The Beach Trees

by Karen White

  A wide smile split his face. “Good morning, Miss Mercier. What would you like for breakfast? Beignets, beignets, or beignets?”

  I pretended to consider my options. “How about a beignet?”

  He looked up toward the ceiling, as if considering. “I’ll see if I can accommodate you.”

  Gary continued stirring the batter as I slid into a seat at the kitchen table by the window. The wrought-iron table and chairs mimicked the ones outside in the garden. It was almost hard to tell that one wasn’t actually sitting in the garden, because of the vast number of plants suspended from the twelve-foot kitchen ceiling.

  A small spider spun on its thread, propelling itself down from the fronds of a fern. It stopped, suspended momentarily in midair. The gossamer thread shimmered briefly in the sun as the spider continued its descent and landed on the table in front of me.

  “Don’t touch it.” A brown hand reached from behind me and scooped it up. I turned and saw Xavier, his eye calmly regarding me. Cradling the spider in one hand, he set my plate and silverware in front of me with the other. His large hands seemed incongruous against the delicate china and silver, but he put each piece down without a sound. I waited for him to say something about the night before, but he silently finished his chore, his face impassive. He poured the chicory coffee without a drip and left the room.

  I thought about telling Gary about the events of the previous night, but talked myself out of it. His relationship with his father was already precarious, his mother’s emotional state uncertain. I didn’t understand anything that had transpired between Mr. and Mrs. Guidry and knew that involving Gary could only complicate an already difficult situation. In retrospect, I was selfish, too, not wanting any ugliness to encroach on a weekend I’d been anticipating for months. So I ignored my uneasiness in much the same way I never thought too hard about the origins of my fear of the dark, knowing that there were some things that should never be seen in the bright light of day.

  Gary approached with a platter full of powdered-sugar beignets. I scooped one up with a serving fork and dumped it on my plate. Without a word, Gary stood by my chair and flicked another one onto my plate, where it landed in a puff of powder. “Don’t be shy, Aimee. I know you love these.”

  And I certainly did. From my first trip to Café Du Monde in the French Quarter I had loved the little French doughnuts: hot, fluffy, caloric confections covered in powdered sugar. It had always been Gary’s special treat to make them for me when I came to visit.

  I picked one up, held it to my face, and blew on it. A sugar cloud puffed its way to Gary’s face, dusting his navy blue shirt.

  “Thanks, Aimee,” he said, smiling, the loosened powder flaking off his lips. He stood and returned to the fryer next to the stove. I closed my eyes, listening to the sizzle of the doughnuts and smelling the wonderful aroma. I knew I would never be able to hear that sound or smell that scent without thinking of Gary. A quote came to mind and I said it out loud. “ ‘Smells are surer than sounds or sights. To make the heart-strings crack.’ ”

  Gary turned his attention back to me, powder still clinging to his face. “What?”

  “It’s Kipling.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever Kippled before—but I’d like to try it.”

  He gave me an evil leer, and I waved my hand at him before turning back to my breakfast. My teeth sank into the soft mushiness of my doughnut as I stared out into the garden and spotted Xavier walking down the flagstone walkway leading to the front of the house. He stooped and opened his large hand and held it open, his thick fingers splayed wide. I pictured the tiny spider disembarking from its prison, rejoicing in its freedom to once again spin webs among the oleander.

  The front door slammed, and I turned to see Wes pausing in the kitchen doorway. My mouth went dry. He was wearing a white tennis shirt and shorts, the shirt plastered to his chest with drying sweat. I took a deep sip of coffee, then let my cup clatter in its saucer. I didn’t even notice the scalding liquid as I forced it down.

  “Good morning, Aimee. I was hoping I might catch you for a little chat sometime before you leave.” He leaned against the doorframe, a crooked smile lighting his face. I had never seen him look quite so appealing, and it took me a moment to register what he might want to talk about with me. His last letter had said that he’d gained access to my mother’s case file, and I hoped he’d have some news for me.

  “Hi, Wes. Anytime. Besides the ball, I really don’t have any plans.” I picked up a beignet to give my hands something to do.

  A glass mixing bowl clanked in the sink. Gary wore a frown as he contemplated his brother. “Actually, I have lots of plans that will be keeping Aimee pretty busy.” He gave an exaggerated sniff. “You stink. Shouldn’t you go take a shower?”

  Wes’s answer was interrupted by another door slam. “Hello, everyone.” An elegant hand snaked around Wes’s midriff as Lacy peered out from behind him. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and all she wore was a short tennis skirt and formfitting top. Even with no makeup and covered in sweat, she was stunning. I dropped the beignet back on my plate.

  “Where’s the fire, Wes? I’d barely turned off the car and you were gone.”

  A look of irritation passed across his face. “I was just thinking—I guess I forgot to wait.” He unhooked himself from Lacy’s embrace. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Lacy eyed me with my plate of beignets and then turned to follow him out of the room without saying another word.

  With no more appetite, I turned my head toward the window again. Mrs. Guidry stood in front of Xavier now, her posture one of surprise, as if their paths had crossed accidentally, and I thought again how frightened she looked. She wore the same dress she had worn the previous day, but now it was fractured with wrinkles. She swayed on her feet, her usually coiffed hair in wild tangles. She brought her hands up to her face as if she were crying, and I watched as Xavier turned to go without saying a word, his face expressionless. Mrs. Guidry stumbled on the path as she made her way to the front lawn.

  I bolted out of my chair and practically fell into the arms of Mr. Guidry. I don’t know how long he had been standing behind me, but from the look on his face it was apparent he had seen the whole thing.

  His words were quiet, meant for only me to hear. “Don’t be involving yourself in things that don’t have anything to do with you, Aimee. You hear?”

  I excused myself, then ran out of the kitchen to the back garden. Mrs. Guidry was gone, but Xavier sat on a garden bench, his shoulders slumped, his head hanging down. I sat next to him and watched as he stiffened.

  “Are you okay?” It sounded stupid even to me, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he lifted his head. He wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt and said, “You’re a nice lady, Miss Aimee. Just like your mama. You don’t belong here.” He looked for a moment as if he were going to say something else but instead stood. As he walked away, his steps were slow but purposeful, as if he had come to some sort of decision.

  A dragonfly flitted toward me, its wings a rainbow of iridescence. I followed it until my gaze paused at the kitchen window, where Mr. Guidry still stood staring out. He looked past me, his eyes hard and his vision turned inward.

  Tuesday morning dawned hazy and overcast, but nothing could dampen my excitement about the Comus ball that night. I hadn’t seen much of Wes except at the dinner table, with Lacy hanging all over him. I was eager to ask him what he’d found out about my mother, but it was hard to talk to him with so many people around. He would catch my eye from across the table and give me a smile, but all attempts at conversation were quickly quelled by Lacy’s incessant chatter about her gown or some other item of extreme importance.

  Gary and I went for a long walk along the levee, passing by the spot where I had thrown his bike in the river six years before. I asked him about Xavier and whether or not he knew what
the disagreement between him and Mrs. Guidry might have been about. He only shrugged and continued walking, his hands in his pockets as he kicked stray rocks off the path.

  Midafternoon, I took a nap and then had a long soak in the bathtub. Mrs. Guidry insisted I use her bathroom to get ready and gave me all sorts of exotic oils, lotions, and scents to pamper myself with. I thought I could almost see the cloud of perfume that surrounded me as I stepped from the bath and wrapped myself into one of Mrs. Guidry’s silky robes.

  After a tap on the door, Mrs. Guidry entered to begin fixing my hair. She had changed her clothes since that morning, and her hair was now piled high on her head in an elegant chignon. She no longer resembled the weeping woman I’d seen in the garden, and I felt relieved that whatever had transpired between Mr. and Mrs. Guidry and Xavier had apparently passed. I sat down in the little chair in front of her vanity while she stood behind me. “You look beautiful, Aimee. And I’m going to make sure you are the most stunning woman there tonight, just like your mama would have done. Probably not as well as her, but I’ll do my best.” Softly, she added, “She’d expect me to.”

  Her red lips widened into a smile, and I saw she had a dimple on her right cheek. I had never noticed it before—probably because I don’t think I saw her smile very much. She was so different when her vibrant personality wasn’t drowned in Scotch. I wanted her to be this way all the time.

  She didn’t say anything else but ran her slender fingers through my hair, adjusting wayward strands. Her touch comforted me. I didn’t remember my own mother’s touch—a fact that seemed to separate me from other girls. I was always looking for a surrogate mother, and at times I thought I had found her in Mrs. Guidry. But I couldn’t quite reconcile the woman who was gently stroking my hair with the same woman who drank to excess and screamed at her husband.

  As eager as I was to learn more of my mother’s unsolved murder, it seemed even more urgent to me to find out what she’d been like when she was alive. I met Mrs. Guidry’s eyes in the mirror. “Do you think my mother would like my dress?”

  Her hands stilled in my hair and a shadow passed behind her eyes. They’d been friends, and it comforted me to know that she missed my mother, too.

  “Your mother had exquisite taste, Aimee, and you have inherited that from her.” Her hand rested on the ever-present alligator brooch. “She gave this to me; did you know that? She knew of my passion for alligators, and when she saw it at a jeweler’s in New York, she knew I had to have it.”

  “You told me that before, when we first met. I’m glad you still wear it.”

  Her lopsided smile was reflected in the mirror, distorting her face. Softly, she added, “Your mother would love your gown not just for its beauty, but because you chose it.” Something in her tone made me look up, trying to read her face to understand why her words sounded like she was making an apology.

  She finished with my hair and makeup, then sent for Ray Von to help me dress so Mrs. Guidry could finish with her own preparations. I stood in front of the cheval mirror in my room, my deep green gown held in front of me, as the door opened and Ray Von stepped in. She paused at the threshold before slowly shaking her head.

  “Oooooh, lordy, Miss Aimee. You’re asking for trouble looking like that. I surely don’t want to be around when those two boys start fighting over you.”

  I dropped the dress and turned to face her, my hands on my hips in mock indignation, secretly pleased. “So you think I should wear a potato sack to the ball?”

  She crossed her arms and closed the door with her back. “No. I don’t think it will matter. Seems to me it doesn’t matter what you wear—they’ve already made up their minds about you.”

  I turned back to the mirror and studied my reflection. Mrs. Guidry had worked wonders with the makeup. My blue eyes were darker, my brows finely arched with the help of a pencil. My lips seemed downright pouty in the shade Mrs. Guidry had chosen. She had given me the lipstick to tuck into my purse to retouch as the night wore on. She had winked at me when she had said it, and I hadn’t quite understood her meaning until now. I blushed at the thought, not quite ready to contemplate which brother might be responsible for wiping the lipstick off of my mouth.

  Ray Von helped me into the strapless dress. I hadn’t remembered so much bosom pushing out of the top when I had bought it. Ray Von grabbed the bodice under my arms and, with both hands, gave a tug to bring it higher.

  The raw silk of the gown rustled as I walked to my suitcase and pulled out my jewelry case. My father had given me my mother’s pearls and earrings to wear, and I had a brief flash of my mother wearing them as she leaned over my bed to kiss me good night. I thought I could smell her perfume and closed my eyes briefly to hold the image of her.

  Ray Von helped me with the necklace clasp and opera-length gloves before I stood once again in front of the mirror. There was no trace of the girl I had been just a few hours before. In her place stood a grown-up woman who vaguely resembled me.

  As I descended the stairs, Mr. and Mrs. Guidry and the two boys were already waiting in the foyer. Their attention was focused outside the open front door and they didn’t hear me come down. Mrs. Guidry saw me, and for a brief moment before she smiled, I thought I saw a flash of panic cross her face.

  “Aimee. You look divine!” She crossed the foyer with both arms outstretched as all heads turned in my direction. Wes and Gary turned and started walking toward me at the same time, almost colliding with each other. Wes stopped, allowing Gary to come to my side.

  Gary leaned close to my ear. “You’re beautiful, Aimee. I don’t think I’ll be snapping your bra tonight.”

  Emboldened by his look of admiration, I quipped, “Good. Because I’m not wearing one.”

  He pretended to stagger, as if weak at the knees, and I laughed, noticing how very handsome he looked in his tuxedo.

  Gary placed my wrap over my shoulders, then held out his arm, and I took it with my gloved hand, allowing him to escort me to the door. He paused as we passed Wes, as if to show me off.

  Wes cleared his throat. “You look wonderful tonight, Aimee. I’m sure I’ll have to help Gary in fighting off all those other guys.”

  Gary jerked on my arm, propelling me toward the door. “I’m sure you’ll be busy enough with your own date.”

  I turned to say something to Mrs. Guidry, but my gaze was caught by the two figures on the stairway behind us. Ray Von and Xavier stood so close as to be almost touching each other, portraying a united front.

  I gave a small wave, since I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound trite. I caught Xavier’s glance, but he quickly looked down at his shoes. Without a word, I turned and stepped out into the humid, glorious night.

  Julie

  I replaced my meat- and cheese-laden muffuletta sandwich on my plate and took a sip of my Diet Coke. We sat at Café Maspero in the French Quarter, our table only a short barrier away from the bustling sidewalk outside. I wiped ketchup off of Beau’s chin as I looked around at the former slave market and pirate hangout, the bare tiles and stone arches adding to my feeling of currently existing in the past more than the present after listening to Aimee’s story.

  “Did you ever get a chance to talk with Wes about your mother?”

  “Not until much later. My mother’s death had occurred so many years before, and Wes had more pressing concerns, as you can imagine.” She took a sip from her water glass. “Not that there was anything, really. The case was pretty cut-and-dried—no witnesses, no evidence. Alibis for all family members. No distinguishable murder weapon, even. It was difficult for the police when the case was new. They weren’t too happy when Wes brought it up again, but they did allow him to see the files.”

  “Did he find anything?”

  Her eyes slid down to her plate, shutting me out. “Not that he ever told me. Only that it was a robbery, and the only thing taken was her wedding ring.”

  It was apparent that Aimee had no more interest in pursuing ou
r line of discussion. Changing the subject, I asked, “The painting Caroline Guidry spoke about that she was going to reveal after that ball—that’s the portrait, isn’t it?”

  Aimee nodded, delicately wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. “It was. Except she didn’t get a chance to reveal it that night, unfortunately.”

  “Why?” A horse-drawn carriage full of tourists rumbled outside on the street, so close I imagined I could hear the buzz of the persistent flies around the horse’s head.

  “Because she never came home.” She darted a look at Beau, who was busy drawing ketchup figures on his plate with the end of a french fry. “Why don’t I share that story another time? I’m not sure it’s meant for young ears.”

  I nodded in agreement and recalled my earlier conversation with Trey. “Who has her alligator brooch now? I asked Trey, and he says he’s never seen it.”

  Aimee looked at me, appearing confused for a moment. “You know, I’ve never once thought about that pin or wondered what happened to it. She definitely wore it on her evening gown that night, because I remember seeing it.”

  I pictured the photograph of the portrait in the book. “She’s wearing it in the portrait with her ball gown, so that’s what I assumed.” I took another sip of my drink. “Do you remember giving Monica a book about Abe Holt for Christmas in 1999?”

  “Yes, actually. I do. It was the last Christmas she was with us.”

  “Do you remember if she asked for it, or was it just something that you saw that you thought she might enjoy?”

  Aimee nodded, her eyes closed. “She was taking an art history class at school, and had asked for a book about a modernist painter. Abe Holt wasn’t as well-known as some of the others, but I thought she’d enjoy the fact that we owned one of his paintings. I don’t know how that book ended up in the study. The rest of her books and personal things were boxed up and stored in the attic shortly after she left.”

  Thoughtful, I took a sip of my iced tea. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why so soon? Didn’t you think she’d return?”