Bayou Heat

by Donna Kauffman

  “The fortune-teller?” Millicent said. “What about her?”

  “She’s not on the list. Where’d she come from?” Callie asked.

  The two other girls shrugged. “Does it matter?” Millicent asked.

  “Of course it matters. She might have sneaked in here under false pretenses. She might be taking cash under the table.”

  “Callie, you’re so suspicious,” Lana scolded gently. “Maybe Mr. Stipley forgot to tell us about her.” Mr. Stipley was the principal of Destiny High School, and the carnival was his baby.

  “I want to find out for sure,” Callie said. “And I want you both to come with me.”

  Lana laughed. “All right. But if we find out she’s legit, we all have to have our fortunes told. Agreed?”

  The other two girls nodded, though they appeared less than enthusiastic.

  “Theodora” sat behind a silk-draped table with a crystal ball in front of her, as if she’d been waiting just for these three customers. She looked convincingly Gypsyish in a peasant blouse and multicolored tiered skirt, bangles on her wrist and a scarf covering her thick black hair.

  She smiled warmly at the trio of new customers. “Well, now, what do we have here? Did you come to find out which boy will ask you to the prom?”

  Lana glanced nervously at Callie. Hadn’t they just been talking about that very thing?

  “Actually, Miss, uh, Ms. Theodora, this is an official visit,” Callie said. “I’m head of the Carnival Committee student division, and these are my committee members.” She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses to the bridge of her nose once more and consulted her clipboard. “You aren’t on my list.”

  “My, aren’t you the official one,” Theodora said, still smiling. To Lana and Millicent she added in a loud stage whisper, “I’ll bet nothing gets by this one, eh? She probably dots all her i’s and crosses the t’s.”

  Millicent covered her mouth to disguise her smile, and Lana laughed out loud, stopping only when Callie scowled at her.

  “You’re the skeptical type,” Theodora continued, looking at Callie. “You love to ask questions and you can’t stand an unsolved mystery. You would make a very good newspaper reporter.”

  “H-how did you know that?” Callie asked.

  Lana was surprised too. She knew that Callie was planning a career in journalism.

  “I know all kinds of things.” Theodora wiggled her eyebrows mysteriously. “Would you like to hear more?”

  “I’d like to hear who gave you permission to set up here,” Callie persisted. “You’re not on my—”

  “Chill out, Callie,” Lana said. Callie was such a stickler for correct procedures. “I’d like to hear more. Can you tell me who I’ll go to the prom with?” She briefly pictured herself on the arm of a tall, dark-haired boy … but the image dissolved when she couldn’t picture Sloan in a tux. Anyway, he didn’t do school functions.

  Theodora gazed into her crystal ball while Callie pulled a small pad and pen from the back pocket of her jeans. “I see you going to the prom with a football player,” Theodora said.

  Lana sighed. Maybe Bart would ask her. So he was a little overbearing and stuck on himself. She would still have a fun time if she went to the prom with him, and her mother would be pleased.

  Theodora looked up at Lana. “You have many talents, you know,” she said. “I see you surrounded by flowers.”

  Lana giggled. “I hope that means Bart will bring me a big ol’ corsage for the dance. Now, what about Millicent?” She pulled her friend forward. “Who’s she gonna go with?”

  Millicent sighed. “I don’t need a fortune-teller to give me that answer. I won’t be going.”

  Theodora peered into the ball. “I see you painting. You have such talent!”

  “I’ll probably be painting the prom decorations,” Millicent said wistfully.

  “Oh, who cares about this silly prom business,” Lana interrupted, refusing to allow Millicent to focus on her lack of a love life. “We want to know who we’re going to marry. Right?” She looked to the other two girls for confirmation.

  “Gee, I’m not sure I want to know.…” Millicent said, but Theodora was already staring into her crystal ball.

  The Gypsy was quiet for a long time while the girls waited nervously. Then, to Lana’s surprise, Theodora looked up and recited a poem:

  One will tarry, losing her chance at love

  The next will marry, but her spouse will rove

  A third will bury her man in a hickory grove

  But all will find marriage a treasure trove

  With a little help from above.

  Lana blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it. Had Theodora cast a spell on them or something? Lana felt thoroughly spooked, and she knew without a doubt which line of the poem was meant for her. She never dated any boy for longer than a few weeks because she always lost interest—except with Sloan, she thought, then pushed the thought aside. Her mother had told her a hundred times that she was going to fritter away her youth and beauty if she didn’t set her sights now on good husband material.

  So Lana would be the one to tarry, and lose her chance at love.

  “The poem’s nice, but it’s not very helpful,” Lana pointed out. “I want a name. How will I know my future husband when I meet him?”

  Theodora smiled. “No problem. Everyone who has her fortune told by Theodora gets a souvenir. These mementos will help you recognize the man who will make you happy.” She reached under the table and pulled out a cardboard box that appeared to be filled with gum-machine toys and other plastic junk. She rummaged around in it for a moment, then held out her hand toward Callie.

  Callie, her expression still filled with skepticism, nonetheless reached out and accepted Theodora’s gift. It was a plastic key chain in the shape of a cowboy boot.

  Lana bit her lower lip. Did this fortune-teller, this stranger, somehow know about Callie’s Sam, who worked at his great-uncle’s ranch?

  “I’m not marrying anyone who wears cowboy boots,” Callie said, folding her arms. Theodora merely gave her a knowing smile.

  Lana actually trembled as Theodora handed her a “souvenir,” hoping to get an equally clear directive, but it didn’t make much sense to her. It was a cheap toy policeman’s badge.

  Theodora had to search a bit longer for something to give Millicent. She finally came up with a small bottle made of brown glass. Lana had seen such bottles in antique shops.

  As the three girls studied their gifts, Theodora quietly stood and walked to the back of her booth.

  “Hey, where’d she go?” Callie asked.

  Lana pointed to the wavering curtain in the rear of the booth. “Back there.”

  Callie lunged forward, with Lana hot on her heels and Millicent close behind. Callie pulled back the curtain, but no one was there.

  The girls stepped outside the booth, looked around corners, under tables. There was no glimpse of Theodora.

  “This way!” Callie suddenly said, pointing toward the back door of the gym. They all three took off at a run in hot pursuit of the fortune-teller. But outside, again they found no sign of her.

  “I knew it,” Callie said, breathing hard. “I knew she was some kind of charlatan.”

  “I didn’t think she was so bad,” Lana said. “She told our fortunes for free.”

  “We’ll have to go to Mr. Stipley,” Callie said. “Something’s definitely fishy.”

  They went back into the gymnasium, but almost before the door slammed behind them, Callie skidded to a stop so suddenly that Lana ran into her, and Millicent did the same. Lana imagined they resembled the Keystone Kops.

  “Look,” Callie whispered. She pointed toward Theodora’s booth—or, rather, the place where Theodora’s booth had stood a minute or two earlier. Now there was no sign of red silk or glitter. A dart game occupied the space.

  The three girls stared at one another, and Lana felt a prickling of fear. Her friends had to be thinking the same thing she was—that ther
e was no way anyone could have moved Theodora’s booth that quickly.

  “D-did we just have a group hallucination?” Millicent squeaked. Her face was downright pasty.

  Lana opened her hand. The tin policeman’s badge glittered bewitchingly at her, mute testimony to the fact that she hadn’t dreamed her visit with Theodora. She saw that her friends still had their prizes too.

  “I’m not sure what it was,” Callie said. “But I don’t think we should tell anyone about it.”

  “Agreed,” the other two girls said together. They all clasped hands. Lana felt a shiver, and she knew that what had just transpired would somehow prove to be very important in her life.

  ONE

  Rain poured down on the windshield in murky sheets. Lana Gaston flipped the wipers up to high, continuing her creep along the dark, narrow lane that led to St. Theresa’s Church. She would have pulled her Mercedes onto the nearest side street to wait out the storm, but she was already running late, and she loathed the idea of her tardiness holding up the wedding.

  “Think we’ll have a tornado?” her eight-year-old son asked hopefully, tugging at the collar of the new button-down shirt she’d coerced him into wearing. “That would be really cool.”

  “It’s a little late in the year for tornadoes,” Lana answered. Then she smiled. Given the turbulent relationship between the bride and groom, a tornado for their wedding would be almost apropos.

  She glanced skyward. “Just kidding,” she murmured toward heaven. “I don’t really want a tornado. In fact, I’d really really appreciate it if you’d let up on the rain a little so I can make it to the church.”

  The only response she got was a rabbit darting across the road in front of her. She slammed on the brakes. The aging Mercedes skidded on the slick pavement, performing a perfect one-eighty while Lana struggled with the steering wheel for control.

  Her efforts were useless. After what seemed like an eternity of screeching tires and dizzying maneuvers, the car ended up nose down in a culvert, facing the wrong way.

  The engine died with a groan. For several seconds all Lana could hear was the rain pounding on her roof and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “Rob, are you okay?”

  “Awesome driving, Mom.”

  “Hey, we’re alive, aren’t we?” she snapped back, relief warring with frustration. “Did you want me to run over the bunny rabbit?”

  “No, I guess not. Sorry.”

  She immediately regretted her temper. Rob, unfortunately, was only parroting his father, using the tone of voice and the sarcasm Bart would have used if he were there. “No, sweetie, I’m sorry for snapping. I’m just upset about being late for Callie’s wedding.”

  “Can’t you call her on the cellular?”

  “The cell phone isn’t working right now,” Lana confessed. She’d had to cancel her contract because she couldn’t afford it anymore. It seemed like lately she couldn’t afford a whole lot, not since Bart’s child support payments had been so drastically reduced. She couldn’t blame him. She’d agreed to the payment schedule during their divorce. It was just that she’d thought she would have a better job by now, and her school tuition and books ate up a lot of her income.

  “Maybe we can walk the rest of the way,” Rob suggested.

  Lana appreciated the fact that her son was trying to solve the problem. “We could if it weren’t raining so hard. I refuse to show up for Callie and Sam’s wedding looking like a drowned rat.”

  Rob sighed. “I wish you’d just let me stay at Dad’s instead of coming to this stupid wedding.”

  “We’ve been planning this for a long time,” Lana explained patiently. “Your dad has plans this weekend, remember? It’s Charlene’s birthday.” Charlene being his former secretary and current applicant for wife number two.

  “Big deal. Why didn’t you just leave me at home with a sitter, then? I’m missing The Simpsons.”

  “Because I wanted you with me. And Callie wanted you at her wedding. She’s just about my best friend, you know, and she’s your friend too. She came to your birthday party and your cello recital and your swim meets and your football games. Don’t you want to be there on this most important day of her life?”

  Rob didn’t answer, but his silence spoke quite eloquently. He’d rather be in front of the tube, zoned out on his favorite show. Or at his father’s, where he could run wild and do whatever he pleased, eat ice cream for dinner, and play with his expensive toys. He’d rather be anywhere but spending time with his boring, crabby mother.

  A flash of headlights brought her back to her present dilemma. Yes! Probably someone headed for the wedding too. She could hitch a ride and worry about the car later. She opened her window, stuck out her red umbrella, and waved it frantically at the approaching motorist.

  The car slowed. Please let it be her knight in shining armor, she prayed, and not some lowlife murderer-rapist-kidnapper. Not that Destiny, Texas, harbored a lot of those, but you could never be sure. After all, only two days earlier Callie’s soon-to-be sister-in-law had been arrested on suspicion of murder. But stuff like that didn’t happen very often around there.

  As the car pulled to the side of the road in front of her, a bank of red and blue flashing lights burst to life. A police officer, Lana realized with a surge of relief. Most of them were okay.

  The driver’s door opened and the officer emerged, looking large and reassuring in his blue uniform and black slicker. As he walked toward her in an easy, loose-limbed gait, he pulled a flashlight from his belt and flipped it on.

  “Cool, a cop,” was Rob’s only comment.

  The man shined the flashlight beam in Lana’s face, then over the car’s interior. “Hi. Looks like you got yourself a problem here. Anyone—” He paused and stared a moment. “Anyone hurt?”

  “N-no, we’re fine, but we’re in a real bind—” She stopped. Holy cheese, was this guy who she thought he was? “Sloan? Sloan Bennett! I … it is you, isn’t it?” The short hair and the uniform had thrown her off for a moment, but she never could have forgotten the shape of his face, those sharp cheekbones and the straight, perfect nose, the sensual lips … especially the lips. Her face burned.

  “Lana,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Lana Walsh.”

  She had a million things she wanted to ask him—like how had he ended up a cop, of all things? Had he gone to college? Did he still ride a motorcycle? Was he married? And where the heck had he disappeared to after graduation? She’d seen him around that summer, once at the gas station, once at the grocery store, although she was pretty sure he hadn’t spotted her. Both times she’d tried to gather up the courage to approach him, wanting to explain. But both times she’d realized she didn’t have the words to explain because she didn’t understand it herself—the consuming need she had for him, tempered by a fear she couldn’t put a name to.

  So she’d bided her time, thinking she would have another chance, that at some other time and place she would be more … prepared. Then there’d been that gossip about him and Nicole Johnson, and he’d simply vanished.

  She realized she was no more prepared now than she’d ever been. “Listen,” she said a little breathlessly, “I’m late for Callie Calloway’s wedding, and I’m a bridesmaid, and I have to get to the church right away.”

  “I was going there myself, to handle the parking lot traffic. I’ll give you a lift,” he offered, but not eagerly. Like maybe he knew he had to because he was a cop, but otherwise he wouldn’t think twice about letting her drown.

  “Thanks.” He didn’t have to ask her again. Right then she needed a knight in shining armor, and she couldn’t be picky about who that knight was. She turned to Rob. “You’ll have to get out on my side, sweetie, or you’ll end up falling in the ditch.”

  Lana opened her door, hiked up her long velvet skirt, and warily allowed Sloan to assist her out of the awkwardly angled car and under his umbrella. His hand was strong on her upper arm, and she felt the burn of his touch long after he’d rel
eased her. “C’mon, Rob, get under the umbrella.”

  Rob scrambled out after her, his wide eyes riveted on the policeman’s uniform. “Is that a real gun?”

  “Sure is,” Sloan replied, suddenly sounding much less harsh. He opened the back door of the squad car. Rob dived in and Lana followed, relieved that she’d gotten only a little damp.

  “Do you need anything from the car?” Sloan asked.

  “Oh, my shoes!” She looked down at the Loafers, which she’d elected to wear instead of the custom-dyed peau de soie pumps when she’d seen the rain. “They’re on the floor in the backseat.” She handed him the keys.

  “Mom, do you think he’d let me ride in front?” Rob asked excitedly, peering over the front seat at the impressive array of electronics attached to the dash.

  “Just stay put for now, please?” she said wearily. “It’s only five minutes to the church.”

  Rob flopped back down in the seat, his arms crossed, a mutinous expression on his face. “You never want me to have any fun.”

  “I love for you to have fun,” Lana said. “But we’re late and in a hurry, and we don’t really have time to worry about having fun.” Because if they did, truth be known, she would like to ride up front with Sloan. And she’d be far more interested in the man than in his machines.

  Sloan opened the front door and slid behind the wheel. He took off his hat and shook the water from it. “Callie and Sam picked a heckuva day to get married.”

  “That’s what they get for not having a nice long engagement and marrying in the spring,” Lana replied, thinking that her mother, Ann Imogene Slocum Walsh, God rest her soul, would have plenty to say about Callie’s whirlwind wedding plans. She would probably be placing bets with her society friends as to when the baby would be born.

  “They couldn’t afford to wait,” Sloan said, a note of censure in his voice. “Sam has to get back to his ranch. He can’t stay down here forever courting Callie like she was some Southern belle. And they want to be togeth—”

  “Hey, I wasn’t criticizing. I’m thrilled they’re tying the knot so quickly. I thought they should’ve gotten married years ago.” Sheesh. How had she pushed his button?