Restoring Hope

by Smith, C. P.

  Like some unseen force, Hope found herself walking across the street in front of a car, its tires locking to avoid hitting her. When she reached the other side, Hope turned and looked at the wild, raven haired woman and tried to turn away from her, but couldn’t. As Hope stood there staring, Madame LeFarr stuck out her hand, and Hope watched as her own hand came up and took hold of her outstretched hand and then she followed her inside.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The tourists were crowding the sidewalks of Bourbon Street, but not so thick, that Nic wouldn’t know Hope when he saw her. He was exiting a sandwich shop when he caught sight of her leaving the same tarot card shop he’d seen her at a month before. He tried to cross the street and catch her, but he lost her in the crowd once he made it to the other side. As he passed the shop, he saw the same woman from a month before standing in the doorway. She was looking in the same direction Hope had gone, and it struck Nic both times this had happened the woman seemed distressed.

  He didn’t believe in magic spells or voodoo, but something was bringing Hope back to this shop, and each time she rushed off the woman seemed concerned. Going with his gut, wondering if maybe they were friends and Hope had opened up to this woman, he opened the door and stepped inside.

  Dressed, as she had been the first time he’d seen her, in bright colors made out of fabric that was thin, he opened his mouth to ask her about Hope, but she cut him off.

  “She is protecting you.”

  Nic narrowed his eyes, looked around the shop and then turned his eyes back to the woman.

  “Who is protecting me?”

  “Hope.”

  “You and Hope are friends?”

  “No, though she is charming.”

  “What else has she told you?” Nic asked hoping he might gain some insight into what he was dealing with for once.

  “She won’t tell me anything the cards read her future. The spirits guide me, and they are telling me she’s in danger, hiding, protecting someone, and that love is close, a great love that she could drown in if she doesn’t destroy it before it has time to ignite.” Forgetting he didn’t believe in this shit, Nic found himself asking, “How will she destroy it?”

  “The cards didn’t say, just that she was at a crossroads, and she needed to tread carefully.”

  “And she didn’t tell you anything about her troubles?”

  “No, I never ask, it clouds the reading when I know. I told her to think of a question she wanted answered and the cards give her what she needed to know.”

  “The cards tell her?”

  “The cards and the spirits. There was a particularly chatty one today, a girl who couldn’t stop talking about lies.”

  “Whose lies?” he again asked for an explanation. This charlatan may want to play it off that she got her information from ghosts, but Nic figured Hope had said something and he wanted to know what that was.

  “She didn’t say, just that lies would break it apart. She kept referring to herself as ‘tite ange, does that make sense?” Like he’d been kicked in the gut Nic inhaled, and then anger rolled off him in waves.

  “I don’t know what kinda of game you’re playing, but stay away from Hope,” Nic growled shaken for a moment but not about to stand for this shit one more minute.

  Closing her eyes, Madame LeFarr tuned in to the spirits then opened her mouth and whispered, “Je t’aime, Papa, I don’t hate you.” Nic responded immediately by grabbing her by the arms and seething, his rage off the chart, “Don’t you fuckin’ say another word,” then he moved her back an inch releasing his hold and held her eyes. When he was satisfied she wouldn’t test him, he turned and exited the shop.

  Heart pounding, the knot he hadn’t had in weeks was back, and he wanted a fuckin’ drink more than he wanted anything. Taking the long way back to his office to calm down, he’d made his mind up he’d had enough. Closing the door on the outer offices, he fired up his computer and waited while it booted up. Nic rolled up his sleeves; his mind drifting between Hope, the fortuneteller and the bullshit she’d just laid on him.

  When google opened, he typed in John Delaney, Nevada, and waited for the results. If Hope won’t come clean about this guy then he’d find out what he needed to know so he could protect her. With dozens of names pulling up, he narrowed the search by adding Hope’s name to the mix hoping a marriage license would pop up in vital records. Nothing. He tried variations of the name John, tried using the last name Delaney and trucking companies, and still came up with nothing. The longer he searched; the shorter his fuse became. “Lies would tear them apart,” the Fortuneteller had said, but he brushed them off as a dramatic production to milk him of his money. She was good; he’d give her that much, but most Cajuns call their daughters ‘tite ange, so that was not a stretch. What shook him was being called Papa and the apology for saying she hated him. Chelsea would feel guilty for that day at the rehab clinic, he knew that, and those words had kicked him in the gut.

  “Parlor tricks,” he mumbled to himself and shut down his computer. One thing she got right though, he hated lies, had lived with the results of them for the past three years, and he’s done with them. Hope was gonna tell him the truth, and she was gonna do it soon, but right now he had work to do, and he’d wasted enough time on this wild goose chase.

  Hope was late for work that evening, she’d been rattled again by Madame LeFarr, and lost track of time as she walked the streets to clear her head. Then when she’d gone home to change, she could swear someone had been in her condo. She didn’t have much, but it seemed disturbed, like someone had been looking for something, and that had rattled her even more. She looked through everything and nothing was missing, but her things seemed like they’d been handled and neatly put back, almost too neatly. A cold chill had settled around her, and she’d almost called Nic at his office but thought better of it. If she didn’t bring John up then she could avoid talking about her past. Besides, she didn’t think John would go through her stuff; he’d sit down, wait for her to come home and then beat the shit out of her. It crossed her mind that Nic might have searched her things out of frustration, but that didn’t seem like something he’d do. She didn’t have anything that would trace her back to Nevada except her driver’s license and it was where she’d left it in her backpack. After panicking, she’d come to the conclusion she was seeing things, but remained on alert as she made her way to the bar for her shift.

  Entering through the back to avoid any questions Rose and Abby might have, she threw her bag into her locker and made her way to the kitchen.

  “Look who da’ dog done drug in,” Big Daddy shouted when she stopped at her station.

  “Sorry, I lost track of time,” Hope replied and grabbed the basket of vegetables to wash and prepare for the evening dinner crowd.

  “What’s on your mind, T-Hope?” Big Daddy asked as she rinsed potatoes for the boil.

  “Not a thing, just focusing on the potatoes.”

  “You don’t say? Cher, you know Big Daddy got big shouldah’s he do, so lay on me your troubles.”

  Hope stopped scrubbing and looked at the man. He was the closest thing to a father she’d had since she was twelve. His sincerity got to her, and she found her mouth opening without her permission.

  “Do you think if someone keeps the truth for a good reason that they deserve forgiveness? Or is a lie of any type an unforgivable offense?”

  “We talkin’ ‘bout your past?” Hope held his eyes and then lowered hers and nodded. “We talkin’ about Nic and your past?” She nodded again but didn’t look at him. She was afraid of what she might see.

  “Cher, any man a real man, he gets passed a lie told out of love he do.”

  “He didn’t forgive Kat,” Hope mumbled but he heard her just the same.

  “Dat’ woman did not lie for love, she betray her whole family she did, and for no reason but she full of shee-it and her own importance.”

  “Do you think Nic will see the difference?”

&nb
sp; “If it comes from you, yes. You listen to Big Daddy; don’t let your past dictate your future. You hear what I sayin’? No man, woman or child, is perfect, we all do da’ best we can. Da’ important ’ting to remembah’ is this, love can bridge any gap as long as it’s built on trust.”

  “Okay,” Hope replied feeling better but not by much. She knew she loved Nic, might have fallen in love with him when he stood between her and the drunk, but what she wasn’t sure about was how he felt about her. He was guarded because of his past with Kat, so she knew he wouldn’t leap into a relationship with her without being wary. Had Nic had enough time to feel something for her other than lust and his need to protect her? Unfortunately, Big Daddy was right—she was out of time. Nic wanted answers and if he got them from someone other than her, he would be hard to reach. Whether she was ready or not, she had to come clean, and she had to do it tonight.

  The dinner rush seemed to drag that night, yet, at the same time flew by. Hope teetered on panic most of the evening and annoyance that the orders kept coming. Now that she’d made the decision to tell Nic, she wanted to get it over with and face the music. Better to find out now, that he couldn’t handle the truth, than month’s down the road when losing him would kill her just as surely as if he plunged a knife into her heart.

  When she left for the evening, she was a little concerned that Nic wasn’t waiting for her. Since she’d moved in below him, except for the week they avoided each other, he’d been here when she got off work and driven her home. Tonight he hadn’t come to the bar or called to say he couldn’t make it. Abby and her husband had given her a ride home, and she was heading towards her door when she saw there were no lights on in the upstairs unit. Nic wasn’t home. Unlocking her own door, Hope pushed it open, flipped the light on, and let out a scream when she found Nic leaning against her kitchen counter. He had a blank look on his face and was holding a sheet of paper, he didn’t smile when he looked at her, didn’t come to her and kiss her, he just stood there staring at her and Hope knew he’d found out.

  “Nic?” she whispered.

  “Don’t,” he barked out, anger written all over his face.

  “Don’t what?”

  “I don’t want you to say anything.”

  Nodding, watching his face as he stared at her, eyes blank and cold as they ran up and down her body. When his eyes came back to her own, the tears welled while she waited for his recriminations to start. He lowered his eyes to the sheet of paper and started reading out loud.

  “Last Thursday police were called to the home of David G. Cummings, owner of Cumming's trucking. When they arrived, they found the body of Mr. Cummings on the kitchen floor, cause of death due to a knife wound inflicted by the deceased man’s wife, Jessica H. Cummings. Mrs. Cummings called 911 after an altercation that left her husband dead and Mrs. Cummings with two broken ribs, multiple contusions and a fractured wrist.

  Both Mr. Cummings and his brother were under investigation for drug trafficking when his death occurred, and police have since informed the press that Mrs. Cummings was instrumental in acquiring evidence that is expected to lead to the arrest of her brother-in-law John D. Cummings.

  Hospital records indicate that Mrs. Cummings has been treated multiple times over the past ten years for various injuries reported as accidents. One such incident ended the life of her unborn child in 2009. Medical officials refused to comment on whether or not any of the previous injuries were caused from abuse, but did say Mrs. Cummings is resting comfortably and is expected to make a full recovery. It is unknown if her involvement with the investigation caused her husband’s attack and police aren’t commenting at this time.”

  “You killed your husband?” He asked with no emotion.

  “Yes.”

  “He and his brother are drug dealers and you stayed married to him for ten years?”

  “Yes,” she replied. He didn’t want excuses he wanted the truth, and then he was done with her. She wouldn’t prolong his pain and her own. She would answer his questions and then let him walk out of her life.

  “Are you really in danger?”

  “Yes.”

  “From John your dead husband or John the brother-in-law?” Nic asked sarcastically.

  “My brother-in-law.”

  “The paper says you had a history of abuse that you miscarried, that he beat you till you lost your son?” He seethed his hands balling into fists, “And yet you stayed married to him?”

  “Yes.”

  Nic said nothing for a moment trying to reconcile the angel in front of him with the woman from the article. She knew they sold drugs, and she stayed married to him. His gut rolled at the idea.

  “Did you help them sell drugs to innocent children like my daughter?” he roared.

  “NO!”

  “But you knew and you stayed. Was it the money?” he asked with disgust.

  “No,” Hope whispered, it was because she was weak, afraid, but it didn’t matter now.

  “And the baby, your son? You never once told me about your loss. You consoled me, told me you didn’t know how I felt. Was any of that real? Was anything you’ve told me since we met the fuckin truth?” Nic shouted his rage building that he’d been this much a fool.

  “Yes,” Hope replied but her voice broke. Now that he knew everything, and she saw it from his perspective, there was no doubt in her mind that he hated her.

  “Any other lies you need to tell me?” Nic bit out, still no emotion on his face, only blank, cold resolution that the woman he’d cared about wasn’t who he thought she was and that nearly broke her.

  “No,” she choked out still holding his eyes. She wouldn’t be a coward like she’d been for ten years.

  “Nice to meet you finally, Mrs. Cummings. Welcome to New Orleans where fools and ghouls wander the streets.”

  He moved suddenly, walked past her, and when he reached her door, he threw a punch at the wall, his hand going all the way through it and he thundered, “FUCK,” as he left Hope standing in the kitchen. She didn’t chase him, didn’t beg him to stay. He was done with her, and he deserved better than to have her causing a scene on his front lawn. With movements better suited to a zombie, she turned and closed the front door locking it and securing the chain.

  Moving to the bedroom, she crawled into the bed with her clothes on, pulled the covers over her head and laid there until the sun rose, and the birds chirped announcing a new day had arrived, and still she didn’t move. Only when her bladder required it did Hope get up, and when she was finished, she crawled right back into the bed and pulled the covers back over her head. Sleep finally claimed her, though it wasn’t restful, it was filled with images of dark soulful eyes laughing, angry, hungry, but mostly they were blank. They were the eyes of a man who’d been lied to, cheated on and who’d buried a daughter he’d loved. They were the eyes of a man who was done.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s funny how a day can change the course of one’s life. The weight that had been hanging around Hope's neck for the past month was gone, but the emptiness she felt was far worse than any noose around her neck.

  The sun’s bright rays shown through the blinds, lighting her room with a brightness she’d taken for granted until she opened her eyes, and for a moment watched as they skipped across the floor in a magical dance. She wanted to look at those rays as a symbol that her life would be brighter now, since she had nothing to hide, but her reality wasn’t as warm as those dancing sunbeams. A gray day with angry clouds would have better suited the mess she’d made of her life, of Nic’s life. Deciding she could lie there as a martyr would; feeling sorry for herself and the mess that she alone had brought down on her life, or, she could get up, clean up and do something to lessen Nic’s pain.

  She should have trusted him to listen and understand what she had been through and why she hadn’t left, but she didn’t, and now she needed to accept the consequences of her actions. Nic had been honest with her, caring, understanding, and she still hadn�
�t let him see the real Hope. She was so damn selfish; she could barely look at herself. It was time to move on and leave Nic and those she cared about to their lives. Let them heal from her deception and move forward, while she tried to live with the guilt.

  Trying to shake off her despair, Hope walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, then moved to the closet and pulled out her bags to pack. She needed to call the train station, find out what states they went to and then decide a course of action. Picking up the brochure, she’d held onto when she first arrived, Hope scanned it for departure times. When the words blurred as tears welled in her eyes, she dropped the brochure and buried her face in her hands. For the first time since Nic walked out the door, she let sorrow consume her, and she fell to the floor as a guttural cry spilled from her throat. She cried for the pain she’d caused, the pain she’d endured, and the happiness she could have had if she’d just trusted Nic with her heart like he’d asked. She continued to lie on the floor as her sobs turned to hiccup’s, but still she couldn’t move. Exhaustion and mental fatigue set in eventually, and as the shower ran, Hope drifted off into blissful darkness.

  “Why da’ food so slow?” Maman Rose hollered through the window to the kitchen.

  “We short old woman, I cookin’ fast as I can,” Big Daddy shouted back. He didn’t have time to talk; he had plates backing up on him.

  “Did dat’ no account Jasper not show?”

  “Non, T-Hope,” he replied, worry etched on his face.

  “Dere’ sometin’ I should know ‘bout?”

  “She not call me old woman, I don’t know her everah’ move.”

  “But you know sometin’ I see it in your face.”

  Big Daddy threw his towel down, stalked across the kitchen to the window, and leaned in so only her ears would hear.