by Anna Adams
“Ouch, let go of my shoulder!” He rubbed his shoulder, raging against “that crazy French Granddaughter” and her manly grasp.
“No use looking all dewy-eyed. If you don’t believe in ghosts then I don’t know what kind of French Caribbean your mother was. People from Guadeloupe all believe in voodoo, at least a little.”
“She didn’t have time to teach me to fear unyielding spirits, Elder Williams. But you can! There’s a ghost in Vampire Love . . . ” Maude was interrupted by a loud snort coming from her grandfather’s side of the seat.
“You won’t learn anything real about ghosts in those Hollywood movies of yours!” He shook his head in dismay. That French Granddaughter of his didn’t have much sense under those pretty curls of hers.
“What I do know,” Maude retorted, “is that your ghost is linked to one of your dark secrets. Are you hiding something?” The way she peered into his dark orbs, Elder Williams was sure somewhere inside her she knew the truth. But he wasn’t ready.
“I’ve got a lot of secrets. I’ll tell you one day when I want to clear my conscience. Right now, just grab the thick photo album over there.”
She took the photo album, unaware that she was about to open the lid to treasures she never before could’ve imagined. Photos of her father laughing, him wearing a suit, him fixing his afro with great care, him with a bass guitar and a djembe, him with Victoria and Pearl. Him snubbing the camera or smiling displaying perfect white teeth.
But the phone rang.
Maude answered it, leaving her photo album in Elder Williams’ lap with reluctance.
“Hello, may I speak to Maude Laurent?”
Maude remained silent. She recognized the voice all too well.
“It’s me, Mr. Ruchet. What do you want?”
“Your aunt gave me this number. I’m begging you. Could you come to Carvin as soon as possible? Marie-Antoinette, she’s asking for you. She’s dying, Maude.”
*****
Life was blunt. Threw things her way like she was the last pin standing in a bowling game.
Maude had thought it was all behind her. She thought she’d never see Mrs. Ruchet’s face again.
Jazmine thought she was crazy to go. Victoria wanted to come with her.
But she’d gone alone. They thought it was bravery she knew it to be the contrary. She didn’t want her family to see how horrified she was. How frightened.
Mrs. Ruchet was dying. Big Ruchet, intimidating Ruchet, mean Ruchet.
She’d tossed the idea as ludicrous, thought it was Lexie Staz building castles out of thin air once more.
Was she to rejoice? Was she to shed tears? No joy could be found, no tears could be drawn.
When she arrived at 29, rue du Général de Gaulle, she rang the doorbell. She could’ve entered without knocking, but she preferred to cement her status as a guest. It reassured her, so she rang the doorbell.
Tiffany, one of Mrs. Ruchet’s closest friends opened the door, a handkerchief growing out of her nose.
“Maude, you came!” she exclaimed.
“I did,” was all she said. She entered the house and closed the door behind her.
“Marie-Antoinette’s been asking for you. She hasn’t stopped for days now. She keeps murmuring your name.”
Mr. Ruchet sat on the couch, his face in his hands. Next to him the boys cried. Motherless at nine. Mr. Ruchet didn’t move.
“Maude is here,” Tiffany announced.
The twins cried harder. Why was their mother asking for her not for them?
Tiffany wasn’t one to waste time and led Maude to Mrs. Ruchet’s bedroom. She’d spent more time in it the last year than she’d ever had in her entire life.
She’d been a nurse her entire life to nourish the filthy habit she had of feeding off the dying. Seeing them wrapped in molasses of deathly liquids reminded her how glaringly alive she was. She fueled her life with the fleeting lives of the dying. Their dying was her living.
Tiffany closed the door behind Maude.
Left alone, Maude approached the whispering canopy bed.
Life was strange.
Mrs. Ruchet had yelled her entire life, and now she whispered, calling Maude’s name among confusing murmurs.
Maude now stood close to her. Too close. If she shut her eyes she could still picture what she’d just witnessed. Yellowish eyes, lifeless breathing, bags of greyish skin hanging around her body like her soul had shrunken inside her corporal envelop.
“Maude? Are you ‘ere? Marie-Antoinette is dat er? Do you recognize her, too?” she asked grasping each breath of air with a hook and dragging it painfully to her throat.
“I’m here, Mrs. . . . ” She couldn’t call her Mrs. Ruchet, not while her life abandoned her.
“It’s her. She’s here. Tell her.”
“Tell who? Tell what? What do you want me to tell her?” Maude asked. She took Mrs. Ruchet’s hand into hers like an automaton. It was what she would have done for anyone else. Everything was forgotten, everything was forgiven. Nothing mattered anymore but giving her peace before she lay with the shadows.
Mrs. Ruchet closed her yellow eyes. When she opened them once more she shrieked, “Danielle? What are you doing here?”
“No, I’m Maude. I’m Danielle’s daughter.” Maude pressed her hand tighter, attempting to keep her in the realm of the living.
“Danielle isn’t here, Marie-Antoinette.” It was the first time she called Mrs. Ruchet by her first name.
“Marie-Antoinette, help me! Danielle is here, too! Tell Danielle it was you, Marie-Antoinette, not me.”
Marie-Antoinette’s yellow eyes convulsed, and for a couple of moments, she seemed lucid.
She spoke with a calm voice.
Chapter 11
Mrs. Ruchet: I’m ready to confess.
Marie-Antoinette: Stupid woman, you want to tell her what we did.
Mrs. Ruchet: You did it. You, you, you! You green-eyed devil. You convinced me to do it. I’m going to tell Maude what you did.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill anyone. We’re innocent. Our conscience is clear.
Mrs. Ruchet: Marie-Antoinette was jealous. Robert Ruchet loved Danielle Laurent.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill anyone. We’re innocent. Our conscience is.
Mrs. Ruchet: He was madly in love with her, he was.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill anyone. We’re innocent. Our conscience.
Mrs. Ruchet: He never got over their break up.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill anyone. We’re innocent. Our.
Mrs. Ruchet: He didn’t love Marie-Antoinette. Not the way he loved Danielle Laurent.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill anyone. We’re innocent.
Mrs. Ruchet: She married Aaron. Marie-Antoinette married Robert, but he loved Danielle still, though she roamed the Earth with her husband living on dreams.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill anyone. We’re.
Mrs. Ruchet: Danielle thought she was better than Marie-Antoinette. She paraded with such proud airs.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill anyone.
Mrs. Ruchet: She came back to France, pregnant with that dreadful child.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to kill.
Mrs. Ruchet: Marie-Antoinette couldn’t have children. She was a homemaker with no home.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant to.
Mrs. Ruchet: Her husband was imprisoned, so she leaned on Robert.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We never meant.
Mrs. Ruchet: He still loved Danielle. He was overjoyed to have her back in France. Wanted to be there for the birth of the child.
Marie Antoinette
: The blame doesn’t fall on us. We.
Mrs. Ruchet: She was to go back to Nigeria to save her husband from the hands of the corrupt official. The Nigerian authorities mustn’t know about her arrival or her life will be in danger.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on us.
Mrs. Ruchet: Marie-Antoinette warned the authorities. She thought it’d be harder, but it was easy.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall on.
Mrs. Ruchet: Danielle falls into the hands of Kunle Yetunde. She’s killed and so is her worthless husband.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t fall.
Mrs. Ruchet: Robert is inconsolable. He wants us to keep the child. I say yes under one condition: he doesn’t interfere with her upbringing.
Marie Antoinette: The blame doesn’t.
Mrs. Ruchet: Maude’s existence is Marie-Antoinette’s guilt. Everyday she tortures her, and is tortured in return. Everyday Danielle’s eyes taunt her. She can’t sleep, she eats, she eats, she eats.
Marie Antoinette: The blame.
Mrs. Ruchet : Marie-Antoinette is asking for forgiveness. She wants Maude to forgive her before the end!
Marie Antoinette: The.
Mrs. Ruchet: I need quiet before I die.
Chapter 12
Life was wicked.
Maude dropped Mrs. Ruchet’s hand and covered her ears, but still, pleas for forgiveness reached her.
Face distorted, she pleaded. Her wails banged the walls, banged Maude’s eardrum, and her pleas for redemption scraped the yellowing wallpaper, tore the carpet, and scratched the window.
Mrs. Ruchet sent Danielle, her mother to her death! She wanted forgiveness? If only she could bring her mother back from the shadows of death! She’d forgive her then. But the horrific woman couldn’t. All she could do was join her in the realm of whispers.
The dying one asked for the impossible. She’d unloaded her conscience and had burdened the young, terrified girl. Tears streamed down Maude’s cheeks, tears her face couldn’t absorb, and dread, anger, anguish lodged in the pit of her throat.
“I can’t.” Maude shook her head in despair, ice cubes of dread, anger, and anguish rattled in her throat but did not melt. “You’re asking for something I cannot give. I could’ve . . . I could’ve forgiven everything else. But this . . . it’s beyond anything I’ve ever had to give up.”
Don’t let her die like this, a small voice whispered in Maude’s ears. But Maude ignored it.
“You are alone.” Maude bent her head, shaking with sad abandonment.
Mrs. Ruchet’s face twisted in abominable pain, her pleas grew louder and louder, then stopped with the abruptness of a guillotine.
Mrs. Ruchet’s face forever immobilized in torture.
Life was wretched. Life was dead.
*****
Cynthia never thought she’d ever break into her boss’ office. But here she was at 10 p.m. in an empty office she had no business being in. Her heart beat louder than the silence sweeping the deserted halls of Soulville, and her hand shook, but more from excitement than from the fear of getting caught.
She searched for the minutes detailing the board meetings before her father was fired as CEO. She’d seen minutes in Daniel’s office the first time she’d stormed in demanding real work. Daniel must keep these minutes closer to his watchful eyes.
She searched every stack of papers neatly arranged on his oak desk. When she found nothing, she walked to his closet. Jackpot. Boxes full of photocopies of minutes.
She rummaged through them for what seemed like hours until she found what she’d hope to find.
Meetings had taken place before her father was fired, but without him. Concerning her father.
July 31
The board would like to discuss the case of J. B.
J. B. James Baldwin. Her father. And he was on tour at the time with Maude.
She grabbed the stack of papers and ran to the photocopy machine in Daniel’s office. Turning it back to life, she wanted to stifle its loud groan. She made three copies and put the documents back in the box.
“What are you doing here?”
Daniel turned on the light in the office, and Cynthia, accustomed to the darkness, squinted as she readjusted to the light. She crouched in the closet guilty as hell.
She had nothing left to lose. Except the documents she needed to throw Alan out of Soulville.
He walked towards her, took her documents and sifted through the papers.
“I could call the police right now. Who are you really, Cynthia? If that’s even your name.”
“My name’s Cynthia Baldwin.”
He closed his eyes, a smile of irony twisting his lips “James Baldwin’s daughter.”
“Exactly. The person you wrongfully threw out of Soulville. The company he’d created. And you did so by blackmailing his best friend and organizing secret board meetings to vote him out. All of which are illegal.”
“I told Dad we shouldn’t keep minutes of those board meetings. But some of the members insisted. Most of them are aged and rely on documents to remember unimportant details such as changes in a CEO’s seat. What were you planning to do with this?”
“You know the law, Mr. Siwel. Or should I say Mr. Lewis.” She grabbed the documents from him and headed for the door. She spoke harshly, fearing his disappointed eyes would melt her resolve.
“Why should I let you walk out that door?”
“You will. You’ve got a conscience. You know my father should be sitting in Alan’s chair.”
“I have a conscience, but apparently you have none. Was everything a masquerade? Everything you said, everything you did?” he asked with a softness that stunned Cynthia. “I’d gotten the impression you liked me.”
“I did. I do,” Cynthia admitted. She took a hesitant step towards him.
“Then don’t do this. I may have a conscience, but I can’t betray my father either.”
“And I must think of mine.”
She was close enough to touch him, and as she leaned towards him she felt him stiffen. She kissed his lips ever so softly, then turned to leave.
“I’m sorry.”
Cynthia walked out of the office, her legs shaking as she did.
*****
When she got home that evening, Maude was in the living room surrounded by her family. She’d been crying.
“Maude, you’re back!” Cynthia hurried to her and kissed her affectionately.
“I couldn’t go to the funeral.” Maude fumbled with her silk scarf. “Cynth, I need your help. A tell-all book is going to be released by Lexie Staz very soon. Mrs. Ruchet will be in it.”
“We were wondering how to stop her. Legally.” Victoria swallowed, but Cynthia couldn’t keep the surprise out of her eyes. Maude’s situation was bad if her mother was willing to break her number one rule: no lawyers in the Baldwin business.
“The only way would be to get an injunction from a judge to prevent Lexie from publishing her book.”
“But wouldn’t that cause a lot of unwanted publicity?” James asked.
“I’m afraid so.” Cynthia sighed. “But no one would know the content of the book.”
“A new scandal.” Maude smiled a sad smile. “I can’t seem to escape them.”
“Maybe we could settle this financially, out of court?” Victoria offered.
“No, I won’t allow you to do that!” Maude cried.
“And I don’t think it would work. Whatever we may offer, she would still make ten times more with the book on a French pop star.”
“You’re right. The best route is the injunction.” Victoria clasped her hands with a resigned air.
“I’ll speak to Nathalie about it,” Cynthia said. Nathalie Fern, was not only the lawyer who’d given Cynthia her first internship, but also Victoria’s closest friend.
“I’m going to bed.” Maude was exhausted after an eight-hour flight and little to no sleep. Her five days away from home had been torture. “G
oodnight.”
Cynthia and Jazmine followed Maude into their bedroom.
“Hey Maude, here’s something to make you laugh.” She handed her a thin envelope. Maude opened it and read it aloud
“You’re invited to take part in the blissful union of Peter Longarm and Harriet Williams.” She stopped reading. “So Peter and Harriet are professed soulmates, huh.”
“Can you believe they’re getting married?” Cynthia still hadn’t recovered from her amazement.
“I knew. And I think it’s my fault.” She recounted the details of her dealings with her cousin.
“How can Harriet marry him? How can anyone want to marry him?”
“You dated him for over two years,” Maude pointed out with a smile. Thank God, she’d only been present for their final months as a couple. Now she’d have to go to his wedding, too. She should’ve told Harriet it would be disgraceful for her to marry a man not only shorter, but younger than her, so as to evade painful future Thanksgiving dinners. Or maybe she could avoid Thanksgiving altogether. The French never celebrated Thanksgiving anyway.
“Don’t remind me. Just when I thought I’d got rid of him.”
“Who knows? Perhaps it’ll take her just two years to realize Peter isn’t her Prince Charming,” Jazmine said with a sly smile.
“That’s nice, Jaz. Going to someone’s wedding, hoping it’ll end in divorce is very classy.”
“Who says I’m going?”
Maude laughed. “You should. There will be tons of future politicians, you’re sure to find some ‘not so kind’ guys over there you can date.”
Jazmine lifted her hand in despair. “You still haven’t recovered from my break up with Jason Taylor, sorry I meant Leonardo.”
But Maude wasn’t listening. She neared Jazmine’s bed where a magazine lay abandoned.
“Oh God! Don’t look at that, I was going to throw it away before you came back.”
Maude picked up the magazine before Jazmine reached it. On the front page were Matt and Rebecca kissing and in bold letters, “‘Matt Finds True Love With Opera Diva, Rebecca Sylvester.’”