Wrong Turn, Right Direction

by Elle Casey

  I look up at him, my face impassive. “I don’t know you, Thibault. I appreciate all you did for me and Baby Tee here, and if you want some sort of payment for services rendered, I can probably swing you something. But I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now and come back later. I’m pretty tired.” I lean back in the bed, letting my head rest on the pillow.

  “I overheard you talking to the nurse,” he says, moving his chair closer to my bed.

  My mind races to remember what was said just before he came in. I don’t think I said anything too revealing, but still . . . I lift my head. “You were standing outside my room and listening in on my private conversations? Have you never heard of patient privacy?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. I just came up to see you, and your door was open. I was going to knock but then I heard angry voices.”

  “There were no angry voices.”

  “It sounded like you were mad at the nurse for trying to force you to fill out some papers.”

  I shake my head. “You misunderstood. I’m fine with the papers.” I glance over at them and then down at the baby.

  He stands, but I ignore him, not wanting to encourage more conversation with eye contact. Then I hear papers shuffling and look up to find him at my table.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “These are for the baby’s birth certificate.” He’s frowning.

  I sit up straight, raising my voice. “Put those down. Those aren’t any of your business.”

  He leaves the forms and limps back over to the chair, sitting down again. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  He must be crazy. “No, you cannot.”

  “Please?”

  I want to keep denying him the right to be in my business, but I’m finding it hard when he’s being so polite and looking at me like he is now. He has such a handsome face, and if it weren’t for him, I might not be sitting here with a healthy baby boy in my arms.

  “Fine,” I say, sighing heavily so he’ll know he’s being annoying, “what do you want to know?”

  He reaches over and takes my hand gently. I let him, even though it makes me suspicious about his motives. Why is he being nice now? Why does he care about my paperwork?

  “Do you have someone who can pick you up in a couple days and help take care of you and the baby?”

  “Sure.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal, even though on the inside I’m panicking at the idea. I pull my hand away from his and adjust the baby’s blanket.

  Who am I going to call? Sonia is the only one I can think of. My roommate and I aren’t really what I’d call friends, but maybe she could put aside her loyalties to Pavel just this once, help me out for a day or two until I can get my feet under me. I’ve been good to her. I helped her set up a savings account that Pavel doesn’t know about. I know she dreams about getting away someday too.

  “Who is it?” he asks.

  “I said you could ask me one question. That’s two.” I hate to admit it to myself, but I enjoy sparring with him. He’s determined, but not in the hateful way Pavel always is.

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Not until you answer one for me.”

  He shrugs. “Shoot. Ask as many as you want. I’m an open book.”

  “Who are you?”

  He just sits there and blinks at me.

  “Is that too difficult a question?” I can’t help but smile. He looks like the cat’s got his tongue, and I find I like bringing out that reaction in him.

  “No, I’m just trying to figure out how to answer it.”

  “However you want.”

  He nods slowly. “Okay. Freestyle. I can handle it.” He leans back in the chair before continuing. “My name is Thibault Delacroix. I’ve lived in N’Orleans all my life. I have one sister named Toni who’s married to my best friend, Lucky. They have two kids—twins—and I’m their favorite uncle. I work at Bourbon Street Boys security . . .”

  “I’ve heard of that company.” The name tickles the back of my mind. “I can’t remember where I heard it, though.”

  “That’s kind of surprising,” he says, his grin slipping.

  “Why’s that?”

  “We do some private security work in the area, but most of it is with the police department. Not that it’s a big secret, but our work is contracted, done behind the scenes. It never makes it into the newspapers.”

  Now I remember where I’ve heard it. Pavel said something about them once. I can’t remember why or what it was about. “Oh. Maybe I’m confusing your job with another one that sounds similar. Bourbon Street Billiards or something.”

  “Yeah.” He holds up his hands for a second before resting them on his thighs. “So that’s me. Now do I get to ask a question?”

  “Sure. As long as it’s not too personal.” I’m no longer in the mood to spar with Thibault. He seems like a nice enough guy, and now that I know he’s in security, I can see why he might have been motivated to come to my aid when he saw me suffering. Most men who go into the law-upholding business, even on the private side, have a desire to help people, unlike men who work the other side of the law, who couldn’t care less who they hurt, like Pavel. But even though I’ve lost some of my suspicions where Thibault’s concerned, it doesn’t mean I want to get cozy with him. My relationship as a confidential informant for the NOPD is dangerous enough that I don’t need to invite more of Pavel’s enemies into it.

  “Not too personal . . . Let me see . . . What can I ask you . . . ?” Thibault narrows his eyes at me, nodding his head. He knows he’s charming. Maybe he is a little. Maybe not. I no longer trust my instincts with men.

  I can’t help but line up the two men in my life right now—Thibault and Pavel—side by side in my mind. One man: compact and olive-skinned, dark-haired, muscular, handsome, confident, and kind . . . The other: tall, pale, blond, thin, not very handsome, overly confident, and unkind. Had I been given the choice years ago between one or the other, I know which direction I would have gone. It was never in my plan to work for a criminal; life just worked out that way for me. I wish I’d been able to find a job with an outfit like this Bourbon Street Boys place instead of where I ended up. I’d be willing to bet that Thibault is fun to work with. He probably jokes around a lot—he has laugh lines around his eyes. But there’s no point in crying over how my life rolled out, since there’s no way to change the past.

  “What do you do for a living?” he finally asks.

  “I’m a bookkeeper.”

  “Huh. Interesting. Where do you work?”

  “I keep the books for a man who owns some laundry businesses. Wash-dry-fold places.”

  “Here in town?”

  “Yes.” I look down at the baby, worried how far this questioning is going to go. I don’t want to be rude now that we’ve found an easy conversation between us, but if Thibault works with the police, he might know too much about some things I’d rather keep out of our relationship, even though it promises to be one that will end before this day does.

  “Maybe we could call your boss. Do you think he’d be willing to help you out?”

  A bitter laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “Uh, no. I’m not going to do that.” I look up at him and try to smile. “Listen, I appreciate you worrying about me and all that, but you really don’t need to. I’ll be fine. I have a roommate.”

  He smiles. “A roommate. That’s great. Want me to get your phone for you?” He moves to get up.

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to her later.”

  He stands at the side of my bed, staring down at me. “She might need some advance warning, you know. So she can get a car seat and some diapers and things you might need . . .”

  I have to work to keep my temper in check. He’s pushing again. Too far. “Thibault, you know what? I really, really appreciate you coming to visit and worrying about me, but right now I’m kind of tired and I’d like to take a nap. If you don’t mind . . .”

  His jaw pulses out a
few times as he reaches over and takes his crutches from the side of my bed. “No, I don’t mind at all. I’m sorry if I bothered you with my questions.” He puts the crutches under his arms and turns sideways. “Can I get you anything before I go?” He looks over at the table. “Some water?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but my lips are practically stuck together. “Water sounds good. That would be nice.”

  He makes his way over to the table and brings my insulated mug back. He holds it out, smiling. “This cup is probably going to cost you five hundred bucks, you know. Make sure you stuff it in your purse before you leave.”

  I roll my eyes as I take it. “I know. Thank goodness I had Dr. Thibault Delacroix on call to help deliver my baby; otherwise I’d be paying about twenty grand for that.”

  He smiles, leaning over to pick up the baby’s tiny fist. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  “I hope it’s not too expensive,” I say, wondering if he’s joking.

  “Maybe when you’re back on your feet you can take me to lunch to cover the cost.”

  I want to laugh and cry at the same time. In another place, another time, another life, I might really enjoy that. But it’ll never happen. Not with Pavel in my life. I need to put New Orleans in my rearview mirror as soon as possible. “That would be nice,” I say with a wistful sigh.

  “Don’t look so sad about it,” he says. “I haven’t been that mean, have I?”

  “Why would you say that? When were you mean?”

  “I was being pushy earlier. I’m sorry about that. My sister says I have a Superman complex and have a hard time taking no for an answer. When I see someone who needs help, I want to help.” He shrugs. “It’s a character flaw, I guess.”

  I have to smile at that. I could totally see him with a cape on, fighting crime, leaping tall buildings with a single bound. “Yeah, well, we all have our crosses to bear. My grandma used to say I’m as stubborn as a mule. Too independent for my own good.”

  “Who? You?” he says in a high voice. “Nooo . . .”

  I push his hand away and gesture at the door. “Go. Be gone with you. I’ve had a long day and I need to sleep.”

  He swings away on his crutches, smiling. Stopping at the door, he turns around. “Would you mind if I visited you again before we check outta this joint? Just to see how you and the baby are doing? I promise I won’t harass you about calling anyone or going to lunch with me.”

  I close my eyes and rest my head on the pillow, snuggling Baby Tee into my arms. I probably shouldn’t encourage Thibault and these friendly gestures he’s making, but the idea of never seeing him again, the man who was the first person to hold my son in his arms, is too sad to accept. I’m usually okay with being alone in the world even when surrounded by people, but something inside me has changed. Maybe it’s motherhood already working its powerful and dangerous magic. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll come at breakfast. I’ll bring you a donut.”

  “With sprinkles,” I say when he’s nearly through the door.

  He chuckles. “You got it.” The door clicks softly behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I can’t relax. Thibault’s words keep echoing around in my head, how whoever is picking me up will need time to gather some things. The nurses have already said more than once that I can’t leave without an approved car seat—hospital policy and all that. And I’m supposed to check out of here by noon tomorrow.

  I’ve put off calling my roommate, Sonia, because every time I imagine the conversation we’ll have, it never goes well. Pavel rewards loyalty and punishes people who keep secrets. I doubt it will even enter her mind that, without me, she wouldn’t have that nice fat mutual fund account in a place Pavel will never find it, for the day she steps out and makes a life for herself outside his circle. Right now she’s under his thumb, so her first loyalty will most likely be to him.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m thinking that having another conversation with someone who doesn’t want anything from me and is no threat to my personal safety might be good for my mental health. Maybe that’s why I find myself two floors down from the maternity ward, looking for room 204, where Thibault is spending the night.

  It’s only seven o’clock in the evening. I won’t even knock if I don’t get a good vibe once I’m at his door. I’ll just walk on by and go to the elevators on the other end of the wing. The nurses kept telling me I need to move around to help myself recover as quickly as possible. Leaving Baby Thibault in the nursery felt horrible at first, but now I’m happy I don’t have him with me; I’m already exhausted. I have never been so sore in my life, not even as a kid after I did a two-hour trail ride on horseback at the one and only birthday party I ever attended. I didn’t walk right for days after that, but I think it’ll be at least a week before I’m past this pain and stiffness.

  As I’m approaching Thibault’s door, three women coming from the other direction stop in front of it. I pull my robe tighter around me and pretend to be interested in the room across the hall as they push in his door and enter, leaving it cracked open behind them.

  I step to my right to be closer, my curiosity getting the better of me. Who are they? Is he married? Is one of them his wife or girlfriend? Co-workers? Friends? Relatives? One of the women was compact like him, with the same hair color and skin tone, too. Maybe she’s his sister.

  I should probably feel guilty about listening in, but he did it to me earlier. Turnabout is fair play, right? I lean as close to the door as I can without being too obvious about it, placing one hand on the wall and the other on my belly. I don’t have to pretend to look wiped out. I sure wish they had a chair out here so I could eavesdrop in comfort.

  “Thibault, oh my god, how are you?” The woman’s voice is really animated.

  “Hey, May, I’m good. Hey, Jenny. Hi, Toni. What’re you guys doing here?”

  “Where are all your bruises?” a girl—May—asks.

  “What bruises?” he asks.

  “You were in a car accident, right? Where are all the cuts and bruises and stuff?”

  I snort quietly. Car accident. Yeah, right. More like he forgot one of the lessons he learned in kindergarten, like how you’re supposed to look both ways before crossing the street.

  “I wasn’t really hit by a car. I was just tapped.”

  “Hey, bro,” says someone with a more serious tone. His sister, I guess. I wonder if she’s Toni or Jenny. “How does somebody tap you with their car, anyway?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know, Toni,” says a voice similar to the first—Jenny, apparently. If I were a betting woman, I’d say she and May are sisters. They looked enough alike. That would make Toni the one who looks like Thibault—his sister.

  “I was getting some coffee, and I stepped off the curb without looking where I was going.”

  Ha! I knew it; he was playing with me earlier, trying to pretend it was all my fault. Yeah, okay, so I took a wrong turn, but still . . . he should’ve been looking out for cars, and now at least he’s admitting it.

  “What were you thinking?” May asks. “You could’ve been killed. What if it had been a bus that tapped you?”

  “He probably would’ve heard a bus coming,” Jenny says. “What happened to your knee?”

  “I’m waiting for the radiologist to read the x-rays. It could be just a bruise. The tech said something about my meniscus, but what does he know?”

  “You’re going to be off your feet for a while,” Toni says. “Does Ozzie know about this yet? Does he know you’re going to need time off work?”

  Ozzie? That must be his boss. I feel guilty over the part I played in his injury. I hadn’t realized until now how messed up his leg really is.

  “I texted him. He said he’s going to stop by later. And nobody’s saying I need time off, okay?”

  May speaks up. “Ozzie’s talking about hiring that new guy, Jerry. He doesn’t want to do it without talking to you about it f
irst, though. Maybe this is going to be good timing with you off your feet for a while. Jerry could cover for you.”

  Toni sounds like she’s mocking the guy when she adds her two cents. “Jerry? You mean Jericho?”

  “Come on, Toni, he’s a good guy,” Thibault says. “I think he’ll be a great addition to the team, especially with his Special Forces background. And he can’t help it that his parents like their Bible stories; stop giving the guy a hard time about his name.”

  “If it were me, I’d go by Jericho,” Jenny says. “I think it’s a cool name.”

  May’s voice is really squeaky. I can picture her jumping up and down. “Hey, Jenny! You could name your . . .” She stops herself abruptly and then stammers out the rest of her sentence. “Dog . . . or cat . . . or gerbil Jericho. If you want. Or not.” She pauses. “What’s that out the window? Is that a parrot? I think somebody lost their parrot.”

  “The blinds are closed, May,” Toni says. “How are you seeing a parrot anywhere?”

  “So,” Jenny says brightly, “are they talking about sending you into surgery for this meniscus problem?” She’s acting like May seeing an invisible parrot isn’t completely bizarre. Maybe her sister’s a mental case and she’s used to it. Pavel has a cousin with issues, and we’re all totally immune to his stuff now. Alexei. I brush the worry away. One problem at a time . . .

  “Yeah, pretty much,” Thibault says.

  “Surgery?” May says. “Really? Wow. That must have been some tap.”

  Surgery? I had no idea Thibault would have to go under the knife to fix his leg. Now I feel seriously guilty. I thought he was experiencing man-pain, taking a simple bruise and turning it into a major event. I should have known better, though, when he said they were keeping him overnight. Nowadays they kick you out of the hospital as soon as they can. I bite my lip, wondering if I should apologize. I was going down the street the wrong way.

  “No idea,” he says. “I’m just supposed to rest my knee for now.”