closed with no hint of him looking out. Mick slowly returns his foot back beside his other one.
He carefully backs away from the pile saying, “I’m going back to our room.”
I do the same. Mick is quiet on the walk back to our building.
“He was probably planting some flowers,” I say trying to lighten the mood.
“Not him. He has a history of paranoid instability.”
“He seems fine to me,” I lie.
“The only time that man is remotely close to fine is when he’s teaching and that’s even a stretch.”
“Come on, there is no way he would have explosives at a school.”
Mick looks at me funny then says, “He teaches a course on explosives for students going into antiterrorism programs after graduation.”
Oh.
When we get to our room there is a note on my bed with my name written on the front. The writing on the inside looks like chicken scratch. The signature at the bottom is unintelligible except for the L.
Kelly,
I was told you needed to speak with me. I am on my way out. I will be gone a while and will not be able to be reached. Since you were not here when I came by I can only guess as to what you need to talk to me about. I have kept contact with your grandmother’s physician. He informed me that she had another stroke. It was small so no need to worry. I requested her information be sent to a specialist for further analysis. If there are any changes you will be notified.
I ball up the note only to reopen it and read again. She’s going to tell me Gran had another stroke and act like it’s no biggie. Then she’s going to high
-tail it to no telling where for “a while” like that shouldn’t be an issue for me. I ball it back up and throw it as hard as I can at the door. It makes a weak “tonk” hitting the door. Throwing it doesn’t make me feel any better, it just annoys me more that it barely made a sound.
I get off my bed planning to grab the paper and do something else violent with it. Mick is saying something behind me as I get to the door. The anger is boiling over inside me. I forget about the paper when I reach the door the same time the anger hits a boiling point. I pull my arm back and release it with everything I have, punching the door with no regard for my knuckles.
4
T. Welcome to N.O.
I was nine when my parents first took me to New Orleans, the pride, and sometimes the embarrassment, of Louisiana. My dad really didn’t seem to want to go but Mom said the weather for that time of year was too good to miss. She was right.
I was out on summer break but it was cool when we walked down the streets. Dad tagged along while Mom showed me the cemeteries, old buildings, cats with thumbs, and got me a big plate of beignets with chocolate milk. All I can think about is that trip since Mom told me we were going back.
“How do you even know this person we are meeting? What if he’s with the Rogues now?” We just passed the city limits sign for New Orleans.
“His name is Will and he is the only person I know that won’t hurt us, Taylor.”
“You can’t be sure. You said you haven’t spoken to him since you left. What if he’s behind all this?”
“I know he’s trustworthy,” she pauses inhaling deeply, “He is my brother.”
What? “Like, your biological brother?”
She nods her head.
“How do I not know that I have an uncle?”
“He stayed when your father and I left Aurora so I couldn’t tell you about him without you eventually asking questions. When we left he wasn’t convinced that things were beyond fixing.”
“People were being murdered. How could that be sugar coated to seem not that bad?”
“He knew what was going on but he just refused to leave. It’s his home.”
“It was just as much your home.”
“Yes, but not like it was for Will. He knew a much worse time before we were brought to Aurora. I was a lot younger than you when Will and I moved to Aurora so I didn’t really remember too much of life prior to Aurora. Don’t get me wrong it was intimidating for me to leave even with what was going on but I had little choice. Your father and I had just gotten pregnant with you and we had to keep you safe. My brother refused to leave. I was mad for a long time because of his choice. But if he wouldn’t have stayed we would have no one to go to for help in Aurora so now, I’m thankful.”
“You were talking to a woman on the phone though. How do you know it’s actually him coming to meet us?”
“Her name’s Cassidy. She’s his best friend, always has been. When I couldn’t get ahold of Will she was the next one to call. I told her to give him the message to meet at our favorite childhood spot by noon. It is one of the few memories I have from my childhood before moving to Aurora. Will and I never talked about our favorite place when we moved so no one else should know about it. ”
“What if he doesn’t show? What if he has forgotten since it’s been so long?”
“We’ll figure it out when it happens. Enough with the what-if game. I’m worrying enough for the both of us.”
Come to find out my mom and uncle’s favorite spot as kids was a graveyard. How morbid is that? She talked about how they would play hide and go seek, hunt for the oldest graves, and the strangest names.
I’m daydreaming about my mom as a kid running around headstones while people are trying to mourn when she pulls into a small parking lot. The parking lot is squeezed between two old, tall buildings. A guy gives her a ticket to put in the windshield after she pays.
“I thought we were going to the graveyard.”
We pull into the very last parking spot.
“We are not going to the graveyard. I am. You will be a safe distance away in case something happens.”
“So I get to watch your back… like a sniper?” I turn in the seat and look at the guns in the floorboard. When I turn back to her she’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“The graveyard has one way out. In case these people are still on to us I would feel better if you were somewhere you could run for it. Come on,” she says getting out of the Jeep.
I look back at the guns longingly; I pull the floorboard panel in place, and throw my jacket over it. It’s warm enough I won’t need it. I get out and jog to catch up with my mom. “So what do I do if something does happen to you? I could help if I was with you.”
“I don’t think anything will happen but if it does then I will take care of it. You’re all I have left, Taylor I need to know you’re safe.” Her voice is getting heavy again like she is about to cry.
“Yes, ma’am.” The street we’re on has a faint smell of urine. I cover my nose. “Did this place always stink?” I ask once we’ve walked a few blocks.
She takes a deep breath like she is smelling a flower or something, “It comes and goes with the tourist seasons.”
“And the homeless.” I say to myself as we walk past three homeless men panhandling. One has a cardboard sign asking for beer money. His money cup has the most in it.
We turn the corner onto a new street and I can see a part of the cemetery down the road about half a mile. We walk a little closer when Mom takes me by the elbow and leads me into one of the shops that has, “Spa New Orleans” written above it.
The first thing I see walking in are two empty leather chairs against the wall that look rather comfy. A mix of lavender and jasmine wafts gently into my nose. The scent goes well with the low lighting and warm colors. Across from us there is a high desk. I can just make out the top of a girls head sitting behind it with dark brown and blue dreads pulled back in a ponytail.
“Welcome to Spa New Orleans,” comes from behind the desk in a clearly male voice, “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, we don’t,” Mom says. We walk up to the desk seeing the very masculine face attached to the dreads.
“Well, how can I help you?”
I want to ask him how he keeps such great color on dreadlocks.
“I need to speak with Clairabelle please.” Mom tells him.
He picks up the phone next to him, “Two ladies are asking for you.” He looks at us and covers his mouth with his hand. “By name,” he whispers in the phone trying to be quiet enough to not be heard. He looks at us, “What’s your names?”
Mom looks at me and points to the empty chairs next to the front door. “Don’t mind if I do.” I take a seat.
I was right about the chairs looking comfy. The chair sucks me in with its soft leather. It isn’t cold to the touch either making it even more welcoming. I could take a nap if I wasn’t worried about everyone I love including myself.
“McBride,” she tells him and takes a seat next to me.
“McBride?”
“It’s my maiden name, sweetheart.”
I shake my head to shake away the frustration. I know her maiden name and it’s not McBride. She called Jake’s family the Angelos earlier when she was talking to Mr. Thomas too. I bet she thinks I didn’t catch that either. Does she think I’m an idiot and won’t drill her for answers? I stare at her waiting for her to explain something. She ignores me by looking out the window at the people outside. Oh just wait, I say in my head. As soon as we’re alone again I’m getting some real answers out of her.
Changing one’s name must be the first thing written in the ‘How to Disappear’ handbook. I’ve seen my birth certificate and I know that it clearly said “Williams” next to mother’s maiden name. I keep looking at her. What else do I not know? Her face looks relaxed like there is nothing wrong in the world. I sit back in my chair and notice the guy behind the desk is watching us suspiciously.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” my mom says whipping tears from her eyes. Clairabelle holds Mom out in front of her and looks over her face, “I am glad you were wrong. You have grown into such a beautiful woman. What brings you back?”
My mom looks at the guy behind the desk, “Could we have a minute?”
He looks at Clairabelle. “Mom?” he asks her.
“It’s fine. You’d get bored listening to us catch up anyway.”
He stands up taking a pack of cigarettes out from the top desk drawer, “It’s time for my smoke break anyway.” He walks out the front door flipping the open sign to ‘closed’.
“Was that Miles?” Mom asks Clairabelle.
“That’s him all grown up. He decided to go back to college a year ago.”
“Good for him,” Mom says.
“Yes, it was long over due. He is in a jazz band that plays at the after hours bar on the corner once a week. I’ve been praying for that boy to move out for years. Until he does he helps out here, as you can see, on weekends and between semesters at Xavier. It cuts down on the perverts calling about massages when a man answers the phone.” Clairabelle says looking over and winking at me. “Speaking of prayers,” she says looking at me, “it looks like you have a little blessing of your own.”
I get up from the chair and walk over, “I’m Taylor.”
I shake her hand. She pulls me into a hug just like she gave Mom. She smells like fresh flowers. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she tells me while I awkwardly pat her back. She lets me go and turns to Mom, “So tell me what brought you back? I haven’t heard from you in almost two decades. William told me you were dead.”