His Brown-Eyed Girl

by Liz Talley

  He’d found cleaning solution and had done his best to scrub the carpets. Washing quilts and comforters was a new challenge but he managed, and Addy was nice enough to get ginger ale and disinfectant spray, delivering them with a comforting pat.

  “You want me to help with the kids?”

  “No, I’m doing okay. No need for you to be exposed to the sickness.”

  “So what do you think about this weekend? I can take the whole day Saturday…”

  A sweet piece of satisfaction sank into his bones. “They should be okay by then, but we’ll play it by ear.”

  Dear God, please let the kids feel better by Saturday. He wanted to spend time with Addy. Who knew how much longer he’d be in New Orleans. He’d hate to miss even a minute with her. But barfing kids kinda put a lid on his plans for spending nights in Addy’s kitchen, with or without “tea.”

  And he’d kicked DeeAnn out why?

  Of course, he knew that answer was twofold—he wanted to stay close to Addy and he cared about his niece and nephews, even though two weeks ago they’d been strangers to him.

  Lucas padded toward the shower, turned it on and went to wake Chris and Michael who had recovered enough to go to school.

  “Wake up.” He switched on Chris’s bedside lamp.

  Chris groaned, tossing the covers over his head. “I’m still sick.”

  “No, you’re not. And you can’t go on Uncle Lucas’s Weekend Extravaganza if you don’t get up and go to school.”

  The covers flipped back and a burr-headed Chris peeked out, blinking owlishly in the light. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Chris’s feet hit the floor. “I’m up.”

  Next was Michael’s room.

  “Wake up, buttercup,” Lucas trilled in a falsetto voice.

  Michael, wrapped like a burrito, didn’t move. Lucas tapped his shoulder while turning on the lamp. “Come on, Mike. Up and at ’em.”

  “Go away.”

  “If you don’t go to school, you won’t be able to go on Uncle Lucas’s Weekend Extravaganza.”

  “You promise?” Michael rolled over and grabbed at the lamp.

  “Let me try this again. If you don’t get up, I’ll tell Chris your new phone pass code.”

  Michael sat up. “How do you know my pass code?”

  Lucas picked up Michael’s phone and wagged it. “I have my ways, 4-1-9-9.”

  Michael’s mouth dropped open.

  “Your birth date? You really need to think outside the box.”

  “Fine.” Michael rubbed his messy hair and yawned. He’d slept in a too-tight T-shirt and a pair of plaid boxers. Lucas noted the kid had started growing hair on his legs. Michael was growing up and Lucas had never been there to see a sleepy sweet toddler in airplane jammies and dinosaur slippers. Regret flooded him.

  He shouldn’t have stayed away from his family. He’d allowed his anger to keep him from a blessing. Even after cleaning up vomit and spooning chicken broth into Ben’s kids, he realized he’d made a mistake with Michael, Chris and Charlotte.

  He bypassed Charlotte’s door, allowing her to sleep in. The little girl had been sickest of all and had finally started feeling better last night. She wasn’t going to preschool.

  The boys were surprisingly cooperative at breakfast, having only one fight over who had drunk the last of the sports drinks. While they packed up their lunches and combed their hair, Lucas slipped over to Addy’s. If Aunt Flora would keep an eye on Charlotte, he wouldn’t have to wake her and load her into his truck in order to take the boys to school.

  He’d only knocked once when the door swung open.

  Addy stood in pink silk pajamas, tangled hair and sleepy eyes. “Everything okay?”

  He couldn’t help himself—he dropped his gaze and took in every inch of her. He loved the gap revealing her delicate collarbones and he could see the faintest outline of her nipples against the soft fabric. Oh, he hoped he got to glimpse those sweet breasts, hoped he got to taste the sweetness of Addy before he ambled back to West Texas.

  “Lucas?” Addy said.

  He jerked his attention back to her pretty brown eyes. “Huh?”

  “Stop staring at my boobs and tell me why you’re here so early. Is everything okay with the kids?” She crossed her arms over her bosom.

  Damn.

  “Yeah, they’re all on the mend. About to take the boys to school and wondered if Aunt Flora might go over and stay with Charlotte. She’s still sleeping and I didn’t want to wake her up.”

  “Let me grab my robe and I’ll go over. Flora’s still in bed. She’s been sneaking vodka every night before bed. Think she’s been having some trouble sleeping. Give me a sec. Grab some coffee if you want.”

  Lucas shuffled into the kitchen as Addy padded out barefoot.

  She had nice feet, something he’d failed to notice in the moonlight nights ago. But he’d been busy with other delightful parts.

  Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, he poured himself a cup and stood sipping, enjoying the quiet of the house. No arguing, no screeching, and thankfully, no retching. Just brilliant silence.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Addy said, entering the kitchen in a pair of yoga pants and sweatshirt. Her face was bare of makeup and her hair was in a low ponytail. She looked about as glamorous as a wet cat, but somehow it made her all the more desirable. He loved how comfortable she felt around him, loved how much more he wanted her when she was naturally Addy.

  “Wait,” he said, scooping an arm about her waist and spinning her toward him. “A kiss before I go.”

  He didn’t wait for permission, just lowered his head and stole a kiss. She tasted warm and toothpasty. She relaxed against him and kissed him back.

  He broke the kiss and looked down at her glistening lips. “You just made my morning, lady.”

  “Hope I don’t get the stomach virus.”

  “If you get it, that means I have it. We can throw up together.”

  “How romantic.”

  He laughed. “I’m in the clear, which is good because I got plans for you this weekend, lady.”

  Addy lifted herself on her toes and kissed one of his dimples. “I’ve decided to embrace the opportunity, Lucas.”

  The horn honking next door was the only thing that could tear him away from her. “Can’t wait. Guess I better get those monsters to school before Chris decides to try his hand at driving. Wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “He’s a daredevil.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Lucas said, holding the door for her so she could slide by and head to his brother’s house. “Thanks for helping, Addy.”

  She saluted. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

  *

  ADDY RUSHED INTO the Fleur de Lis with a folder of bills that needed paying, a bag of bay leaves and the FedEx box of wire that had been mistakenly delivered to her home address. She dropped the box and exhaled. “Whew, that was heavy.”

  Shelia turned and grabbed the scissors, starting on the box. “Wondered where you were. You’re never late.”

  “I volunteered to watch the little girl next door so Lucas could take the boys to school. There was a wreck on Earhart Expressway and he had to reroute. Then Charlotte pitched a fit because I had to leave. Man, kids are hard.”

  “I wish I’d had the pleasure of knowing,” Shelia said, her voice soft in the quiet.

  Addy squeezed her hand. “I know you do.”

  “So those kids are better?”

  “Yeah, I think poor old Lucas got more than he bargained for when he sent Courtney’s cousin away. Lucas isn’t warm and fuzzy, but he’s competent. You should have seen his procedure for dealing with the sick kids—gloves, mask, Lysol and a schedule of medicine and hydration. Plus he actually rocked Charlotte to sleep.”

  Shelia clasped her heart. “If you don’t keep him, give me his phone number. There’s nothing I’m a bigger sucker for than a man rocking a sleeping baby…except maybe a passel o
f kittens.”

  Today Shelia wore a wig with looping black curls down to her shoulders. Big fluorescent earrings matching her sweater dangled to her shoulders. Her stretch pants were denim and the turquoise ballet slippers looked somehow right with the flashy duds. Addy wished she had the balls to pull of the same look. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to pull out clothes with color.

  Of course she didn’t have balls anyhow, but dressing in something other than black and gray for a man who did was suddenly on her mind.

  She shook her head.

  Remember your rational voice, Addy. You can’t change all of who you are because you have the hots for Lucas Finlay. It was enough she took this slice of a chance, going out with him, kissing him, pretending she was a regular girl and not one haunted by a madman.

  Better to cling to her black pullovers and plain jeans.

  Addy glanced around the workroom. “So what’s on our schedule today? I think we have some deliveries to a couple of funerals, right? Better check the gladiolas and lilies. I don’t know why everyone wants those waxy flowers.”

  “People like what they know. Traditional flowers and such. And that’s not just with flowers if you know what I mean.”

  Addy rolled her eyes, ignoring the pointed comment, and instead focusing on the reason she hated the ho-hum in her work. In her designs, Addy saturated herself in wild color. She hated traditional, unimaginative bouquets taking up shelves in supermarkets. She preferred mixing flowers, grasses, mosses and unusual reeds to create emotion. And her visionary approach to creating floral designs had paid off—creativity rewarded by lucrative business. Sometimes she was too busy, which was a blessing.

  The front doorbell jingled and Addy glanced up to find her parents pushing into the shop, arguing about her mother’s parallel parking skills.

  Addy glanced at Shelia who grinned. Shelia loved Don and Phylis Toussant because when they appeared the shop became a stage for a vaudeville act. Like the classic show The Honeymooners, Addy’s parents’ bickering was grounded in sincere affection, but their interactions were amusing…to everyone but their children. The bickering annoyed Addy, especially when it was over her mother’s driving skills.

  Phylis thought everyone was an idiot who was out to rear-end or sideswipe her. The strange irony was the woman had never been in an accident, much less received a traffic ticket.

  “She’s crazy,” her father said, jabbing a finger toward his wife.

  “Pfft!” Phylis huffed, crossing her arms. “This from a man who ran over the curb at the church last week and nearly hit poor Mr. Martin. The man almost had a heart attack.”

  “He should look where he’s going. Blind as a damn bat and he was halfway in the road.”

  “It was a parking lot, Don.”

  Her father crossed his arms. Addy waited for the canned laughter. All she got was Shelia’s titter so she stalked to the back of the store.

  “Hey, where you going?” her dad called.

  “I’m too busy today to play referee.”

  Addy swept the stems Shelia had cut that morning into the compost bin and sprayed a vinegar mix on the counter, rubbing out the residue and the irritation she felt over her parents constant sparring.

  “Hey, sweetie,” her mom said, rubbing her shoulders lightly before sinking onto a stool.

  “What are y’all doing here, Mom?” Addy finally glanced at her mother.

  Her mother had grown up in Gentilly, raised by a traditional Italian mother and an Irish father who drank too much. Passionate, stubborn, with a cute, curvy figure and shoulder-length dark hair she tinted the same color of brown as Addy’s, she looked pretty much how Addy expected to look at age sixty-six, sans the childbearing hips. “Your father has an appointment with the urologist and then he’s dead set on talking to Lieutenant. Andre Greer.”

  “Andre can’t do anything about the hearing.”

  Phylis sighed. “How do you feel about the possibility Robbie gets out? Have you talked to your group?”

  “I didn’t go last night.”

  Her mother frowned. Addy had a lot of trouble before she found Survivors of Violence. Once she’d spent several months with women like her, she’d begun to trust herself, to actually heal from the attack and learn how to control her fear. She rarely missed a meeting because it was through SOV that she remained grounded.

  “You rarely miss anything at SOV.”

  “Lucas needed me to help him with his niece and nephews. I had to go to the store.”

  “And that was more important than preparing for the problems you could face when Robbie is out?” Her mother ran a hand down her back and Addy moved away. She didn’t need her mother applying her pseudopsychology on her. The fact she watched Dr. Phil every afternoon did not make her qualified to cross-examine Addy’s motives behind not attending the meeting. She’d gone Tuesday night, hadn’t she?

  “Maybe it’s time I stop carrying Robbie around with me. I’m tired of him, tired of worry. I love my friends in SOV, but steeping myself in memories of being a victim holds me back. I’m no longer wounded. Cautious? Yes. Crippled? No.”

  “So you feel worse when you’re with your group now?”

  “No, but I don’t feel like I have to be there twice a week. Maybe not even once a week.”

  “Since when?”

  Addy shook her head. “Since two days ago when I decided to stop overthinking my life.”

  “Does this have anything to do with this Lucas fellow?” her mother asked, reaching out to touch Addy again but then catching herself and tucking her hand back into her lap.

  Maybe it did. Addy wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she felt as if she’d been walking through life with her eyes closed. Sure, she’d told herself a million times she was free of Robbie, but she’d been lying. The fear he’d given her was still there, despite SOV. She used that fear conveniently, driving away people who got close enough to hurt her. But with Lucas, she wanted to say to hell with being afraid, to hell with protecting her heart.

  “No, it’s not him as much as it is me, Mom. I need to let go before it’s too late.”

  Addy’s father had been chatting with Shelia, ranting about the Louisiana State University’s baseball team’s ranking in the top twenty, but now he ambled over to where Addy stood scrubbing the counters like a demon possessed. “Let go of what? And who’s this guy you mentioned? Is he Catholic?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t asked.”

  Neither of her parents said anything.

  “That’s your biggest concern?” Addy gave a wry laugh. Jeez, her parents were a piece of work, but she did love them. “He’s Ben Finlay’s brother and he’s taking care of their children while they deal with some personal issues. He’s a bit overloaded with three kids, so Aunt Flora and I have been helping out a bit.”

  Her mother’s shoulders sank. “So just friends, huh?”

  “At the very least. He’s a great guy, but he’ll be going back to Texas soon.”

  “Texas?” Her dad snorted, with a disgusted expression. “Figures.”

  Addy bit her lip. Her father thought anyone north of Baton Rouge and west of Lake Charles not worthy of spit. Born in the Irish Channel, raised on shrimp boats in the swamp around Lake Pontchartrain, and having returned to New Orleans East to rebuild what Katrina had destroyed, her father was a proud Y’at. Louisiana born and bred, with a decidedly snobbish tendency to think the world existed only around New Orleans.

  “Yeah, Texas is a big ol’ state you hit if you get on I-10 and drive west. Eventually you’ll run into a little town called Houston.”

  “Watch it, smarty-pants,” her dad growled.

  “I know you’re here to check on me, but I’m doing fine. I can’t control Robbie or what he does once he gets out, and I’m not spending my life—”

  “Shoot us because we worry about you,” her mother interrupted, standing and pressing her hands down her bright red skinny jeans. “We’re only doing our job, which never stops no
matter how old you are.”

  “I know, Mom. But you can’t control the world any more than I can.” Addy reached for the hand on her mother’s lap and gave it a squeeze.

  “I’ve decided we’re paying for an alarm system for Flora’s house,” her father said.

  “Dad, you can’t just decide that.”

  “I can and it will be done. Your mother’s already talked to Flora and we’ve scheduled the guy to come out on Monday. Flora’s going to meet with him because I’m going to the hearing.”

  “Dad, you don’t have to—”

  “I know I don’t, but you and a frail old woman are all alone in that big house. Hell, you just admitted your neighbors are preoccupied and that weasel weirdo on the other side is never home.”

  “Troy? He owns a bar and keeps odd hours is all. And he’s a nice guy. Tattoos don’t make you a weasel weirdo, Dad.”

  “All the same.”

  Addy crossed her arms. “I don’t like to be managed.”

  “I know you don’t, sugar,” her mother said, “and that’s not what we’re doing. Your father won’t sleep once that man is out, and if, God grant our wish, he’s not, it’s not a bad idea to have added security. Should have been done long ago.”

  “It’s too much money for y’all. Let me cover it.”

  Her father wagged his graying head and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “I ain’t rich, but I got enough to cover it, cher. Now no more arguments or I’ll turn you over my knee.”

  Addy opened her mouth, but her father’s soft “I need to do this, darlin’,” stopped her.

  “Fine. Put in an alarm system if it makes you feel any better.”

  “It does. If you had a husband like Ginnie and Caro, I wouldn’t worry as much, but what can Flora do? Scare a robber off with her crazy-looking clothes? Do some—” He glanced at her mother. “What’s that crap she does called?”

  “Zumba.”

  “Yeah, zumber. Latin dancing for exercise? Jeez, what will they think of next? Polka golf or two-step boxing? I saw a show on how women are doing Roller Derby for exercise. And one woman took up pole dancing like a hootchie girl just to lose weight. I tell ya, what’s wrong with the world?”