Volume Two: In Moonlight and Memories, #2

by Julie Ann Walker

  “So I’ll give him an apology too.” I sigh. “Weird. For someone who’s pretty much the antithesis of AA, I’m getting good at whichever step it is that’s all about making amends.”

  It’s a bad joke. I’m not surprised she doesn’t laugh.

  Once we’re inside, she leads me to the library. Luc is sitting on a long, upholstered sofa. Helene, his mother, perches next to him in a leather wingback chair. The room is something out of a fairy tale. Parquet floors, Persian rugs, and floor-to-ceiling shelves of books—no doubt some first editions.

  Always thought this house was intimidating. But this room skews into the category of formidable.

  “Cash!” Helene sees me standing in the doorway with Maggie, and her brown eyes—so much like Luc’s—light up. “We didn’t know if you’d come!”

  Making her way over, she plants a kiss on my cheek. She smells like warm spices and her flowing skirt and soft sweater showcase the figure of a woman half her age. If not for the web of fine lines around her eyes and lips, she could pass for Luc’s older sister instead of his mother.

  “Helene.” I squeeze her shoulder affectionately and give her a once-over before wiggling my eyebrows. “As always, you take my breath away. You sure I can’t change your mind about trying a younger man on for size?”

  She pinches my cheek. “You’re a terrible flirt. It’s going to get you into trouble someday.”

  “What makes you think it hasn’t already?”

  “Mmm.” She glances over her shoulder at her son, who has yet to rise from the sofa. “Well, your charm’s wasted on me. But I know someone who could use a dose of it. In case you didn’t know, he’s not very happy with you at the moment.”

  At first, Helene wasn’t too stoked about me striking up a friendship with Luc. She thought I was a rabble-rouser. And I was; there’s no denying it. But over the years, she’s mellowed toward me. Maybe she knows how much I needed Luc back then. Maybe she knows how much I still need him now.

  “We better go help Miss June with the food,” she says to Maggie, herding her in the direction of the wafting smells of roasting turkey, baked ham, and dense, rich biscuits.

  “Smooth,” I tell her back. “Very smooth.”

  She glances over her shoulder and winks.

  Chuckling, I turn to find Luc eyeing me narrowly. My grin falls from my face. “Right. Okay. So I’m an asshole.”

  He slowly stands from the sofa. “Also, you suck at apologies.”

  “What can I say?” I spread my hands.

  “I think the traditionally accepted phrase is, ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “You know I am.”

  “Yeah. I do.” He motions me over, his expression softening. “Come here then. Gotta hug it out.”

  I meet him in the center of the room, and we do that bro-hug thing complete with awkward angles and hard back slaps. Like Maggie, Luc can’t hold a grudge for more than a minute. It’s one of the many things they share and one of the many things I love about each of them.

  After we pull apart, he keeps a hand on my shoulder. “You squared things away with Maggie May?”

  Of course his first concern is for her.

  “I agreed to send that doctor my records like she wants me to, if that’s what you mean.”

  He nods. “And who knows? Maybe the old sawbones can help you.”

  “I’m tired of getting my hopes up,” I sigh.

  “But you’ll do it for Maggie May.”

  “Yeah. I will.”

  “Good man.” He squeezes my shoulder.

  “Aw. Isn’t bromance sweet?” At the sound of an annoyingly familiar voice, I turn to find Violet leaning against the doorjamb. If the sight of Maggie is enough to calm the relentless throbbing inside my skull, then the sight of her sister is enough to set my scrambled brain pounding again.

  “Looking for your witch’s spell book?” I ask. “I know the library seems the obvious choice, but I think you should check the cellar next to your cauldron.”

  “Ha-ha.” She advances into the room. “You’re funny. You should take your act on the road and become a stand-up comedian. And in case you missed it, the important part of that suggestion is the bit about going on the road. As in, be gone. Take a hike. Shoo.”

  “Think I’ll go see how the turkey’s coming along.” Luc heads toward the sound of voices coming from the back of the house so quickly I feel the breeze of his departure.

  Maggie told me Miss June’s kids would be here, along with their spouses and their kids. And who knows how many of Miss Bea’s lofty friends have come to partake of June’s famous cooking? But it sounds like there’s a houseful.

  I use that as an excuse to follow in Luc’s footsteps. “Should probably go say my hellos.”

  Before I can make my escape, however, Violet stops me with, “I have something to say to you.”

  It’s strange. She and Maggie share so many of the same features. And yet, on Violet that small, upturned nose and that cupid’s-bow mouth don’t look fairylike and charming. They look small and pinched.

  “Okay.” I stop at the door and cross my arms. “So say it.”

  “You hurt Maggie. Again.”

  Hearing the words aloud ties my stomach into hard knots. It also puts me on the defensive. Which, in my case, generally provokes an attack. “What do you care? You’ve always had it out for her anyway.”

  “You have no idea what my relationship is with my sister.” Her dislike of me drips from her lips like venom.

  “Maybe not. But I know what your relationship is with me. You took one look at me and decided to hate my guts. Why is that? Did you think I wasn’t good enough for Maggie?” Before she can answer, I add, “Not that I think I’m good enough for her. I’ve always known I’m not. But man, you sure were quick to judge, weren’t you?”

  For a while, she says nothing, searching my face. Then she shakes her head and laughs. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “Remember what?”

  “Your first day of school when you sat beside me in biology class.”

  Don’t know if it’s the head injury or the booze or if I simply have a terrible memory, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  She reads the truth in my face. “Wow. You truly don’t remember.”

  “So tell me,” I challenge.

  “Never mind.” She waves a hand through the air. “Forget it.”

  “No.” When she starts to brush by me, I touch her arm. “What did I do? What did I say?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She shakes off my fingers. “What matters is I’m sick and tired of you hurting my little sister. Do it again, and I’ll cut off your balls and fry them up for breakfast. I know where you sleep.”

  Turning on her heel, she exits the room, leaving me with that rather unpleasant imagery.

  Huh. Violet taking up for Maggie? That’s new.

  Or maybe it’s not. Maybe Maggie’s been right all along, and none of us has ever truly known Violet Carter the way we think we do.

  Before I can delve too deeply into that possibility, or rack my aching, broke-ass brain for some sliver of a memory of biology class, Miss June hollers from the dining room, “Dinner’s ready! Y’all come eat!”

  I frown when I catch myself automatically reaching for the flask in my back pocket. Left it at home. Didn’t want to inadvertently overindulge and embarrass Maggie or her aunts. But, man, I sure do miss it.

  More than that, I need it.

  Chapter Forty-five

  ______________________________________

  Maggie

  Denial is like paint. You slather on enough layers, and you forget what’s underneath.

  For the last week, my worry for Cash has overshadowed my other concerns. And all afternoon long, while I’ve enjoyed a true New Orleans-style Thanksgiving filled with family and friends, Cajun-spiced turkey, crawfish gravy, and cream biscuits, I haven’t let my mind touch on anything but the pleasure of the moment and the conversations at hand.

>   But with the last bite of dessert eaten, and folks pushing away from the table to take their dirty dishes to the kitchen and then go in search of a soft spot to unzip and nap, I can’t escape Luc’s pointed expression. It says, We need to talk.

  Just like that, my thick coating of denial is stripped away and I’m forced to remember that, yes, we’re in serious trouble.

  Hello, reality, you sorry sonofagun.

  “Y’all headed into the living room with the others?” Auntie June asks from one end of the long dining room table where she’s covering what’s left of the Creole okra with plastic wrap. Her cheeks are rosy from a day spent standing over a hot stove, and her eyes sparkle with pleasure. With the house full of her kids and grandkids, and everyone’s bellies stuffed with her amazing cooking, she’s in hog heaven.

  “Think we’ll mosey on out to the veranda,” I tell her, motioning through the front window to a sky alive with vibrant splashes of pink and orange. “It looks like it’s turned into a gorgeous evening. But I’ll come back in a bit to help you finish putting away the leftovers.”

  “Never mind that.” Helene grabs a couple of empty pie dishes. “You three go on out and enjoy the sunset. I’ll help Miss June and Miss Bea tidy up.” The expression on her face tells me she’s wise to the look Luc sent me.

  I nod my thanks before following Luc and Cash outside. The fall breeze is cool and fresh. The sun is glorious in its descent. And the day birds are singing their final chorus before making way for the creatures of the night.

  Without a word, the three of us head for the porch swing, squeezing in side by side. Luc rests an arm against the back of the swing and sets it rocking with a gentle push of his booted toe. I’m struck by the thought that many of my life’s big moments have happened while I’ve been sitting in this very spot.

  It was here a police officer doffed his hat and informed me the bodies of my parents had been located inside a stranger’s attic. It was here Cash first told me he loved me. And it was here Luc held me as I read that Dear Jane letter and felt my young heart shatter.

  This porch swing seems to be the fulcrum upon which my life pivots. Glancing at Luc, knowing he has something important to share, I’m nervous about which way my world will turn next.

  “I can say this for Richard Armstrong.” His voice is soft and low, but his words are crystal clear. “He keeps to a schedule. Outta the house at zero eight hundred. Home by eighteen hundred. That being the case, I reckon we should go in first thing Monday morning.”

  “What’s my role?” I ask anxiously. “Wait outside with my cell phone at the ready in case someone shows up and I need to call y’all and tell you to skedaddle?”

  Luc is shaking his head before I’m finished speaking. “I want you to stay outta this.”

  My hackles rise. Luc isn’t the Me-Tarzan-You-Jane type, but that sounded pretty darn close. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Luc. You don’t need to protect me.”

  “That’s like asking my heart to stop beating.”

  His words make my cheeks heat. Trying to hide my unease, I turn to Cash. But before I ask him to back me up and let me help out, I notice the tightness of the skin around his eyes and the pinched look of his mouth.

  Running through the events of the afternoon, I realize he had wine with dinner, but not once did he reach for his flask. It shows in the shaky hand he pushes through his shaggy hair.

  “How bad is it?” I ask. In the face of his pain, all other concerns and arguments are forgotten.

  “Bad enough,” he admits.

  It’s anathema, but I offer, “Aunt Bea keeps a bottle of bourbon in the study. You want me to run and fetch it?”

  The difference between Cash’s quick smile and the shattered look in his eyes is heartbreaking. “Nah. But would you be offended if I took off? My pillow back home is calling my name.”

  “Of course I won’t be offended.” I battle the urge to pull him into my arms and soothe the pained wrinkles from his brow.

  “I’ll drive you,” Luc offers.

  Cash shakes his head. “You should stay and enjoy the rest of the evening. I’ll call a cab to—”

  “I’ll drive you.” Luc’s tone leaves no room for debate. “Tell Mom I’ll be back in a bit,” he says to me as he stands and offers Cash a hand up.

  “I’ll come with y’all,” I offer.

  “No,” they say in unison.

  I peer up at them through narrowed eyes. Do they want time alone to talk more about breaking into Cash’s dad’s place? Or are they trying to spare me the true scope of Cash’s condition? Neither reason sits well, but I don’t argue since, with each passing second, Cash looks greener around the gills.

  “Okay, then.” I nod and watch them make their way down the steps and across the walk. Cash is a bit unsteady on his feet. Luc is ready to lend him a hand should he need it.

  He’s not getting better. In fact, he’s getting worse.

  The thought blazes through me, as swift and terrifying as wildfire.

  They’re pulling away from the curb when Helene ventures onto the veranda, a cup of coffee in hand.

  “Luc’s running Cash home,” I explain as Smurf disappears around the corner.

  “I noticed he was looking like he got pulled through a knothole backward.” She takes a seat beside me, arranging her flowing skirt with an unstudied grace. “They stayed with me for a couple weeks after getting out of the army and before coming back here. Did you know that?” When I shake my head, she continues. “Cash was in a lot of pain then, but he was managing it. Doesn’t much seem like he’s managing it now. He’s lost a good fifteen pounds since I saw him.”

  Realizing he’s getting worse is bad enough. Hearing it confirmed makes every bite of my Thanksgiving meal congeal into a hard stone in the bottom of my stomach. I tell her about the Johns Hopkins neurosurgeon, then add, “I pray to God he’ll be able to help.”

  “And if he can’t?” She watches me closely.

  I shrug, my mind refusing to accept delivery on that possibility. Nope. Return to sender immediately. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I tell her.

  We fall into silence then. Because, really, what more is there to say?

  Eventually, she remarks, “You know, I always wondered why you never asked me for their information.”

  I frown at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, when I first got your friend request on Facebook, I reckoned you were contacting me because you wanted to know how to get in touch with them.”

  I twist my lips. “By that point, it’d been four years since they joined the army. I thought that was plenty of time for them to answer my emails or give me a call if they wanted to.”

  Her gaze is intent as she takes a sip of coffee. “Luc never told me what happened between you three. All he ever said was that he and Cash were called to duty, and you were so young they didn’t want to burden you with their decision to join. He said they didn’t want you wasting your last couple of high school years worrying over them.”

  “Well, if that’s what Luc said, then I’m sure it’s the truth.” Although, it’s not the whole truth, and I wish I could tell her. I wish I could come clean to someone.

  She sighs and says, “But I reckon they failed, huh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Luc said it didn’t matter how much time passed. He said the minute they showed up at your door, he knew you’d never stopped worrying over them. And that you’d never stopped loving Cash.”

  Even though Luc and I were friends for nearly two years before he left, I never spent much time around Helene. Certainly not enough to encourage such personal dialogue now. Then again, Luc got his in-your-face honesty from someone, so…

  “I guess it’s true what they say.” I lift my hands and let them fall. “First love never dies.”

  “Let’s hope it does in some cases.” She takes another sip of her coffee, staring out at a sky that’s deepened to soft lavender and shado
wy purple.

  “What?” My scalp prickles. “Why?”

  “If first love never dies, that means my boy will never get over you.”

  Wow. There’s in-your-face honesty, and then there’s in-your-face honesty.

  “I…” I trail off. How the heck am I supposed to respond to that? Finally, I manage, “I had no idea Luc felt that way about me until recently. And I swear to you, I never once led him on. Luc’s my hero. The absolute best human being on the face of the planet. The last thing I’d ever want is to hurt him.”

  She turns to me then, her gaze steady on mine. “Luc is a tenderhearted man. And with you, he’s given love without the hope of having it returned.” Her pride for her son is evident in the soft smile that plays with her lips. Then her smiles falters. “But I worry how much he can withstand before his tender heart grows hard.”

  Once again, I’m left speechless.

  Chapter Forty-six

  ______________________________________

  Cash

  Dear Cash,

  Last night I had a nightmare.

  That’s not all that unusual. Most nights, I relive the hours after you left, my unconscious mind replaying them again and again as if looking for a way to change things. To undo things. To make things right.

  But last night was different. Last night it was the OLD nightmare that made me sit up in bed.

  I told you about it, remember?

  In it, I’m floating in the water outside the house where my parents died. I can hear them inside that attic, screaming for help. But no matter how hard I hit the window, the glass won’t break. And the water keeps rising higher and higher until I can’t fight the current anymore, and I’m dragged away having failed to save them. Again.

  As I sat there in bed, trying to claw my way out from under all the guilt and remorse, I was reminded of something I read in Mrs. Tannahill’s English class. We were studying folks who’ve won the Pulitzer Prize in Literature, and there was this one guy, a Frenchman, who wrote, “When the soul suffers too much, it develops a taste for misfortune.”