So, he’d gone out to find those life experiences. He’d traveled the world, earned money working on oil rigs because he knew the oil business backward and forward. He’d gone from one end of the world to the other and, at least in terms of common sense, didn’t have squat to show for it. Life experience, my ass!
Jake told himself not to be so hard on himself, because he’d done one good and serious thing. He’d become a consultant to his father’s competitors and been very successful. He’d also made the newspapers big-time. So much so that his father, to no avail, had tried to muzzle him. Everyone wanted a piece of Jake St. Cloud, even the Saudis. And the absolute best part of his consulting business, which to his mind was really a payback business, was that he’d made so much money he couldn’t count it all. He had only one rule, and that was never to work for St. Cloud Oil.
Now, though, Jake knew he had to get his life back on track. And the thirty-fifth anniversary of his birth was the first day down that road. He poured a second cup of coffee and drank it standing up by the counter. He realized then that he felt halfway decent.
When he finished the coffee, he put the cup in the dishwasher. For a full minute he debated whether he should turn on the dishwasher for just one cup. His mother’s words about cleanliness being next to godliness rang in his ears. He shrugged, dropped a soap pellet in the machine, and turned it on. He totally forgot his mother’s words about never leaving the house with an appliance running.
He left the house and climbed into his sleek black Porsche and headed to his meeting with his mother’s lawyers. As he tooled along, Jake made a mental note to get rid of the fancy wheels and get himself a Dodge Ram pickup truck. And a dog to ride shotgun.
The law firm of Symon and Symon was run by two brothers who had to be as old as Methuselah. They creaked when they walked, but they were razor-sharp when it came to the ins and outs of the law and safeguarding their clients’ businesses and assets. Somehow, some way—Jake couldn’t remember—he thought they were distant cousins of his mother. Elroy Symon and his brother, Estes Symon. Pillars of the community.
Both greeted Jake in their three-piece suits. Pants, jacket, and vest, complete with watch fobs. They smiled and welcomed him like an old friend. Never mind that they hadn’t seen him in over ten years. They offered coffee and beignets, which Jake knew came from the Café Du Monde in New Orleans. He knew this because he remembered his mother’s telling him that the lawyers prided themselves on serving them fresh every day. He declined.
“Then I guess it’s time to get down to business,” Estes said. Or maybe it was Elroy. Jake could never keep them straight. He wondered if they were twins. Funny how he didn’t know that.
“You turn thirty-five today, Jacob. A milestone. How do you feel about it?” one of them asked.
“I’m okay with it. Not much I can do about it, either way.”
“So, you’re all grown up. We’ve followed your... ah... career to a certain extent, young man.”
Crap, here it comes, Jake thought. He waited. “Have you gotten all your lollygagging out of the way, son?”
Lollygagging? “Is that another way of asking me if I have sowed all my wild oats?”
“I guess you could say that,” Elroy said. Or maybe it was Estes. “The reason we ask is because your mother said we weren’t to turn over your inheritance until we were sure you could handle it. So, the question confronting us right now, this very minute, is whether you are ready to man up.” This last was said so smartly, Jake blinked and realized the two old lawyers were dead serious.
“Yes,” he said just as smartly. He almost saluted but thought better of it.
“We thought so,” Estes said. Or maybe it was Elroy. “The minute you walked through our door, I could tell that you had had your come-to-Jesus meeting. It’s the way it should be on your thirty-fifth birthday.”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said respectfully. “Tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Nothing, son. Per your mother’s instructions, we did everything for you. All the accounts have been set up. Everything balances out to the penny. The brokerage accounts are extremely robust. Extremely. We took the liberty of compiling a balance sheet for you, just to make it easier for you to understand. I do have a question for you, Jacob. Other than your college tuition, you never took a penny from the personal trust. Why is that?”
Why indeed? “I had done nothing to earn it. I frankly thought that I didn’t deserve it. It didn’t feel right. So I made my own way.”
“What about your mother’s ancestral home, the plantation outside of town?”
“I haven’t been there in years. What do you mean? It’s a working cotton plantation. Do I need to do something?”
“Only if you want to. There’s over a thousand acres that are not being utilized. You might want to give some thought to that. Think in terms of a thousand acres you are paying taxes on with no revenue coming in from it.”
Jake nodded. “Did my mother ever indicate what she’d like done with the plantation?”
Elroy nodded, or maybe it was Estes. “She said you’d know what to do with it when the time came. Do you?”
Oh, Mom, where did that blind faith you had in me come from? “Right this moment, I have to say I don’t have a clue.”
“Well, I’m sure something will come to you. Just remember all those taxes.”
“I do have a question for you,” Jake said. “Did my father ever repay my mother for all that money she doled out to him to start him up in the oil business?”
“He did, Jacob, but it took him quite a few years. We had to hound him, and we did. We charged him interest, too. He had some fancy lawyers try to come after us, but Judge Broussard settled them down in a hurry. Henry Broussard was your mama’s sixth or seventh cousin twice removed, if I remember correctly. He’s gone now, God rest his soul, at the age of ninety-four,” Elroy said, or maybe it was Estes.
“If everything is in order, sign all those papers, and you can leave. We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes so you can... adjust to all of this,” one of the brothers said, motioning to the stacks of papers on the old table. The lawyers left the room.
Jake longed for a cigarette but remembered he’d quit smoking years ago. He looked down at the lone sheet of paper that summed up his net worth. He was glad he was sitting down, because he would have fallen over at seeing the bottom line. And he’d thought the oil business was profitable. The words money to burn ricocheted around and around inside his head. He was starting to get dizzy at what he was seeing and the responsibility that was suddenly on his shoulders.
Soon after Jake had finished signing the papers, the door opened, and the two brothers walked in and sat down again. “My brother, Estes, and I were talking outside. Years ago, we never could decide between the two of us if we should tell you this or not. At the time, we felt you were too young, and you were grieving for your mother, so we thought it best if we just left things alone.”
“And now you think I’m old enough to know, is that it?” Jake asked.
“Well, today is your birthday. Thirty-five years of age almost guarantees some sort of wisdom on your part. During the last months of your mother’s life, your father tried his best to get your mother to give him power of attorney. We simply could not allow that to happen. Your mother agreed. Your father threatened all manner of dire things, but he had no wish to go up against Henry Broussard again. Henry was still alive and sitting on the bench at that point. We just thought you should know.”
“Did my father need money?”
“We checked, and the answer is no. Some people don’t know when enough is enough. It’s no secret, young man, that my brother and I do not hold your father in high regard. I’m sorry to tell you that.”
Jake laughed. “Well, gentlemen, join the club. Thanks for all the hard work on my behalf and thank you for taking care of my mother’s business so well.”
“We were paid to do it. When you’re paid for something, you do the be
st you can for monies received. We thank you for your business, son, and if there’s anything you need us to do, we’re here six days a week. You can call us on our mobile on Sundays but not till after church. Your mother was a fine lady, a wonderful mother, and a good friend.”
“Yes, she was,” Jake said with a lump in his throat. He stood, offered his hand, and was surprised at the firm, solid handshakes of the two brothers.
Outside, in the hot, humid air, Jake yanked at his tie, pulled it off, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. At his car, he removed his jacket and threw it across to the passenger seat before driving back to his little house on the tree-shaded street.
When he got home, he headed to the second floor, stripped down, and pulled on cargo shorts and an old LSU T-shirt from his college days, which was so soft and worn that it felt like a second skin. His feet went into Birkenstocks and off he went. His next stop was Leona Sue’s flower shop, and then on to St. Patrick’s Cemetery.
Sweat was dripping down Jake’s face when he entered Leona Sue’s flower shop. He looked around at the profusion of flowers. His mother had always loved flowers, white roses being her favorite. She’d had a wonderful, beautiful flower garden when he was a boy. Mika, the gardener, had helped her with the compost and the peat moss and taught her all he knew, which was a lot. Mika always told her she had the prettiest roses in all of Louisiana. He made a mental note to check on Mika in his retirement.
A young girl, probably the owner’s daughter, smiled and asked how she could help him.
“Do you have any white roses?”
“Believe it or not, we actually do. Not much call for them, but some came in yesterday. They’re in the cooler. How many would you like? Oh, are they for delivery or are you taking them with you? We charge for delivery.”
“I’ll be taking them with me. How many do you have?”
“Let me look. Mom might have sold some of them after I left yesterday. I’ll be right back.”
Jake walked around, savoring the smell of the potted plants and the bright colors. He liked the smell. He turned when he heard the young girl shout from the back room where the cooler was. “I have three and a half dozen, sir!”
“Good! I’ll take them all,” Jake shouted in return.
“Would you like some greenery and baby’s breath in the mix?”
Jake smiled. The young girl probably thought he didn’t know what baby’s breath or greenery meant, but he did. “Absolutely. Make it pretty.”
When the young girl returned from the back room, her arms full of roses, Jake grinned. She’d wrapped them in green tissue, and they really were an armful. Jake thanked her and paid with his credit card.
The flowers took up the entire passenger seat. Now, if he had a dog, the dog would have had to sit on his lap. Damn, where are these thoughts coming from?
Jake drove with the window down because he hated air-conditioning in a car. For some reason, he always got a sinus infection when he turned it on. Recycled air, someone had once told him. The air outside was thick with humidity, but he didn’t care.
Twenty minutes later, Jake drove down the road to the cemetery. He parked and walked to where his mother’s final resting place waited for him. It was a quiet place. But then, all cemeteries were quiet places. He had helped Mika plant a young tree the day after his mother had been laid to rest. In eighteen years, the sapling had grown into a tall, sturdy young tree, with branches that resembled a giant umbrella. It created a canopy of shade over the bench Mika had helped him build out of mahogany, and he was stunned to see how the stout bench had survived the elements. The plot of grass was so green it shone like a giant emerald. Mika must still come out here to water and to clip the grass. To Jake’s eye, it was the tidiest grave site in the whole cemetery. He marveled at how each blade of grass seemed to be the exact same length. Mika was a perfectionist. The stone was simple black marble, and he’d had the stonecutter carve an angel in the middle of it. The lettering was simple: his mother’s name, the date of her birth, and the date of her death; and underneath, the inscription, MOTHER OF JACOB. He wondered, and not for the first time, if there had ever been any gossip or feedback when the name St. Cloud had been omitted. If there had been, no one told him, and he didn’t really care one way or the other.
Jake sat down cross-legged and stared at the graceful angel, her wings spread protectively over a babe in a cradle. In his mind, he was the babe in the cradle. Tears burned his eyes. He made no move to wipe them away. They splattered down on the roses like the first morning dew.
He talked then of everything and nothing as he tried to play catch-up. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been there in the last eighteen years—he’d been many times, but all he’d done during those visits was leave some flowers and say a prayer that his mother’s soul was resting in peace. This time, though, he owed her an accounting—an accounting he was not proud of. He didn’t try to shield himself or make excuses. He owned up to everything.
“I feel like a real shit, Mom. I didn’t keep one promise I made to you. Well, maybe one—I finished college, then took it on the lam. I think I went around the world at least three times. I was searching... for what I have no clue. The truth is, I was running away as hard and as fast as I could. It was so hard after you . . . after you were gone. I had a hell of a blowup with him. I said hateful, unforgivable things to the man who is my father. I told him he was a sperm donor. I really pissed him off, Mom, when I told him there had been a time when I had wanted to be like him. God, was that funny. You know what, Mom? He called me an ungrateful little bastard. He said I was a wuss, a mama’s boy. I took it, Mom. I didn’t argue or fight back. That day. But on another day, when they read your will before I left for college, we had it out, right there in the lawyers’ offices. I reamed him a new one. I’m not being disrespectful here, Mom; I’m just trying to be as honest as I can because I’m here to ask your forgiveness. I know that a mother’s love is unconditional, but I have to ask, just the same, because I can’t forgive myself. Maybe I never will be able to grant that to myself. I told him I knew all about his women and how he was with one of them when you were dying. He didn’t deny it.
“I tried, Mom, to find the woman named Sophia. I hired a dozen different detective agencies, and they all came up dry. I barged into his office one day and asked him point-blank who Sophia was. I saw, for just a nanosecond, a spark in his eye that confirmed there was someone named Sophia, but he called me delusional. I asked him how many illegitimate children he had. He called security and had my ass booted out of the office.
“Today is my birthday. I wish you were here to bake me a cake and help me blow out the candles. Thirty-five candles is a lot to blow out by oneself. I’d give my right arm if you could somehow magically appear to wish me a happy birthday! I’m turning over a new leaf and turning my life around, Mom. I mean it this time. I meant it the last time, too, but somehow I lost my way. I am so sorry, Mom. Estes and Elroy asked me if I was done lollygagging, and I said yes. I mean it, Mom. I’m going to do it all now, everything I didn’t do the first time around. I just want to tell you how sorry I am that I let you down. It won’t happen again. I need you to believe that. It would help if you’d find a way to give me a sign that you believe me and forgive me.”
Jake sat for a long time, sweat dripping from his forehead and mingling with his tears. He was just about to get up when he saw a yellow butterfly perch on the angel’s wing. A sign? He reached out a trembling hand, and the butterfly settled itself on his index finger. “Thanks, Mom!” He held his hand up, and the butterfly took wing. “That’s good enough for me!” He blew a kiss in the direction of the angel, stood, and turned to leave. “I’ll be back soon, Mom.”
He saw him then, walking among the stones, weaving his way toward Jake.
“I thought I’d find you here,” was all he said by way of a greeting.
“I’m sorry I can’t say the same thing about you. This is the last place I ever expected to see you.”
&
nbsp; The two men, one old, one young, locked eyeballs. They were an even match, inch for inch, pound for pound. Jonah St. Cloud reached for his son’s arm. Jake shook him free. “You don’t want to do that again, and if you do, I’ll forget who you are and deck your ass so that you can’t walk for a month.”
Jonah St. Cloud ignored his son’s words. “I need to talk to you, Jake.”
Jake walked away.
“Did you hear me, boy?”
Jake clenched his fists at his sides. He could feel his body start to shake, and he couldn’t stop the tremors. He knew right that minute that he was capable of killing. He jammed his hands into his pockets. He turned around. “How did you know I would be here?”
“Simple. Today is your birthday. You turned thirty-five. You were born at seven twenty in the morning. You were bald as a cue ball and weighed seven pounds eight ounces, normal size back then. You were twenty-one inches long and had big feet. It was the proudest day of my life. You’re in town to sign the papers so you can inherit your mother’s estate. I figured it stood to reason you’d find your way here at some point today. I was prepared to wait all day if necessary.”
“Why now? Why today? You want Mom’s money, is that it? You figure you’re going to throw a guilt trip on me and I’ll just... what? Hand it over? Man, you are one sick, sorry son of a bitch if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking, and it’s not what I want. I need your help, Jake.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. I wouldn’t lift a finger to help you if you were dying. How’s that grab you? Why would you ask me, of all people, to help you?” Jake asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
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