by Karen White
I reached my good hand toward Gary’s, and rested it on his. “I’m sorry.” He turned his head slightly but didn’t move. “How is your heart?”
He didn’t look at me. “Besides being broken in two, you mean?”
I elbowed him in the arm. “I’m being serious, Gary.”
“I know. So am I.”
We faced each other. The light illuminated him from behind, casting his face in shadow. “What do the doctors say about your heart?”
He shrugged. “Basically nothing. I need to take care of myself and not overexert. Take my medicine. That sort of thing. I could live forever.”
“Could you have another heart attack?”
He nodded. “Yeah. If things really go wacky again, my heart rhythm can be thrown off and I could have another attack.” He shook his head. “But I won’t. I’m really being careful—taking my medication, exercising, really watching out for myself. I’m trying to keep my emotions in check—things like that.”
A mosquito landed on my forearm and I slapped at it, creating a dark smear on my skin. “I’m glad. And you certainly seem healthier than I’ve ever seen you.”
“That’s because I am. Med school will be hard on me, but I can do it. And I really want to be a doctor. I figure I’ve been around hospitals all my life—why not?”
I smiled, imagining Gary in a white coat and stethoscope. “Your handwriting is certainly bad enough to qualify you.”
He bumped against me with his shoulder. “You’re one to talk. I don’t think your handwriting’s changed since kindergarten.”
I opened my mouth to retort, when I noticed a thick shadow across the street. “Shh,” I whispered.
Gary followed the direction of my gaze just as the shadow disappeared. It had moved so quickly I was sure it had been just my imagination.
“What is it?”
I sat back. “I thought I saw somebody—but it was nothing. Probably a stray cat.”
Gary had moved up to the edge of the swing, his feet firmly planted on the floor of the porch. I had slid up to the edge, too, and our thighs were pressed against each other. I turned my head to say something and realized his face was only an inch from mine. We stared at each other for several long moments, not saying anything. And then his lips touched mine, soft and gentle. His kiss didn’t make my heart beat faster, or my blood heat, but there was something comforting there, something warm and familiar. Something mine.
His hand touched my good hand, and I realized that his fingers were pressing against the Cracker Jack ring he’d given me four years before. “Marry me, Aimee. Let me love you the way you deserve to be.”
I thought of Wes, and how he was gone from me forever, and Ray Von’s words about the different shades of love. I did love Gary, maybe even enough to make me forget Wes. And maybe even enough to make Gary happy. I kissed him back, hard, and his arms went around me, and my decision settled on me as tight and fitted as the lid on a firefly jar.
“I will, Gary. I’ll marry you.” The words didn’t scare me like I thought they would but soothed me instead like a mother’s hand on a fevered forehead.
“I love you, Aimee.”
I smiled back at him. “I love you, too, Gary.” I reached my arms around him, squeezing tightly. “I love you, too.”
We stayed on the porch swing for a long time, our hands clasped, not speaking, watching as partygoers left the house next door and heavy clouds moved languidly over the moon, hiding it from view. Eventually, Gary stood, realizing as guest of honor he should probably be there to say good-bye to his guests. He kissed me one more time, then left.
Eventually, I stood and let myself into my grandmother’s house. As I shut the door, I looked through the leaded glass window and saw the empty swing swaying in the wind and the first raindrops beginning to darken the deserted walkway.
CHAPTER 21
Their understanding
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores
That now lie foul and muddy.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Julie
I stood in the quiet foyer of the house on First Street and put my overnight bag beside me on the rug. It was a Wednesday evening in late February and I was tardy for my meeting with Trey because I’d had to leave Beau at Carol Sue’s. He and Charlie had been invited to the same birthday party the following day, and Carol Sue had errands to run in New Orleans and could bring him back afterward.
Beau had hugged me good-bye, then run off to play, while I’d just stood in Carol Sue’s kitchen, devastated. I’d slid Monica’s red hat from my purse and placed it on the kitchen counter in case he needed it, then made sure Carol Sue had all the phone numbers she might need, including poison control and both the Louisiana and Mississippi highway patrols. I’d been in the process of looking up the phone number for the coast guard when Carol Sue opened the door and asked me to leave.
“In here,” Trey called from the living room.
Trey and Aimee sat opposite each other on the two sofas, each holding a drink. Standing there amid the paintings and antiques I recalled that this was the room where a young Aimee had first met Gary and Mrs. Guidry. I wondered if everything had remained the same in the elegant room after all those years, and if Aimee remembered it, too.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to drop Beau off at Carol Sue’s.”
“We know. Carol Sue called to let us know, and to make sure I had a drink waiting for you when you arrived.” Trey stood and moved to a brass-and-glass drink cart, where a bottle of wine stood open. “Wine okay or would you prefer something stronger?”
“Wine is fine,” I said, moving toward the sofas. Aimee had moved toward the center of hers, so I had no choice but to sit on the one Trey had just vacated. He returned to the sofa and handed me my glass before sitting down beside me, his knee touching mine. I felt suddenly very aware of his being so close.
I took a sip and tried to relax. “The Hardie board arrived today for River Song. It’s even earlier than everyone anticipated, so that’s good. They should be able to start siding the house in the next week or so.” I took another sip, if only to stop my rambling. “I wasn’t really happy about not using real wood, but I have to admit that this stuff looks like the real thing. And it’s made of cement, so bugs won’t like it, and neither will water.”
Trey leaned back against the cushions and stretched one long arm across the back, and I could feel his fingertips brush my shoulder. “And Hardie board won’t splinter in a storm or need painting every year. Something any Biloxi resident could appreciate.”
I wondered if he included me in the “Biloxi resident” category, and it surprised me that I would care. I still used my New York driver’s license, and all of my mail was being forwarded to a post office box in New Orleans. But I’d been building a house in Biloxi for nearly five months while working at the Ohr museum and renting another house there, and I felt as if I’d earned the right to be referred to as a resident. Ever since my trip to Deer Island with Trey, I’d felt a softening around the heart as I exited the interstate onto the peninsula and drove along Beach Boulevard, seeing the boats at the marina and the smudge of the barrier islands in the distance, thinking about my dolphin as it swam in the sound. I’d found myself several times standing on the shore, searching for the sign of a telltale fin or ripple against the water’s surface.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m glad it looks like wood, and I’m glad we did white again with black shutters—and not just because that’s how it used to look. It’s just so clean and crisp.” I closed my eyes, remembering my early mornings and evenings at the building site. “The house will be a beautiful canvas for the light from sunsets and sunrises.” I opened my eyes to see both Aimee and Trey watching me.
Aimee looked down into her glass, a small smile brightening her face. “Monica used to say that. She said River Song inspired her as an artist because of the way the light played with it.”
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p; A clock chimed, reminding me that it was past dinnertime. I knew it was Kathy Wolf ’s day off and didn’t smell anything cooking. I set my half-empty glass on the table, afraid to drink more on an empty stomach. “I haven’t eaten, and if either one of you is interested, I could see what I can whip up for dinner.”
Aimee and Trey glanced at each other, and it occurred to me that they were probably talking about me before I’d arrived. “What’s wrong?”
Trey sat forward in his seat and placed his glass next to mine. “Nothing’s wrong. I got a call from my father today and he wants to meet you.”
“Johnny?” I couldn’t think of anything else to call him, because of Aimee’s stories, although I realized he was a man in his fifties by now and I should probably be referring to him as Mr. Guidry. “Why does he want to meet me?”
Again, Aimee and Trey exchanged a glance. “He wants to thank you for bringing Beau home. But I think his phone call was prompted by my poking around in those old police files. Somebody must have called him.”
“But why?” I asked, confused.
“Because he’s got a lot of connections, and old acquaintances feel obliged to let him know when somebody’s poking around in anything related to his family. Even if that person is his son,” he added, as if anticipating my next question. He took a sip of his drink and I waited impatiently for him to continue.
Instead, Aimee spoke. “Trey called an old friend in the NOPD to gain access to my mother’s case file as well as Caroline’s. Apparently, all the old files were lost in Katrina. What wasn’t ruined by the wind and water had to be destroyed later, because they were contaminated and held a potential health risk.”
“So there’s nothing left?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing is left of anything that wasn’t stored electronically, and those weren’t.”
“Then why would Johnny be concerned enough to call if there was nothing for Trey to see in the files?”
“That’s exactly what I wondered, too, which is why I agreed that we’d meet with him tonight, and we can ask him in person. Unless you have other plans.”
His smile was so smug that I almost lied and said I did. But cruising the Internet’s missing persons files probably didn’t meet anybody’s definition of “other plans.” I stood. “Fine. Just let me clean up and put a dress on.”
Trey stood, too, and his face was split in a huge grin. “Actually, where we’re heading, you might want to throw on your oldest jeans.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Then let me carry my bag upstairs and I’ll be right back. And can we grab something to eat where we’re heading?”
“Not at Miss Mae’s. It’s cash only and no food, but it’s got the cheapest beer in town. We can swing by Domilise’s for some po’-boys first.”
“I’ll let you explain what that is on our way over. I’m so hungry right now that as long as it’s food I’ll eat it. I’ll be right back.” I ran upstairs and returned quickly, then climbed into Trey’s truck.
He glanced at my clean blouse and shook his head. “I hope those sleeves roll up, because eating a fried shrimp po’-boy can get messy.”
“So what’s a po’-boy?”
“I guess you’d call it a submarine sandwich, but they’re much better down here, mostly because we like to put fried things in them. Just make sure you order yours dressed—that’s lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise—but if you want pickle and onion, you have to ask.”
I settled back into my seat. “How about I let you order for me?”
“Will do.” He shook his head, smiling to himself.
“What is it?”
“I feel like I’m in law school again. There’s nothing cheaper than dinner at Domilise’s and drinks afterward at Miss Mae’s. Those are some good memories.”
“I think you just called me a cheap date.”
He pulled the truck in to park on a side street and I found myself blushing as I realized that I’d just defined our outing as a date. “For the record, I did not. Remind me to take you to Galatoires for lunch or Commander’s for dinner to make it up to you.”
I scrambled out of the truck before he could come around to let me out. “That’s all right. I probably don’t have anything to wear to those kinds of places.”
We were stopped under a hand-painted sign that read, DOMILISE’S PO’-BOYS & BAR, and had a little fleur-de-lis in the bottom left corner. Trey looked down at me, frowning. “Before I met you, I’d never met a woman who wasn’t at least an occasional shopper. But I’ve never once seen you with a shopping bag, except for something for Beau. You don’t like our shops here?”
I stood still for a moment, without words. Monica had noticed it, too, but had never asked why. It was understood that it was something I never looked at too closely, like the reasons I’d kept Chelsea’s hairbrush and why I accumulated collections of things that held no real meaning to me.
He put his hand on the restaurant door. “Last time I checked, Julie, it was okay to ask for more than one thing. It’s okay to want.”
A young couple, holding hands, pushed through the door, making Trey and me step back. He placed his hand on my back, and for a brief moment I wanted to lean into him, to thank him for understanding that part of me, for making me feel less alone. Instead I stepped forward and led him into the restaurant.
The walls were wood-paneled, the plates paper, the kitschy decor of photographs and handwritten menu on the wall definitely homegrown, and I don’t think I’d ever tasted anything so good. We washed our po’boys down with Barq’s root beer, something I’d never tasted before but definitely something I could get used to. I sat in a satisfied stupor, hoping Trey would let me stay where I was for a little longer.
He stood but held a hand up. “Hang on—I want to get a to-go bag for my dad. He doesn’t always remember to eat.”
As we left the restaurant, a rectangular neon sign over the doorway of a squat brick house across the street caught my attention. The sign read, MADAME AVERY’S PALM READING, but the “a,” “m,” and “e” weren’t lit, so it read, MAD AVERY. I laughed and Trey followed my gaze.
“Ever had your palm read?”
I grimaced. “Once, at the state fair. I didn’t want to, but Chelsea did, so we went together. The woman told us that we would both lead long, happy lives and have lots of children.” I laughed despite myself. “I think we actually believed her.” I didn’t tell him that for a long time after Chelsea was gone I’d wondered if we had somehow made ourselves vulnerable to what came later, that being assured of good fortune had made us careless.
Trey glanced at his watch. “Come on. It’s still early, and my dad needs to get a few drinks in him first to take the edge off. Let’s go see Madame Avery.”
I resisted. “It’s just a scam, Trey. She’ll just take our money and make something up.”
“I know. But it will be frivolous and fun—two words I think are missing from your vocabulary.”
“And don’t forget shopping,” I added as he took my hand and pulled me across the street until we stopped at the doorstep under a short overhang. “You’re paying.”
He knocked on the door, then smiled down at me. It was like looking at Monica’s face with the expression she wore before showing me a new painting. But her eyes had always held uncertainty and trepidation, whereas Trey’s showed only confidence and conviction. I wanted to know how he’d managed to hang on to both after the events of the last five years.
An extremely tall woman with very dark skin and amber hair opened the door. She wore a smart skirt and blouse right out of a Talbots shop window, and when she smiled she revealed even, white teeth. She didn’t look at all like the palm reader from the carnival.
“Are y’all here for a palm reading?”
Trey propelled me in front of him. “Yes. She is.”
I gave him an annoyed look as Madame Avery led us through a tiny, dark kitchen into an even darker room in the back of the house. It looked like a normal office except there were bl
ankets over the windows, and instead of a bed there was a card table in the center of the room covered in a white tablecloth, with two folding chairs pulled up on one side and a single chair facing them. Unlike my last palmreading experience, there was no crystal ball or silk tablecloth or cardboard stars hanging from the ceiling. And Madame Avery herself wasn’t even wearing multiple earrings and bracelets, so nothing jangled as she walked.
She flipped the switch that lit a dim ceiling fixture over the table, then motioned for us to sit down before sitting across from us. She smiled and looked so normal that I could have been in a doctor’s office or job interview. “It’s twenty-five dollars for a reading,” she said.
I gave Trey a knowing look and waited for him to pull out the cash from his wallet and slide it over.
Madame Avery placed the money in the corner of the table, then took my hand, her own feeling like warm leather. She straightened my fingers and stared at my palm and I waited for her to start murmuring gibberish. Instead, she used a short fingernail to trace a line bisecting my palm. “This is your lifeline. It’s long and unbroken, meaning you’ll have a very long life.”
I shot an I-told-you-so look over at Trey, but he just widened his eyes at me. I looked back at Madame Avery. “And I’ll have lots of children.”
Her dark eyes met mine over our hands, but she just smiled before returning to examine my palm. She frowned, a line creasing between her eyebrows, and I rolled my eyes as I waited for her to tell me about a dark stranger.
When she spoke, her voice was so quiet that I had to lean forward to hear her. “I see a journey, a wandering path that doubles back on itself, bringing you to the beginning again.” She shook her head. “You have been searching a long time.” She lifted my palm as she sat back, holding it up so the overhead light could illuminate the pale pink skin. Slowly she raised her eyes to mine again. “You are close to finding what you seek.” She leaned forward, our foreheads nearly touching. “If you haven’t already.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat, hoping no one else could hear it in the quiet room.