I’m met with silence. “Did you want to donate?” the woman asks.
“No, I want to get in touch with my friend who was in the documentary.”
Silence again. “I don’t have that information,” the woman says.
“Can you put me in touch with the people who made the film? My friend said she was looking for me. I’m looking for her.” I feel increasingly irritated.
“Hold, please,” the woman says.
I hold, thinking about hanging up. It seems like forever before another person comes on the line. “This is Jane Hall. Can I help you?” she asks.
“I’m Evangeline Riley. My friend Danielle was the girl in the documentary. She said she’s been looking for me. And I’ve been looking for her.”
“Hmmm,” says Jane. “Can I get your number, Evangeline? I can get the producer to give you a call.”
I give her the number.
“I’ll have Laura get in touch with you as soon as she can and maybe she can help you find your friend,” she says.
All weekend long, a cloud is hanging over me. A swirling cloud, gathering its strength.
On Monday, I go straight to Tru’s homeroom. But he’s not there. At lunch, he’s not in music. Derek hasn’t seen or heard from him, either.
“I can drive you to his house after school,” Chase says.
He drops off Derek, then heads down the big commercial road to where there are some run-down apartments. He pulls into one right next to the highway.
Bayou Perdu is poor, but this is a different kind of poor. An urban kind of poor that has a different edge to it.
“This is where I always drop him off,” Chase says. “He’s never invited me up. But it’s the last one on the end upstairs.”
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask.
“I can, but it’s OK if you want to talk to him alone,” he says. “I get it. Third wheel here.”
I walk up the concrete steps to the second floor alone, feeling shaky. I take a deep breath before I knock on the door. There’s no response. I try again, a little louder. The curtain of the window near the door moves aside and a woman looks out at me suspiciously, then closes the curtain again. In a moment, I can hear the door unlock, and she opens it just a crack.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m looking for Tru. I’m a friend from school.”
She scowls at me and shakes her head and says something in Vietnamese. I feel my face flush.
She shouts at someone in the apartment and a girl, probably around twelve years old, appears. She also looks at me a little warily.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Evangeline. I’m a friend of Tru’s. Is he here?”
She shakes her head.
“Oh. OK. Well, when he comes back, can you tell him that I stopped by?”
“He doesn’t live here anymore,” she says quietly.
“Oh. Do you know where they moved to?”
The girl shakes her head. She looks fearful.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I think they went back to Louisiana. That’s what Uncle said.”
Her words hit me like a punch in the stomach.
“Louisiana?”
She nods.
“Where in Louisiana?”
She shakes her head. “I heard them say Baton Rouge. But I don’t know.” The girl looks like she’s going to cry. “There was an argument,” she says. “They took all their things and left.”
I can’t breathe. I start down the stairs as fast as I can, trying to catch my breath.
When I get to the car, I slam the door.
“Are you OK?” Chase asks.
I shake my head.
“Just take a deep breath,” he says. “Tell me what happened.”
I try and nothing comes out. I can’t breathe.
He rolls down the car window to give me some air. I feel it on my face, but I still can’t speak. He starts the car. “OK,” he says. “Let’s get outta here.”
The car starts to move and somehow it loosens my words. “He’s gone,” I say. “This kid — his cousin, I guess — said he went back to Louisiana.”
“Are you serious?” asks Chase.
I can only nod.
“Wow,” he says. Then the car falls into an awful silence. “Maybe that’s what the argument was about Friday. Do you want me to take you home?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“OK,” he says.
As we drive, I keep going over it again and again in my mind. There must be a mistake.
We get to a taco place and sit down. Chase goes to get food, then puts a basket of chips in front of me.
“You’re going to have to speak again sometime,” he says.
I say nothing.
“Have a chip,” he says.
I take one and start eating mechanically.
“I should have been there Friday night,” I say. “If I had been there . . .”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” he says. “His dad was really upset. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“There was a song he was going to play,” I say. “It was important. He wrote it for me.”
“He didn’t play it,” says Chase.
“Because I wasn’t there.”
“Well, you needed to find out about your best friend. Tru would understand that.”
“I didn’t get to say good-bye.”
“He’ll be in touch.”
“How? He doesn’t have a phone.”
“It’s not like we live in the Dark Ages. He can find a way.”
Think. I just have to think. I need to figure out a way to reach him.
“Look,” says Chase. “He didn’t break up with you. He just left, and not of his own accord. Just remember that.”
I nod. Who would have thought Chase would be so good at calming someone down?
When he drops me off, Chase says, “Sorry, kid. You know what Shakespeare said. The course of true love never did run smooth. Ha. ‘Tru’ love. Get it?”
I get out of the car. There is still a possibility, I tell myself, that that girl was wrong. Maybe they’ve just moved to a new apartment in Atlanta. I’ll hear from him.
But days go by. Days. And he doesn’t turn up. It is slowly sinking in. He’s gone.
I stop going to the music room at lunch to see if he’s there. The next day Chase shows up at my lunch. “What am I, chopped liver?” he asks.
I pull out my earbuds.
“You’re not going to come to music anymore because Tru is gone? It was all about him?”
“That’s not it,” I say. “I just don’t want to be reminded that he’s not there.”
“Well, come on, then,” he says. “I need someone to counterbalance Derek’s ego.”
Being with them helps a little. Even though we don’t talk about him, they are the thread that connects me to Tru.
“You have to quit moping,” says Chase one afternoon while he’s driving me home. “Look, when I got kicked out of the best music school in the country, I felt like a huge disappointment to everyone in my life. But it’s temporary. Something else is coming for you. Right now, you’re in what we call a fermata in music. A long pause. You have to hold that note for a while longer. But then you go on to the rest of the composition. Just wait it out.”
At home a new tension hangs over the house, a gathering of vapors, swirling itself into a storm. It’s the week of the Orange Festival back home. For a while, it seemed like they weren’t going to have it this year. But in a show of Plaquemines strength and resilience, they decided to do it anyway. The court is always chosen in September, but this year they had to wait for people to come back. It’s mostly girls from Bellvoir who had been allowed to move back into their houses. But there were two girls from Bayou Perdu High School, both cheerleading friends of Mandy’s. After one of them called to let her know that she made it, you could tell it was eating Mandy up. Then on Monday they announced the queen. It’s a girl from Bellvoir. We see her picture in the Times-Picayune online, ho
lding her orange scepter in her white-gloved hands, these beaded things that look like wings coming out of the top of her dress. “Her?” Mandy spits. “Seriously? Obviously there wasn’t much competition.”
“You would have picked a much better dress.” I meant it to be supportive, but she gives me a poisonous look.
But a few days later, she gets an early Christmas present. Byron calls. He’s broken up with that girl, Elena. He misses Mandy. He wants to get back together. He wants to come down to Atlanta during winter break. She acts put out at first, but I know this is the best news she’s had in a long time. Someone wants her. They’re on the phone all the time, every night, keeping me awake. It’s annoying until I realize that Byron is friends with Hip, and Hip might know where Tru is.
“Ask him for Hip’s number,” I demand before she gets on the phone one night.
“Right, Evangeline. We just got back together and I’m going to ask him for his friend’s number. Are you joking?”
Joking? No. I’m desperate. So one night when she’s on the phone with Byron, I make my move. I grab the phone right out of her hand. As I’m fending her off with one arm, I start talking.
“Byron? Hey, this is Evangeline.”
“Oh, hey, little sister” comes Byron’s smooth, cocky voice over the line. “What’s up?”
“Listen, I know you were friends with Hip Tran, and I was wondering if you know where he is now.”
“Hipppp Traaaan,” Byron says in that way that makes everyone’s name sound like some sort of a statement. “The Hipster. Hippie. You know, we haven’t been in touch, but I think I heard he’s in Houston now. Most people are. I’m not sure.”
“You don’t happen to have his phone number, do you?”
“Hang on,” he says. Mandy is swatting at me, trying to get the phone back. Byron is pushing random buttons. “Whoops, hang on. How do you check numbers while you’re on the phone?” He presses a few more. “The Hipster. Yeah, I got his digits. You ready?”
My heart may beat out of my chest. I lunge at the desk, papers flying everywhere as I fumble for a pen. “OK, go ahead.”
He reads out a 504 number.
“Fantastic. Thank you so much, Byron. I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Mandy punches me in the arm as I give her the phone back.
I sit on the concrete step out front to call Hip. Breathe deep. I dial the number. It rings three, four times. I figure it’s going to go to voice mail when he picks up on the fifth ring. I’m petrified.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Um, Hip?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Evangeline Riley. From Bayou Perdu High? Mandy Riley’s little sister.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Hi.” He sounds confused but blasé about hearing from me, as if random girls call him out of the blue all the time.
“I’m sorry to bother you. Byron Delacroix gave me your number.” I’m sure he’s confused. “I was wondering if you knew how to get in touch with your cousin Tru. We know each other from Atlanta. But he left, and I just need to get in touch with him.” This is awkward beyond all description.
“Oh, yeah, Tru. I heard they were in Atlanta.”
“But not anymore,” I say. “They left and your other cousins — I mean, I don’t know if they are cousins on your side — the people they were living with said they went back to Louisiana. I was just wondering if you knew where. And how to get in touch. It’s just — no one else I know knows them.”
“I didn’t know they weren’t in Atlanta anymore. That’s the last I heard. Hmm. That’s weird. I can ask my dad.”
“Oh, great. Thanks.”
“Well, he’s at work now. Do me a favor. Can you call me back? I’m terrible at remembering things.”
“Sure. Of course. When would be good?”
“Maybe on the weekend?”
“Sure. Sorry.” This is painful.
“OK, then,” he says. “That’s funny, you know. He asked me about you at the Blessing of the Fleet.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We met there. Then we ran into each other again here in Atlanta.” And fell in love, I want to say. “So thanks for asking your dad. I’ll check back with you on the weekend.”
“OK,” he says before hanging up.
That was excruciating, but I finally feel like I’m getting somewhere.
I call again on the weekend and, amazingly, he picks up.
“Hi, Hip,” I say, desperate to get this awkward conversation over with. “It’s Evangeline Riley. I wondered if you’d had a chance to talk to your dad about the Nguyens yet?”
“Oh, hey,” he says. “Yeah, I asked my mom. She was surprised. She said she didn’t know where they were, and then she started crying. She’s upset about the family all getting moved around and all, you know? But we’re going to see Tru’s dad’s other cousin at Christmas, so they should know. Do you want to just call me again after Christmas? Like I said, I’m terrible at remembering things.”
“Sure. Thanks for your help. And can I just give you my number in case you hear from him?”
He says that he’ll save my number, but I have my doubts.
At Christmas, Mama picks up one of those small fake trees that’s already decorated and plugs it in on a table in the living room. We have Christmas Day at Aunt Cel’s house. She buys us tons of stuff. I think it only makes Mama feel worse because her presents aren’t as impressive. She pitches a defense for each of the presents as the recipient opens it. “I thought you could use it for your new apartment, Ami,” or “Oh, it was on sale. I thought it was cute.” My cousin Ami overdoes it, too, with her oohs and ahs. “I love it!” she squeals over the most inconsequential things. The whole day is uncomfortable. Daddy looks blank, the way he usually does now. I sit next to him and put my head on his shoulder. He strokes my hair. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he says with a weak smile.
I sneak off to Ami’s bedroom because I just don’t feel like being with other people. I’m staring into space when Mandy finds me.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Last Christmas. Danielle.”
“And Tru?”
“Yeah.”
“Look,” she says. “Things can turn around. Look at me. I thought I’d never hear from Byron again, and now things are better than ever. Just come on down, there’s a present we haven’t opened yet that will make you happy.”
I reluctantly follow her downstairs. It’s the annual box of pralines we got from Delbert, Mrs. Menil’s son, who took the trouble to find out where we are. His mother is living with him Uptown in New Orleans now since only the steps remained on her house. Fifty years of our family history was completely destroyed, he wrote in his note. But we’ll never forget what good neighbors you always were, and even though we’re far apart, I hope I can find some way to return all the favors you did for Mama and me through the years.
Byron comes down from Nashville the day after Christmas and stays over at Aunt Cel’s house so she can “keep an eye on him.” It’s strangely good to see him. Like a little piece of wreckage that’s left from Bayou Perdu. We talk about people we know, even if we don’t know them well. He and Mandy are all lovey-dovey. For the first day. They’re talking about LSU next year, when they can be together again. Mandy’s got her application in, she says, and is feeling confident. She’s even signed up to try out for softball in the spring at Brookdale in case that improves her chances. But by the second afternoon, Mandy seems to be stomping around. Daddy and Byron are watching the game in the living room by themselves. Later, I see Mandy and Byron standing at the end of the driveway, obviously fighting.
By the third morning, he’s gone. Mandy won’t tell me what happened, other than to mutter about him thinking he could do an interstate booty call. Whatever happened, I can tell she’s crushed, but she will not admit it.
I call Kendra that day and tell her about seeing Danielle on TV.
&
nbsp; “You gotta be happy for her,” she says.
“I know.”
“But it’s OK to still be sad for you.”
“I knew you would understand,” I say.
“At least you know now. And it doesn’t mean you’ll never see each other again.”
Then she tells me her news. She and her mom should be getting their housing on the base in Bellvoir around the beginning of March.
“That’s great!”
“Yeah, but I felt kind of bad telling you,” she says. “I know how much you want to go back. And Bellvoir isn’t really home home.”
“Don’t feel bad. When we get the trailer, we’ll be close enough.”
When I tell her about Tru disappearing, she says, “Don’t worry. Come on, you two ended up at the same school together after meeting in the back bayou. How much more meant-to-be-together do you want? He’s probably going to show up singing under your window. Go look. He’s probably out there right now!”
It’s silly, but I do it. He’s not there.
I try Hip again the next day. I get his voice mail. “Hi, Hip. Hope you had a great holiday. Just wanted to check in about Tru. To see if you heard anything from your relatives?” I try again the following day but don’t leave a message. On New Year’s Eve, I try one more time and he picks up. “Hi, it’s Evangeline Riley. Sorry. Just. Any news on Tru?”
He definitely sounds like he was hoping it was someone else. “I haven’t heard anything, but you know who might know? Kaye Pham. Do you know her? She’s in Baton Rouge. They were, um, friends. Do you want her number?”
I would rather die than call Kaye Pham to ask her where Tru is. “Sure,” I say. And I write down the number, knowing I will never call it and can’t call Hip back again, either, because he’s basically telling me not to call him again.
“Thanks,” I say. “Are you going back to Bayou Perdu?”
“I don’t think so,” he says. “We’re going to try to get a boat in Galveston Bay somewhere.”
“OK. Well, thanks for trying to help me. Happy New Year.”
“Sorry I wasn’t much help,” he says. “Tru’s a good guy. He’s one of my favorite cousins. I’d really like to hear from him, too. If you hear, tell him to give me a call.”
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