The Road to Bayou Bridge

by Liz Talley

  “Ah, I suppose you did. And I’m sure you’ve heard your mother’s platitudes about doing what was best for both of you, so I won’t offer those.”

  And she didn’t. Picou merely stood there, hands latched behind her back, observing the fluttering leaves overhead and the sound of nature surrounding them.

  “So that’s it?”

  “What, dear?”

  “All you have to say?”

  Picou shrugged. “What more do you want me to say? I am sorry, but given the circumstances, perhaps I would have done the same. I can’t say. At the time it made a great deal of sense. Both you and Darby were out of control, minds set on a path that would never have worked.”

  “So you thought.”

  “Mmm.” Picou’s gaze met hers. “Every person has things in life he or she regrets, and I am no exception.”

  And that was it. As close as Renny would get to an apology. “Yeah, we all have regrets.”

  “Mmm,” Picou said again.

  “Well, I should get back to work.”

  “You never answered my question. Were you with Darby last night?”

  Renny looked away from Picou. “If I were, why would you need to know? Kinda nosy considering he’s nearly thirty years old.”

  “I’m not being nosy.”

  And the sun wasn’t shining. “You should talk to him. Not me.”

  Renny started back toward the abandoned rice field, intent on noting L9-10’s appearance along with additional notes on the habitat. She’d forgotten her camera, so a detailed description would have to do until she could get back. The bird seemed remarkably well so it had to be finding adequate food in the area, though Renny couldn’t figure out the bird’s propensity to cling to this particular patch of earth.

  She was about to put her headgear on when Picou’s voice caught her. “Do you believe in prophecy?”

  “Huh?” Renny turned toward the older woman.

  “I have lived a long time with hurt. My daughter taken from me, my husband’s oppressive manner, his death—so much has brought tears and bitterness. Seeking out some higher power, some understanding of the world, has been some solace to me.”

  Renny had no idea where the woman was heading, and she didn’t really want to listen—too much to do this morning. Much of it aimed at trying to make sense of what she and Darby had done last night...or maybe she shouldn’t think too hard about that. She couldn’t let it mean too much to her because that could lead to trouble.

  “Finally, not too long ago, I was able to procure a visit with the most powerful mambo in all of Louisiana. Zelda Trosclair retreated into the drawing room of Beau Soleil in the dead of night. My house smelled of her candles for days after, but what she left behind still lingers. A prophecy.”

  “You hired a mambo to tell you your future?”

  Picou looked hard at Renny. “What more could I lose? For many years I had asked after the woman, and for years, she refused me. But then one day a note arrived, pinned to my back door. Scared Lucille half to death.”

  “Why?”

  “It was written in red, like blood, and Lucille knows the power of voodoo, the way the black or white magic can summon spirits, make mischief, and bring heartache. She begged me not to invite the mambo to Beau Soleil, but what choice did I have? How else was I to bring Della back?”

  Renny shivered despite the warmth of the morning. “You could rely on science—on Nate. After all, he found her.”

  Picou shook her head. “No, things were set in motion by the prophecy. Two weeks after the mambo revealed her prophecy, Nate got the folder on Sally Cheramie.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “You would think, but I don’t. I know what it was. I know what I felt in that room when Zelda talked to darkness, when she prayed to the light. Hair stood on my nape.”

  “You’re kind of scaring me, Picou. You know voodoo is hocus-pocus.” Renny clutched the hat in her hand and tried to ward off the hair standing on the back of her own neck. The woman’s words were so impassioned by her belief that magic had something to do with bringing her daughter back.

  “Yes, Della was found but that wasn’t all Zelda told me. She told me the sun wouldn’t set on Beau Soleil until the past was rectified, until old hurts were healed, and until the great bird returned to the land that gave it life. When all was as it should be, the bird would leave again.” The older woman looked past her to where the crane stalked some smaller creature in the soggy wetland at the edge of the field.

  Renny glanced from the bird to the crazy loon. “You’re telling me you think this crane is part of an old mambo’s prophecy? Seriously?”

  Picou didn’t say anything, merely stared at the bird.

  “Okay, then. I guess the bird is here for you. Maybe I can get it to fly away and you can have a pretty sunset and get on with life.” Sarcasm may have been lost on Picou because she wasn’t paying attention to Renny. Her Darby-like eyes had grown misty and she’d gone far away to some other land. “Mrs. Dufrene?”

  She straightened. “Yes? And it’s Picou, please.”

  “I’m going now.”

  “I wanted you to know, because you are part of righting old wrongs. What happened between you and my son was a mistake, a mistake I want to put right.”

  Renny stepped back because that’s how startling the woman’s words were. Picou wanted her and Darby back together? Or was it some kind of closure she wished upon them? “Uh, I’m not sure you can do that. Darby and I don’t have anything left between us.”

  Liar.

  The voice in her head sounded almost gleeful. Damn it.

  “Now who is being untruthful, dear?” Picou smiled a slow cat-just-wounding-the-poor-field-mouse smile.

  “You can put your efforts to do anything for me or Darby aside, Mrs. Dufrene. If, and that’s so not even likely, but if Darby and I move toward anything other than acceptance over our past, it won’t have anything to do with you, sunsets or that crane out there.”

  Picou laughed. “Okay, dear. I understand. But I got the answer I needed. Have a good day, Renny, and if you see your mother, send her my regards.”

  The older woman spun on a rubber boot and climbed into the ATV, firing it so quickly, Renny didn’t have time to ask what the woman was talking about. With a brisk wave, Picou backed around and swung toward the big yellow house holding the name that glorified the sun.

  “What’s the question?” Renny asked the trees before donning the hat and arranging the netting around her face.

  The trees whispered their answer.

  Possibility.

  Or maybe it was wishful thinking on Renny’s part. She wanted to pretend what she’d created with Darby in the sweet darkness of her bedroom had been two adults doing something that adults were wont to do—have good sex that didn’t mean anything in the light of day. But she knew deep down in her heart, she wanted it to be something more. Something scary and lasting. Something dark and wonderful. Something similar to the magic Picou clung to. Something not of this earth, but of the eternal.

  Yeah, she wanted more.

  She wanted Darby...and always had.

  And that had nothing to do with magic.

  But her life was a life of reality. One where the sun rose and the sun set. Beau Soleil and prophecies be damned.

  She wasn’t angling to reconcile with Darby, because she knew they weren’t meant for one another. They were too different and Darby wanted a new life away from Louisiana and away from her. And Renny wasn’t about to toss her heart out into a game that would leave her broken. Not again. Dreams of her and Darby were just that—dreams.

  So there was only one good question that morning.

  What the heck was Picou doing out so early wearing rubber boots and acting secretive?

  Yeah, that was the better question.

  * * *

  DARBY GRIPPED THE STEERING wheel as the organ music rose, indicating the closing of the church service. Soon the church doors would open and chattering peop
le would pour out onto the covered walkway. He had parked in the side lot, trying to cover his bases. With a front entrance and a back, he was certain to catch sight of his twin sister as long as he stopped daydreaming about Renny and the way she’d looked asleep in the soft light streaming into her bedroom.

  Dear Lord, she’d been everything he’d dreamed over the years, in the wee hours of the morning, when the heart overrides the mind, when real desires blanket truth. Oh, yes, there had been many early hours spent thinking of the golden skin, the brandy eyes, the sweet taste of the girl he thought he’d forgotten.

  Even now he could still smell her on his skin. Her taste lingered on his tongue. His hands had memorized her body, the silken shoulders and smooth stomach.

  Okay, he had to stop. His body hardened, his blood rushed.

  Jeez. He was in the parking lot of the Golden Meadow First United Methodist Church.

  Get a grip, Darby. Find your sister.

  He glanced down at the cell phone sitting in the cup holder of the console. Shelby still hadn’t returned his call, and he really needed to talk to her after what had happened between him and Renny. Wasn’t fair to keep Shelby hoping for something that may never happen. He had too much to sort out before he could move forward.

  After all, he wasn’t some ass who would keep a woman on a string while he explored his feelings. Cripes, he sounded like a therapist.

  The doors opened, drawing his attention back to where it should be—on finding his sister. His eyes scanned the crowd, skipping over little girls with helicopter bows, exuberant boys jumping on one another’s’ backs, and parents helping the elderly shuffle down the ramp while keeping an eagle eye on their scattering children. Typical Sunday scene unfolding all over the South.

  Then he saw her.

  His twin sister.

  Della wore a conservative navy dress that belted at the waist and flowed over slender tan legs. Her hair lay on her shoulders and she talked animatedly to a chubby older woman who wore an old-fashioned pantsuit and carried a cake holder.

  He climbed out of the rental and pocketed the keys, moving at a good clip so he could catch her before she followed the crowd into the large building behind the church. He must have moved too fast because when he reached them, Della gasped and pulled away, placing a hand over her heart.

  “Darby!”

  She recognized him and that made him smile. “Hi.”

  “I didn’t— Um.” She looked around kind of desperately, as if she wanted to escape. He knew this wouldn’t be easy but the woman looked like a dog cornered by animal control. Something inside him pinged with hurt. He’d expected something more favorable than the reaction he got.

  The woman standing next to his sister looked expectantly at Della as if awaiting introduction. She didn’t get one, so finally she stuck out her free hand. “Hi, I’m Laura Spitzer, the associate pastor.”

  He shook her hand, glancing at Della, who looked as if a semi were bearing down on her. “I’m Darby.”

  The woman again waited expectantly for Della to clarify the situation, but his twin sister seemed to have lost words.

  “I’m Della’s brother.”

  Laura nodded. “Oh. Who’s Della?”

  “Uh, Laura, can you excuse us for a moment?” Della tugged on the sleeve of his shirt and jerked her head toward the small playground hunkered between the two buildings.

  “Sure,” Laura said, her gaze following them as they moved toward the big plastic green slide. He’d seen the questions lingering there and the pastor didn’t seem to want to move away, but another member of the congregation caught her and moved her along toward wherever everyone else headed.

  “What are you doing here?” Della whispered.

  “Nice to see you, too. It’s only been almost twenty-six years since you last saw me. That’s my greeting?”

  Della swallowed. “I—I— Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “Okay, you’ve seen me. Now you can go.”

  He sank down on the foot of the slide and stared up at her. Lord, she was cagey, glancing around like she was about to be caught talking to the very devil. Of course, many back in Bayou Bridge would have said that was nearly true. Della was so pretty, prettier than he’d expected. And she looked so much like his mother. A gushing, squishy feeling invaded his heart as he looked up at her. “So that’s it?”

  She bit her lip and looked down at him, and that’s when he saw it. The fear. The pain. The hope. “I don’t know what you want me to say. What you people want me to be. I want to be left alone to live my life.”

  He didn’t say anything, because her words hurt more than her earlier reaction. He hadn’t considered this moment, hadn’t guessed he’d feel so betrayed by her admonition. He felt as if he stood in quicksand, and it was not often he felt off solid ground. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” She cocked her head. “So you don’t care?”

  “Care about what?”

  “That I don’t want to be part of your family.”

  “Don’t you mean our family?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not my family. Not really. I told Picou I couldn’t do it. I’m grateful to know who I am, but I want my life to be here. I just can’t be Della.”

  He sat staring ahead, trying to understand why she didn’t want to love them. Wasn’t she alone since the death of her grandmother? Wasn’t she...

  Scared?

  Yes, he’d seen it in her eyes—those eyes that were the exact shade of his, of his mother’s. But how was he supposed to reach her? He hadn’t a clue.

  His hand seemed to move on its own volition, reaching up, grabbing Della’s elbow and tugging her hard. Just like a real brother would have done...if he’d have been five years old.

  “Agh!” She lost her balance, tilted over and fell hard onto her butt, right at his feet. “What in the hell do you think—”

  He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

  Her mouth snapped closed and her eyes shot poison arrows at him. Elegant fingers grasped the wood chips beneath her. “Are you crazy?”

  He blinked a couple of times, grinning like an idiot, not having any idea why he’d knocked his sister down. She stared at him, a small furrow growing deeper on her brow, her eyes narrowing, mouth setting.

  Then the wood chips hit him right in the face.

  “What?” He spit out the grit. “Pfff. Yuck.”

  A fistful of woodchips were in his hand before he could think better of it. He grabbed her neckline, pulled and dumped a fistful down her back.

  “Oh, yeah?” she said, scrabbling to her knees, tossing more his way. Harder. Stinging his neck. Then she punched him in the chest.

  And he pushed her back onto her butt again.

  He found himself slammed backward.

  And then it was on.

  Full-on wrestling match on the playground of the Golden Meadow First United Methodist Church.

  Della grabbed his hair and pulled. Hard. “Ow!”

  Darby flipped her over, pinning her to the ground. She kicked and cursed in his ear, landing a blow on the side of his head. “You fight dirty.”

  Her leg hooked around his and she flipped him like a pro wrestler. The skirt of her dress bunched around her waist and she kicked like a damn yearling he’d once tried to ride...but harder. He lifted her and tried to toss her, but she had him by his shirt. The fabric ripped and that’s when he heard the intake of breath and a shout of alarm.

  “Oh, my God! Help! Help Sally!”

  The voice came from over his right shoulder.

  Della panted and released his shirt, staring up at him with eyes that looked just like his. She threw a hand up to her mouth and then she started laughing. Not pretty female giggling, but full-out donkey guffawing.

  And something broke inside him, some dam he’d built very long ago, made of sorrow, loss and anger. Made of little-boy tears for the sister who’d been taken from him. For the little girl who sucked her thumb and curled beside hi
m every night despite being put in her own room at bedtime. For the one who’d grown in the womb beside him. That dam cracked and broke to pieces as he lay there beside a laughing Della with her skirt flipped up, wood chips embedded in her dark hair and tears streaming down her cheeks.

  There was nothing else to be done but join her.

  So they lay there, laughing, crying, and becoming quite the spectacle for the congregation who looked to be pouring out the doors of the back building.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “OH, MY DEAR LORD! SALLY? Are you okay?” This came from Laura, who stood on the covered walkway along with half the congregation, still holding the cake carrier, looking ready to brain Darby if he harmed one hair on her friend’s head.

  But the woman should have been more worried about him. His sister fought like an inmate. It was a wonder he hadn’t been shanked.

  Della sat up and nodded while brushing the random bits of wood from her hair and wiping the dampness from her cheeks. “Uh, yeah. It’s not what it looks like. Sorry.”

  “What in tarnation is going on?” asked an older man in a dark blue suit. Darby presumed the man to be the pastor of the church by the gold cross pin on his lapel and the fact several of the congregation looked at him rather than the pair sprawled on the playground after having wrestled like naughty puppies.

  “Uh, just a little, uh—” Della twisted her mouth and peered at the man with contrite eyes.

  Darby stood and brushed his pants off. He was almost certain the collar of his polo shirt had partially detached, but he ignored his untucked shirt and the grit in his mouth and offered a hand to his sister. She took it and he hauled her to her feet. “What she’s trying to say is, uh—”

  Everyone waited, eyes wide, one poor woman with her mouth open looking like a gawping trout.

  Della smoothed her skirt and tucked her hair behind her ears. “What we’re trying to say is this is my twin brother, Darby.”