I was silent for a good while. I looked up at the two ten-by-fourteen sized pictures of David and Michelle in their police uniforms—one picture over each casket. In the middle of the two caskets stood a picture of the two of them on their wedding day. It was a duplicate of the one in the lobby, but this one was larger.
I stared at it for a moment, remembering that day very well. I looked at the people in the background and saw my dad pretending like he was going to cut the wedding cake before David and Michelle could get to it. I smiled at that, remembering my dad’s sense of humor. I saw Lucas, looking handsome as the best man. I scanned the photo, recognizing everyone under the large tent at the outdoor reception. But over by the big oak tree was someone I didn’t recognize. It was hard to tell who it was because he was in the shadows. He was tall, elderly with long white hair, and looked like he was wearing blue jeans and a black hat, which was odd considering how everyone else was dressed in traditional wedding attire. I couldn’t make out his face at all, but his dark eyes appeared very luminous. He was smiling. I looked away from the picture and back toward the caskets.
I wanted to talk to David again, to tell him how sorry I was for being gone so long. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault that I left Acadiana. I opened my mouth to speak, but I knew he wouldn’t hear me. Tears pricked my eyes as I realized it was over. I would never see him again.
I stood up and stepped toward his coffin. I ran my hands along the smooth cherry-stained wood. It was the same color as the headboard of the bed he had when we were growing up. This is his bed now, my mind taunted, and my stomach dropped. I let my hand linger at the lip of the coffin. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand lifted the lid a little. I stopped myself, frozen in place. I had seen many bodies at school, had dissected them. They didn’t faze me. But I knew that seeing my big brother in this state could seriously warp me. Lucas’ story of the unusual circumstances surrounding their deaths kept nudging my mind. I wanted to see my brother one more time. I took a deep breath and lifted the lid wider until David’s body was exposed.
I gasped. He was pale, and I expected that. He wore a nice, dark-colored suit, and I expected that, too. I also expected to see deep scars, and I was right. But I shuddered in horror, trying my hardest to keep from screaming, because his eyes were partially open, and he was grinning, a sinister smile across his face. I closed my eyes tight, shaking. I put my hand to my mouth and opened my eyes again. His eyes weren’t open. He wasn’t grinning. He looked solemn and almost peaceful with his head laid back against his eternal pillow. Just your imagination. But it couldn’t have been that. I would have sworn I’d seen him grinning. I stared down at him, waiting for him to open his eyes again, to—reach out and grab my throat—do something, anything. But his body did nothing. I quickly closed the casket.
“I’m losing my mind,” I groaned softly.
I looked over at Michelle’s coffin. I took a deep breath, got my nerve, and quickly opened it. Her body was in worse condition, but at least she wasn’t looking back at me. The corners of her mouth didn’t even look like they wanted to curve up into a smile. I closed the coffin and kneeled down again. I didn’t cry long, but I cried hard. It hurt so much to lose them, especially David. I cried for Lyla, too. And I cried because I thought I was going insane.
I stood up and turned to leave. As I did, I was startled to see a man in the shadows in the back of the small room. “Oh!” I said. I took a step forward, passing through a colorful beam of light coming though the stained glass, which briefly blinded me. “I didn’t know …”
When I stepped out of the light and could once again see clearly, the man was gone. The chill in the air hit me, and I shuddered. Just your imagination, that familiar voice in my head told me.
***
I did go to the burial, but I stayed out of sight. The cemetery was in Bancker, a small community that had once nestled between four large plantations, down an old country road on the outskirts of Abbeville. It was where my mom and dad were buried, as well as my grandfather, Clothilde’s husband. Near the cemetery was an old replica of the Grotto of Lourdes, the site in France where St. Bernadette claimed to have seen the Virgin Mother in the nineteenth century. Leading up to the granite grotto was a path lined with wooden crosses, representing the Stations of the Cross, marking Jesus’ journey to his crucifixion.
I parked my rental on the grotto side of the property. Further down, I could see all the cars and police cruisers parked at the cemetery. I got down and instantly smelled honeysuckle. The side of the road here was lined with bushes of it. I walked onto the lot and over to a giant, ancient oak tree, draped with Spanish moss. There was a bench near the long, low branches of the tree, and I took a seat there, watching the service from a distance.
I could see the Pallbearers bring in the coffins. Lucas was the head carrier of David’s coffin. With him were several other officers in uniform. Michelle also had a couple of officers in addition to some cousins of hers. She didn’t have any brothers or sisters. She never met her father and her mother died several years ago from breast cancer. We were, indeed, a small family. But the officers of the Lafayette P.D. were very much a family to us, especially Lucas.
There were easily over a hundred people there at the burial site. I saw the priest, a somewhat elderly black man, presiding. I watched as they placed the coffins into the above-ground granite tombs. Two flags were folded and then both presented to Clothilde. She would keep them for now until Lyla got older. When they started to play “Taps,” I got up from my seat with tears in my eyes.
I walked down the cross-lined path and up to the life-sized replica of the grotto, which looked more like a shallow cave than anything. There was a large statue of the Virgin Mary, encased in glass, mounted above it. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see a man there. He was tall and thin, possibly in his mid-sixties, with wispy white hair, and had a white dove on his left shoulder. He looked a little familiar, but that familiarity was more of an afterthought than anything—a brief second of recognition, and then it was gone.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said with a smile as he looked at the statue of Mary.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“You from around here?”
“Sort of. I was born in Lafayette. I live in California now.”
“Los Angeles?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Just a hunch. I’m originally from the Lake Charles area, but I’ve been hanging around Lafayette for many years now. What brings you back here?” I nodded towards the funeral. He nodded, understanding. “Great day for a burial,” he said and smiled.
I stared at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I didn’t mean to sound cruel. You see, I was looking at it as a glorious thing, like when Jesus was buried. Look what happened. On the third day, he rose from the dead.” The way he said dead made my skin crawl. “After death,” he continued, “is another life for us, a better life. We should be rejoicing.”
“Sorry, but I don’t feel much like rejoicing. Besides, I don’t believe in an afterlife.”
The dove on his shoulder fluttered its feathers in agitation. “Oh, you mustn’t say that,” said the man. “You don’t want to make God angry.” When he said that, he looked grim and reproachful. This guy was officially creeping me out. “He is a jealous God and demands respect.”
“Okay. Well, you have a good day,” I said, and started to walk back to my car. I walked back onto the path surrounded by the crosses. I heard him casually strolling behind me, but I pretended not to notice. I just wanted out of there.
“See the Stations of the Cross?” he called out to me just as I made it back to the rental. As I unlocked the door and opened it, I glanced back at him. He was grinning. “Jesus had his cross to bear and, because of that, we all have our crosses to bear.” He laughed then, and a breeze wafted around me. The honeysuckle was strong, but there was another smell behind it now—some rotting smell, like an animal had d
ied in the bushes lining the street.
Shots suddenly rang out as David and Michelle were given a gun salute. I jumped and looked in the direction of the funeral, temporarily forgetting my company. As the last shots rang out, I looked back to the pathway, but the man was gone. I scanned the property but could not see him. I was shaking so badly that it took me a couple of tries to get the door handle open. I got in the car and closed the door, locking it.
I drove back towards the highway, passing up all the cars lining the street at the cemetery. As I passed them, I saw Clothilde had noticed me, and she looked angry. I saw her look back towards the tomb replica on the other side of the property. And now she looked frightened.
I wound up going to the reception at Miss Ya’s, after all. I couldn’t believe Miss Ya was still alive. She was a good friend of my grandmother’s. When I went to Sacred Heart Elementary when I was a little girl, she used to let out and hem my school uniforms as I grew up. When you’re a kid, every adult looks old, but she looked ninety when I was seven. And here she stood on her own two legs, living on her own, still doing alterations.
Her house was modest and had the same green shag carpeting I remembered when I was little, except there were a couple of bald spots now. The house smelled of food; pies, casseroles, cakes, and at least three kinds of meat. Behind that was the smell of stale roses, lemon-scented furniture polish, and a melding of too many scented candles. It was the scent of an old woman’s house, and it hadn’t changed since I’d known her.
As soon as I entered through the screen door in the front, I was overwhelmed by the amount of people in the small house. It sounded like a swarm of giant wasps with everyone talking. Mixed in with the barrage of voices was the sound of dishes clinking. I started to feel suffocated after a couple of minutes. I dodged everyone, even Carrie and Lucas, and went upstairs to breathe.
The old wooden steps creaked loudly under me. I got to the top of the narrow staircase and walked down the hallway. There were three bedrooms up there and a bathroom. All the doors were closed except the one at the end of the hall. That one was partially open. I crept up to it and peeked in.
Clothilde was sitting on the bed with her hand placed gently on top of a lump under the covers. I peeked in further and the floorboard underneath me gave me away. Clothilde turned towards me and then looked back at the lump.
“Why didn’t you stay with us at the burial?”
I entered the room and saw Lyla’s brunette head sticking out of the covers. She was asleep, but looked pained. “Her hair got so long since I saw her last,” I marveled.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been much into pomp and circumstance, I guess.”
“That’s like your daddy, that.”
I nodded. “I guess so.”
“And you’re sassy, too. That you get from your momma. And Lyla’s just like you, yeah. More than you know.”
“Is she okay?”
“I gave her something to help her sleep earlier. She’ll be sleeping most of the day. I’ll wake her up later to take her home.”
“Is she going to be staying with you from now on?”
Clothilde quietly got up and went into the hallway. She motioned for me to follow her. She led me into the next bedroom over and closed the door behind me when I entered.
She sat down on a bed with an old-fashioned white spread on it. Over the bed, nailed to the wall, was a very large hand-carved wooden rosary, spread out across two nails with the crucifix end of the beads cascading downward. On the little wooden night stand next to the bed was a milk glass lamp and a picture frame. In the frame was a picture of Miss Ya and her husband when they were first married. I remembered that he ran one of the furniture stores in town. He died when the store caught fire back in 1988. I was very little, but I remembered him being a nice man who always passed out peppermint sticks to the kids. He was the one who carved the rosary which hung over his marital bed to this very day.
“You’re taking Lyla,” said Clothilde, jolting me out of my memories of peppermint sticks and playing hide-and-seek with David in the large furniture store.
“Taking her where?” I was truly baffled.
“She’s going to live with you.”
I didn’t know what to say. My mind was still trying to come back to Earth. “What? I can’t take her. I live in L.A., I’m starting my residency, I—”
“No you’re not.” She stopped me in my tracks. “I know you dropped out months ago,” she said. I was floored.
“H-how did you know?”
“Never mind. I know that you’re not doing anything over there except acting like a gep!”
“Maw-maw!”
“It’s true! You should be ashamed. You should say a novena. You need to close your legs and open your heart!” She let go of the great constraint she had during the funeral and was letting her anger fly.
“I’m not going to stand here and listen to this!” I started to storm out the room.
“Leigh Ella Benoit, don’t you walk out that door!” She didn’t yell, but she said it with enough authority that I was instantly transformed into an eight-year-old again. I stopped, but stayed facing the door. “You’re all that little girl has.”
“She has you,” I said, quietly.
“I’m too old to take care of a little girl again. You and David were the last I could handle after your momma died.”
“Daddy took care of us just fine,” I said, knowing it wasn’t entirely true. He did the best he could, but he had work, and David and I were often left to ourselves until Clothilde offered to clean and cook for us. Daddy was always grateful to her for that. So was David, but I was hurting so much after mom died that I took everything for granted. I became a thankless brat who couldn’t wait to leave Acadiana and Louisiana altogether.
“You’re her nannan. She’s your responsibility.”
“What about Lucas? He’s her godfather.”
“He has his own son to worry about.”
I was silent.
“Don’t let that little girl slip through your fingers again, Leigh-Leigh.” With that, she got up, walked past me and out the door, leaving me to my thoughts.
3
California Dreaming
I hadn’t waited for Lyla to wake up. I left not much longer after that last conversation with Clothilde. I went into auto mode, telling all the people and police officers I knew that I was grateful for having them attend the service. I thanked Miss Ya. I hugged Lucas and Carrie and Jonathan goodbye. Clothilde avoided me, but shot glaring, angry glances my way, her green eyes on fire.
I left in my rental and drove back to Baton Rouge to catch my five o’clock flight back to L.A. As we flew over Acadiana, I looked down onto the waterways, swampy patches and farmland squares of the place that was my home for so many years. I felt like a stranger. The Gulf Coast wasn’t my home anymore. I belonged to the Pacific Coast, the mountains, the desert. I felt like this would be the last time I would gaze upon Louisiana. After changing planes in Houston, I slept a quiet, peaceful sleep until we touched down at LAX.
***
I got back to my apartment around 7:30 P.M. and was thankful to be back in the Pacific Time Zone, gaining two hours to unpack and rest before work the next day. I worked at a trendy clothing store across from Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. There would be plenty of tourists now that school was out for the summer. My L.A. friends hated Hollywood during the tourist season. I loved it because of the anonymity I had with the out-of-town strangers.
When I was seventeen, I found the song “Hollywood Nights” by Bob Seger while I was flipping through the radio in my car. I was driving from my home town of Lafayette to Clothilde’s house in Abbeville, a few miles south down highway 167. The song excited me. I pretended that I was cruising through the Hollywood Hills, the bright lights of Hollywood and Sunset boulevards below me, rather than the murky, dense woods and rice fields before me. No big city lights that nig
ht or any other night. Just the stars.
Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 01 - Dark Bayou Page 3