The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

“I’ve tried to talk about this before, but I get the sense that you’re not always comfortable with me. Is there something I do that annoys you or that you need me to change? Tell me.” His eyes searched back and forth between mine.

  I sighed. I couldn’t hide it from the world, as I had hoped. “It’s not you, Michael.”

  “Someone else?” He nodded his head, guessing he was right.

  “Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know,” I vented. “It’s over and that man is gone. I’m just adjusting. I need time, that’s all.”

  His arm went around my shoulders. “Want to tell me about him?”

  “There’s nothing to tell. It’s over.”

  “I’m a patient man, Nicci. I can wait for you. When you’re ready, I’ll be ready.”

  I kissed his cheek, relieved that he didn’t want to press the subject. “Thank you. I want you to know you mean a lot to me, Michael.”

  “I’m glad. I was beginning to wonder.”

  We sat and enjoyed the fireplace, with its indestructible single log. Michael started to tell me about his plans for the New Year. I listened attentively, but made no comment. I had no plans of my own to share. There was no point in looking ahead to the future when so much of my heart was still stuck in the past.

  Chapter 20

  Three weeks into the spring semester, I skipped my classes and arrived home early one afternoon. I had decided to take the rest of the day off from studying and was in the kitchen hunting for a snack. I found a bag of potato chips my father had hidden away in the pantry. I was just about to dig in when my iPhone rang.

  “What are you doing picking up?” Michael scolded. “I thought you were in class. I was calling to leave you a message to call me and let me know how your day went.”

  He was calling me every day and leaving me messages, sometimes six or seven times per day.

  “I also wanted to remind you about this weekend,” he went on. “My parents are expecting us at seven.” Michael had arranged a dinner party at his parents’ house for me to officially meet the family. I was dreading it. “My mother said not to dress up, it’s casual. But don’t wear anything too revealing or tight.” There was a brief pause and I tensed. I was beginning to dread Michael’s pauses. “Maybe I should take you shopping to find something appropriate to wear,” he finally declared.

  “If that’s what you want to do, Michael,” I imparted with more interest in my bag of potato chips than him.

  However, this suggestion was new. I thought perhaps I should object to his offer, but then I figured, what harm could come from shopping. Agreeing with Michael was becoming easier than debating him on every issue.

  “Are you coming over tonight to help me paint?” he pleaded. Michael had decided to start the renovations on his place right after the New Year. “If I’m not home yet, you can just let yourself in.” He had also given me a key to his place, claiming it would make it easier for me to come and go.

  “I’ll be there after seven,’ I told him. “I need to do a little studying before you put me to work.”

  ***

  I was handed some take-out fried chicken and a can of beer when I walked in Michael’s front door. I barely had time to wolf down a chicken leg, when Michael dragged me into the living room and handed me a brush. He was a harsh taskmaster when it came to painting. The walls had to be covered in a certain way, with a certain stroke.

  “No splotches or swirls on the walls, okay?” he insisted, showing me how to move the brush smoothly over the surface. “Haven’t you ever seen how an artist paints?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. But this is a wall, not a nude,” I argued, slapping the paint on the wall the way I wanted.

  “About dinner this weekend.” He hovered over me, supervising my brushstrokes. “I want you keep your opinions to yourself. I don’t think my parents are quite ready for some of your ideas.”

  “What’s wrong with my ideas?”

  “Nothing. It is just that my parents are easily shocked, and I even have to watch what I say to them. Oh, and never mention religion or political affairs, because my parents are devout regarding one and void of opinion about the other. My mother will probably ask you about nursing, your hobbies, and your family. Best stick to those subjects. Don’t ramble on and watch me for the sign when it’s time to leave. I told them we could only stay for dinner and we had plans after.”

  I cocked my head to the side, staring at him. “Why did you tell them that?”

  “Nicci, after you spend an hour with these people, you’ll be more than ready to leave.” He rolled his eyes, playfully. “And wear your hair down. You look prettier that way.”

  “Don’t you think you are getting a little too frazzled about this dinner with your family? After all, I’ve already met your parents. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Nicci,” he sighed. “This is a very big deal to me. I just want to make sure everything is perfect.”

  “I understand, Michael. Now would you get me another beer?” I said, pointing to the kitchen. I was beginning to feel like I needed it.

  “After you paint the wall, not before.”

  I was regretting my offer to help with his house. I wondered why I kept putting up with his obsessive ways, but then again, what difference did it make? Michael was simply someone to keep me from remembering.

  ***

  The following weekend was the big event. Michael arrived at six-thirty, and was pacing in the foyer when I came down the stairs. He gave me a thorough going over with his eyes and then nodded his approval. I left Michael by the landing and went to the living room to say good night to my father.

  Dad was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, reading the newspaper. He glanced up when I entered the room, and his face fell.

  “Good God. What in the hell have you’ve got on?” he bellowed, tossing the newspaper to the side. “It looks like a gray potato sack.”

  “I bought it,” Michael announced, coming into the room. “I thought she could do with some new clothes since we will be doing a lot of socializing this season. I bought her some dressy things, but nothing too tight or too revealing, I assure you, Mr. Beauvoir.”

  My father shook his head and picked up his newspaper. “I should have known,” he muttered.

  “We’re going now,” I said, pointedly. “I’ll see you later.” I stepped closer to kiss him good-bye.

  My father wasn’t finished with his complaining. “What in the hell is that smell?” he demanded when I leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Jesus, Nicci.” He wrinkled his nose at me.

  “It’s the perfume Michael bought for me.”

  “It’s my favorite perfume,” Michael chimed in.

  My father glowered at Michael. “You smell like a gardenia bush on steroids. Better steer clear of any open fields, kiddo. It is killer bee season.”

  Leaving my father, I returned to the hallway to fetch my coat. While collecting my purse, Michael went to the front door, fastidiously buttoning up his long leather coat. I mentally made a list of the qualities that kept me interested in the man. He was pleasant, polite, and intelligent, but for the most part, those were his only good points. He was not terribly exciting, but he was dependable and always on time for our dates. I knew no matter what catastrophes life might pitch at me, Michael would always be there to help. He would never lie to me and, above all, I was convinced that he would never run away.

  “Ready to meet the family?” he queried, opening the front door.

  I nodded and walked toward him. God, help me.

  ***

  The senior Fagles lived in a large, two-story house in an affluent section of Metairie, a suburb of New Orleans. It was a pleasant red-bricked home, with a perfectly manicured lawn and one very well trimmed magnolia tree. When we stepped away from the car, Michael went uncharacteristically quiet. I should have taken that as a sign of things to come.

  At the door, Michael rang the bell and eased back, pushing me to the front. I gulped, dreading what was about to happen.
Why did I feel as if I was being presented to a firing squad?

  Mrs. Fagles bright blue eyes lit up when she saw me standing in her doorway. Wearing a tight green pantsuit, her flaming red hair stood high and stiff on her head.

  “Well, hello. Finally.” She ushered us inside and pecked her son on the cheek, leaving behind a bright red lipstick stain.

  I was guided into an entrance hall—wallpapered in bright yellow—and staring at a brass birdcage with small plastic birds in it. There was a straight staircase to the immediate right that went up to the second floor. After being escorted around the corner, we entered the living room. Painted bright blue and yellow, with matching blue and yellow furniture, the fireplace had been painted over to resemble blue marble, complete with drizzles and swirls.

  Sitting on two blue and yellow sofas, were an array of people who had to be more than immediate family. This was beginning to resemble a formal inquisition, not an informal family dinner.

  “This is Michael’s family.” Mrs. Fagles gestured to the ten people scattered about, including two small children on the floor. “You remember my husband, Dr. Fagles.” She pointed to the man standing behind the bar across the room, pouring out pink drinks. “That is Michael’s sister, Kathy, and her fiancé, George,” Mrs. Fagles added.

  Kathy waved at me. She was petite with her mother’s red hair and small features. Seated next to her was a young gentleman with black hair and beady, dark eyes.

  Mrs. Fagles continued. “Next to George is Leanne. She is our youngest and is studying at LSU. Over there,” she turned to the other sofa on the opposite side of the room, “is Michael’s other sister Patricia; her two kids, Michael and Rebecca are on the floor. Then my sister Margaret and her husband Phil Harlin. That is my father, Robert Giorlando.” She clapped her hands together and smiled at me. “And that’s about everyone. This is Nicci Beauvoir, Michael’s girlfriend. The one we have been hearing so much about.”

  I immediately shot Michael a dirty look.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “My mother exaggerates sometimes,” he whispered.

  “Mike, no mushy stuff.” It was the one called Patricia, barking in a loud, deep voice. She had her father’s stern features and long nose, but her mother’s light eyes and coloring.

  Michael nodded to his sister. “Pats, be nice.”

  “So, Nicci.” It was Aunt Margaret, a taller, more slender version of Mrs. Fagles with blonde, instead of red hair. “Ginny tells me you are studying nursing. When do you finish?”

  “In May.”

  “She is hoping to start looking for a job soon,” Michael jumped in. “I’m trying to talk her into psych.” He possessively put his hands on my shoulders.

  “Now why on earth would the poor girl want to spend her day with a bunch of loonies, when she already has you?” Pats laughed.

  “You’ve got a point there,” I commented and the room broke out in light chuckling.

  Michael maneuvered me to the last available chair near the fireplace. He sat down, leaving me to make myself comfortable on the arm of the chair, because there was nowhere else to sit.

  “So how is your cousin?” Mrs. Fagles asked. She was seated next to her sister and brother-in-law on one sofa. “That was such a nice wedding. It’s a shame that terrible accident happened near the end.” She turned to Michael’s sister on the opposite sofa. “Kathy, Gallier Hall was so sophisticated. I almost felt like a celebrity there. Oh, and you should have seen the bridesmaids gowns. They were beautiful.”

  “My cousin is very well,” I stated, trying to keep my composure. “Thank you for asking, Mrs. Fagles.”

  The room broke up into several conversations all at once. Pats was scolding her two children for teasing each other. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Phil were berating Pats for berating her children. Michael’s father was asking me what I wanted to drink, while Kathy and Leanne were in a heated discussion about wedding dresses.

  Michael leaned into my shoulder. “You kinda have to get used to the noise around here.” Then, he turned to his mother. “When do we eat?”

  Mrs. Fagles jumped to attention and ran to the kitchen. In the dining room, adjacent to the living room, there was a long table set with plain white china plates on a blue and yellow tablecloth. I got up to help Mrs. Fagles in the kitchen, but Michael held me to the chair, and murmured, “She likes to do it herself.”

  A few minutes later, we were all corralled into the dining room. Little name cards had been placed at each setting. My appointed spot was next to Michael’s. Michael’s father sat at the head of the table with his grandfather at the other end. We were served large helpings of spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread and iced tea.

  Everyone ate quickly and in silence. I managed a bit of spaghetti, and pushed a meatball around on my plate. The sauce tasted like it came from a jar and the meatballs were smothered in garlic. I noticed that Michael did not eat very much, either. Every now and then, I could feel his hand pat my thigh under the table. I presumed that meant I was doing well.

  After dinner, we left the older adults at the table, drinking their coffee, and followed Michael’s sisters and future brother-in-law into a back den. Converted from a two-car garage, the room was big enough for a pool table, an old-fashioned pinball machine, big screen television, and a large armoire filled with board games.

  “Did he tell you he used to hustle pool in the local bars?” Pats challenged, trying to hold her round-faced son on her lap. The boy had big blue eyes and pale blond hair. He must have been around seven, and did not resemble his mother. The younger girl, however, did have her mother’s face, but the eyes were the same large, blue spheres like her brother’s. They were both very attractive children. I decided they must have favored their father.

  “Pats, let’s not forget who used to dance on the bar at those very same places.” Michael smirked at her.

  I arched one eyebrow at his sister.

  “You’re confusing me with your dates, Mike,” Pats scoffed. “I’m sure Nicci would appreciate some of my stories.”

  “I’m sure I would,” I agreed, trying to encourage her.

  “See?” She smirked at Michael, who went back to the pool table and ignored us.

  Pats leaned toward me in a conspiratorial manner. “That’s a man for you; say something he doesn’t want to hear and he tunes you out.”

  Without taking his eyes off his cue stick, Michael injected, “Wrong, Pats. I’m not Hank. He was the only one that tuned you out, because you drove the man crazy.”

  Michael made a shot on the table and sunk three balls at once.

  I was impressed.

  “You better be careful of that one.” Pats pointed to her brother. “He expects a lot of special treatment all the time.”

  “No, Pats, you were the one that expected the special treatment,” Michael countered, never taking his eyes off the pool table.

  He sank two more balls in a row.

  “It’s the same thing every time they get in a room together,” Kathy confided. She had been sitting quietly in George’s lap in a chair, next to the pool table.

  “Yeah, we have been listening to this same argument for years,” Leanne jumped in. “Who got the most attention?” It was the first time she had spoken to me all evening. “You tune it out, after a while,” she added.

  Leanne was the tiniest of the Fagles women. She reminded me of a porcelain doll, with jet-black hair, deep blue eyes, a small mouth, and creamy white skin. She also had a rather sarcastic tone that came across as more mischievous than vindictive.

  “I guess you can say that Kathy and I have become experts at ignoring basically the entire family,” Leanne articulated.

  Kathy shook her head. “Speak for yourself, Lee. You’re the one that ignores everybody.”

  I almost thought Leanne was going to stick her tongue out at her sister, but instead she shot back, “Right, I almost forgot. I’m not as perfect as you, Kathy.”

  “You are such a baby, Leanne,” Kathy retort
ed.

  Leanne was grinning maliciously. “Well, at least I don’t run off to the plastic surgeon to correct every fault. How many times have you had your butt sucked out?”

  “Now do you see why I don’t come home that often?” Michael whispered to me.

  My God, if this was a casual family dinner, I could just imagine the holidays.

  ***

  After a hasty departure from his parents’ home, we arrived back at Michael’s and broke open a bottle of champagne. After all the noise and shouting at his parents’, I wanted to sit and enjoy the peace of the old house.

  “You have quite a family,” I remarked, sipping my champagne and resting my feet on the coffee table.

  “Yeah, I hope they didn’t scare you too badly.” He started nuzzling my ear.

  “Well, the entire evening has given me a little more insight into you. I’m amazed you grew up to be the way you are.”

  “Let’s just say, I spent my entire youth waiting to get out of that house, and now that I’m an adult, I never want to go back. Family get-togethers are tough for me.”

  “I noticed you were very quiet during dinner.”

  “I don’t like going home, but let’s not talk about that.”

  Michael put his arms around me and turned me to face him. He pressed his cool lips against mine, kissing me with gentle taps. I let his hands travel up and down the front of my potato sack dress and then he started undoing the buttons in front.

  “I’m not ready for this,” I protested, jerking away.

  He threw his hand up and fell back against the sofa. “Nicci, when will you be ready? You know, it’s getting harder and harder for me to bring you home with just a good night kiss at the door.”

  I started buttoning my dress up. “I guess I’m just scared.”

  “Of what, honey? I won’t hurt you.”

  “The last time.” I gazed down at my hands. “I thought I meant something to him and it was all a lie.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t want to have to go through that again.”

  “I understand,” Michael whispered, touching his forehead to mine. “I can wait.”