Biloxi

by Linda Joyce

  Certainty beat a steady rhythm in his chest. His spirits soared. Could it be that his grandfather in heaven had worked his charm to bring his father and mother back together again? There could be nothing greater than having his entire family at the wedding. Photographs of his side of the family mingling with Biloxi’s. Together they could field a football team including second and third-string players. Family meant everything.

  “But…” he said aloud, “too much, too soon could be disaster.” His enthusiasm for reuniting his family needed tempering. The woman might not be his mother. But if she were—he hesitated to quickly reintroduce her to his father and grandmother. At the wedding wouldn’t work. He couldn’t risk a family blowup on that special day. Biloxi would kill him.

  Flipping on satellite radio, he stopped the shuffle on Maroon 5’s “Woman.” Linc had made him listen to the band, ‘to break your country music rut,’ he’d said. The song teased his brain and made him think of his bride-to-be. She was a woman above all others. But what was it about her? Her artistic eye. Her curvy body. Her kindness. Beyond her strength and sweetness, he’d peered into her vulnerability, even when she fought to hide it. In his dictionary, Biloxi was listed under family—His. Yeah, she came with a big one attached to her hip, but he never minded that. She turned balancing all the aspects of her life into an art, always making him feel as though he came first—before Fleur de Lis, before her large extended family, even before photography. She made him a better man. He trusted her completely.

  After he pulled to the curb on Esplanade, he snagged a coveted parking place, put the car in park, then flipped a switch, and robotic arms moved the hardtop of the car into place.

  “That’s slick as shit,” a man said, leaning against the side of the building, his Panama hat pulled low. Sunglasses hid his eyes.

  “Thanks.” Nick sized up the guy. He had an air of familiarity. In a white button-down shirt and navy blue slacks, the man could’ve been anyone attending a business casual lunch.

  The man pushed off from the building, grabbed a brown bag at his feet, and took a step with his hand extended. “Clete Thibodeau.”

  “That’s right,” Nick said, pumping the man’s hand. “I guess this is the real you, rather than the one I met incognito.”

  “This is my tourist look,” Clete chuckled.

  “Can’t be. They wear Hawaiian print shirts two sizes too big and ball caps.”

  “Why don’t we find a seat?” Clete pointed halfway down the street to the open courtyard with wooden picnic tables.

  Nick allowed the man to order first, then gave his, and paid the bill. “I’m not going to lie. I’m excited about the news you have,” he said, turning toward Clete.

  “Curious thing”—Clete took a seat and opening the bag, he pulled out two bottles of beer, handing one over to Nick—“all the while we’ve been watching the house, no visitors ever. Yet just a while ago, she had two. I drove by the residence since it was on my way here and managed to take some shots. I have the prints I told you about, but the new pics, I didn’t have time to run back to the office and make copies before our meeting.”

  “Order up!” the guy at the window called.

  “Just a sec.” Nick headed to pick up their food. Returning to the table with a tray laden with pork sliders, chips, and potato salad, Nick noticed eight-by-ten pictures covering the top of the table. He placed the tray on the bench next to him. “Wow.” He picked up the first photograph and stared into the face of a stunning woman. Blonde flowing hair, blue eyes, pink shiny lips, tight white dress, pink stilettos. A stunner. Maybe over fifty. Nothing familiar struck a chord with him. His response to the photo—nice-looking woman—that was it.

  “That’s not her,” Clete said, hustling the photo out of sight. “She was passing by, and a guy just has to look.” He stated it matter-of-factly, as though every man would gawk. “This is her.” He pulled a photo from the bottom of the pile of splayed photos.

  The woman in this photo was the antithesis. Shoulder length, thick dark hair, dark sunglasses, red lips, fitted black dress, and black heels. Polished and elegant, down to her painted fingernails. She might pass for the woman his grandmother photographed, but without a side-by-side comparison, he couldn’t be sure.

  “Catherine Trahan, aka Aurélie Dubois. Lives on Royal Street. Title to the property is Benson Bressler. Very rich. Married. New York City primary residence, but houses in several places. Including one in France. Big fan of the Saints.”

  “And…” Nick prompted. Football mattered, but not in relation to his mother or his wedding.

  “There’s one hitch.”

  “Only one? That’s a relief.” Nick stared at the picture, hoping for some glimmer of recognition. Nothing. No spark, no hint of remembrance.

  “Bressler died recently. The property on Royal is up for sale.”

  “You’re giving me data, which I appreciate, but how about sharing the information between the lines,” Nick said dryly, picking up another photo. This one he recognized. It was the same scarf as the one in the photo his grandmother had taken. Only the woman in this picture wasn’t old enough…a teenager, probably not yet eighteen.

  “This is all speculation. I think the girl in the photo is her daughter—”

  Shock hit Nick. “Daughter?” He’d never seriously considered he might have a sibling, even a half one.

  “Sophie Dubois. I’m working on confirming the father part. But I’m confident it’s Bressler. They lived as family whenever he was in France. He owned the house where Catherine and the teen lived. I think Catherine returned to the U.S. because the house in France was sold about the time Katrina hit here. Catherine has no obvious means of income—that is, she isn’t on anyone’s payroll for taxes.”

  Nick studied the photo. That could be the reason he didn’t recognize the woman his grandmother insisted was his mother. Because the person she saw was his half sister. Surely, after everything Edward explained about the past, the girl couldn’t be a full-blooded sibling.

  “Are you saying you believe this woman is Bressler’s mistress and the kid is his? But do you think she’s my mother?”

  “Yes and yes. I see the family resemblance.”

  Examining each photograph, Nick tried to hit on a memory, something to convince him of his relation to this woman. He needed concrete evidence. To trust, to believe, based on a vague photograph…that could lead to a world of more pain.

  “Grocery shopping,” Clete said, sliding that photo closer. “Store in Metairie. This one”—the woman stood beside a cab—“was taken when she returned home. See the house in the background. That’s where she lives.”

  “I’ve been down Royal Street several times since the storm. You think she came before it? What evidence do you have?”

  “Credit card receipts I uncovered.”

  “Do I want to know how?”

  “No. No, you don’t. What you want to know is why she’s here now. She hasn’t contacted you for the duration. But I’ll have answers next week.”

  The man had summed it all up in one sentence. Why now?

  If his mother had arrived in New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina, she’d obviously survived it. Schools were closed after the storm. Where had the teen attended? Was the girl family? Hopefulness took root. Not only was he getting his mother back, but he was getting a sister, too.

  If so, Biloxi would probably beat him senseless if he asked to increase the wedding party to include his sister as one of her bridesmaids. If these photos proved his mother and sister were in town, he had to know their plans. They had to stay for the wedding. He’d make his father and grandmother understand.

  “Oh, before I forget, take a look at these. I just took them. Do you recognize this woman?” Clete handed over the camera.

  Nick peered at the screen. “Chantel. She’s my business partner. That’s outside the house.” Nick shuffled through the printed photographs and found one of Catherine standing almost in the same spot.

  �
��Flip the screen. Chantel didn’t make the visit alone. There’s another woman with her.”

  “What!” Nick stared at the camera. “That’s my fiancée. What the hell!”

  “Uhhh, guess you didn’t know your business partner and fiancée are acquainted with your mother.”

  Uneasiness punched him. Why hadn’t she mentioned she knew where his mother was? A list of questions flashed through his mind, each one ratcheting up his anger. “I can’t believe this,” he said, keeping his voice deadly calm. He trusted her. She knew what finding his mother meant to him. Why would she keep it a secret? Was his father somehow involved? Were they conspiring to keep him from seeing his mother?

  Nick clenched his fist. “What I do know is this—someone’s got some explaining to do.”

  Chapter 6

  Biloxi sipped lemonade. Holding on to the cut-crystal glass prevented her from tossing the beverage onto her hostess. She glanced at the folder of documents on the edge of the table. Picking it up, she flipped it open again. “You have to forgive me. This is a lot to take in.” Her stomach churned. She hated secrets. Never kept one from Nick. Ever. Until now. The result of this innocent meeting was like riding the Scream Machine and plummeting more than a hundred feet in under six seconds. How could all of this be true?

  “All I can say is ‘holy shit.’ Lady, you don’t know the can of worms you’ve opened up.” Chantel pushed her chair away from the table, crossed a leg over her knee, and bounced her foot. “Your son is very old-fashioned when it comes to family values. Believe me, I know. I also know he’s been looking for you, but a relationship with him, after he learns what you’ve done? I just don’t know…”

  “I don’t wish to make this any more uncomfortable than it is.” Biloxi reached across the table and grasped Sophie’s hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, for your father’s passing. It’s hard to lose a parent. But think about Nick. When he was ten, he lost both his mother—she just disappeared—and Edward, his father, left Nick with his grandparents, who raised him. Family is the most important thing in his life because of that.”

  Sophie hung her head. “I didn’t know I had a brother until a month ago. Family is important to me, too.”

  “It would only be a temporary stay,” Catherine insisted. “If family is so important to him, won’t you at least discuss my request with him? We need a place to live. Sophie needs to attend school. I can’t register her until we have an address.”

  “You thought Nick and I were already married, which is why you thought you’d recruit me to help you. No, I’m sorry. You may come to the wedding if Nick insists, but the two of you cannot live with Nick and me after we’re married.”

  “It would be only until legal issues can be settled with Bressler’s attorney.”

  “His wife, you mean,” Chantel snorted. Shaking her head, she said, “Nick’s not going to like any of this news. Besides, Bressler’s wife could tie things up in court for a very long time. She’s now in control of his fortune.”

  Biloxi glanced at Chantel. Gratitude welled in her heart. Her former nemesis provided much needed support. The shock of Catherine’s revelations had Biloxi’s mind turning like a whirligig in the wind. Over the last hour, she and Chantel had combed over the paperwork Catherine offered as proof of her identity, and that of her daughter—Nick’s half-sister.

  “May I take this with me?” Biloxi closed the folder again. “We need to be going.”

  “Certainly,” Catherine said.

  “I need to understand something. Why did you write to me at Fleur de Lis? Who left the note tacked to the kitchen door?”

  “Well,” Catherine began.

  “No, maman. I will tell her.” Sophie straightened in her chair, composing herself. She placed her folded hands on the table. “I searched the internet and found out about the Trahans. Claude’s passing. Then I discovered your engagement notice. It mentioned Fleur de Lis, and I looked up that. It’s a big house. I found an article about the restoration on the house—an interview with a construction foreman, Jared Richardson—”

  “He’s engaged to my cousin Camilla. His grandfather owns the architectural firm overseeing the accuracy of the historical details,” Biloxi explained.

  “Mr. Richardson mentioned Nick in the article. Maman and I decided we wouldn’t interfere with your wedding. The shock of meeting both of us…so we waited until after the wedding date.”

  “Only Nick and I didn’t get married then. My cousin Branna and James married instead. Our wedding day is in about two weeks, June third.”

  “We rented a car and drove to Fleur de Lis, but as you know, lots of workers around. So we went to Mobile for a hotel. Then before dawn the next day, Maman waited while I ran up to the house and left the note. No one saw me. I promise. I had to see where my brother lived.” Her brows crinkled. “I admit, I had hoped to run into someone, just by accident. But I saw no one.”

  An ache opened in Biloxi’s heart. Poor Sophie. No one could see her. Her father kept her a secret—he had another family with children in New York. Her mother kept her hidden. All along she had a brother and couldn’t reach out to him. Catherine had robbed her children. While Nick’s mother deserved whatever she got, Sophie, on the other hand, was an innocent victim.

  “Sophie, there’s only one problem. Nick doesn’t live there. Fleur de Lis is my family home.”

  “But with a home so big, isn’t there room for two more?”

  “Where does Nick live?” Catherine frowned. “Where will you live after you’re married?”

  Catherine,” Biloxi began, purposefully ignoring the woman’s questions, “how long do you estimate temporary to be?”

  Catherine’s face lit up. “You’ll help us?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know yet. I need to discuss all of this with Nick. He’s not going to be happy—I didn’t tell him where I was coming today.”

  Chantel waved her finger back and forth like a metronome. “No. No. Nick’s not going to like this. You’ve never seen him mad. I have. Don’t tell him about all this before the wedding, Biloxi. I’m warning you. Don’t.”

  Biloxi rubbed her temples. “Please, Chantel. Let’s not complicate things. If I don’t tell him before the wedding, about meeting his mother and sister, he’ll be livid. That’s not the way I will begin my marriage.”

  “Please,” cried Sophie, “Don’t argue. I don’t want Nick to be mad. Maman, we’ll manage some way.”

  “How?” Catherine wailed. “Your father was rich. He promised to take care of us, but he didn’t. I never had my own money. I never questioned anything. Now we must vacate this house in a week. I have sold all my jewelry. There’s enough money for me to enroll you in private school for one term. Housing is scarce in the city. I don’t know where else to go.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m a horrible mother, but—”

  “No buts. You are. You’ve even got me beat in the horrible department,” Chantel said.

  “—I don’t want Sophie to suffer. I didn’t have any choice about Nick. They took him from me. I—”

  “No. I don’t want to hear the details of what happened back then,” Biloxi snapped. “You must tell Nick before you tell me. He deserves that much.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Catherine sat up and brushed her hair from her face. “I am at your mercy.” She put her hand on top of Biloxi’s.

  “We are at your mercy,” Sophie said quietly.

  Pulling her hand away, Biloxi picked up the folder, pressing it to her chest. “I’m not making any promises. I’ll tell Nick we met. If he wants to talk or meet with you, that will be his decision. He needs time to process this news. Unless he’s adamant about not wanting anything to do with you, which I doubt will be the case,”—Sophie brightened for the first time in an hour—“I’ll leave it up to you to share with him all you’ve told me. I will, however, give him this folder.”

  “I wish I could be at your wedding,” Sophie whispered as she stood, her expression imploring.

 
Chantel sighed, shook her head. “We can find our way out.” She stepped to the door and opened it. “Let’s go, Biloxi. We’ve lived an entire day in just the last hour.”

  Catherine’s pain pierced Biloxi’s heart. How could she not help them, even if Nick refused?

  Once outside, she pushed on her sunglasses. This end of the Quarter was mostly empty, not crowded with tourists like the area closer to Canal Street. Quiet soothed her nerves.

  “I’m in shock,” Chantel said. “I’ve known the Trahan family for a long time, but I never bothered to understand Nick’s situation.”

  When Biloxi took the second step in the direction from which they’d come earlier, Chantel reached for her hand and squeezed. “If you need me, girl, I’m here. If Nick gets mad and you want to vent, I’m here. But don’t do anything that will cause either of you to need mouth-to-mouth, because I don’t do that.”

  Biloxi chuckled. Tension began to lessen with each step they took farther from the house. Taking in the surroundings, she mused about the plain walls and unadorned doors lining the sidewalk. Much happened beyond the ordinariness of those walls. New Orleans was famous for its luxurious hidden courtyards where secrets played out.

  “Thank you,” she told Chantel. “This was quite a shock.” If Chantel weren’t walking beside her, she’d wonder if she hadn’t dreamt it.

  “That’s what friends are for,” Chantel replied.

  Ahead, the skyline of modern New Orleans, a city of contrasts, stretched tall above the historical French Quarter. She contemplated asking Chantel to accompany her to have her fortune told in Jackson Square, but she’d had enough surprises for one day. Any more challenges and she’d crawl into bed and stay for a year.

  From behind, the rev of an engine startled her. She stopped. Chantel halted her progress, too. As Biloxi turned to look over her shoulder, a shiny white sports coupe came roaring down the street. Glare on the windshield and darkly tinted windows made it impossible to identify the driver. When the car passed beside her, the horn honked. Biloxi jumped and dropped the folder of papers. They drifted to the ground.