by Karen White
Wes squatted down on his haunches in front of Gary. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that you tire easily—and your friends should know that.” He shot a glance at me.
Wes hauled Gary to his feet. “Come on. I’ll push your bike home for you.”
Gary shoved Wes away. “I’m not a wimp.” He stalked toward me, his wiry hair sticking up. As he neared, he drew back his arm and punched me hard in the shoulder.
I staggered backward. “Ouch! What did you do that for?” I touched my sore shoulder and wondered how I’d explain the bruise to Grandmother.
“Because I’m not a wimp.” He rubbed his knuckles and gave me a small grin. “And besides, you told me I could.”
Wes threw his head back and laughed. “She sure did.”
I wanted to be peeved at Wes for not sticking up for me. He was older and knew all about how a gentleman isn’t supposed to hit a lady. It didn’t occur to me that perhaps he didn’t see a lady when he looked at me, but instead saw a scrawny kid with a flat chest, long, skinny legs, and bright red hair that didn’t know how to stay pulled back in a ponytail. But I couldn’t be angry with him. My voice lodged in my throat. I could feel red heat creeping up my neck to my cheeks as I looked at him with his wet shirt plastered against his chest.
Ashamed at my thoughts, and even more perturbed that he might catch my blush, which I knew made me resemble an unfortunate radish with red hair, I stomped on ahead of them. I grabbed my bike and blurted out the most mature-sounding insult I could come up with. “I hope your balls fall off on your wedding night! Both of you!”
I hopped on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could until I could no longer hear their laughter.
Julie
A tapping on the door was followed by Kathy Wolf entering the room carrying a small tray with a glass of water and a small plastic cup with two white pills inside. “It’s time to take your pills, Miss Aimee.”
Aimee brushed her hand at Kathy. “I’m not a feeble old woman. I made the mistake of telling my doctor that my hip hurt, so now I’m supposed to take this medication. I don’t like it. It makes me tired, and I don’t think I’m ready to be spending afternoons in bed.”
Kathy handed her the pills. “Miss Aimee, you have an appointment next week, so you can discuss your concerns. In the meantime, you need to take your pills.”
I uncurled myself from my chair and watched as Kathy administered the medication, realizing that my cheeks hurt, as if I’ d been smiling for a long time while I’d listened to Aimee speak.
As Kathy handed the glass of water to Aimee, she said, “Are you ready for Beau now? I think Trey wore him out pretty good playing chase outside.”
“I wish I’d seen that,” said Aimee as she placed the glass back on the tray, echoing my thoughts. “Yes, please send Beau on up.”
With a smile, Kathy left, and I found myself still lost in a hot summer’s day from sixty years ago. “So if Caroline Guidry was your mother-in-law, which son did you marry—Wes or Gary?”
Aimee’s eyes seemed darker, as if they, too, were still seeing people and events from long ago. When she spoke she didn’t answer my question, and it didn’t occur to me until later to wonder whether it was intentional.
“After that first summer, most of the summers I spent with the Guidrys were spent in Biloxi.” She looked down at her hands, spread now on her lap, her only jewelry a plain gold band on her left hand. “I think people love a place because of the people they encounter there. I love New Orleans, mostly because my mother did, and now because it’s home. But I loved River Song for the same reason Monica did. Because it made us feel happy.” She paused for a moment. “And safe.”
I leaned forward. “Why did you and Monica need to feel safe?”
There was a tapping on the door again, and Beau ran in, launching himself at me. I hugged him to me, smelling his little-boy scent of sweat and baby shampoo. I looked up in alarm when I realized that he didn’t have the red hat. Before I could say anything, Trey stepped into the bed alcove, holding the hat aloft.
“Don’t worry; I’ve got it. He gave it to me so he could stick both hands in the fountain.”
I tried to remain calm. “You let him get near the fountain?”
He looked at me with disdain. “And I’ve managed to keep both the hat and the boy safe. I guess that means I’m not completely inept.”
“Look what Uncle Trey gave me!” Beau stepped impatiently from my embrace and, with his lower lip jutting out, looked down at his chest, where a necklace filled with gold, green, and purple metallic-looking beads sparkled. At the end of it lay a plastic medallion with the likeness of a Roman god holding a glass of wine, and grapes winding their way along the edges of the circle. Printed on the bottom were the words KREWE OF BACCHUS 1987.
“That’s very nice, Beau. Did you say thank-you?”
Beau nodded. “Yes. And he said that every time I shared my candy with him, I could have another.”
I looked up at Trey.
He shrugged. “Kathy won’t tell me where she keeps the candy stash, so I had to resort to nefarious methods to get what I wanted.”
His words were said lightly, but I felt the back of my neck prickle.
I stood and took Beau’s hand. “Beau, this is your great-grandmother. She and your mom were very special to each other.”
Aimee patted the side of her bed. “Come sit, sweetheart, and we’ll have a little chat. And you can call me Miss Aimee like everyone else.”
For a moment it looked as if Beau would hesitate. I waited, my hand on Beau’s shoulder, until he walked forward, then voluntarily climbed up the small steps by the side of the tall bed. Trey handed him his hat.
I watched as Aimee placed her hand on Beau’s, her face glowing as if she were recognizing someone she hadn’t seen in a long time.
“What’s your favorite color, Beau?” Aimee asked, her voice catching.
Without hesitating, he said, “Red,” around his thumb that had managed to creep into his mouth.
Trey touched my elbow, making me turn. He crossed his arms and spoke slowly. “Did she convince you to sell to me?”
“Hardly.” I closed my eyes for a moment, recalling what Aimee had said to me. Maybe because she thought that you had more to rebuild than just a house. I took a deep breath. “She thinks that Monica would want me to rebuild River Song. For Beau. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think she might be right.”
Trey’s eyes hardened. “I’m Monica’s brother. I’m more than capable of rebuilding the house as her legacy for Beau. I can’t think of any reason either one of them thinks that you’re more capable than I would be.”
I met his gaze. “Maybe because I’ve been dealing with the unknown for longer than you, but I find that it’s less important sometimes to know why. And maybe to try to focus on moving forward instead.”
“I see how well that’s worked for you so far. You’ve been so focused on finding your sister that it appears to me that you let the rest of your life slide.”
Flashes of light exploded in my head, the searing anger nearly blinding me. He had no idea what it had been like, what it was like to be the only one still looking. I knew I didn’t want to rebuild River Song, knew I had no interest or experience, knew I wasn’t the kind of person to knowingly tempt fate and build on shifting sands near open water. Maybe because she thought that you had more to rebuild than just a house.
“ Julie?”
I turned my attention back to Beau.
“Miss Aimee says we’re done for now, but tomorrow she’s going to let me play in the fountain and let the statue pee on me.”
I steadied my breathing, finding it easier to calm down if I turned my back on Trey as he left the room, his anger heating the air. “That sounds like fun.” I forced a smile. “Although we might not be here tomorrow—”
“I was just thinking,” Aimee interrupted, “that maybe you and Beau should stay here with me. It’s been years since this house has seen
children, and I want to spend as much time with Beau as I can, to make up for the first five years of his life.”
“I don’t think . . .”
Aimee held up her hand. “You don’t have to decide right now. Think about it tonight at the hotel and let me know tomorrow. I figure you’ll need someplace for Beau to stay once you get moving on River Song.”
I frowned. “I didn’t . . .”
“You didn’t have to. I could tell from Trey’s face. Please be patient with him, Julie. He’s suffered a terrible blow. He and Monica were as close as twins.”
I lowered my head, trying to stifle my anger so Aimee couldn’t see it.
Beau leaned his head against my hip and began to suck his thumb again.
“I’ll call you tomorrow with an answer. And to discuss the portrait.” I took Beau’s hand and led him to the door, the red hat pressed between us. “Miss Aimee? You never answered my question. About why you and Monica needed a place to feel safe.”
The old woman’s blue eyes darkened. “I guess you’ll have to come back to hear the rest of the story.”
“Will it tell me why Monica left?”
Aimee lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “Maybe. I’m hoping you’ll have the missing pieces so we can put them together.”
“But what if I don’t come back?”
Aimee turned her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, a soft smile haunting her lips. “You will.”
I watched her for a long moment before turning away and leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind me.
CHAPTER 7
Fujiwhara effect: The tendency of two nearby tropical cyclones to rotate cyclonically about each other.
—NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER
Julie
It was barely dawn two days later when I pulled up to my familiar spot at the curb on First Street and gently lifted a sleepy Beau from the backseat. Trey met us at the garden gate, holding it open with one hand and clutching a steaming cup of coffee with the other. The fountain burbled in the garden, and Beau lifted his head to stare at the peeing statue of the little boy with interest. “Don’t get any ideas,” I warned as I headed up the front steps to the open door.
Aimee was waiting inside dressed in jeans, white Keds, a long-sleeved checkered shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She opened her arms to Beau and when I set him down, he ran to her. “Remember what you promised about getting ice cream, Miss Aimee.”
“I remember,” she said before turning to me. “We’re going to do some gardening today. I like to get out there before the sun gets too strong. Xavier should be here shortly.”
“Xavier?” I asked.
“Yes, Ray Von’s son. I thought she might have mentioned him. He’s been working for the Guidrys since Hurricane Camille, which makes him older than dirt, I suppose.” She tousled Beau’s hair. “He’s a magician when it comes to flowers and landscaping, and as long as he says he’s too young to retire, he has a place here.”
I remembered the man with the scarred face and the single green eye and suppressed a shudder.
Aimee continued. “I figure we’ll wear each other out by the time Kathy arrives at eleven thirty; then we’ll have some lunch and take a nice long nap so he’s good and rested by the time you and Trey return from your visit to Biloxi. I had Kathy set up a room for Beau—right next to yours and across the hall from me.” She winked at Beau. “You told me yesterday you liked LEGOs, so your uncle and Kathy spent a lot of time racing around town to make sure your room would be to your liking.”
Beau grinned back as I sent a sidelong glance at Trey, trying to imagine him racing around to linen and toy stores to make a motherless five-year-old boy happy.
Aimee faced me again. “I know your coming here is a leap of faith on your part. And I’m thankful.”
“Not completely.” I blushed. I liked Aimee, and not just because of what Monica had told me. I liked her because of the way she accepted Beau without question. The way she accepted me. But the matter of why Monica had left hung between us like a sleeping tiger, safe until awakened. “I called my lawyer, who assured me that my guardianship of Beau is legally binding. It can be challenged in a court of law, which would take time. And if such a thing should occur, I would have custody until and unless a decision was made to overturn Monica’s will.” I looked away, unable to meet Aimee’s eyes. “He also did a little background check and told me he didn’t think you were a flight risk.”
“No, I don’t imagine I am.”
I looked up to see a small smile tweaking the corner of the older woman’s mouth.
“You brought your luggage?”
“Yes. It’s in the van. I’ll go get it.”
Trey handed me his coffee mug. “Hold that, and I’ll go get the luggage. Is your van unlocked?”
“Yes. There’s not much in there—you’ll probably be able to get it all in one trip.”
He looked at me, his eyes flat. “Don’t leave your car unlocked. Even for a minute. Just like in New York.” He looked at the mug in my hand. “There’s more coffee and mugs in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
He opened and closed the door quickly, allowing in warm air that fanned my hot cheeks. Cradling the mug, I turned to Aimee. “I insist on paying you rent—I have some money left in savings, and I’ll have more once the painting is sold.” I paused for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t have any objections to that? If Monica took it without your permission, then she couldn’t legally will it to me, because it still belongs to you.”
I watched as Beau moved to the hall table, where several George Ohr pieces were displayed. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, just like I’d shown him on his frequent visits with Monica to the auction house, as he carefully studied a small pitcher.
“Monica must have wanted you to have it, Julie, because she left it to you. And it would make me happy to know that her wishes are being carried out.”
“But it’s a portrait of your mother-in-law, Trey’s great-grandmother. Surely you want to keep it in the family.”
Aimee waved a manicured hand dismissively. “My husband never liked it, hated it when I hung it in the house. And his father before him had it hidden away in the attic. I can’t say there’s any sentiment toward it. I knew Caroline, of course, but she was always an enigma to me.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “She wasn’t . . . accepted everywhere. Had a lot of cosmopolitan tastes and ideas for a Southern woman in the fifties. Conformity didn’t appeal to her, and back then conformity was everything.” She began walking toward the kitchen, her voice calm. “I think that’s why Monica took the portrait—knowing it had monetary value but not sentimental value.”
I followed her into the bright kitchen with white beadboard cabinets, gleaming stainless-steel appliances, and black granite countertops. “Then if it sells, I’ll pay you room and board until I can figure out a more permanent situation for Beau and me. He’s a young five, so he won’t start kindergarten until next fall. I’d like to think that would give us enough time to get everything sorted out.”
We heard Trey enter with our baggage and then head for the stairs. Attempting levity, I called out, “The LEGO duffel and backpack are Beau’s; the brown suitcase is mine.”
He paused for a moment. “Go lock up your car now so it doesn’t get stolen. We’ll take my truck.”
“Is he always so friendly? ” I asked as I poured myself a cup of coffee after Aimee declined.
“Only when he’s sad or threatened, and I think he’s both right now,” Aimee said as she led us back to the foyer.
I frowned, then moved to Beau, who was standing too close to a shallow bowl, its metallic glow like that of a pearl, reflecting a rainbow of light and color. “When we spoke yesterday, Trey told me that he wanted us to drive to Biloxi today ‘to get the ball rolling,’ and that we had a ten-o’clock appointment with a builder. But do you know exactly where he’s planning on taking me? I figure if I don’t come back with him, you’ll know what to tell the pol
ice.”
Aimee’s eyes sparkled. “Old friends of ours, the Kenneys, own a construction company in Biloxi—Kenney-Moise Homebuilders, Inc. It’s the same family who helped me restore River Song after Camille, actually, although it’s the son and daughter-in-law of the family now and not the father. Trey will want to discuss building plans and insurance money and time frames and that sort of thing. And I’m thinking he’s expecting you to be discouraged over the whole scope of the project.”
“And in that he’d be right,” I said, leading Beau away from the table. “But I’m bringing one of Monica’s small paintings of River Song and a couple of photographs to guide the design. I don’t think she’d want it changed, and I’m hoping Trey thinks the same thing.”
Trey came down the stairs. “We should be back around suppertime, and if not I’ll call you.” He kissed Aimee on the cheek, then rumpled Beau’s hair. “Don’t have too much fun without me now, you hear?”
Beau giggled and Aimee smiled. “We’ll try.”
I knelt in front of Beau. “You have my cell phone number memorized now, right? Call me for anything, okay?” I hugged and kissed him before making my way to the front door. Before I made it outside, I turned back to Aimee. “Are you ever going to tell me which brother you married?”
“I imagine so. We’ll have another chat when you get back. There’s so much I have to tell you.”
I nodded. “All right. I’ll see you then.” I followed Trey out the door, and as I shut it behind me, I thought I heard Aimee say something else. It wasn’t until I was climbing into the passenger seat of Trey’s pickup truck that I realized what it was. There’s so much you need to know.
When I was ten years old and Chelsea about eight, our parents took us, and our older brother, to Cape May, New Jersey, to see the ocean for the first time. I had stood barefoot in the sand, feeling the uncomfortable grit between my toes, each digit curling up to escape. The surf crashed onto the beach, causing me to back away, unsure and afraid. But Chelsea had raced forward, her face tilted toward the sun, and then thrown herself into the water. She’d emerged with her hair plastered to her skin, with stories of how quiet and still it was beneath the waves, how dark, reminding her of a secret world where all past wrongs were forgotten and all that was old was new again. But all I could think was how big the ocean was, and that it seemed that if I went far enough I’d fall off the edge. And how very, very cold it had felt on my feet as I’d tried to escape it.