“You sound like you don't think you deserved the medals, but you did. Regardless of the reasons, you saved those men.”
“I did my job. Since when do you get medals for that?” He shook out his arms and shoulders as if throwing off a heavy blanket. “Cliff and I have to go to Houston tomorrow to meet with Uncle Darwin. When are you leaving for Chicago?”
“I promised Uncle Matt I’d stay until after the July Fourth holiday. He should be back from his business trip by then.” She opened the icebox. “I'm hungry. How about you? Got anything to make a sandwich?”
“There’s ham, turkey and cheese. I'll take mustard on mine, no mayo.”
She grinned. “Did you think I forgot how you like your sandwiches?”
His face turned solemn. “You can’t tell anyone what I told you. Promise me.”
“I won’t. I can keep a secret.”
Royce managed a smile. “I should be back for the holiday. Want to go over to Uncertain and watch the boat parade and fireworks together?”
“I’d like that.”
Royce rolled his shoulders. “I need a hot shower.”
“I’ll fix us something to eat while you’re gone.”
He nodded and left the room.
Elita made sandwiches, grabbed a couple of beers, and waited for Royce. When he hadn’t returned in thirty minutes, she went to look for him and found him sound asleep, lying crossways on his bed, wearing nothing but a green towel. She covered him with a light blanket, watched his chest rise and fall, and fought the urge to stretch out beside him.
Royce stirred, but then settled back into a deep sleep.
Elita bit her bottom lip to stop its quivering, but she couldn’t stop the tears sliding down her face as she reflected on Royce’s story of the terrors he’d faced in Vietnam. He’d kept all his memories smoldering inside of him, telling no one, sharing his pain with nobody. He had needed her and she’d failed him at the worst possible moment. She hadn’t known he’d left medical school and joined the Army. But if she’d opened his last letters, if she had stayed in touch with him, then she could have been there for him. But instead, when told of his engagement to the senator’s daughter, she’d allowed jealousy and anger to control her emotions. Fingers of guilt reached into her heart and squeezed her soul.
She wiped at her tears and marshaled herself to do battle with the two-headed monster of guilt and remorse. Elita knew guilt was the demon that kept a person looking backward toward regret instead of forward toward the future. Remorse sang its siren’s song not to the powers of reason, but to aching hearts and weary souls.
After her brother’s death, Elita saw the power of the creature. Although Ricky’s death had been an accident, her father became distracted and consumed by guilt. Had he been distracted enough to accidentally drown in Moccasin Bayou, or consumed enough to view suicide as the only way of freeing himself from the talons of the beast? For years now, that question nibbled at her brain and heart. She still lacked an answer; she still lacked peace of mind and serenity of spirit.
She ran her hand down Royce’s arm, a light touch so as not to awaken him. What words could she speak? What action might she take now that would be powerful enough to break the monster’s hold on Royce? How could she make him see that Bowler’s death was not his fault? But even as her mind asked the questions, Elita knew she couldn’t stop his internal conflict any more than he could end hers. Reluctantly, she admitted that when you’re fighting with yourself, it could be a lonely battle. When Royce finally realized he did everything possible for the man who’d saved his life, when he comprehended the truth that Bowler’s death was not due to a failure on his part, only then would his wounds start to heal. With truth, comes understanding. With understanding, comes acceptance.
Elita kissed his forehead again and headed back to the kitchen.
She put the beers and his sandwich in the refrigerator and poured herself more tea. As she ate her sandwich, Elita debated whether to go back to Devin’s Cove now or wait until morning. Royce might wake up and need me. That settled the matter. She locked the front door and the patio door, more out of habit than fear. People may not lock their doors in LaSalle, Louisiana, but they sure did in Chicago.
She grabbed a throw off the back of the couch and headed for his bedroom. In the master bath, she smiled when she saw her blue toothbrush still hanging next to Royce's green one. She left the bathroom light on and the door cracked a tad.
Returning to the bedroom, Elita laid the throw on the recliner and went to tuck Royce’s blanket around him. She kissed his brow, smoothed back a wayward lock of his hair, and was surprised when Royce grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him on the bed.
“Stay with me, Cricket. I need you.” Royce’s mouth crushed hers, eliminating debate.
She thought briefly of telling him he needed to sleep, but her traitorous limbs locked around him molding her body to his.
Royce’s mouth wasted no time. His lips slid across the hollow of her throat to explore the valley between her breasts before beginning his flirtatious dance with them. First, he kissed them. Then, that clever tongue of his teased her nipples until they stood at attention. He suckled her, and as that most basic, most primal act of mankind progressed, a thin filament of electricity raced up and down her spine until an involuntary moan signaled her kinship to the clan of every woman since Eve. Royce’s hand slinked across the flat plane of her stomach. His long fingers stole inside her and stoked the fire burning within until she could no longer bite back whimpers of delight. His mouth and hands continued their divine attack until rivers of ecstasy threatened to swamp her slim frame. He moved over her and slipped inside.
He plunged slowly at first, in contemplated increments. Faster, deeper strokes followed until their desire for each other stripped away all logic, anger, and shame. Need, pure and basic ruled their world then. The primordial need for procreation etched into all DNA. The physical need to feel skin on skin and bone pushing against bone. The emotional need to love and be loved in return, if only for the moment.
Her hands glided down his muscular back to press the whole of him to her. Robbed of all thought, she arched upwards to meet his thrusts. For the moment at least, there was no sense of dread and no fear of the future. There was only the fury of the passionate storm breaking over them, a storm that demanded all their attention and strength. His rhythm quickened. She moved with him, her hips rocking to the tempo of his accelerating surge. Lost in him now, Elita called his name in a mindless cry of release as their bodies shattered in final surrender to lust, love, and longing.
Passion sated, Royce rolled onto his back and fell asleep immediately. Elita pulled the sheet up over them, turned on her side and stared into the darkness out the master bedroom’s patio doors. She waited for her breathing to return to its normal cadence. As her pulse slowed, Elita closed her eyes. Physically and emotionally drained, they both needed sleep.
She’d almost dozed off when a loud snapping sound from outside jolted her fully awake. She lay there listening, but there was only silence in the Caddo now. Remembering she hadn’t locked the bedroom patio doors, Elita started to push up out of bed, but Royce turned over and his hand eased across her waist. It was just a deer, she thought as she snuggled back into his embrace. He pulled her closer. Even in his sleep, he needed her.
* * *
A thin ray of light slipped through the sliding glass doors and onto the patio. He hugged the house wall as he inched toward the beam of light, stopping at the edge of darkness. He couldn’t step into the light. That would be too dangerous. If either the man or woman happened to wake up and glance outside, they would see him, they might even recognize him. Then they both might die. He didn't want anyone else to die, especially the woman, especially this woman whom he'd known all her life. Why had she come back? Why must she ask so many damn questions? Why does she go traipsing through the Caddo searching for answers that could bring her a fate similar to the redheaded woman in Texas? The pict
ures of the redhead’s handless corpse hounded his mind and roiled his stomach more than the memories of the other dead. He hated dealing with the bodies, hated the killing, but what choice did he have now? It was no longer a question of feeding the demon inside him. Now, it was a matter of his survival.
There was still time for her to escape, to leave the Caddo and go back to Chicago. There, she’d be safe and out of reach of the demons that owned him. “Go home, girl,” he whispered, “before I have to bury you too.” He crept back along the side of the house, making sure to stay in the shadows. From the cover of a magnolia tree, an owl screeched. A howl sliced the night air as he ran back into the inky mist rising from the bowels of Caddo Lake.
CHAPTER 19
Over two dozen boats decked out with lights and streamers of red, white, and blue in celebration of the July 4th holiday lined up near the north tip of Taylor Island. Most were small to medium sized pontoons, barges, or flat bottom fishing boats owned by families or local businesses, with one exception. A 19th century paddlewheel steamboat dwarfed the other boats.
Elita scanned the crowd milling around the hamlet of Uncertain, Texas. Some bought food or souvenirs from local businesses or vendors’ booths while they waited for the parade of boats to begin. A fireworks display over Big Cypress Bayou would follow the parade. Royce telephoned earlier to say he’d meet her there.
She checked her watch. He was twenty minutes late. The parade would start soon. The small town of Uncertain, Texas lay along the western border of Caddo Lake. Its population of about a hundred and fifty people had tripled due to the festivities. Someone shouted her name, and she saw Cliff and his cousin, Susan, making their way toward her.
"Where’s Royce?" Elita asked.
"He ran by the office to drop off some papers," Cliff said. "He must've got hung up on the phone. How did you get here?”
“Uncle Matt’s truck.” Elita checked her watch again. "I hope Royce arrives before the parade starts."
"We've got a boat in the parade," Susan gushed. "Guess which one it is, Elita. I bet you can't guess."
“The paddlewheeler.”
Susan’s smile faded. "How did you know?"
"Royce said Cliff entered a boat in the parade. Knowing Cliff, I knew it’d be the biggest and most expensive."
Cliff grinned. "If you're going to do something, you might as well do it big time.” He pointed at the paddlewheeler. “She’s called the Neches Belle. I rented her from a guy in Port Arthur. She’s fifty feet long with a shallow draw. There’s a smokestack behind the pilothouse and a three-chime whistle. It’s historically accurate.” Cliff raised his arm, signaled the pilot of the boat, who responded by pulling the riverboat’s whistle. Cliff and Susan giggled with delight. "Don't you think she's great?"
"Yes," Elita said, "I also think, Cliff Sutton, you have too much time and money on your hands.”
"Maybe, but I also have room for one more passenger."
Susan linked her arm with Elita’s. "Come with us. It’s more fun to watch the fireworks from the water."
"I'm waiting for Royce, remember?"
"Don’t worry about that brother of mine. Hell, if I had a beautiful woman waiting for me, I sure wouldn't keep her standing here alone."
“Please come, Elita,” Susan pleaded. “The boat has a propane grill. We’re going to make steak and shrimp kabobs. Doesn’t that sound yummy?”
“Cliff is going to cook?”
“No, silly. He hired a professional chef to cook for us.”
“A professional chef!” Elita looked at Cliff and shook her head.
“He’s made these delicious little pudding cupcakes that look like tiny flags,” Susan said. “Come with us, Elita. We can meet up with that fuddy-duddy Royce afterwards.”
Elita laughed. Susan reminded Elita of her old self—always ready for the next adventure. But that was before all the heartaches and deaths that had battered her life for the last five years.
“Thanks just the same. I’ll wait for the fuddy-duddy here, but save me a cupcake.”
“Okay, but you’re missing out on a good time.” Susan started working her way through the crowd. She waved for Cliff to follow.
“I’m right behind you,” he shouted. “The champagne is on ice, Elita. Want to reconsider joining us?”
“Susan is underage. She shouldn’t be going, given all the drinking you and your friends will be doing.”
“She’ll be eighteen soon, and I’ll keep a close eye on her. If any guy starts putting the moves on her, I’ll have the captain throw the scoundrel overboard. Just the same, I’d appreciate you not mentioning that I let Susan go on the boat. Royce is such a killjoy. I don’t want to end my night listening to another one of his ‘It’s time you took responsibility’ lectures.” Cliff gave her one of his boyishly charming, pleading grins.
Although she knew his smile was well rehearsed, Elita couldn’t deny its pull. “I won’t lie to Royce. If he asks me if Susan is on the boat with you, I’ll tell him. But if he doesn’t ask, I won’t volunteer the information.” She surveyed the crowd again. “Assuming Royce gets here in time, he’ll see her when the boat goes by and you’ll get the lecture anyway.”
“I’ll worry about that later.” Cliff surprised her with a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks. Got to run or I’ll miss my own damn party.” He weaved his way through the throng lining the bank and headed for one of the small boats ferrying passengers from the dock out to the larger party boats.
Elita watched Cliff board the paddlewheeler to be greeted by cheers from its passengers. Seemed his guests appreciated him for picking up the tab for their evening of drinking, feasting, and partying. She felt a twinge of regret for declining his offer. If she’d joined them, she could’ve kept a watchful eye on Susan, quieted her grumbling stomach, and showed Royce that she could have a great time without him. But could she?
People pushed passed her. Her mother’s oldest sister, Renee, and her grandkids invited Elita to join them in their quest to get closer for a better view of the parade. She explained she was waiting for Royce. Luther, several cousins, and Mark Hagar, the nice deputy she’d met the night of her arrest, expressed surprise at seeing her. They’d heard she’d gone back to Chicago. “Soon,” she said, without offering details. Former classmates paused long enough to introduce her to their spouses and children.
As families filed by, Elita couldn’t help thinking that if she hadn’t moved to Chicago, she and Royce would’ve married and probably have kids by now. The more she ordered her mind to stop thinking about that possibility, the more images it conjured up. She envisioned them walking along a dirt road lined with dogwoods, Royce holding the hand of their toddler son, while she carried a baby wrapped in pink. She massaged her temple, hoping to stop a budding headache, and mumbled, “I hate the color pink, anyway.”
In single file, the boats moved out along the shoreline. Spectators clapped, shouted, and waved small American flags on sticks. Elita felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched.
“Sorry I’m late.” Royce wiped at a bead of sweat. “Had to park a half-mile away.”
“That’s what happens when you’re the last one to arrive.”
He shrugged. “I see the boats are moving out.”
“Yes, the parade is starting.”
“Then I didn’t miss anything.” He smiled, but she ignored him. “Are you going to talk to me, Elita?”
“I saw Cliff. He hired a professional chef to grill kabobs for his guests on the paddlewheeler, or should I say party-boat?”
“Sounds just like little brother. Did you see Susan or Aunt Virginia and Matt?”
“I saw Susan, but not Virginia. Uncle Matt is out of town.”
“They’re back,” he said.
She frowned. “They’re back? What do you mean by that?”
Royce turned his attention to the parade, ignoring her question.
Elita grabbed his arm, pulled him around to face her. “You said, ‘They’re back.’ What did you m
ean? Did Uncle Matt and Virginia go out of town together?”
Royce yanked his arm away. “Ask them. It’s their business, not mine.”
“I’m asking you. Why would Uncle Matt go on a business trip with your aunt?”
“I can’t say.”
Elita crossed her arms. “Can’t say or won’t?”
“If you want to know something about Matt and Virginia, ask them.” He took off his shades, put them in his shirt pocket, and bent close enough for her to read the anger in his eyes. “I’m sick and tired of being put in the middle.”
“What are you talking about? The middle of what?”
Before he could reply, quick bursts of the pop, pop, pop of firecrackers filled their ears, followed by the loud whistling of Roman candles. Red, white, blue, green, and gold lights exploded overhead. Spectators clapped and shouted their approval. More hissing, crackling, and booming as fireworks lit up the darkening sky. The smell of sulfur and black powder pricked Elita’s nostrils.
A balding man standing in the bed of a green Chevy truck yelled, “Some idiot started the fireworks too early.”
Royce pushed pass Elita and hopped into the truck bed. “The boats need to spread out.” The stranger nodded in agreement.
From farther down the bank, someone shouted, “Fire!” As quickly as it had started, the clapping stopped, replaced by more shouts of “Fire.” A throng of on-lookers rushed forward toward the water’s edge.
She grabbed the tailgate “I can’t see anything from here.”
Royce helped her climb into the truck bed. They watched in shock as fire engulfed the back half of the brightly decorated barge in front of the paddleboat.
“Dammit, they’re too bunched up.” Royce waved his arms trying to get the attention of someone on the paddlewheeler. “Move your boat out, Cliff. Move it!”
Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy Page 21