Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy

by Deborah Epperson

  The smile on Glover’s lips vanished.

  “In a clearing near the southern tip of the island, I found several clumps of plants.” She waited for him to react or ask a question. When he didn’t, she continued, “I saw twelve to fifteen plants total, but there could’ve been more. I got this weird feeling of being watched, so I got out of there fast.”

  The sheriff rubbed his fingertips back and forth across his left eyebrow. “I’d wager it was tickseed you found. Tickseed plants closely resemble marijuana plants.”

  “That’s true, Sheriff, but I work in a hospital pharmacy, and I’m in my last year of pharmacy school. We study botany and medicinal drugs derived from plants and natural sources. I can tell the difference between tickseed and marijuana.”

  “When were you on Tadpole Island?”

  “Late May, early June, maybe.”

  “If you were sure it was marijuana, why didn’t you report it then?”

  The dreaded question demanded an answer. “Things got busy and I just didn’t think about it much.” Great job, she thought, give the lamest reason possible.

  The sheriff hiked a brow. “Why report it now?”

  “I’m leaving for Chicago soon. I thought you should know.”

  The window air conditioner shrilled. Glover went over, gave it two whacks with his fist, and the machine settled back into a loud hum. He stood with his arms open wide, soaking in the cool air. “Damn heat. If it’s this hot in July, I dread what August will bring.” He turned to face her. “Did you see the person you thought was watching you?”

  “All I saw was his shadow move from tree to tree, but I heard footsteps behind me when I headed for my boat. And I saw something glinting, like a knife glints in the sun.”

  “So you can’t recognize anyone and you weren’t hurt in any way.”

  “No.” She regretted the decision to report her findings. Maybe growing marijuana seemed insignificant compared to the case she’d heard Foley and his boss allude to earlier.

  Virgil Glover walked over to a massive bookcase unit with storage cabinets. “How do you like my new bookcase?”

  “It’s gorgeous. What kind of wood is it made from?”

  “White oak. Custom made by Pete Guidry.” The sheriff ran his hand over the middle shelf as if caressing it. “Do you know the Guidry family, Elita?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Guidry did sewing and alterations in her home. If I remember correctly, their son died in Vietnam.”

  “Jody was their only child.” Virgil gave the bookcase a loving pat. “Pete worked at the Longhorn Army Ammunition Plant across the Texas line in Karnack for years. He got laid off last winter and now stays home and cares for his wife. Velma’s got bone cancer real bad.”

  Elita scooted forward in her chair. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Pete does carpentry work to get by, but losing his job meant losing their health insurance. I’ve visited them a few times. Velma’s in a lot of pain.”

  “Bone cancer can be very painful.”

  “The worst part is Pete can’t afford his wife’s pain medication now.” The sheriff sat down at his desk. “Since you’re studying pharmacy, maybe you can answer a question for me.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’ve heard that marijuana can help dull the pain for folks with cancers. Is that true?”

  “I’ve read some studies which indicated it can help relieve chronic pain associated with diseases like cancers.”

  Virgil Glover swung his chair around and stared at the bookcase. “I’ve wondered what I’d do if I was in Pete’s shoes and it was my Doreen in such god awful pain.” He turned back to face Elita. “Guess I’d do about anything, as long as it didn’t hurt other people.”

  She nodded. The marijuana plants, coupled with Velma Guidry’s bone cancer and lack of health insurance, created both a new reality about the plants and a deeper regret regarding Uncle Matt. How could she have ever thought he was selling weed?

  Glover pulled a form out of his desk drawer. “If you want to file an official report, you need to fill this out.” He slid the form toward her.

  “On second thought, it may have been tickseed plants instead of marijuana. I don’t want to file a report.” Elita picked up her purse and stood. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

  Sheriff Glover rose. “Don’t worry about it. Just get your degree and come home. We can’t afford to lose our bright young folks to the big cities.”

  Elita forced a smile.

  “Tell Matt I need to postpone our fishing trip. We’re going to be busy for awhile.”

  “I will. Did he tell you he and Royce’s aunt, Virginia, got married?”

  “Yes, and he told me he’s starting a new business too.”

  “He’s going to build a warehouse on our old homestead. Until it’s ready, he’ll use the old shop and garage.”

  “Sounds like Matt may need a good carpenter.”

  “Definitely. Mr. Guidry should phone him.”

  “I’ll tell Pete to do that today.” The sheriff came around his desk. His voice softened to a raspy whisper. “Can I trust you to not mention overhearing my conversation with Foley?”

  “Of course.” The seriousness in his eyes intrigued her.

  “It’s important that you tell no one, not even Royce.”

  “Not even Royce,” she repeated. An easy promise to keep considering the current state of their comatose relationship.

  CHAPTER 27

  Elita cracked open the door to hospital room 301. “Knock, knock. Are you decent?”

  “Depends on who you ask,” Cliff called. “All substantial body parts are covered, if that’s what you mean.”

  She closed the door behind her and walked over to his bedside. “Substantial, huh?”

  “Yes indeed, beautiful lady.” He picked up her hand, kissed the back of it. “And growing more substantial by the minute.”

  Elita snatched her hand away. “Since you’re back to your usual lewd self, Mr. Sutton, there’s no need for me to waste my time here.” She walked back to the door and opened it half-way.

  “Elita, wait. Don’t go. I was only kidding.”

  She struggled to hold back laughter at Cliff’s repeated pleas for her to stay. “Do you promise to be a good boy?”

  “I promise. Cross my heart and hope to—”

  “Don’t say it!” She rushed to his side. “You’ve frightened me half-to-death already.”

  “Scared myself, too.”

  She shook her finger at him. “You’re a rascal, Clifford Wayne Sutton, but you’re our rascal. So dammit, be more careful.”

  “I should’ve listened to you and not let Susan on that boat.” His voice trembled. “Because of my partying, she could’ve been seriously hurt or killed.”

  Elita pushed back his hair, skimmed her finger over the small bandage at his hairline. “Susan is fine now and eager to start her freshman year at Rice University.” She kissed his forehead. “I doubt either one of us could’ve kept her off the paddlewheeler once she made up her mind to go.”

  “Susan gets her stubbornness from her father.”

  Elita’s mind kicked into overdrive. Was Cliff referring to Matt? Had Virginia told him the truth about Susan’s paternity? “From her father?”

  “Yeah. Darwin is usually a mild, easygoing guy, except when he’s ‘analyzed the facts’ about something. Then no amount of talking or cajoling will change his mind. Might as well argue with a tree stump.”

  “Virginia told me Darwin is a mathematical genius.”

  “That’s the problem. You can’t argue with the man because he’s always right.” Cliff pulled at the bed sheet. “And you can’t get mad at him because he’s so nice. And Uncle Darwin is as honest as the day is long.”

  She had no reason to doubt Cliff’s description of his uncle’s character. Keeping secrets about your personal life as Darwin, Virginia, Matt, and Royce had done wasn’t the same as lying. In her heart, Elita knew it’d been their right not to tell h
er about the new business or about Susan being her cousin. Then why did she still feel a trace of betrayal? Mamaw spoke true. Love without trust made for a restless spirit and befuddled mind.

  “Elita . . . Elita,” Cliff called. “Am I boring you already?”

  “How are you feeling? Uncle Matt said you had second degree burns on your shoulder and a broken fibula.”

  “I’m doing well enough that they’re letting me go home soon.” He pulled a pen from beneath his pillow. “Would you sign my cast?”

  Elita surveyed the plaster cast running from below his left knee to his foot. “Looks like you got every nurse in the hospital to sign it.”

  Cliff grinned. “All except for the one I want most. And she won’t even tell me her first name.”

  “You mean there’s one woman on this earth who is immune to your charms?”

  “There are two.”

  She found a spot large enough to write her first name. “Two? Could the Casanova of the Caddo be losing his touch?”

  “No.” He snatched the pen out of her hand and slipped it back under his pillow. “One of them is you, and you don’t count because you’ve always been crazy for that boring brother of mine, although I never understood why. You were always full of energy and mischief. We were more alike and could’ve had some good times.”

  “Opposites attract, remember? And while I’ll admit Royce was always serious, he was never boring.”

  He winked at her. “I guess you’d know better about that than anyone.”

  “Let’s not talk about Royce.” She eased into a beige arm chair near his bed. “Tell me about this nurse that’s smart enough to resist your polished advances.”

  “She’s short . . . petite. Her hair is brown, but not regular brown. It’s dark and rich, like mink. And her eyes are green with little specs of gold in them. She’s really lovely.”

  “Lovely?” Elita asked. “I thought tall leggy blonds and redheads who look like they just stepped off the covers of Playboy were more your type.”

  “I know. It’s crazy, but I can’t get her out of my mind.” He pointed at the water pitcher sitting on the side table. “Hell, I can’t even get her to tell me her name.”

  Elita filled a plastic cup with water, handed it to Cliff. “Doesn’t she wear a name tag?”

  “Yes, but it only has her last name.” He took a drink. “Nurse Doucet.”

  “Doucet?”

  “Yep, Doucet.” He handed her the cup. “Do you know any people by that name?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “How do you know them? Are they from around here? What’s her first name?”

  Elita chuckled. “Doucet is a pretty common name, although probably not in the Suttons’ circle of friends.”

  “Damn, I’ll never find out her first name, let alone get her phone number.”

  Elita studied him. Was that real disappointment on his face? “Have a little faith, Cliff.” She set the cup back on its tray. “I know a young lady named Doucet who graduated from nursing school last May.”

  Cliff’s eyes widen as he struggled to sit forward. “Could it be my Miss Doucet?”

  “Whoa, fellow. You’re getting a little ahead of yourself with this ‘my Miss Doucet,’ aren’t you?” Elita rose, retrieved an extra pillow from the closet and slipped it behind Cliff’s neck. “Better?”

  He nodded. “I think about her a lot. I don’t know her name, but I really like her, even though she isn’t my usual type”

  “Maybe you like her because she is one of the few people to turn you down. Maybe you’re interested in her because you can’t have her.”

  He moaned. “You make it sound so hopeless.”

  “Does your Miss Doucet have dark, thick bangs and shoulder length wavy hair that she wears tied back in a ponytail?”

  Cliff slapped the bed with his open hand. “Yes, exactly. You do know her. Who is she? What’s her name?”

  “Hold on. When she smiles, does she have a dimple only in her left cheek?”

  “I don’t know. She never smiles at me.” His shoulders slumped. “I guess she doesn’t like me at all.”

  “Every woman likes you, Cliff.”

  “Thanks.”

  “At least they do until after they go on a couple of dates with you. No woman wants to be with a guy who keeps eyeing the gals at the next table.”

  He dragged his hand through his hair. “You enjoy playing ping pong with my ego, don’t you? You and Nettie like giving me grief about my love life.”

  Elita grinned. “Nettie and I would never give you a hard time about your love life. But your lust life is fair game and an easy target.”

  “This is different. What I feel for Miss Doucet, I mean.” He placed his arm behind his head. “She’s so professional. Really takes her work seriously and she’s good at it. Miss Doucet seems like a person who’d tell you the straight-up truth, good or bad. And she’s never talked to me about money or asked me how it feels to be rich.” He looked up at Elita. “I’ve never known a woman who didn’t remark about my having money, except you, and you don’t like money.”

  “I never said I didn’t like money.”

  “At Royce’s birthday party, you told my mother you didn’t give a damn about Royce’s money. You said that as far as you were concerned, Royce could give every penny of his trust fund away. You even refused to accept the Mercedes after Mother had you falsely arrested.” He reached over, laid his hand on hers. “You love Royce, not his money. That’s what I always envied most about him. He had someone who loved him for himself.” Cliff squeezed her hand. “I want someone who’d love me if my name was Smith and I was flat broke. Someone who’d stand up to Mother for me the way you stood up for Royce.”

  Elita felt her bottom lip quiver. “It’s sweet of you to say that, Cliff, but I haven’t seen or talked with Royce since the day of the explosion. Didn’t’ he tell you we broke up?”

  “Mother said you accused Royce of being a coward, of running away instead of staying to help when the fires broke out.”

  “I never called him a coward. I said he ran off without a word. Which he did.” Elita poured some water and took a big swallow. “At the clinic, he reminded me about the CB and first aid kit that he keeps in the Jeep.” She set the glass down. “He’s angry and hurt because I didn’t trust him, and I don’t blame him.”

  “You were wrong not to trust Royce, but I know why you thought he was running away.”

  Elita lifted a brow. “Really?”

  “Royce never told us how he got shot or won his metals. The military put out a press release about him being a hero and saving two wounded soldiers, but I’ve always felt there was more to the story. Something terrible must’ve happened in Vietnam to make him change so much.”

  “War is terrible. I see returning soldiers and their families at the hospital where I work. Everyone is changed in some way.”

  “Did Royce ever tell you about his experiences in Vietnam? Do you know why he gave up medicine?”

  She plopped down in the beige chair. “Yes.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “No, I promised not to.” Elita placed her hands over her face, trying in vain to block out the memory of Royce’s agonizing account of his time in Vietnam. How often in the stillness of the Caddo night had she stayed awake, recalling his heartbreaking words and the anguish on his face. She understood too well the insidious questions that bombarded the brain of a survivor. Why did they die and not me? Could I have saved them? How can I live with such loss? Guilt, whether justified or undeservedly self-imposed silently gnaws away self-confidence, replacing faith in yourself and others. Guilt, the earthworm of the brain, tills the roots of doubt, producing only angst, distrust, and indecision.

  “If I’d been in your shoes, Elita, I might’ve thought the fire and explosion reminded Royce of his Vietnam experiences, and concluded he’d flashed back to his war days and panicked.”

  Cliff’s insightfulness surprised her. “Did y
our accident give you telepathic powers?”

  “I majored in marketing and communications in college, but I minored in psychology. The better you can read people’s body language and figure out what’s going on in their heads, the better your chances of convincing them they need you or your products.”

  “Put that way, it sounds more like manipulation than conducting business.”

  “In the oil industry, it’s the same thing. It’s a fast moving competition for everything from negotiations for oil leases to pipeline access. I love the challenge and I’m good at it.” He rolled his neck, shifted his shoulders as best he could.

  “Are you in pain? Want me to call the nurse?

  “No, but could you flip my pillow over?”

  “Sure.” After fluffing it thoroughly, Elita slipped it back behind his neck. “Better?”

  He nodded. “Royce is good at the oil business too, but he hates it.”

  Elita pulled her chair closer to the bed. “He does it out of family loyalty.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Yes it is,” she argued. “He wants the business to do well because he’s concerned for the people working for Sutton Oil. Royce knows they depend on their jobs to provide for their families. He feels a deep responsibility to them.”

  “Exactly.” He yanked at the sheet again “Royce cares about the people more than he does the company.”

  “I agree, but he knows one is dependent upon the other. That’s why he stays.”

  Cliff shook his head. “He stays out of fear.”

  Elita leaned her arm on his bedrail. “Fear of what would happen if he left?”

  “He might not admit it, but Royce knows Aunt Virginia, Uncle Darwin, and I could run Sutton Oil just fine. Darwin has put together one of the finest senior management teams in the oil industry. As an owner, Royce would always be on the board and have input into company business.” Cliff laid his hand on her forearm. “He stays out of fear that if he went back to medicine, he’d fail. Failure is something Royce has never allowed himself to do.”

  Elita’s body jerked as if she’d been slapped. She stared at Cliff, remembering the nuisance kid brother of the man she loved, the smart-alecky prankster who’d seldom seemed to have anything except girls and good times on his mind. That image disappeared as fast as a room’s darkness gave way to light with a flip of a switch. Sitting in bed, dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, his usual coiffed hair mussed, and a signature-covered cast on his leg, Cliff Sutton looked more like a grown man to her now than he’d ever seemed when wearing expensive suits and driving fancy cars.