The Incident Under the Overpass

by Anne McClane

  Lacey hesitated, having nothing further to offer. She’d always found the zealous saint-making missions of her fellow Roman Catholics somewhat bewildering. And she was still fixated on the pictures in the hall.

  “Hey, Tonti,” Lacey said. “Big Fox’s picture in the hallway…”

  “Birdie,” Tonti replied. She sipped, her eyes searching Lacey over the rim of the glass.

  “Birdie?” Lacey asked.

  “Yes. You want to know who the woman in the picture is. It’s Birdie.” Tonti put down her drink and stared at Lacey.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her before,” Lacey said. Becnel stories tended to repeat themselves, and Lacey knew many of them by rote.

  “There’s a reason for that,” Tonti said with an air of mystery. “Birdie was only with us about five years,” she continued. “She worked for the family when Mamère and Papa had the big house in Galliano. I’m sure Fox had to at least drive you past that.”

  “Yes, I know it,” Lacey said. Fox had pointed it out nearly every time they’d gone to his father’s house in Galliano. It was a stately plantation home that, according to Fox, the family had lost to creditors sometime in the 1970s.

  “It was a time when Mamère needed the most help, and they had the resources to pay for it. Seven kids, the bulk of them ten and under. She got pregnant with Esmé during that time,” Tonti said.

  Lacey listened intently. Fox’s grandparents were the stuff of legends. They had both died when Fox was a teenager.

  “Birdie was an angel,” Tonti said. “Literally. I never once saw her lose her temper. I never once saw her bring anything with her into that house but light. Sweetness and light.”

  “Is she still around?” Lacey asked.

  Tonti put down her drink and narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said. “But I’ll get to that.

  Mamère had a lot of spells at that time,” she continued. “Birdie was there for all of us when she couldn’t be. Foxy was especially partial to Birdie.” Tonti nodded her head toward Lacey.

  Lacey knew Tonti was digging deep. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Big Fox called that before.

  “We all loved her to the nth, but really none more so than Foxy. And he was her favorite too. But that was the thing about Birdie. Her way was to sow peace; she never instigated even the slightest spark of jealousy. I think Heaven missed her, and that’s why they called her back.”

  “What happened?” Lacey asked.

  “She died in a car accident, a horrible crash out on Highway One. Head-on collision with a truck coming out of nowhere, going the wrong way.”

  Lacey went lightheaded. She brought her hand up to her temple. The ever-present, subconscious fear hatched.

  “We were devastated. All eight of us. Esmé was about three at the time. I can’t say this in mixed company, but I don’t think there was a one of us who didn’t think we’d have been better off if it’d been Mamère in that crash instead, God rest her soul.”

  Lacey was silent, her eyes wide.

  Tonti topped off her drink with more cava. “As I said, I wouldn’t say that to just anyone. I loved Mamère, but she was the most fragile person I have ever known in my long lifetime. It’s a wonder we’re not more mixed up than we are.”

  The tension snapped in Lacey. She couldn’t help but laugh.

  Tonti laughed in response. “You see, that’s why I love you, child. I can tell you this deep-seated childhood trauma, mother-drama, and you just laugh.”

  “I’m sorry, Tonti. That’s not it. I mean…” Lacey felt a buzzing in her head. It was difficult to speak. “I mean, I’ve heard some of the stories about Mamère, but you have a point. I can’t speak for the whole family, but you, especially, seem so lighthearted. Unburdened, I guess I mean.” Lacey held her hand to her throat.

  Tonti smiled. “You play with the hand you’re dealt.”

  Lacey’s wheels were spinning. “Tonti, how come I’ve never heard of Birdie before?” she asked.

  Tonti put down her glass, flexed her hands, and gripped the edge of the table. “We all have our different reasons, I guess. Our time with Birdie was something I always kept very close in my heart. I think it was the same for Big Fox. As a reminder of how things can be, how you should be with children. I endeavored to be like her in my own parenting, with mixed results.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re a great mom,” Lacey said.

  Tonti stared past the screened-in porch, toward a patch of swamp glowing silver in the distance. “You are very sweet, child. For a long time afterward, you know, Camille couldn’t bear even the mention of Birdie,” Tonti said.

  Lacey detected a scent of mulch and decay, and wondered if Tonti was drawing the swamp in with her stare.

  “She would get physically ill. I think the loss affected her the most, in terms of responsibility. She felt like she should step into that nurturing role, as the eldest, but she was just not wired for it.”

  Lacey remembered the stories about the artsy Camille, and thought of the picture of Birdie and the young Big Fox. “Did Camille take that photo?” she asked.

  “Yes. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tonti said. She finally returned her gaze to the porch, and the smell faded. “Lulu and I found that picture when we were cleaning out Camille’s house after she died,” Tonti continued. “She had this amazing assortment of her photography, very neatly catalogued and stashed in her attic. And the only pictures of Birdie any of us had seen.”

  “So Big Fox didn’t have that picture all along?” Lacey asked.

  Tonti tilted her head at Lacey. “Why, no, none of us had copies of those pictures. It was like discovering lost treasure. Lulu and I handed them out to everyone some time after Camille passed. I tell you,” Tonti continued, “it brought me, at least, a lot of peace. I had never realized how much I resented Camille for not being able to talk about Birdie, for fear of upsetting her. Not being able to openly grieve was another loss, almost as painful. Finding those pictures—those pictures were Camille’s way of caring, I suppose.”

  Lacey’s head was full of car crashes, and grief, and dead Becnels. One especially, on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Her esophagus was tight.

  “Tonti, you know how they say everyone grieves differently?” Lacey said.

  “Yes, it’s the truth,” Tonti said.

  “Well, I think my grief has brought on some stuff that I just can’t make any sense of,” Lacey said. A bead of perspiration traveled the side of her face.

  Tonti nodded with a knowing glance.

  “Do you remember the lady at Katie’s? The one I helped walk into the restaurant?” Lacey asked, seeing an opportunity.

  “Of course. The stately lady a few years my senior,” she said with a wink.

  “Well, I ran into Dotty Trebuchet today, and she told me the lady—Miss Esther Mae—just died, not two days after I helped her.” Lacey folded her hands in front of her.

  “Oh, God rest her soul. She went home,” Tonti said. “Where did you run into Dotty?”

  “At St. Daniel’s,” Lacey said. “But that’s it? You don’t think anything’s weird about her dying?”

  “Good for you. I’m glad you’re still making it to Mass. Though I’m surprised about Dotty; I would expect to see her at St. Peter’s. And no, what would be weird about her dying? She struck me as someone who had lived a full life.”

  “But she was so frail before I helped her, and then you said it yourself, she looked twenty years younger afterward,” Lacey said. She tried to tamp down her measure of shock at Tonti’s nonchalance.

  “Child, just what is upsetting you about this?” Tonti asked.

  “I don’t know. What if, what if…I did something to her?”

  Tonti laughed. “Like what? Sucked the soul from her body?”

  “No! How is this funny?” Lacey asked. “But what if, I don’t know, I passed some kind of energy or something on to her?”

  Tonti settled, and paused. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?�
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  “But what if some kind of side effect, an effect of that energy, wound up killing her?”

  “You’re overthinking this,” Tonti said, all mirth gone from her face. “And perhaps overestimating your ability.”

  Lacey wasn’t sure she’d heard Tonti right. What insight did she have about her abilities? “Do you know…” she began to ask.

  Tonti shook her head and smiled. “I brought you here because I wanted you to see Birdie,” she said.

  Lacey didn’t respond.

  “There’s something in you that’s like her. That’s all I know. And something tells me you need to be the Birdie for someone, maybe many someones. I always thought it would be for Fox, but I guess God intended differently,” Tonti said. She stood up and walked around the table to Lacey’s side.

  Lacey, eyes cast downward, knew Tonti meant to embrace her, but she stayed seated. She didn’t want an embrace. She wanted no more talk of dead nannies, and she wanted Fox to be living, and more than anything, she wanted her old, normal life back.

  Tonti sat next to Lacey and grabbed her hand.

  “Child, I can’t tell you what’s happening, or why. No one can. But look inside yourself. Find the miraculous person that I know is within you. That Fox knew was in you,” Tonti said.

  Something red washed over Lacey. A lingering feeling that needed to be expressed before it could be expunged. Without thinking, she gripped Tonti’s hand, hard, and locked eyes with her. “Who the fuck knows what Fox thought of me?” she said, her voice hissing below a whisper. “I don’t know what Fox thought of me. He thought me a fool.”

  A corresponding wave of calm came over her as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She released her grip and cast her eyes down again. She was disappointed in herself. What had happened to her resolve?

  Tonti straightened and laid a firm finger under Lacey’s chin, forcing her to look up.

  “Lacey Campo Becnel, you listen to me now. Just because Fox couldn’t keep his wick in his pants doesn’t mean he didn’t love you. He loved you like no other. You are the only one he ever wanted as his family. The sooner you accept that, and get over being the victim, the sooner your real life will begin.”

  Tonti pulled her hand away and placed both hands on her knees. She sat sideways, looking at Lacey’s profile. Lacey closed her eyes and sighed. She knew Tonti was right, but needed the validation.

  “Do you really believe that, Tonti?”

  Tonti rose and stood behind Lacey’s chair, placing her hands on her shoulders. “I know it, child. And something tells me you know it too. Or at least some part of you does. I think it’s time you let that part take over.”

  “I’m sorry I cursed,” Lacey said.

  Tonti laughed. “I loved hearing it! A sign of fire.”

  “But still,” Lacey said, “I would never want to be rude to you.”

  “So afraid of your own shadow, child,” Tonti replied. “We’ll have to find some way to fix that.”

  18

  Lawrence LaSalle felt his burner phone vibrate. It sent a surge of excitement through him, a feeling he almost didn’t recognize. He waited a few beats before answering, determined to sound businesslike and not too hopeful. “This is Roark,” he answered.

  “Yes. We are going to put another feeler out on your client in the next ten days. We’ve broadened the scope. You should probably take extra measures to hedge the risk.” The voice on the phone sounded different from before. The cadence was clipped, Yankee-like.

  “Wait, broadened the scope?” LaSalle asked. “How?”

  “You’re a smart man, you’ll figure it out,” the Yankee voice said. The line went dead.

  Lawrence LaSalle felt the bile rise in his throat again. He was accustomed to demanding clarity from anyone or about anything that sounded specious. It was a hard-won benefit of his status. He was angry that he had no power within this transaction.

  He pondered the meaning of the Yankee’s message. But he was too distracted, and his thoughts kept leading to one place, the same place they had gone for the past three months— Nathan Quirk’s funeral. LaSalle would appear the stalwart fatherly figure to Lisa, and a doting grandfather to the children. He even knew what he would say to the well-meaning individuals who expressed condolences over losing both a son and a business partner: “Nathan truly can’t be replaced,” he would say. “This is such a tremendous loss to us.”

  Perhaps they could even hold a private funeral, if the circumstances of his death were tawdry enough. He relished this new line of thought. But he wouldn’t want to deprive Lisa of the spotlight of grieving widow.

  He suspected Lisa would appear appropriately distraught, but that deep down she would be relieved. Relieved to be free of a choice she’d made that had become burdensome. Oh, she had never confided as much to him, but he knew his daughter. She tired easily, and had probably long ago realized that she had made an inappropriate match. But he had raised her right; she wouldn’t consider leaving her husband, certainly not while the children were still so young.

  Lisa and the children. That was what the Yankee had meant by “hedge the risk.”

  Lawrence LaSalle felt nauseated. He’d been so fixated on the demise of Nathan Quirk that he had ignored the full repercussions of his actions. If his death were to look like an accident, what would it matter to those executing the plan if a few others were taken out? He had agreed upon a price for one man, but certainly they must factor collateral damage into their overhead. The full weight of the scenario hit him like an anvil. Had he clearly stated that nothing must happen to his daughter or her children? He had, he knew he had, but what recourse would he have if it went south for any reason?

  His office was spinning. He was trying to recalibrate, adjust, hedge the risk, when he heard Nathan enter the main office. He rose from his desk to shut his door, but he was too late. Nathan stood before him, an arm’s-width away. It was the closest they had been to each other in several weeks.

  Nathan stepped back when he saw his father-in-law. He turned toward his office, then turned his head again.

  “Sorry, boss,” Nathan said. “You know, since you’re up, I have one thing I want to check with you on the Zeringue closing…”

  LaSalle blanched. He had always hated his son-in-law’s overly familiar tone.

  “Is everything all right?” Nathan asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I may have,” LaSalle answered. He recovered quickly. “I’m fine,” he added. “The closing is at noon, correct?”

  “That’s right,” Nathan said.

  “Can you come back in one half hour? I need to finish the review of the Henderson estate,” LaSalle lied.

  “Sure. No problem.” Nathan turned toward his office. He felt a vibration in his pocket.

  Nathan pulled out his phone and read the message that crossed his screen. He debated whether or not to say anything to LaSalle. His determination to keep to the high road won out.

  “Actually, I need to run out now to meet a potential client,” Nathan said, gesturing at his phone. “But I will see you before the closing.”

  “Very well. Make sure it’s before eleven o’clock. I believe Bruns is the realtor, and he always shows up early,” LaSalle said.

  Nathan nodded. Bruns had nothing to do with this transaction, but the high road dictated that Nathan let the mistake slide.

  19

  At Carriere & Associates, Lacey tried to put a name to the way she felt. One word kept returning to the front of her mind: altered. More altered than after Fox died. Even more altered than after the first mutant episode with Nathan.

  The revelatory trip to Golden Meadow had wiped a layer of gunk from her soul. Lacey suspected both she and Tonti felt a weight lifted, regarding Birdie. Tonti had finally been able to share her feelings about her; and Lacey had finally been able to attach a face—a real person—to things buried deep in her subconscious.

  Lacey had forgotten to ask about Fox’s mom, Miss Elaine. Bu
t the minute Tonti had begun speaking about Birdie, she’d known Miss Elaine wasn’t the connection. It was Birdie. It explained her subliminal fixation on car crashes. She still couldn’t quite figure how she’d come to acquire her mutant power from a woman who had died before she was born. But being able to place this one crucial piece of the puzzle was empowering.

  Sitting at her desk, she didn’t feel bored. She felt out of place. Like sitting in a third-grade classroom as an adult at a desk she’d outgrown. Everything in the job she had clung to for so long—the view, her imaginary coworkers, Trip’s banal yet oddly comforting obsessions—suddenly felt unnecessary. Elton John was stuck in a feedback loop in her head.

  “I’ve finally decided my future lies beyond the yellow brick road.”

  Five stories below her desk, a section of River Road was covered with a metal plate. Each passing car sent a metallic thud reverberating up to her ears.

  An idea took up residence alongside the song lyric, set to the odd syncopation of that metallic thud. It was not a new idea, but the old arguments against it were no longer valid.

  I’m going to quit my job today, she decided.

  With the decision came an overwhelming urge to behave rashly. She checked the time: 8:15. Before allowing herself any time to think, she scrolled through her messages to find the last one from Nathan, and texted, Can you meet for lunch?

  As soon as she’d sent it, she wondered if there was a way to recall it. And since she was soon to be unemployed, she wondered how much money she could make if she developed an app to recall text messages.

  Her resolution was firm, she told herself. She only wanted to meet Nathan to elicit more details about what had happened that night. Now that she finally believed it, she wanted to study it. The attraction was inconsequential; it would be subjugated by her desire to learn more about her power.

  Minutes passed. She shifted her stare from her phone to her monitor, fingers drumming her desk. Another rash decision: she would write a manual for her replacement. She began to type.