He was more careful here. He didn’t want them to smell the gas right away and leave. Charles dug around in his pockets for the patchouli incense he’d bought earlier in the day. His following of the gang revealed their love of the disgusting scent, and he burned it now as he spread the rest of the gasoline around the backs of discarded furniture, and along baseboards.
From his back pocket, he pulled out the hammer and box of nails. He went around to each window and shored up their boards, making them all but impossible to pull off in a hurry.
After, Charles returned to the kitchen. The missing door could be a problem, but he saw the solution immediately. He pulled the stove off the floor where it had fallen to its side, righting it, and slid it over to the door, blocking the escape. If he could do this, they could as well, so he went to search for other appliances to stack on top and around it. Ten minutes later, the escape was blocked by a washer and dryer, and an armoire. He hoped it was enough.
No, he couldn’t leave it like that. He ran out the front and returned to the backyard, searching for more boards, anything he could use to tack up the back door in case they managed to remove his block. He stacked old wood in his arms until he couldn’t see a thing and went to work nailing them across the open back door until he was satisfied the work would hold.
When he was done, he ran back to his car. Still no sign of them, but his heart raced now, at the thrill… at the terror.
One by one, he removed the cement blocks and carried them to the house. He piled them off to the side, where they wouldn’t be seen, or stand out. The back end of his car sighed in relief. The ride home would be so much lighter.
Charles returned to the car and drove it around the block. He jogged back to the street, with a bottle and a rag in hand, and hid behind a bush on the other side of the road, waiting.
Laughter in the distance caught his attention. He peered around the jagged mess of thorns to see Serenity and her four men in tow, each carrying their share of bags and plates. Serenity’s cart was there, too, but one of the others pulled it along now. Lackeys in life, and soon, in death.
Charles waited until they were inside, and then he darted back across the street.
Through a gap in the boards of a window, he watched and waited for them to settle in and get comfortable. When he was certain, he began moving the cement blocks in front of the front door, quietly, one by one.
He lit the gasoline-soaked rag sticking out of the bottle and said a quick prayer before launching it through another gap in the boards at the back of the house.
“For Evangeline,” he said and waited.
If things went to plan, he could make it home in time to join his own family for Thanksgiving dinner.
* * *
Augustus heaved a heavy sigh as he stepped through the front door of Magnolia Grace. He hung his sport coat on the oak rack by the door and sighed again.
He had every reason tonight to be happy. To be celebrating. Deschanel Magazine’s first volume was done and wrapped, and would hit newsstands on December 23. The whole town was talking about a magazine for New Orleans society, published by one of their own. Their box was overflowing with submissions for future editions. There was even talk of Augustus being the next King of Rex this coming Mardi Gras season, which was an honor so great he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Only the best men and women of New Orleans—and the richest—were named to the court of Rex. Some people went their whole lives vying for the roles.
It was also an honor he didn’t want.
Augustus looked in the direction of the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and he knew he should be hungry… knew he should eat. If he was a good son, he’d be at Ophélie tonight, celebrating Thanksgiving. His absence would be noted. Irish Colleen would never bring it up, but he’d see it in her eyes, where she wore her truths most clearly. She’d never chide him with words. He was the good son. You should have been heir. But oh, how grateful he was that he’d been born second and not been forced into such a role. He was the compliant one; the one who would do anything for his family if asked. But he no more had what it took to lead this family than Charles did.
His footsteps boomed over the old cypress flooring. A reminder it was only him in this massive estate, which had been built for the warmth of a large family. Augustus struggled to imagine a future where he entered through this door to be greeted by a kiss from his wife. Where kids squealed and ran to wrap their arms around his legs.
Augustus dropped his briefcase in the center of the floor. He found he didn’t have the energy to take it to his office, where it belonged. It was as out of place as he was at Magnolia Grace.
He shuffled across the floor, hardly able to hold his own weight. With one hand, he gripped the bannister, but as his feet started to ascend the steps, he realized with alarm he’d forgotten something important. The most important.
Augustus went to the dresser by the door. The graveyard of candles burned down to their base had grown over time. They dotted the landscape around the silver-framed picture of Madeline. He liked this one, because she wasn’t looking at the camera. She hadn’t even known the picture was being taken, so the photographer—Elizabeth, he thought, but couldn’t be certain—had captured her in a moment between the anguish. Where she’d been just Maddy, not the woman determined to take on the whole world’s pain.
Augustus struck a match against the side of the box and lit a fresh candle. He blew on the match and tossed it in the small bowl on the right of the table, where all the discarded matches went to rest.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Maddy,” he said and returned to the stairs, to the long ascension, to where his bed, and nothing else, no one else, greeted him.
Nineteen
Never That Simple
Evangeline read about the accident in the Times Picayune. There was nothing remarkable about a house fire in the Bywater, but five young people, ages sixteen to twenty-seven, perished inside. Three had been registered as runaways for more than a year. Two were from good families.
She didn’t let herself feel the joy creeping up from within her. This was only confirmation that Craig and the others had been right about her brother Charles all along. The paper mentioned the suspicion of arson, but they had no suspects, and they never would. If they even came close, Augustus would handle the authorities, as he so obviously had before.
So many things made sense now, and yet didn’t at all.
That either Colleen or Augustus, the absolute last of her siblings she’d expect to condone or encourage violence and lawlessness, was responsible for activating Charles, left Evangeline hollow and uncertain.
If this didn’t sum up her family, nothing did. Most of them were hardly close, but when one of their own was threatened, they transformed into a well-oiled machine of protection and retribution.
And where did that leave her? This revelation left her family divided into two groups in her mind: her older siblings on one side, her younger on the other. She fell more comfortably into the first group, but knowing what she knew now, she couldn’t be one of them if she didn’t find her role. And to find her role, she must first accept what had been done to protect her… to protect Maureen… to protect them all.
If she left in the spring, like Augustus wanted, she’d flounder on her own, searching for an individual meaning when to be a Deschanel was to be part of something bigger. Here it was again, that pesky Gestalt, reminding her that the sum of their parts was so much greater than their value as individuals.
Evangeline was torn between the precipice of these two worlds. Through one doorway lay the opportunity to reach her potential as Evangeline; through the other, her potential as a Deschanel.
Her coiled hair taunted her in the mirror. She could tie it back, or she could let it run free. The choice was so much more than it seemed. What had this moment been like for Colleen, when she decided to suppress her individual morals in favor of their collective conscience?
Everything in her life was a s
ymbol now. Her inner scientist screamed. She craved clarity and absolutes. She could have them, and only fifteen hundred miles separated her from a life where nothing was without explanation.
Colleen appeared behind her in the mirror. She rested her face on Evangeline’s shoulder, nesting in a tuft of her hair. Her arms wrapped around Evangeline’s waist, drawing their hands together.
“We don’t ever have to speak of it,” Colleen said. “Unless you want to. But if you do, it’s just the two of us. Just us girls. Charles and Augustus will never speak a word. That’s how this works.”
“Jerks. I have questions. This isn’t some small thing, and now we just go about our lives as if…”
“You know them. Augustus will pretend nothing ever happened, and Charles will fly off the handle at even the subtlest implication against his character.”
“How did you know?”
“What you were thinking?”
“Yes.”
“Sister’s intuition,” Colleen said. She winked at their reflections. “We know who we are, Evangeline. That’s more than most get in life.”
“Monsters?”
“Is that what you think?” Colleen asked. “Truly?”
“No,” Evangeline admitted. “I have so many questions.”
“I have no satisfying answers.”
“It won’t end there, will it?” Evangeline asked. She squeezed her sister tighter, stretching her arms around them both.
“Probably not.”
“How do you…”
“Sleep at night?” Colleen finished. She kissed her cheek, raised her head, and kissed the other. “Same way anyone does, when their family is safe.”
Evangeline watched her carefully in the mirror. “It’s not that simple, Leena.”
“No,” Colleen agreed. She nestled her face into her sister’s hair and laid her head to the side. “It never is.”
* * *
Evangeline walked through the office of Deschanel Media Group. Over thirty people worked there now, and they buzzed back and forth in a frenzy as the office approached the release of their first ever edition of Deschanel Magazine.
With a surprising shock of sentiment, Evangeline almost missed the days where the ceilings were exposed. Where Augustus cursed over that damned stack of insulation half-blocking the halls. Back then, it was theirs. Now, it was so much more.
She found him in his office. He had his reading glasses on and a red pen in his hand, as he read through something that had him in rapt attention. He didn’t need the glasses, and she had always been so amused by whatever propelled him to wear them. It was as if somewhere inside him, he believed he must be older, more worn, more damaged to be considered successful.
“Aggie!” she barked when he didn’t immediately notice her.
“Hi, hi,” he said quickly. “Things are a zoo around here. Can I get you something?”
“If I need something, I can get it myself,” she said, a touch sore at how easily the place had moved on without her. She was a part of the DNA, and she wanted to run out into the open office and scream, Do you know who I am?
He smiled. “Right. Of course. What’s going on?”
“I just wanted to see you, that’s all.”
He nodded, with a growing look of suspicion. “I see. Irish Colleen didn’t wrangle you into Christmas baking?”
“I’d as soon drown myself in the river,” she quipped, but neither laughed, because that joke ceased to be funny when you’d tried to kill yourself for real.
It was then that Evangeline realized why Augustus had chosen December 23 to launch his magazine into the world. She was certain he would’ve launched it on Christmas Day, if he’d been able to convince the rest of the office to go along with working the holiday.
The preparation had him working around the clock. Kept him so busy he had no time to think, no time to remember the anniversary upon them.
“I don’t have a lot of free time right now,” he said and looked guilty. She wanted to reach forward and comfort him, reassure him that she wasn’t in danger anymore, thanks to him. That he had saved her life, and she’d never take it for granted again.
Instead, she tried something else. “Aggie, Colleen said you’d never talk about any of it.” His panicked eyes confirmed she didn’t need to clarify “it.” “And I’m not going to ask you to. I just wanted you to know that I know, and that I’m all in.”
Augustus watched her with a curious expression. He sucked in his bottom lip and released it with a long exhale. “You’re not going to MIT, are you?”
Evangeline shook her head. “Not right now. I stopped in at Tulane admissions on the way here, and I’m starting there in the spring. I’ll see how that goes.”
He brightened. “So you are going back to school. That’s great news.”
“And I’d like to take you up on your offer.”
“Which was?”
“To come live with you at Magnolia Grace,” she said. “I’ll pay rent. I’m not a freeloader.”
Augustus snickered. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t pay for that house, either.”
“So you still want me, then?”
He looked away, to the side. Thinking. He returned his eyes to her and smiled. “Yeah, I still want you. Does Mama know?”
“Hell no!” Evangeline declared. “But she’s been talking about moving out of Ophélie, too.”
“What? Why?”
“She said Charles would need it soon,” Evangeline replied. “Whatever that means.”
Augustus leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. “I see.”
“She has the Sullivans looking into townhomes back in New Orleans.”
“Curious,” Augustus said. “All right, then. I’ll have a key made for you, and I’ll bring it by Christmas Eve.”
“Make it the twenty-third. You are coming to your party, right?”
Augustus pressed his lips tight. Everyone, even Irish Colleen knew, how little he actually wanted a party, let alone one focused on him. But she insisted on celebrating the milestone of the inaugural edition of Deschanel Magazine, and there were some battles you couldn’t win with the woman.
“Please don’t let the guest list get out of control.”
“That’s like you asking me to dam up the Mississippi with my bare hands.”
He groaned. “One night,” he muttered. “I suppose we can survive one night.”
Evangeline nodded. She looked around the Spartan room. No signs of life, of personality. No pictures, no keepsakes. At some point, he’d either discarded or moved the misguided sign from Carolina.
I miss Maddy, too, Aggie. Every day. Every single damn day.
“I’ll see you soon,” Evangeline said as she pulled herself out of the chair.
* * *
Augustus peeked his head out of the office later that night. There was only one other employee still hanging around at this late hour, and she was new.
Two weeks prior, Colin’s father, also named Colin, had called from Sullivan & Associates. One of their associate attorneys, Joseph Connelly—Cat’s uncle—had asked Colin for help in placing the girl, a Soviet immigrant they’d hired for something else, and learned she lacked any of the skills required. But, apparently, she had other, more valuable skills.
Augustus had met with Joseph for coffee.
“She came to us as an au pair, but she’s awful with children,” Joseph had said, shaking his head with a grin. “With people in general, actually. I think she signed up for this because it’s what all her friends were doing to get to the United States. But it’s really not her thing.”
“Why should I take her?” Augustus had laughed. How did he get chosen to relieve another man’s burden?
“Because she is good at something. Really good. Accounting.” Joseph took a swallow of his water with a guilty look and added, lowering his voice, “I put her through business school.”
Augustus was incredulous. “You paid for this Soviet immigrant to go to business school
?”
“Well, yes, I did,” Joseph had replied, nonplussed. “It seemed like the right thing to do for a girl with such talent, and who’d gone to such obvious trouble to come here. Anyway, Colin says you’re hiring for a junior accountant. I realize you have your reservations, and I might too in your position, but I can’t recommend her enough, Augustus. I’m putting my name out here for this girl. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
Augustus didn’t agree immediately, and also didn’t take Joseph’s word for it. He called the business school and asked for Ekatherina Vasilyeva’s records. They gave him no hassle and were eager to tell him that she was their very best student. Quiet girl. Never any trouble. We hope she can find a company to sponsor her. Would be such a shame if she was sent back to the USSR.
This appealed to Augustus in a way even Joseph’s endorsement hadn’t. If anyone understood laboring quietly to build a new life, it was him.
He surprised even himself when he hired her without an interview, and when she showed up for her first day, he mistook her for a lost child. Ekatherina was a tiny thing, with pale blond hair and big blue eyes. Nearing her twenty-second birthday, according to the paperwork he held in his hands, but she didn’t look a day over fifteen.
“Pleased to meet you, Ekatherina,” he had said, taking her small hand in his. For such a delicate girl, her handshake was firm and took him by surprise.
“Please, call me Catherine,” came the soft, mousy reply. Her accent was strong, but her English was crisp. She’s been preparing for this for years, Joseph had said.
Catherine didn’t seem right, either. She’d chosen this name as an escape from who she was born, just as Augustus had always shrugged off prestige of his own family name. Neither wanted to be who they were and had very clear visions of who they wanted to be. She was an enigma, but he understood this very fundamental thing about her and liked her immediately.
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