Caroline thought of nothing else as they showered and got ready for the gala. She heard the rumble of a truck pass by the house, coming up the road from the boat. Apparently, he was also going out for the evening.
Chapter Four
Gavin parked his truck at the end of the gravel lane. Bonnies yard was filled with an array of bird feeders and garden whirly-gigs. Windchimes hanging from the canopied front porch sang in the evening breeze. Her tiny house sat on a knoll surrounded by an army of giant oaks, some with trunks as big around as his truck was wide.
He walked up the steps and across the porch, dodging the chimes, thinking she’d added new ones since his last visit. A pang of guilt assaulted him. It had been a long time, and he realized that he didn’t even know her age.
“A lady never reveals her age to a man, unless it’s the right man,” she’d told him once in her raspy, Lauren Bacall voice. Poised to knock, he remembered the last time he’d seen her. His body crumpled at her feet as she sat in her chair. His arms were wrapped around her slight body, crying until he wished the pain would take him as it had his Livie. She’d placed her crooked hands on his head and in silence let him purge the anger, the loss from his soul.
He knocked lightly. “Miss Bonnie? Antoinette? It’s Gavin Beauregard. I’m in town for the weekend and thought I’d drop by for a visit if you feel up to it.” It was a small lie and her realized that Miss Bonnie would know it the minute she looked at him.
The door opened with a slow creak and the old woman peered up at him. “Gavin Beauregard. I thought that was you I seen on the plane. Come on in, boy.”
He stepped into the miniature shack, barely bigger than the boat except for a bedroom and bath down the hall. An old floor lamp provided the only light in the late afternoon shadows. “My apologies, Miss Bonnie. I didn’t mean to involve you. I…uh, didn’t wish to disturb the woman from listening to her music.”
She eyed him. “Any luck in that department?”
Gavin shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Your mama, she called you, didn’t she?”
No point lying. “Yes, ma’am.” He felt awkwardly tall standing in front of the tiny woman in her tiny house.
She pointed a crooked finger at him. “You’re a good boy to come check on ‘ol Bonnie. You mama raised you right.” She turned, toddling toward the stove, wagging her finger in the air. “No one got anything to worry about. I always get a bit queasy when the weather changes.” She glanced at him from where she’d put the tea kettle on to boil. “And my bones feel a storm is a’comin’. Nothing that a good cup of tea can’t fix. Sit yourself down, Doctor Gavin.”
“Just Gavin, Miss Bonnie.”
She frowned, staring down her pert nose. “I think not. You earned that title with many hours of hard work, with blood, sweat and more than enough tears. Yessir, it’s good, but not without a price.” She turned back to the stove. “Dr. Gavin, it is.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gavin lowered himself into one of the chrome and vinyl kitchen chairs-likely originals, not the retro comebacks.
“How are those girls?” she asked moving with slow ease as she gathered cups and saucers, sugar cubes and a small porcelain pitcher of milk.
“They’re enjoying their time in Europe with their grandparents. Seeing dad’s relatives.”
Bonnie nodded, checking the tea kettle. “And how is living way up north? Never been. Never had reason to.”
Gavin chuckled. “It’s seasonal. Lots of snow in the winter.”
She poured out, dipping the steel ball in the steaming water old school style, before handing him the cup. “You sleeping well?” she asked, working on her cup. She didn’t look up.
He cleared his throat. Took a sip of tea.
“I’m guessing that your Livie might have something to do with that.”
Gavin studied his tea.
“She wants you to listen to her.” Bonnie sat down, primly curling her hands around her rose-colored teacup.
The air seemed to stagnate. Gavin took a deep breath. The validation that he’d not been hallucinating was almost too powerful to bear. It squeezed his heart. “I thought it was a dream—wanted it to be a dream…I don’t understand.”
She reached out and patted his hand. “No need to understand, baby. She just wants you to stop hurting, grieving for her. She wants you to love again. You gone on now too long carrying her around with you. You gots to let her go now. It’s time.”
His eyes met Bonnie’s and a sob clogged his throat. He looked away, battling inside what he knew to be true. Hadn’t everyone around him been telling him the same thing? Move on. Get on with your life. Start dating again. He sniffed and cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger to lace this tea with?”
She chuckled softly. “Drink what ‘ol Bonnie made for you.” She took a dainty sip from her cup. “It will help you to have clarity.”
She waited as he drained the cup, then reached for it. Carefully, she turned the remaining grounds in the cup. “You’re here this weekend, not by chance. Olivia, she’s brought you here for a reason. Listen with your heart. You will know.”
“That’s what she told me last night. She told me she’s letting me go.”
Bonnie nodded without looking up.
“I don’t know if I can, Miss Bonnie. I loved her…so much. She was my only love. I never wanted to be apart from her.”
“I know, child. But Olivia, she don’t want you to be alone in this world. She don’t want her girls growing up without someone to call mother.” She studied the grounds, then tossed him a sly grin. “It seems you’ve already met someone.”
The dark-haired beauty on the plane, vacationing in his cottage home popped into his mind. True, they’d met on numerous, strange occasions in the past few hours, yet he still didn’t know her name. “The woman from the plane. Turns out she and her friend are renting the summer cottage.” He chuckled. “Fate, right? Thing is she won’t tell me her name. I think she thinks I’m the stalker type. Maybe I need to leave that one alone.”
Miss Bonnies silvery brows knit as she studied the cup. “I see a storm. Not like Katrina.” She held her finger up to emphasize her point. “No siree. This storm is fierce. Filled with passion. Hot as lightning.”
The hairs on the back of Gavin’s neck stood on edge. Emotions he’d not felt in a very long time simmered below the surface.
She looked up and met his gaze. “You feel it, too, don’t you, boy?” Her cackle of laughter filled the stillness. “I’m not so sure that you can write off this woman you’ve met just yet.”
Gavin held her gaze. Hoodoo ways and clinical education don’t always see eye-to-eye.
“When the lightning strikes,” she pointed at him with a smile. “Then you will see what ‘ol Bonnie be talkin’ ‘bout.”
Patrick O’Rourke and his wife, Savannah met Gavin as he climbed out of his truck at the Evermore parking area.
“Good timing, my friend. Savannah, you remember me telling you about that nerdy little kid I felt sorry for back in school?” Patrick grinned as he approached Gavin.
“Pay no attention to him, Gavin,” Savannah smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet some of Patrick’s more refined friends.”
Gavin laughed. “Refined? I’m sorry to disappoint you then, Mrs. O’Rourke. I’m just a good ‘ol boy at heart.”
“Pity,” she smiled and hugged his neck. “I had such high hopes you’d rub off on Patrick.”
Gavin grinned and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “I think I’m in love with your wife.”
They walked together up the short path to the front of the house, lit up like a Hollywood opening night.
“Hey, Patrick, Savannah, glad you could make it.” A tall, broad shouldered man in a suit and tie met them at the door.
“Nash,” Patrick shook the man’s hand. “I want you to meet my good friend, Dr. Gavin Beauregard.”
“Nash Walker, it’s a pleasure and this is my wife, Dr. Somer Ingle
r.”
She took his hand, and held it a moment, studying him. “Not the same Beauregard as our neighbors down the road?”
“Guilty as charged,” Gavin said. “I used to spend a lot of time running around here when I was a kid. We used to spend summers at the cottage.”
“What do you practice, Dr. Beauregard?” she asked.
“Pediatric medicine—surgery, mostly. I live up north now. But I wouldn’t miss the chance to support a great cause like this. When Patrick called me, I was on the next plane and I’m certain when my folks return from Europe, they will be more than interested in contributing as well.” He followed his hosts inside the living area where several people had gathered in small groups to chat.
“What is it you practice, Dr. Ingler?” he asked accepting a glass of champagne from a staff waiter clad in a sharp black and white uniform.
“I’m a parapsychologist, with a degree from Scotland University. I’ve been studying this field for the last decade or better. My study on southern plantations in America is how I met Nash.”
“An interesting story for another time, “Nash grinned and tossed Patrick a side-look. “Suffice it to say, I never believed in ghosts too much until I met this woman. She’s like a magnet.” He smiled, took a sip of his drink, and held up his finger. “Oh, and if you happen to see a very pale little boy running about, I think he’s stolen my penknife again.”
“Sounds like the little boy I used to see when I lived here,” Patrick said.
Gavin listened, aware that many of the homes in the south boasted of hauntings. He’d never experienced one himself however. “Maybe he learned it from you. As I recall you were always getting me into trouble when I came over.” He grinned and lifted his glass to his friend.
Patrick discreetly flipped him off.
“Oh, then, like Patrick, you must be familiar with the history of Evermore, Dr. Beauregard,” Dr. Ingler said. “Just last year we were able with the help of Patrick and Savannah and Auntie Iris…” she glanced around the room. “There she is, over in the corner talking to those two women.”
Gavin followed her gaze and barely heard another world of the woman’s story. There talking to the woman called Auntie Iris was his dark-haired summer neighbor and her friend, Louise.
“We reunited two lovers from the past.”
Gavin heard the words, but they hadn’t registered past the buzz in his brain. His brain cells were occupied talking in the low-cut back of the dress his dark-haired nameless beauty was wearing. Tonight, her hair was wound up off her neck, corkscrew tendrils teasing her alabaster sun-kissed skin. The black dress she wore skimmed her silhouette and she wore nothing but dainty sandals at the end of her smooth, tan legs. He’d almost convinced himself that if he stared long enough he’d be able to guess what she wore beneath that incredible dress.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Dr. Beauregard?” she asked. “Growing up in the south, I assume you might have had a run-in or two with our friends in the afterlife.”
He caught Patrick’s curious look and his friend followed, quickly putting together why Gavin wasn’t trekking on all gears.
“Yeah, do you remember that little boy I told you about? The one I used to see when I lived here?” Patrick picked Gavin’s lag in the conversation. “Do you ever see him around?”
Dr. Ingler’s eyes lit up. “Why yes, we have seen a little boy now and again. As well as the reunited couple.”
“In unexpected places,” Nash interjected.
“We are occupying the young woman’s bedroom, my love.” She squeezed her husband’s arm.
“I never truly appreciated cleansing rituals until I met this woman.” Nash kissed his wife’s temple.
Gavin’s musings were interrupted by a smaller group venturing in through the French doors from the screened in back porch. They were led by a vivacious young man in period clothing, seemingly comfortable with his surroundings, he appeared to be winding up his tour.
“Oh, there’s Micah with our other guests. We thought it’d be best to split into smaller groups in order to provide an intimate tour.” She waved him and his group over to join those standing nearby.
Auntie Iris, Louise, and her friend-who-remained-nameless, gathered toward the back of the crowd. Louise caught his eye and nudged her friend.
Gavin smiled as the woman’s gaze met his through the crowd. She leaned over, whispering in her friend’s ear, then snuck out through the back door. Tempted to follow her, it would have been an insult to his host. He stood his ground instead, thanking fate, that maybe now he’d have a chance to get to know her better.
“As many of you know, there is a rich history associated with Evermore.” Nash said to the captivated crowd. We’ve made every effort to maintain the authenticity of the house and its outbuildings as well as offer its history to visitors. In an effort to preserve this history, plantations in the area have formed an alliance with a pledge to keep this part of American history around for generations to come. Our partners include corporations, celebrities with ties to the area, and others who by private contribution have a sustainable interest in making sure this vital history is preserved.”
“Here. Here.” Nash held up his glass and the crowd followed.
“Now, most of you are aware that this is the anniversary of Katrina. We’d like to take a moment to remember those we lost during that most dark time and have asked our beloved Auntie Iris to say a few words.
The woman worked her way through the crowd and her gaze caught Gavin’s. She smiled and winked at him, like she’d done in the airport that day.
“Let us honor those who have seen the light. Please bow your heads,” she said. “Great God. Show us your mercy when we are blind. Show us your grace when anger seems the answer and remind us of how fleeting life is. What a gift you have bestowed on us. Make us grateful, Lord. Make us willing, Lord. Help us to appreciate the gift of life until time you call us to your heavenly home.”
Gavin raised his eyes and the older woman snagged his gaze. Thunder rolled across the heavens above. Dr. Ingler glanced at her husband, then spoke, “Before we head out on the next tour—and its sounds like we best hurry—I’d like to remind you that while we have added the comforts of electricity to our plantation home, there are times when Mother Nature holds the cards and high winds and strong lightning can cause outages. So, we have provided in each room of the house an emergency kit for just such occurrences. Thanks to my talented carpenter husband, you will find a medium green wood box containing all that you’d need to provide light. Each box contains a flashlight, two tapers, and one pillar candle as well as matchsticks.”
Dr. Ingler clasped her hands together. “Now if you’re ready. We have a special surprise for you—a walking ghost tour of one of our most active sights on the property.”
Excited whispers tittered through the crowd.
She ushered Micah to the back of the crowd. “If you’ll follow, Micah, we’ll walk through the maze garden. It’s a bit faster.”
The group lumbered toward the exit. Gavin started to follow but he hadn’t seen the woman join her friend. He tapped Patrick on the shoulder. “I’ll catch up. It’s nothing I haven’t seen.”
Patrick grinned. “Did you want me to hang back with you, bro, or are you hoping to run into that lovely woman you were drooling over earlier? Is that her? The one you caught on the dock?”
Gavin downed the rest of his drink. He needed something stronger. “One in the same. I’m hoping I can get her to give me her name, at least.”
“At least.” Patrick slapped him on the back, then leaned forward. “Just a tip, the library upstairs locks from the inside.” He tossed Gavin a wink and wicked grin.
He stood watching the departing group, his gaze drawn to the sky on the horizon and the ragged finger of lightning that appeared to tap the earth. Stepping back into the main room, he accepted a bourbon on ice from the bartender, who then disappeared through what he assumed was the kitchen. Looking around, he waited,
scanning the furnishings and noting the similarities to the furniture found still in his parents’ home back on St. Charles street.
He started to make himself comfortable and the lights flickered. Straightening, he pulled out his cell phone, checking radar as the lights flickered again. The weather service had posted a statement indicating the tropical storm was stalled out over the gulf, but that residents should be aware of the wind and lightning preceding the storm.
Gavin flicked the latch on the green box and lifted the lid, easing his mind of where to find a candle if necessary. A fierce wind suddenly blew in through the open doors, lifting and swirling into the air, everything that wasn’t anchored down. Cocktail napkins fluttered in its wake like giant flakes of snow. It seemed to circle around him, almost life-like in how it combed through his hair, the sound of a whispered sigh catching his ear. The breeze seemed to brush his cheek and then all was still.
The house went dark.
***
Blackness. Caroline stood in the library where she’d sneaked upstairs earlier under ploy of using the facilities, but wanting to hide from Dr. Beauregard’s stormy blue gaze. Each time they met, it was getting harder and harder to not just give in, let her hair down—as it were—and allow herself to get to know him better. Truth was she was scared. Her run with men had not been good. Her model of her parent’s tumultuous marriage not exactly inspiring.
Standing in front of the green box Dr. Ingler had spoken about, she fumbled with the latch and opened the lid. A chill brushed over her shoulders, a breeze circled her bare legs, reaching higher and higher until she grabbed the skirt of her dress and held it in place. A brisk wind rattled the windows and Caroline watched in stunned surprise as the old casement windows flew open, capturing the gauzy curtains in a mad dance. A book fell from its perch on the shelf and landed with a loud bang.
Caroline lifted her hand to stifle a scream and sensing someone behind her pivoted on her heel and found Dr. Beauregard, a taper in his hand, looking at her. A strange fear--more the leaping off a cliff variety wrapped around her. The look in his hungry eyes pulled the air from her lungs. She couldn’t move. Sexual tension sizzled, palatable between them. Outside, the wind howled like an animal in heat. The open windows slammed rhythmically against the wall until Caroline could all but the insistent thudding. Smoke curled in her belly.
Hurricane Season Page 6