Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series)

by Linda Joyce

  Branna pulled on her strappy scandals and took one last look in the mirror. She looked the part of a conservative college instructor. If she ever got a tattoo, which she wouldn’t because it would literally put G.G. Marie in her grave, it would read “stupid” on her forehead. The “good-girl” rant was back. Might as well get it all out. Take the licks now, and then try to banish the voice in her head forever.

  Could she have been more predictable than getting drunk with a colleague, then falling asleep on him? To make her behavior even more egregious, she’d slept with him, a euphemism for sex, though they’d done some real sleeping, too. Yet, ever the gentleman, James had delivered her home. Walked her to the door and unlocked it after she fumbled the key. She found her bed, stumbled in that direction, and heard him close the front door. She barely remembered the sound of his car starting before he drove away.

  What type had he labeled her after that?

  Chapter 17

  Branna’s heels clicked in a hurried rush against the linoleum floor as she maneuvered through the classroom wing of the English Department’s building. When she crossed the threshold to the instructor’s suite, the carpet silenced the clipped-heel tapping. She shivered. A wall of cold air washed over her. No one could complain about heat or humidity while parked in the office. It was colder than the bookstore during the storm.

  Sadie McGee, the department secretary, scurried toward her wearing a wide, welcoming smile. “Miss Lind! Bitsy called to wish you a happy first day. I have several other phone messages for you. I need to know what you prefer. Shall I keep them on my desk until I see you, like now? Or shall I put them in your mail slot? Or do you want them delivered to you?”

  “Slow down, Sadie.” Branna chuckled. “Good morning.”

  “Yes, good morning.” Sadie bobbed her head. “Please excuse my exuberance. The first day of school makes me giddy, and I want things to run like clockwork.”

  She had met the secretary last month at the get-to-know-you luncheon when everyone but James welcomed her to the department. Petite Sadie looked years younger than fifty-five with her soft brown curls and slender figure. Amazingly, Sadie had been the department’s secretary for, in her words, “Since God was a small child.” Those years totaled twenty.

  Sadie boasted that she knew everything about everyone and had eyed Branna suspiciously at the meeting, as though she sized her up, seeking the places where she kept her life’s most private secrets. As if Sadie intended to ferret them out. She had also heard that Sadie had a can-do attitude, but that she smelled conflict like a bird dog instinctually points quail. Branna hoped the last part wasn’t true. She wanted her private life to remain just that. Even more so given the events of Saturday night.

  “I like order, too, Sadie. I know I can trust you to show me the ropes about how the office runs.”

  “My desk is my command center. As for messages, I keep duplicate copies of all. In case you misplace one or accidently throw it away.”

  Sadie’s desk sat in the middle of the large, square lobby surrounded by offices on three sides. Each instructor in the department had their own private one. She spotted her name on the door off to Sadie’s right.

  “Messages for me?” Branna asked, holding open her hand.

  “I want to make things go smoothly on your first official day here.” Sadie held tight to several pink slips torn from the phone-message pad sitting on her desk.

  “What’s easiest for you?” She didn’t want special treatment. What did the other instructors do? She’d have to remember to ask James later.

  “Well, putting them in your mail slot is easiest,” Sadie said, then twisted her mouth to one side, looking as though she wanted to suggest something different.

  “But?” Branna smiled, still waiting for the slips of paper.

  Sadie leaned in close. Her eyes darted from side to side as if scanning the room for eavesdropping ears or a spy. “I don’t recommend that for these phone messages. Especially private and personal ones, like these.” Sadie fanned the messages. The gentle movement of air fluttered against Branna’s cheek. Then, Sadie handed them over, grinning like she’d landed the mother-load of gold.

  Branna wondered about the secretary’s trends toward the dramatic, though James has warned that the trusted woman considered acting her hobby. Sadie had often won the lead roles with the local theatre company. And, clearly, as Sadie stood before her now, Sadie thought she smelled a secret. Gossip.

  “What do you recommend?” Branna asked, dropping her gaze to the caller’s name on each slip of paper. Anger boiled up, but she immediately tamped down the emotion. When she glanced over, she caught Sadie’s curious stare. She smiled, hoping Sadie would think the messages were completely unimportant.

  Sadie leaned in close and whispered, “I can slide the personal ones under the door when you’re not in your office. That way you’ll maintain your privacy. I keep personal things very quiet, Miss Lind. I might know a lot of gossip, but I am not a gossip.”

  “Why, thank you.” She’d heard Sadie’s reputation was the exact opposite. However, since there were more men than women in the English department, she hoped the woman might be true to her word—the sisterhood and all. “For the information and for the messages.”

  Branna, fuming mad at Steven, stuffed the pink papers into her purse and headed to her office. She slid her key into the lock, opening the door. When she turned to close it behind her, Sadie stood a breath away. Branna held the door for support, stopping herself from jumping back and screeching at the woman.

  “I promise you, Miss Lind. I’m not a gossip. However, I am known to offer good advice about issues of a personal nature, if asked. I never give advice unless asked. I want you to know that I have a lot of experience in certain types of personal matters. After all, I’ve been married three times.”

  Had Sadie just suggested she would be a good source of relationship information, and in the same breath admit that she’d never experience a long-term stable marriage? Branna paused before answering the petite woman. Seeking diplomacy—the last thing she wanted to do was begin her workday by alienating her new secretary, which would surely start fodder for the gossip mill—she chose her words carefully. “Sadie, thank you for taking the messages. I’ll have a look at these, and if I need some suggestions, I’ll ask. For the future, just slide personal message, like these, under my door.”

  Sadie eyed her as if trying to decide if she meant what she said. “I will be certain to do that, Miss Lind. Now, I’ll get back to work.” Sadie pulled on the bottom of her sweater, squared her shoulders, and marched back toward her desk.

  She watched Sadie’s retreating back and mused that if Steven weren’t already dead to her, she’d kill him.

  After dropping her purse and tote on top of her desk, she tugged on the chord to the window blinds. Clean morning light spilled in and lit the room. She rolled her desk chair out and plopped into it, intent on the view beyond the window of planted oaks and pine trees. Above the treetops, a large plane lifted from the runway at the airport. She wanted to put her anger on that plane and have the pilot jettison the bundle somewhere over the Atlantic. She hated that anything to do with Steven mined old emotions. Someday, the moment would come when his name no longer triggered any reactions That moment when she would have only total ambivalence toward the man who trashed her self-confidence. The bit of lingering anger reminded her of how much a blow her confidence had taken.

  After a few deep, calming breaths, she laid the pink slips of paper side-by-side on her desk.

  Call me, please.

  We have to talk. It isn’t over for either of us.

  I love you truly. Please call me when you get this.

  She should’ve known he wouldn’t let things drop just because she had moved out of state. He must have worked hard to locate her. She trusted her family. All but Camilla, whom she was never able to reach.

  Like a staged play running in her head, Steven took center mark in her mind. How had s
he ever mistaken his arrogance for confidence? How could she ever have been flattered by all his attention and not recognize his controlling nature? She had years of proof of his behavior, from childhood. But worse still, how could she not have known, in the face of all the clues that Steven participated in extra-curricular activities that included gymnastics with other women?

  The proverbial “good girl” was as gullible as she was naïve.

  Her jaw clenched as she remembered how she’d surprised him with a picnic dinner at his house and discovered him in flagrante delicto. The strange car in his driveway should have caused suspicion, but nooo, not for her. She used her key, thinking he would be in his office working too hard and in need of a break. Instead, she had found him upstairs, in the bed they were supposed to share after they married.

  She had heard joined groans, moans and cries as she climbed the stairs. When she threw the double doors open, she stared. She expected Cinemax After Dark on the TV. After a final thrust, Steven rolled to one side. When he noticed her, he frowned. A naked woman, still writhing in the sheets, grabbed for him, but he slapped her hands away. Rising from the bed, naked with a sheen of sweat, he grabbed clothes from a pile and threw them at the woman. He ordered Miss Hot and Horney to get out, his voice so cold that he could have been damning the devil rather than speaking to a sexpot with whom he had just exchanged bodily fluids.

  Branna scrunched her eyes tight to block out the memory, but it was no use.

  Shocked, she’d run downstairs. The woman scurried behind her, jerked the front door open, and laughed as though the whole event was some sort of joke. Stunned, Branna watched the hussy dress on the front porch, then climb into her car before driving off. For once, Branna was glad about the house’s remote location. No prying eyes of neighbors to witness the surreal spectacle.

  Boxers-clad and pulling on a t-shirt, Steven had descended the stairs. When they stood in the foyer, she wanted to stomp her foot and shout the F-word, but couldn’t bring herself to utter it. G. G. Marie would wash her mouth with soap for language unbecoming a lady. Regardless of the situation.

  “I’m no worse than any other guy,” Steven said, matter-of-factly. “It’s only natural for a guy to play around, especially before he gets married. You should thank me, Branna. It’ll make me a better husband.”

  Had she heard him correctly? “Thank you? I should thank you? There have been others? For how long and how many?” she demanded. His response cut deep. Nothing in her usually organized, sheltered life had prepared her for his reply.

  “Do you mean how many at the same time?”

  She’d never, ever hit anyone before. Not even spanked her brother or sister when they were small. That day, she had launched herself at Steven, pummeling his chest and slapping him. Raking her proper-ladylike manicured nails down his face. Crazed, she roared and screamed like wild animal.

  A hard crack against her cheek whipped her head to one side. Shocked, she crumbled to the floor in a heap. Tears welled, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of allowing a single one to drop.

  The sharp sting of the memory had faded, but her mind replayed the events as though they had happened moments ago rather than last October.

  She touched her left hand to her cheek. The heat of the slap and the flush that followed, along with the reverberating sting, no longer emanated into her fingers as though it had just happened. And thankfully, now, the weight of Steven’s two-carat engagement ring no longer weighed down her hand.

  After the slap, she’d pulled the ring off, then picked herself off the floor, rising with as much dignity as she could muster. She laid the ring on the marble-topped antique server in the foyer, and then walked out. Steven shouted for her. Ran down the steps after her. He had tried to stop her from getting in her car by grabbing at her keys and holding her hands firmly.

  “Branna, don’t. Once we say our wedding vows, I promise, I’ll be faithful. Then I’ll be a husband. Right now, I’m just a guy. Guys are stupid, you know that. Surely you understand. Com’on baby-doll. Smile for me. Give me a kiss right here.” His finger pointed to the dimple in his cheek, the one she used to love.

  Limp, she leaned against her car. Steven reached for her, tried to pull her into a hug. The moment he released her hands, she shoved him away hard. Scrambled inside her car and locked the door. She started the engine, and backed out of the driveway.

  Steven shouted, “You’ll be back! You love me! You’ll be back. You know your family wants me.”

  He was right. She had loved him.

  Afterward, it took all the strength she had not to cave when their families got involved and pleaded his case. She never told anyone what happened. The shame was too much. Everyone chalked it up to pre-wedding jitters. Everyone took Steven’s side.

  Camilla had pushed hardest.

  Branna tightened her fists in her lap. In her world, men weren’t unfaithful to their fiancés or wives. An engagement was a commitment. An intention. If Steven couldn’t honor monogamy then, she had no illusions that he would be faithful during their marriage. A husband and wife, like her parents and all of her aunts and uncles, were a team who vowed to love and respect and honor. She had refused to marry Steven, no matter how much her broken heart nudged.

  In the end, it was Camilla’s advice that made her stand her ground. “I know he’s been unfaithful. I know that’s why you won’t go through with it, but you have the greatest capacity to forgive. Forgive him. Besides, you always do what Momma and Daddy want.”

  “Not this time,” Branna whispered as she stared out the window. There was only one way Camilla could have known about Steven’s transgression...but was her sister a willing participant, or an innocent victim of the calculating low-life?

  Steven’s pursuit of her had lessened over the last two months. But how had he heard that she’d left Fleur de Lis? She never showed her face in town after the breakup. From where or from whom did he get her work number? None of her family would dare talk to him...except maybe Camilla.

  Peaceful serenity filled her as she tore each message into tiny pieces. They fluttered like delicate pink snowflakes into the waste paper basket. Once she had finished, she slapped her together, happy to be rid of any evidence of her painful past.

  She pulled out the roster for her first class to run through each of the names, practicing pronunciations, she hoped to speak them correctly in class. Half way through, the phone rang.

  “Miss Lind,” she answered, then made a check mark by a name on the roster to keep her place.

  “Hello, gorgeous. How’s my baby-doll?”

  Branna dropped the receiver as though it had burned her hands. Jumping up, she rounded her desk and closed her office door. The last thing she needed was for Sadie’s sharp ears to overhear whatever would come next.

  She took a deep breath, calmly sat in her chair, then cautiously picked up the phone.

  “Branna? Are you there?”

  “Yes,” she answered quietly.

  “I’m calling to congratulate you on your new teaching job.” His enthusiasm made her wary.

  “Thank you.”

  “I could have gotten you a full-time position at the community college here. No more adult-education night school for you. You didn’t have to run so far from Bayou Petite.”

  What could she say to that? If she said he had nothing to do with her leaving, he’d never believe it. She had never made a habit of lying, however, her life was none of his business. In fact, it was off limits in any discussion with him. “I have to go, Steven.”

  “I’m sending you a gift today. Please let me know when you receive it.”

  She could tell him she would refuse any gift, but it wouldn’t do any good. His ego wouldn’t hear of it. He had showered her with gifts for the first month after their broken engagement. She sent them all back. Each time he tried to see her, she’d refused. It had been a long uncomfortable seven months. Hearing his voice proved to her how much her heart had mended. She couldn’t be swa
yed by his charm. Standing up to him, even if it was only over the phone, inched her confidence up enough that she could scaled the Empire State Building without a superhero’s help.

  “Good bye, Steven,” she said calmly and hung up the phone.

  A second later, a knocked sounded at her door. “Miss Lind? I’m sorry to disturb you. I need a moment of your time.”

  She rose from her chair and opened the door for Sadie, then stepped into the lobby.

  “Delivery man—I mean person, it could be a woman—aren’t allowed to roam freely on campus. There’s a delivery for you at the front desk in the Admin building. Would you like to pick it up or shall I ask one of the grounds men to deliver it here to the office?”

  “First, I need to ask. How do you receive calls for me—the messages?”

  “Incoming calls go directly to your office number. They bounce to my phone if you’re not in your office to answer. Or you’re too busy and choose to let it ring back to me.”

  “I see.” Sadie had to be the one to provide Steven with the information. “About the delivery, do you know what it is?” She searched Sadie’s face for a clue. Steven could be so persuasive. Could he have recruited Sadie to help him with his scheme?

  “Yes, I do. Your caller, the one from the messages, told me to expect it. Told me several other things, too. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me about what’s bothering you?”

  “Sadie, thank you. I assure you, there’s nothing bothering me, other than I’m trying to learn my students’ names. If you know what the gift is, is it something that you’d enjoy?”

  Sadie’s chin dipped, her eye lashes fluttered, and she smiled coyly. “I know you’ll love it. I certainly would.”

  “Good. Have it delivered to you. I have a class. Whatever the gift, I don’t want it. I guarantee you that.”

  “But Miss Lind?”

  “No buts. Either accept the delivery for yourself or send it back. I don’t care.”