by Karen White
—NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER
Julie
Our ride home through the New Orleans night was silent, as I was busy thinking about why Trey had kissed me and why I’d wanted him to. I assumed he was busy wondering what his conversation with Johnny had uncovered, and why Wes would have hidden the files. And what would have made Monica leave so suddenly with the portrait.
As he parked the truck, Trey turned to me. “I’d like a drink before I turn in. What about you?”
Swallowing, I said, “Sure.”
“I’ll meet you in my study. I want to check on Aimee first.”
I nodded, then made my way to the study, glad for a few extra moments to compose myself. The boxes I’d brought from Carol Sue’s office were still there, the insides spread out on the table like a dissection. I was about to go over and examine them again when I heard the sound of metal scraping hard earth coming from the garden.
Moving to the window, I pulled the curtain back to peer outside. From my vantage point, I didn’t have a clear view of the whole garden, but I could see the carriage house and half of the garden shed. Xavier had pulled everything out of the shed and stacked it all on the grass. I heard the sound of metal scraping dirt again and strained to see around the corner.
“Don’t mind Xavier. He’s always worked at odd hours. I think he’s an insomniac.”
I started at the sound of Trey’s voice. I turned to face him, as uncertain around him now as a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush. “I think he’s getting ready to paint the shed. Seems like a big job. He’s not exactly young, so I’m surprised he didn’t jump at your offer to help.”
Trey looked past me toward the shed. “Yeah, me, too. I’ll ask him again tomorrow—assuming he doesn’t stay up all night to finish.” His eyes met mine again. “What would you like to drink?”
“Just water,” I said, my head still a little fuzzy from the beer I’d had at Miss Mae’s.
Trey turned and headed for the door. “I think I’ll join you. Be right back.”
While he was gone, I moved over to Monica’s box again, peering inside to see what I’d left behind. I spotted the small vinyl photograph album again, its edges warped and curled, and pulled it out. Carefully, I used my little finger to unstick the cover from the first page, the clear plastic sleeve adhering to it as if it had been glued shut. I eventually pried it apart and found myself smiling at the photograph of a young Monica in her Sacred Heart uniform, standing with Aimee and an attractive older man on the front steps of the First Street house. Monica held a blue ribbon in one hand, and a framed watercolor landscape in the other. Her smile showed two missing front teeth.
“That’s Wes,” Trey said behind me as he handed me a glass of water with a wedge of lemon.
I nodded my thanks and took the drink. “And you’re going to make me wait for Aimee to tell me how she ended up with him, aren’t you? ”
Trey raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
Sighing, I turned back to the album. “If it’s all right with you, I’m going to see if I can salvage these photographs and put them in an archival-safe album. And then I’m going to give it to Beau. He doesn’t have any photographs of his mother and I think he’d like that.”
Trey took a sip of his water. “He gets a kick out of Monica’s portrait in the parlor. He thinks it’s funny that she was once a little girl.”
“Me, too,” I said softly as I reached into the box again and grabbed a handful of metallic green, gold, and purple beads. “She used to always decorate our apartments for Mardi Gras. I have no idea where she found the beads or the King Cake, but we always had them.”
“Mardi Gras day is March eighth this year. I thought you and Beau might like to see a parade or two.”
I nodded as I sorted through the crumbled petals of old corsages. “Carol Sue said we should see the Biloxi Mardi Gras parade—it’s smaller but less wild. And it goes right in front of Walker’s building on Howard Avenue. He’s got a balcony we can sit on, so I don’t have to worry too much about Beau.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about him regardless. You’re not the only adult watching out for him, you know.”
“I know. Sorry. I guess it’s a habit where he’s concerned.”
“You’re a good guardian, Julie.”
I ducked my head, staring into the box so he couldn’t see my face. “And you’re a good uncle. I think Beau’s done pretty well for himself.”
I listened to Trey’s footsteps as they crossed to the desk. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do with Beau once River Song is completed?”
I kept my head down. “I’m not used to planning that far ahead.”
“Because that might make you actually stop and think about your life for a moment.” His words were spoken softly, taking the sting from them. “But it’s not just your life anymore.”
Finally, I looked up at him, acknowledging that I’d thought the same thing but had been unable to voice it. “Beau’s well-being is my priority right now. I’ll think about the rest of it when I have to.”
I turned back to the box, spotting something dark and round in a corner. Lifting it out, I stared at it. “It’s a coconut with paint and glitter on it.”
Trey took it from me and held it with deference in his hands. “But not just any coconut. It’s a prized Zulu coconut—handed out only at the Zulu parade on Mardi Gras morning. It’s kind of a coveted item.” He tossed it in his hand. “Maybe it can be the decor inspiration for one of the rooms at River Song. It wouldn’t be historically accurate, but I think Monica would approve, anyway.”
I stared at him, just for a moment wondering what it was like to think ahead and make plans as if the life lived now would continue uninterrupted, to have the kind of strength and resilience required to rebuild after a storm. “I have to admit that I haven’t given any thought to the interior yet. Other than the recycled-wood floorboards, anyway.”
“Yeah, and that conversation took only three weeks.” Trey placed the coconut on the table and returned to leaning against the desk.
“I wanted to get it right, that’s all. The new River Song is going to be there for a long time, so we might as well fight for what we want.”
When he didn’t say anything, I looked up to find him staring at me, a small smile making his cheeks crease. “What?” I asked.
“Never mind.” He finished his water, the ice cubes clinking in the glass. “So what did you think of my father?”
I leaned against the table and stared into my glass. “He seemed lost. And I think he’s been that way for a long time. At least since his mother died.”
“I’d never heard that story before. He could have been making it up.”
“I don’t think so. He wouldn’t have told us about Lacy if he wanted to hide anything from us.” I thought for a moment. “Do you think if we visited Wes, we’d be able to get any kind of an answer?”
Trey shrugged. “It wouldn’t do any good. He doesn’t really recognize anyone anymore, and before the stroke he never spoke about his parents. Just Gary and Aimee, that’s all. He’d get agitated if anybody strayed too far into the past.”
“Do you think he was covering up for somebody? Like his father? Gary seemed to think his parents’ relationship was toxic. Maybe Wes found out his father had something to do with his mother’s disappearance. And what about Xavier? He disappeared on the same night as Caroline. The detective in charge of the investigation seemed to think that he might know something.”
Trey swirled the ice around in his glass. “Just don’t say that in front of Aimee. She considers him her great protector for some reason. It used to irritate my grandfather, because Wes couldn’t stand Xavier, and I got the feeling that the dislike was mutual.”
I thought for a moment. “Ray Von told me that Xavier worked for your family since Camille. Where was he between the time when Caroline disappeared in 1956 and Camille in 1969?”
“Finding himself, according to
Aimee. All I know is that that’s when Ray Von began to distance herself from Aimee. As if Xavier’s absence during that time were somehow Aimee’s fault.” He raked his fingers through his hair, much like Beau did when he was tired. “Like I said, Aimee won’t stand to hear anything bad about Xavier. He’s certainly devoted to her now, but neither one likes to talk about the past.”
Trey’s gaze lingered on me for a long moment, and I looked away. Turning toward the computer, I asked, “Is it okay if I use this right now? ”
As if I hadn’t said anything, he said, “Why do you care, Julie? Why does any of this matter to you?”
I moved the mouse and the monitor came to life with the background photo of Monica and Trey at the beach. It was a perfect moment in time, a touchstone to a happy life that ended abruptly, ten years before Monica took her last breath. I saw Aimee’s shadow in the picture, her arms raised to hold the camera, encircling Monica in an embrace. “Because some things should never be forgotten. Whether it’s a memory we should learn from or a memory of something precious, sort of like life’s rewind button. Sometimes that’s all we have left.” I paused, seeing the innocent child still visible in both Trey and Monica.
“Johnny called you brave; did you realize that? Because you’re prepared to face the truth. I think he’s right. I don’t think that’s what I would have called you when we first met, but I think he’s right.”
Embarrassed, I turned back to the monitor. “I don’t know what I am any more, but I’m pretty sure it’s not brave.” I studied my nails, short and unpolished. “I think brave describes people who come back to devastation but see only the possibilities. I’m not like that at all.”
I clicked on the Internet Explorer icon and waited for it to load.
“Julie?”
“Yes?”
“Did you mind it when I kissed you earlier?”
I was glad he couldn’t see my face. “No.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you again sometime?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good.”
Keeping my eyes on the monitor, I waited for him to approach, but instead heard his footsteps walking away. “Good night, Julie. Don’t forget to set the alarm before you go to bed.”
The door clicked shut, and I realized that I was smiling.
I had just launched the FBI Web site when I heard a shout from upstairs. Alarmed, I jumped out of my chair and ran up the stairs to Aimee’s room. A thin light showed from under her door, and when I knocked, the door opened silently into the room.
The dim light came from a silver fleur-de-lis night-light plugged in near the baseboard on the wall opposite the door. It cast long shadows over the bed and walls, the tall arms of the four-poster bed seeming to hold captive the bed’s occupant.
“Aimee?” I peered into the alcove and saw her propped up on her pillows, her skin shiny with perspiration. “Are you all right?”
“The light. Please.”
I flicked on the bedside lamp and she seemed to relax. “Would you like me to call Kathy?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. It was just a nightmare. Could you please pour me a glass of water? It’s right there on my nightstand. I’d get up and do it myself, but this bed is so damned high it would take me twenty minutes just to get out of it.”
Her fingers fidgeted in agitation as she watched me. I waited while she drank from her glass, her hand shaking slightly. When she was finished she handed it back to me and I placed it back on the table.
“Would you like me to stay a little while?”
She gave a delicate shrug, but her face showed relief. “Just for a little while. I want to hear about your evening.”
“About meeting Johnny?”
“Of course.” Her eyes sparkled.
I found myself staring up at the ornate ceiling medallion. “He’s not what I expected.”
“No. Poor Johnny. I tried my best, but he was always Lacy’s son. He’s still sweet, but life really hardened him around the edges.”
I leaned toward her, my elbows on my knees. “He told us something. That Lacy said something right before she died.”
Aimee’s knuckles whitened as she clutched at the bedclothes, but her expression didn’t change. “What was it?”
“That he needed to ask Wes to tell him the reason he married her.”
Aimee took a deep breath, her fingers still clutching at the blanket. “We all thought it was because she was pregnant, but Johnny wasn’t born until almost two years after they were married.”
“Then why? He loved you, and he knew you loved him. He must have given you a reason why.”
Her eyes seemed to darken. “He said it was because of Gary. That he and I could never be together because Gary was too fragile to be hurt like that. And if Wes couldn’t have me, then it might as well be Lacy.”
Leaning forward, I said, “And I discovered it’s Wes you visit in the nursing home. But what happened to Gary?”
Closing her eyes, she relaxed against her pillows. “I’m getting there. But first tell me—what did Johnny find out?”
“He didn’t start looking for the answer until Monica disappeared, when it was too late, because Wes couldn’t answer his questions. All he discovered was that your mother’s case file was missing, as was the majority of Caroline’s file.”
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. “He never mentioned that to me. But what does it mean?”
“There’s no way of knowing, since we don’t know who last handled the files. All we know is that Wes looked at your mother’s file when you asked him to. But that was almost seventy years ago—they could have disappeared anytime between now and then.”
“Yes,” she said. “They could have.”
She looked pale and I poured her another glass of water.
“I came up here because I heard you shout. Were you having a bad dream?”
Aimee nodded once. “I don’t have those dreams that often anymore, but when I do . . .” Her voice trailed away. “I don’t remember much this time except . . . except the smell. I suppose it’s always been there, but I’ve never really paid that much attention to it.”
“Where are you in the dream?”
Her blue eyes met mine, small and shimmering in the dimly lit room. “In my mother’s bed.”
I sat back in the bedside chair. “And what is it you smell?”
“Sweat. It’s not my own . . . but it’s familiar. Like I know the person, but it’s not someone I think I’m afraid of. And there’s another . . .” Her voice trailed away.
Her hand lay empty on the blanket, grasping at air. I placed my hand in hers and she squeezed it. “It’s my mother’s perfume. I smell her perfume. I remembered her putting it on that night before she went out.”
I sat still for a long moment, listening as night settled into the bones of the old house. “And that’s all you remember about your dream?”
Aimee nodded. “I think there’s something else, but every time I try to think about what it is, it eludes me. I just can’t help but think it’s important.”
“It’ll come to you. Don’t think about it too hard. It’ll come back when you least expect it.”
She settled back into her pillow, releasing my hand, her eyes regarding me closely. “I have to tell you more about Gary.”
I sat back in my chair. “I’d like that,” I said. “If you’re not too tired.”
She gave me a lopsided grin. “Pretty soon I’ll have all the time in the world to sleep. But for right now, there are more important things to do.”
I reached over and refilled her glass from the pitcher, then waited for Aimee to tell me about Gary, and why she hadn’t been surprised to hear that the two case files from two separate investigations into the Guidry family were missing.
CHAPTER 23
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
—HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Aimee
1961
; The skies on my wedding day sent fat drops of rain down to earth, soaking everything and making the overhanging oaks on St. Charles Avenue weep on our procession as we drove beneath their canopy on our way to Holy Name Cathedral. Ray Von told me that rain on a wedding was a guarantee that my marriage would be full of tears. I ignored her, knowing that the success of my marriage would have nothing to do with the weather.
We’d planned on spending our brief honeymoon at River Song, and by the time we reached Biloxi shortly past midnight, the weather had cleared. Gary had been too tired to drive, and he’d quickly fallen asleep in the passenger seat. As I pulled into the driveway, he still slept soundly, so I decided to open up the house and move our bags in without disturbing him. As I stepped out of the front door after depositing our last load inside, I looked past the old oak tree and across the lawn to the sound. The full moon created a path of gold light across the water, and the gentle lapping of the surf on sand brought me to the pier. I stood at the edge and wrapped my arms around me in the chill of the night, remembering the hot summer days of our past. It all seemed so very long ago.
Something splashed beneath me, and I looked into the dark water, feeling the first tremors of fear. Above, the moon bathed everything in its glow, but in the places its golden arms couldn’t reach, the darkness held. I shuddered and backed away, cautiously picking my way up the pier, afraid to turn my back on the dark places. I bumped into something solid and screamed.
“Shhh, Aimee. It’s only me.”
Gary’s arms went around me, transferring his warmth to my shivering body.
“Oh, God, Gary. I feel so stupid. It’s only the dark....”
He kissed me on the temple. “It’s not stupid.” He held me for a while until my shivering subsided. Then he said, “Come on,” and led me down the pier to the house.
He closed the door behind us, shutting out the night, then took my hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”