“I want that jackass out of my house. As soon as humanly possible.”
“Your house?”
“You know what I mean. I can’t sit in the same room with him and pretend everything’s fine, Enza.”
“Please,” I said. “All I want is a nice peaceful dinner. People pretend to not hate each other at every holiday. Can we make it through this one without a spectacle?” I left out the part about Toph’s habit of carrying joints in his pocket. If I had to sic Andre on him, we needed to do that in a way that wouldn’t galvanize Lucille. She needed to know we weren’t ganging up.
He gave me a hard look and grumbled his angry French as he turned and stalked back to the table.
I poured myself a shot of rum and downed it as I heard footsteps behind me.
“Please,” I said. “It’s just a couple of hours.”
“What?” Kate asked. She stood with her hands on her hips. Then she gestured behind her and said, “What the hell’s going on with that guy? Is he wasted?”
“I thought you were Jack,” I said. I sighed and glanced over at the rum. Too bad I was the hostess. The hostess was supposed to be sober. “I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious.”
She leaned against the counter. “Jack looks like he wants to kill him.”
“He’s probably deciding if he wants to ask Andre to arrest him.”
“He’d totally do it.”
“It’s not illegal to be wasted in your home,” I said.
“I think you might have some wiggle room with that one,” she said. “Also, there’s this charge called possession.”
“Let’s call that Plan B.”
“I think it should be Plan A, but this is your party.”
“Speaking of Andre, what exactly is going on there?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Don’t try to change the subject. What are you going to do about Toph?”
“Try to make it through dinner without shedding blood.”
“It’s not a family dinner until somebody throws a punch.”
With her brothers, that was probably truth in Kate’s house. My house, however, didn’t involve meals with fistfights. I didn’t know how to handle people like Toph.
We returned to the dining room and continued with the meal. Lucille tried to keep Toph in check while the conversation moved from football to local news to the senatorial race. Toph was busy tossing bits of ham to Bella, who was parked under his feet. She grunted each time he dangled a piece by his side, and he laughed when her tongue tickled his fingers. Normally I’d balk at somebody feeding her from the table, but it was keeping Toph out of trouble. For the time being.
By the time we got around to dessert, Jack and Buck were discussing more renovations they had planned for the river house. Josie had Kate and Andre enthralled in some story that involved a lot of gesticulating with her arms. Zane had given up on holding Kate’s attention and was talking to George.
There was a knock at the door, and Jack cocked his head.
“That might be Mike,” Zane said. “He said he’d come by if he got off early enough.”
Jack shrugged. “I didn’t think he’d make it.”
He moved to stand, but I offered to get the door. “I need to check on dessert anyway,” I called over my shoulder.
Bella followed me down the hall, her tail wagging. When I opened the door, I felt all of the blood drop from my head to my feet.
My father was standing on the porch, holding a bottle of wine.
Chapter 14
My instinct was to slam the door and go back to my dinner. Instead, I squeezed the doorknob and said, “Dad, what are you doing here?”
As usual, he looked impeccable, wearing a dark blue button-up shirt and crisp wrinkle-free khaki pants. His shoes alone probably cost more than the set of tires on my Jeep.
“I know you’re upset,” he said. “I get that.”
My stomach twisted into a knot. “Good.”
He stared at the space between his feet. After a long moment he said, “There are things we need to talk about.”
“I have people over.” Bella sat by my feet, a low growl rumbling in her throat.
“I figured.” His eyes looked sad. His typical bravado was gone. After another long pause, he said, “Please, dear. I’ve come all this way.”
I couldn’t remember the last time he’d called me “dear.” It felt like a full minute before I said, “Come in, I guess.” I didn’t want to talk to him, and I didn’t want to hear excuses. But it felt cruel to turn him away, and there had already been so much cruelty in my family.
He followed me into the kitchen and set the wine on the table. “The house looks good,” he said, taking in the cabinets, the new paint, the new floor. The last time he’d seen it, one room was a heap of cinder and ash. He’d stormed out, furious with me for not doing the renovations his way. He hadn’t even stayed long enough to see all the improvements Jack and I had made.
“Thank you.”
My father looked awkward and uncomfortable, and he’d never appeared to feel either of those things before. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, finally shoving his hands into his pockets as he studied the room.
A wave of laughter came from the dining room. My father motioned toward the pies resting on the counter. “You’ve been busy,” he said.
“Why did you come here?”
“I needed to talk to you. In person.”
“I have guests,” I repeated.
“So I see.”
My father, the man who bulldozed his way through all parts of life, seemed to be waiting for a cue. He looked shorter now, and I wondered if it was because he wasn’t wearing a suit. Suits had always made him look like a giant, stern and intimidating.
At least, I’d always thought it was the suits.
To save me from more awkward non-talking, I pulled another plate from the cabinet and grabbed some silverware from the drawer. “Dinner’s still on the table,” I said. “Come eat, and we’ll talk later.”
He didn’t argue. He followed me into the dining room, his loafers making a dull thump against the floorboards. As soon as we entered, Jack’s jaw dropped.
The din quieted. “Everyone, this is Steven Parker. My father.”
They all introduced themselves as I set a place for him. Kate gawked at me. I pulled another chair next to mine, and my father sat down by my side for the first time in years. I was accustomed to him sitting across from me, staring at me over a desk or a restaurant table. Or gazing down at me as he sat on the corner of his desk while I slunk in the chair front of him.
But here, sitting elbow-to-elbow, I felt like we were almost equals, like we were on the same side, and it felt completely alien to me, like trying to write with my left hand.
“Why’d it get so quiet in here?” Toph asked Lucille in a loud whisper. She elbowed him in response.
“Ow,” he said, dropping a bite of turkey from his fork. “Rude.”
Jack looked like I could have knocked him over with a feather. He mouthed “You OK?” and I nodded, though I was pretty damned far from OK.
I was seeing my father for the first time in months. For the first time since he’d admitted he knew my mother had died.
And he was being civil. Friendly, even.
The other guests began chatting and passing him dishes. As he spooned rice and beans and potatoes onto his plate, I felt the blood rising in my head. His elbow brushed against mine as he unfolded his napkin, and I bristled.
“Excuse me a minute,” I said, and went back to the kitchen.
When Jack came in he found me struggling with the corkscrew, attacking the bottle of wine my father had brought—Shiraz, which he knew I liked, but a label that was far too expensive for me to buy myself.
“Whoa,” Jack said, taking both in his hands. “Let me help.” He popped the cork, and I handed him a glass.
He poured a bit and said, “What’s he doing here?”
“Keep pouring,” I said.
He ha
nded me the glass, half full, and I took a long swallow.
“He says we need to talk,” I said.
Jack shook his head, pouring himself a little wine.
“You certainly do,” he said. “But probably not between the main course and dessert, with a roomful of people.” He clinked his glass against mine. “You can handle this.”
Toph was momentarily forgotten.
“I thought today would be a nice relaxing day,” I said.
He laughed. “I do admire your optimism, cher. But don’t worry. You have plenty of backup. And ol’ Andre’s got a mean Scottish temper. Your dad better be on his best behavior or else.”
Jack gave me a slow wink and returned to the dining room. I stayed in the kitchen to finish my wine, wondering what in the world I could say to my father that might pass as polite familial conversation in that room full of people.
~~~~
George was the first to leave, shortly after my father started his dinner. He’d chatted with my father, replying when my father spoke first, but I knew George didn’t think much of him because of what he knew about Vergie and my mother. I imagined Vergie had told George enough to make him blame my father—at least a little—for what happened to my mother all those years ago.
I certainly did.
While Jack and I cleared the table, Andre and Kate started another Scrabble game in the living room—this time without the whiskey. The two of them got Josie and Zane to play with them, while Buck snoozed on the sofa.
As Jack handed me a stack of dessert plates, there was a crash in the kitchen. I set the plates back on the table and hurried down the hall to the kitchen. Toph was standing by the sink, his hands covering his mouth. All around his feet was the detritus of pecan pie and the ceramic dish of Vergie’s it had occupied.
“Sorry,” he said. “It slipped out of my hand.”
Lucille grabbed a spatula from the counter and one of the dirty bowls from the sink. On her hands and knees, she scooped the remains of the pie into the bowl. Bella sniffed around, but I nudged her away, plucking the shards of the dish from the floor so she wouldn’t swallow them. I piled the blue pieces in my hand, wishing I’d chosen another dish that day and feeling a twinge of pain in my chest. Another small part of Vergie was gone.
But that was the way people left your memory. One small piece at a time.
“I’m sorry,” Toph said again, still leaning against the counter. He slurred as he spoke. “I was just trying to help.”
Lucille ignored him as she dumped the contents of her bowl into the trash. “I’m so sorry, Enza,” she said. “We’ll get out of here.”
“No, don’t,” I said. “It’s fine.” The thought of her leaving with Toph made me queasy. I knew what I had to do.
Jack stepped into the kitchen with a stack of plates from the table. “What was that crash?”
“Just an accident,” I said. “We got it.”
Jack set the plates down and gently pulled Lucille into the hall by her arm. “Get rid of that guy. Now. Or I will.”
She sighed and started to protest, but he cut her off.
“I mean it,” he said, his voice sharp. “I sat through dinner with him because Enza asked me to. But I swear to God, Luce, if you don’t get that guy out of this house, I’m going to drive him out of here myself. And you won’t like where I take him.”
She shot me a woeful look and went back to where Toph stood leaning against the doorframe, coaxing him outside with her. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fished around inside the carton. As she pulled him past me, I saw the pack held not cigarettes, but joints.
He followed her outside, and I went into the living room to inform Andre that he finally had a way to arrest Toph. I didn’t want Lucille leaving with him, but I was fine with the idea of Toph spending the night in a jail cell.
I heard laughter as I entered the room and saw that the sheriff was still engrossed in the Scrabble game, howling at some joke Kate had made, smiling as he watched her sip her wine. My father sat quietly in a rocking chair, feigning interest in the game. He looked more isolated than I’d ever seen him.
I kneeled down and spoke close to Andre’s ear. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
He detected the note of severity in my voice and nodded, switching back into official law-enforcement mode in an instant. As he climbed to his feet he said, “Be right back, gang,” and followed me down the hall.
“Toph’s got a handful of joints in his pocket,” I said.
His eyebrow arched. “Is that right?”
“They’re in a pack of cigarettes. He’s outside with Lucille right now.”
“OK,” he said.
“Is that enough to arrest him?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, then took a few steps away from me to make the call.
“The deputy will be here in fifteen,” he said, walking back over to me.
“What happens to Toph?”
“Most likely a misdemeanor charge. He’ll pay a fine, but since it’s a holiday, he’ll likely sit in a cell for twenty-four hours until the magistrate can hear his case.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
He smiled an impish smile. “My pleasure.”
I followed him back into the living room and saw that the rocker was empty. Buck lay snoring in the recliner by the window. Josie looked deep in thought, moving her tiles around in their bright blue trough.
Andre motioned toward Kate. “You didn’t peek at my tiles, did you?”
“No sir, officer,” she said with a sly grin. “It’s your turn though.”
“I need to excuse myself for a few more minutes,” he said to her. “How about you take my turn for me?”
Zane laughed. “Scrabble suicide, man.”
Kate cocked her head. “You trust me not to sabotage you?”
“I’ll catch up,” Andre said, puffing out his chest.
“Did y’all see where my father went?” I asked.
Kate said, “Outside, I think.”
“He left?”
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“Do you need me?” I asked Andre.
“Nah,” he said. “I’ve got this. Go find your dad.” He gave me a quick nod as he strode out of the room and toward the back of the house. The back door creaked open and closed, and I watched from the window as Andre walked slow and easy across the backyard and down to the dock where Lucille and Toph were standing. The two of them were having what looked like an intense conversation. Toph was waving his arms around, and Lucille stood a few feet away with her hands on her hips. I watched for a minute longer as Andre approached them. A few seconds later Lucille walked down the dock and headed for the house.
“Everything OK?” Kate asked me.
“It’s about to be,” I said, and then went to find my father.
His car was still in the yard. I trotted down the porch steps and walked around the side of the house, feeling guilty about ignoring him most of the day. I found him at the back of the house, standing with his hands in his pockets and staring up at the bottle tree. From here, I had a clear view of Andre and Toph down at the dock. Toph stood close to the bank, emptying his pockets.
The bottles groaned and whined in the breeze, swinging from their fishing line. That tree had been there with its brown and green bottles as long as I could remember. Most of them were wine and whiskey sized, but some of the older ones looked soda-sized.
“I wondered where you went,” I said.
“I came here a few times with your mother,” he said, “back when you were just a little squib. Vergie had this tree full of bottles then too.”
“She said it trapped bad spirits.”
“Not all of them. But I wish it had.” He stared at the tree. “I probably should have waited to come later. I didn’t intend to interrupt your dinner.”
“It’s all right,” I said.
“I thought if I called you wouldn’t answer.”
“I left you a lot of messages.”
“I know.”
He glanced over at me, then back at the tree. He looked so out of place, standing there in the weeds with his tailored pants, his expensive shoes. “I should tell you some things.”
I crossed my arms, gazing out at the lake. Andre stood with his hands on his hips. A few feet away, Toph was gesturing wildly, his hands flapping around his face. “Now’s not a great time.”
My father gazed into the distance, past me. “Do you want me to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded. “That means yes.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t. But you have to cut me some slack here, Dad. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I.”
He was quiet, his eyes drifting over the limbs of the tree, as if the words he needed were trapped in the bottles. At last he spoke. “I wasn’t always the bad guy. Your mother did some things too.”
“Dad,” I started.
“It takes two people to wreck a marriage, Enza. I didn’t do it all by myself.” He looked genuinely sad, for the first time in a long while.
Down at the dock, Toph had begun shouting. Andre held his hands out by his sides, as if delivering the there-are-two-ways-we-can-do-this speech. Toph waved one hand, as if to dismiss the sheriff, who took that opportunity to grab Toph’s arm and escort him back to the shore. I half-expected Andre to pull a set of handcuffs from his back pocket, but the grip he had on Toph’s arm, and the angle at which he held it, seemed to be enough to make him compliant in his stroll across the yard.
“I know I should have told you about your mother,” my father said. “I just didn’t know how.”
I listened for a car coming down the lane, wondering if the deputy would come with blue lights flashing.
“I don’t think I can talk about this now, Dad.”
He shook his head, frustrated. “There will never be a good time to talk about these things. But we’ve put it off long enough.”
I sighed, watching as Toph wobbled onto his knees by Andre’s truck. Andre leaned inside the driver’s side, pulled out a set of handcuffs, and secured Toph’s hands behind his back. He pulled him to his feet and sat him on the tailgate of the truck.
Bayou, Whispers from the Past: A Novel Page 16