by Karen White
“Are you having a good time with Gary?”
“Oh, yes—very much. He’s a good friend.” I moved my hand lower until it rested on his chest. I could feel the strong beat of his heart beneath my gloved palm.
“Is that all he is to you, a good friend?”
I stared into his deep blue eyes. “Yes—a very, very good friend.” Without thinking, I blurted, “What about you and Lacy? Are you going to marry her?”
He looked away for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”
I looked up at him. “Don’t you love her?”
His hand on my back pulled me closer. “I thought I did. At least through the eyes of a naive teenager, I did. Before I learned that love wears many faces.” His gaze traveled to where his parents danced, their bodies close, but their faces turned away from each other.
Wes looked down at me. “It took all the letters you sent me to make me finally realize how blind I’ve been. I know now that I need more than a pretty face or witty conversation. I need strength of character, a gentleness in the soul. A shared understanding.”
I felt a knot in my throat. “Then why are you still seeing Lacy?”
He rested his jaw against the side of my cheek and I sighed. “Because she loves me unconditionally. I’ve never had that before—certainly not from my parents. It’s addictive.” He closed his eyes, then rested his forehead against mine. “Remember once, in one of your letters, you told me you had always wanted a brother or sister. Somebody who would follow you around and probably annoy you but would always be there. A consistent relationship, you called it. That’s sort of what Lacy is. I don’t need to work at the relationship, but it’s always there, waiting for me.” He sighed again, and I could feel the heat of his skin next to mine. “But I know I’m not being fair to Lacy. I need to end it.” He kissed my forehead, and I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to know whether Gary had seen us.
The music died and suddenly Lacy was at his side, dragging him into the next dance. I walked back to the table a little unsteadily and asked a passing waiter for coffee. Tuxedo jackets hung on the backs of chairs, discarded as soon as the men had sat down. Gary was still in his chair, his head resting on the back of it, his eyes closed.
I put my hand on his arm and watched his eyes flutter open. He didn’t even attempt to stand up. “Are you all right, Gary?”
A reassuring grin spread across his face as he looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Sure—I’m okay. Sit down.” His arm fanned about in the direction of the chair next to his. I sat down and watched his eyelids close again.
Mr. and Mrs. Guidry were standing near the dance floor and speaking with another couple. His hand was on her back, and they appeared just like any other couple, except for the way she kept stepping away to avoid his touch. I noticed her alligator brooch, remembering how she told me that my mother had given it to her, and it warmed me somehow.
I looked back to the dance floor, where Wes and Lacy swayed to the music, their bodies nearly touching as the band played “Cry Me a River.” The gold in her dress picked up the overhead lights, making it twinkle like a thousand fireflies. Wes bent to whisper something in her ear, and they stopped dancing. Her head jerked back as her hands slid down his arms and clutched at them tightly. I could see her clawlike grip as she pulled on the fabric of his starched shirt. He was trying to steer her off the floor, but she remained where she was, holding on to something more than just a shirt.
I turned my head, not wanting to see any more. I didn’t like Lacy, but I still couldn’t watch her devastation. I looked at Gary, who seemed paler, and I suddenly felt sick. If Wes and I were to pursue a relationship, what would it mean to Gary? Could he be happy with just my friendship? And could I face either of them, knowing that I was responsible for a rift between the brothers?
Reaching over, I placed my hand on his. “Gary, do you need to go home? You’re looking like the underside of a catfish right now.”
His left cheek lifted in a lopsided grin before he shook his head. I looked to see if I could find his parents to get a second opinion and had half risen from my chair but stopped. Mr. and Mrs. Guidry were standing away from the crowd, and from their earnest expressions I could see that whatever they were discussing wasn’t a whispering matter. Abruptly, Mrs. Guidry turned away, weaving slightly as she passed members of the New Orleans society whose opinion she’d long since stopped caring about.
Mr. Guidry’s gaze followed his wife’s movements until he left, too, walking away in another direction. I looked back at the dance floor, but Wes and Lacy had also disappeared.
Gary and I spent the rest of the evening alone, not dancing with each other or anybody else. We had sporadic visits from some of his friends, who stopped by briefly, but then moved on. Gary remained seated, his head either resting on his arms on the table or on the back of his chair. He kept insisting he didn’t need to leave, and I strained my neck for sight of Wes or his parents to help me bring Gary home. We talked about the coming school year, when we would both be freshmen at Tulane—Gary in pre-med and me at Newcomb College. He kept referring to us as a couple—how “we” would do this or that. I didn’t say anything.
Despite the loud din of the music and merrymaking, Gary fell asleep with his head on his hands. I stepped outside to see whether I could find any other member of the Guidry family, then returned at midnight as the two kings greeted each other and toasted the revelers. Gary stirred and opened his eyes, but kept his head on the table.
Mr. Guidry emerged through the throng of people near the royal court. He approached without smiling. “Where are Wes and Lacy?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them for a while.”
“Have you seen my wife? I expected her back here by now.”
Gary and I looked at each other. “No—we’ve seen no one for quite some time.”
Mr. Guidry picked up his jacket from the back of a chair and, to my surprise, put it on. His shirt was drenched with sweat and his dark hair clung to his forehead. He gave a cursory glance around the room before letting his gaze rest on Gary. “We need to get you home,” he said, his voice tight and controlled as he moved to help Gary out of his chair.
Gary resisted, pulling his arm away. “What about Mother? We can’t leave her here. I’m going to wait for her.”
A dark look passed between them as Gary leaned heavily on the table. “Look at you,” Mr. Guidry hissed. “You should be at home in bed.” More gently, he added, “Your mother will understand. I’ll leave the car and driver here for her and tell our friends that we’ve gone so they can let her know. We’ll take a taxi.”
Again, Gary resisted. I grabbed his arm. “Gary, come on. I’ll go with you. Your mother’s here with her friends, and the car will be waiting for her when it’s time to leave. Please come—for me?”
His blue-gray eyes regarded me quietly. Finally, he nodded and allowed me to lead him outside.
Loud knocking on my bedroom door woke me up the following morning. I stared at my bedside clock—nine twenty. Without waiting for an answer, Gary walked in wearing only pajama bottoms. His trim torso was tight with sinewy muscles, his skin lightly tanned. A puckered scar ran between his breasts, white against his tan. I realized it was the first time he had ever allowed me to see him with his shirt off. His face was pale, his eyes panicked.
“What is it, Gary? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mother. She never came home.”
I sat up straight in the bed, rubbing my eyes and trying to think. “Are you sure? It’s Ash Wednesday. Maybe she went to Mass.”
He shook his head. “My father said she didn’t come home at all, and I’ve been calling her friends all morning. Nobody has seen her since last night.”
Dread settled heavily in my stomach. “Has anyone called the police?”
He gave his head an angry shake. “No. My father wants to wait, but I’m worried.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Can you see if you can talk some sense
into him?”
My head still foggy, I rubbed my eyes again. “Come on.” I slid out of bed and put on my robe. I opened the door and didn’t smell the usual aroma of percolating coffee.
“How did you know she wasn’t here?”
“When I saw my father this morning I asked him what time my mother had come in last night.” As if anticipating my next question, he added, “And Wes’s bed hasn’t been slept in, either.”
My stomach clenched, but I tried not to read anything into his words.
We walked over to the Guidrys’ bedroom door. The transom over the door was still dark, so I knew the curtains hadn’t yet been opened. I had lifted my hand to knock when the door was flung open. Mr. Guidry stood in the doorway wearing a dark blue bathrobe, his hair in disarray and dark smudges under his eyes.
“What is it?” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Gary started to speak but I silenced him with a hand on his arm. “We’re both worried about Mrs. Guidry.”
Mr. Guidry took a step forward, then stopped. As if controlling every single word, he said, “As I told Gary, Mrs. Guidry has not come home from the party last night. I would prefer not to call the police and draw everyone’s attention to my wife’s behavior. I can only hope this time she’s thinking about her family and acting more discreet.”
“How dare you?” Gary lunged for his father, his long fingers grabbing at Mr. Guidry’s throat.
I reached for Gary and winced as I felt my nails scrape against his bare back. He had knocked his father to the ground and they were now grappling with each other. Gary drew back his fist and punched his father in the jaw.
I ran to the staircase and shouted, “Help! Ray Von! Xavier! Come quick!” Only the silence of the house answered me.
Gary was now pummeling his father. Blood streamed from Mr. Guidry’s nose. I was thankful Gary was the only one throwing any punches; Mr. Guidry was simply raising his arms to shield his face from Gary’s flying fists. But the effort was having its effect on Gary. His energy flagged as the blows came slower and with less force. I could see him trying to breathe deeply, his chest almost concave, but he couldn’t seem to pull in enough oxygen.
“Stop it!” I screamed, pulling a weakened Gary off his father. “You’re killing yourself.” Gary fell into me as I sat down with a thud, his head cradled in my lap. His father stood, swaying slightly, and wiped his face with the tie to his robe as red blobs of blood dripped on the Oriental carpet runner.
I looked up at him, my voice surprisingly steady. “Get Ray Von. Gary needs help.”
Without a word, he stumbled to the staircase and went downstairs.
“Gary, why did you do that? Look at you—you shouldn’t have done that.” I was crying now, staring at his pale face. I picked up one of his hands and started crying harder when I saw the bloodied knuckles. “Aw, Gary. Your beautiful hands—you might not be able to play the piano anymore.”
He squeezed my hand. “You’re... babbling, Aimee. Please . . . shut . . . up.” He closed his eyes briefly, trying to draw in a deep breath. “And I haven’t . . . played . . . the piano . . . since I was thirteen.” He closed his eyes again, the effort from talking and breathing seeming to overwhelm him.
I laughed and cried at the same time, relieved to hear Gary’s voice but shedding tears for the irreparable damage done to my adopted family.
Mrs. Guidry didn’t come home at all that day. Nor the next. Wes had also disappeared, but only Gary and I seemed concerned. Even Ray Von remained indifferent, seeming aloof when we asked her if she knew where they were, or even if they might be together. By the third day, Gary called the police.
A uniformed officer showed up to interview us, followed shortly by a stocky man in a filthy raincoat. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Houlihan, a detective with the New Orleans Police Department. The lieutenant asked questions, writing everything down in a stained and faded leather notebook. Gary sat through his interview in the parlor, his back to his father, still not having completely recovered his strength from their earlier encounter. He answered all the questions slowly, going over every detail of the previous Tuesday.
“Any reason you can think of why your mother or brother would run away?” As Lieutenant Houlihan spoke, the stocky policeman surveyed the parlor with its dark paneling and expensive antiques.
Gary glanced back at his father and paused, his jaw tightening. Slowly, he shook his head. “They would never leave me here alone. They just wouldn’t.”
I could see the pointed look the detective gave to Mr. Guidry, noting Gary’s definition of “alone.”
Mr. Guidry spoke in clipped tones, his manner dismissive. I could see Gary clenching his fists, so I grabbed one and held it tightly. The detective looked at the officer with raised eyebrows and continued taking notes.
I cleared my throat. “Have you spoken to Wes’s girlfriend, Lacy Boudreaux? They were together at the Comus Ball.”
Detective Houlihan nodded. “Yes. She says Wes took her home early and then planned on returning home himself. Witnesses corroborate her story.” He turned to Gary’s father. “When did you last see your wife, Mr. Guidry?”
He rubbed his palm over his face, as if to wipe off a memory. “It was before midnight. I went to go chat with some friends—the Claibornes—and Caroline excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. I didn’t see her again after that.”
I looked away, knowing what he was saying wasn’t what I had seen. But it was partly true, and they had walked off in opposite directions. I remained silent, not wanting to incriminate Mr. Guidry on a minor matter, and believing I had nothing new to add.
The scratch of the detective’s pen echoed in the silent room, accompanied only by the gum-smacking of the officer.
“Miss Mercier, did you see anything? Anything at all that you think might be of interest?”
I had been staring at the policeman, amazed that a person could make that much noise with a single piece of gum. I jerked my head back to the interrogator. “No. Nothing.”
The detective stepped closer to Mr. Guidry, his eyes narrowed. “Looks like you’ve been in a fight.”
Mr. Guidry crossed his arms across his chest. “It has nothing to do with my wife or Wes, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He paused for a moment, his lips in a grim line, his eyes avoiding Gary. “My son and I had a disagreement. That’s all.”
The detective looked over at Gary, his gaze taking in Gary’s raw knuckles splayed over his knees like spiders in a web. Gary didn’t say anything, just stared at the carpet examining the intricate fleur-de-lis pattern.
The detective scribbled something down on his notepad, then shoved it into his pocket. He grappled in his coat for something and said, “All right, then. If you think of anything else, or either one of them shows up, give us a call.” He pulled out three business cards, all as disheveled as the coat they had come from, and handed them to us. I looked down at the name. Lieutenant Pierre Houlihan.
Mr. Guidry stood and began escorting them to the door. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m sure my wife will show up soon. Between you and me, her behavior isn’t a surprise. She’s long scoffed at polite society. I thought all of that was behind her, which is why I consented to attend the ball. I guess I thought wrong. As for Wes, I have a feeling he’s still having a good time with friends somewhere and has no idea that his mother is missing. If you find him before I do, please tell him to call me as soon as possible. Good night, gentlemen.”
Mr. Guidry opened the door wide, making it clear the interview was over. The two men left, their heels clicking on the wet walkway. As the door shut behind them, I recalled that I hadn’t seen Xavier since Sunday, either. And the thought of Xavier brought to mind the scene we had witnessed in the darkened hallway. I wondered if that were the sort of thing the lieutenant was talking about when he said if I thought of anything else. I looked over at Mr. Guidry’s stormy face as he quickly poured himself a double Scotch and let my thumb run over the embossed print
on the front of the card. Then my glance strayed to Gary, his face in his hands, the back of his neck exposed. The skin was white, raw, untouched by the sun, and I remembered how his mother would rub him there to calm him down after an attack. I saw the little boy still in Gary, and I felt a tightening in my chest. I folded the card in half and shoved it into my pocket, unwilling to be the one to raise one more demon in this household.
CHAPTER 17
Explosive deepening: A decrease in the minimum sea-level pressure of a tropical cyclone of 2.5 mb /hr for at least twelve hours or 5 mb /hr for at least six hours.
—NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER
Julie
Aimee and I sat on the stone bench in the garden, bundled up against a sudden cool spell that had descended on New Orleans and taken away the sun, replacing it with heavy gray clouds. Beau stood nearby, watching as Xavier used large shears to cut branches from the row of crape myrtles that lined the side fence. I had learned their names, along with half a dozen other plants in the garden, from Beau, who’d become Xavier’s avid student.
Aimee sat with her hand clutching the neck of her coat, preventing any cool air from getting inside. Turning to her, I asked, “So what happened to Mrs. Guidry and Wes? Were they together?”
Her eyes seemed confused for a moment, as if she were trying to place me or remember why I was there. Shaking her head, she said, “No, they weren’t together.” She lowered her arm and lifted the cuff of her coat to look at her watch. “I think we’ve run out of time. I have a meeting for the home and garden tour in half an hour, and Trey is going to drive me. I suppose I’d better go inside and put some lipstick on.” She smiled, then stood, leaning heavily on her cane. I’d seen her with her cane many times, but until now it had never seemed to me as if she might actually need it. “We’ll have to continue later.”
I stood, too, offering my arm to help her up the steps to the front door, trying to hide my impatience to hear more of her story. But I realized, too, how the recounting of her past must be a lot like watching a movie where you knew what would happen, but didn’t want to look. She seemed hesitant to push forward with her story, but I thought I understood why.