Hannah knew she had to find something to do until her New York friends arrived, but was loath to engage in a project that wouldn’t allow her to entertain them. In New York she’d volunteered her free time to an organization geared to helping to get families out of homeless shelters and into permanent housing. Volunteering made her more than aware she’d grown up not only privileged but blessed, and it could take only a single incident for her to lose everything. Some of the organization’s clients were living with undiagnosed mental illnesses, while others were victims of domestic violence or drug addiction. And unlike some of the girls with whom she’d attended high school, these women viewed her as their advocate.
Her thoughts wavered again when she made a mental note to apply for an additional permit to convert the guesthouses to eating establishments. The venture, although daunting, wasn’t impossible if and when she hired the staff she needed to run and maintain a successful and profitable business. But it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have competition. A few of the larger homes in the city were operating as inns or B & Bs or hotels to take advantage of the growing influx of tourists during Mardi Gras and other popular local annual festivals.
It was after midnight when she finally turned off the lamp and closed her eyes. Then it returned. The erotic dream wherein her mysterious lover made her feel things she’d forgotten and others sensations she’d never experienced until she woke in a panic, her heart pumping wildly in her chest. She didn’t see her lover’s face in this dream, and for that she was grateful; if it had been St. John, then Hannah knew it would mean subconsciously she was physically drawn to him, which would spell disaster for their newly rediscovered friendship.
She sat up, the cotton nightgown sticking to her moist body. I’m too old for this. Or was she? Her menstrual cycle had stopped two years ago, but her gynecologist had cautioned her to use protection when engaging in sexual intercourse because there was always the possibility she could get pregnant. He appeared unaffected when she admitted she hadn’t had sexual relations with a man in eight years, but still cautioned her if or when she did.
Hannah lay down again, staring up at the fabric draped over the bed. She’d overheard women talking about being horny or needing their itch scratched, and most times she thought they were oversexed. She was far from frigid, although sex hadn’t played a major part in her marriage. Perhaps it would have been more frequent if her husband hadn’t been away for extended periods of time, or if he hadn’t found satisfaction in the arms of other women.
Whenever Robert returned home, he would make love to her like a man dying of thirst, then when he drank his fill, he didn’t want any more and they would go weeks without making love again. Within days after they’d celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary, Hannah realized she’d married a stranger. She hadn’t dated him in the traditional sense because as a midshipman in the U.S. Naval Academy he lived in Maryland while she was still in high school in New Orleans. And by the time he’d graduated, he was stationed at a naval base in California while she attended college in Tennessee. And once she became Mrs. Robert Lowell, she found herself a wife in name only. Her elderly grandmother had talked to her about the advantages and disadvantages of being a military wife, but Hannah had insisted she was up for the task.
She knew without a doubt the loneliness wouldn’t have been as acute if she’d been able to form friendships with the wives of the other officers. But the memories of rejection and alienation from the girls from her high school hadn’t faded enough for her not to be cautious of forming new friendships.
It’d been easier in college because many of the girls shared the same socioeconomic background as hers, but then she discovered they were no different than her high school classmates. They turned their noses up at the girls who’d come to Vanderbilt on either academic or athletic scholarships, deeming them unworthy to join their exclusive circle.
Exhaling an audible sigh, Hannah recalled the few hours she’d spent with Tonya, Nydia, and Jasmine, marveling how quickly she’d felt a kinship with them. It was as if she’d found the sisters she not only needed but always wanted.
Turning over onto her side, she adjusted the pillow under her head and after tossing and turning, she finally went back to sleep. She awoke hours later without the reoccurrence of the disturbing images that reminded her she was a woman who in denying her husband had also denied herself the strong passions within her.
* * *
Oppressive humidity, temperatures in the nineties, and off and on thunderstorms for three days reminded Hannah of the time when she and her younger brother would spend hours playing make-believe in the parlor. However, she didn’t want to stay indoors to escape the gloomy weather and scheduled an appointment with her local salon for a trim, mani-pedi, and facial. The receptionist was able to fit her in because a client had cancelled, and after three hours of pampering she returned home rejuvenated.
She also filed the necessary paperwork for an occupational license and mayoralty permit for live entertainment zoning to convert the guesthouses into a café and a cocktail lounge. The last errand on her to do list was to meet with an officer at her bank to secure a pre-approved equity loan.
Hannah was optimistic that the licenses and permits would be approved. Pre-planning was essential if she wanted to open for business the following spring. She’d grown up listening to her father preaching that “procrastination is the thief of time,” and she didn’t want to run out of time because she didn’t plan ahead.
She shook hands with the loan officer and had just walked out of his office when she spied St. John standing in a line waiting for a teller. He was dressed for the inclement weather: jeans, running shoes, and a black poncho and matching baseball cap branded with the New Orleans Saints logo.
* * *
St. John recognized the tall, willowy, natural blonde striding in his direction. He smiled as she approached him. “Good afternoon, Hannah. How are you enjoying the weather?”
She returned his smile. “It is for ducks.”
Dipping his head, St. John kissed her cheek. “Rain is good,” he said in her ear, the subtle scent of her perfume wafting to his nostrils.
She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. “Rain is for sleeping in or lounging around.”
He studied her delicate features under the brim of a bucket hat stamped with images of passports and then glanced away before she could detect a longing in his eyes he was helpless to conceal. Hannah stirred emotions that made him want to have something more with her than friendship. He wanted a no-strings relationship wherein he could call her and invite her to accompany him to a restaurant for dinner or a concert or movie.
St. John hadn’t lied to Hannah when he’d admitted he didn’t date. Even when he and Lorna were waiting for their divorce to be finalized, they’d continued to go out together as a couple. And sleeping with the woman in Baton Rouge didn’t fulfill everything he needed and wanted from a woman, despite his agreeing to her mandate they share a sexual liaison without the pretense of commitment.
He didn’t want love as much as he wanted someone with whom he could discuss their views on a movie or concert; a woman whom he could surprise with a special gift even if it wasn’t her birthday, Valentine’s Day, or Christmas. He wanted to do that and more with his woman.
“You’re right about that. Do you have anything planned for this afternoon?”
She stole a glance at the clock over the door of the bank. “I’d planned to drive over to Chez Toussaints and pick up something before they close.”
“Wait for me and we’ll go together.”
A slight frown line appeared between Hannah’s eyes. “We have less than fifteen minutes to get there before they close, and if there’s traffic, then we’re going to be assed out.”
St. John flashed a grin. “We’re not going to be, as you say, ‘assed out’ because my cousins will open the door for me.”
Her pale eyebrows lifted as she affected a sexy moue, drawing his gaze to linger on
her mouth. “Oh, it’s like that?”
He leaned closer. “Yes, it’s like that. We can pick up lunch before we go back to my house to eat and lounge until the rain stops.”
Hannah’s smile was as bright as rays of sunlight, her clear green eyes sparkling like polished emeralds. “If that’s the case, then I’ll meet you there. I’ll be waiting in the parking lot.”
St. John watched Hannah walk, his gaze lingering on the jeans outlining the curve of her womanly hips. Then, without warning, she glanced over her shoulder and winked at him. He returned it with one of his own, knowing she’d caught him staring. Yes, he thought. He’d made the right decision to ask Hannah to go out with him over the summer because there was no doubt they were going to have a lot of fun together.
* * *
Hannah maneuvered into the area set aside for customer parking, finding it empty and the neon sign on the plate glass window to Chez Toussaints flashing CLOSED. Unusually heavy afternoon traffic coupled with a sudden downpour flooding several city streets made the drive longer than expected. She shut off the engine, unbuckled her belt, and waited for St. John. She didn’t have long to wait before his white BMW sedan pulled alongside her vehicle, and St. John alighted. She got out of her car before he had a chance to come around and assist her.
Reaching for her hand, St. John said, “I called Eustace to let him know we were on our way.”
The door to the restaurant opened and Eustace stood in the doorway, muscular arms crossed over his wide chest. “You two can spoon later. So get up on here and get your food so I can clean up this place and go home. I’ve been on my feet since four this morning, and I want to put these dogs up and kick back with an ice-cold beer.”
Hannah smiled at the man whose size and speed had made him an outstanding high school athlete. Eustace turned down several scholarships to play college football in order to help his father run their family restaurant. Her eyes were drawn to matching dimples in his round face that always made him appear impish. Opposing team members openly taunted him, calling him Tiny, Smokey the Bear, and the Gingerbread Man because of his reddish-brown complexion, but felt the wrath of his physical prowess when he plowed through their line to average two touchdowns per game. His “family before fame” had become a catch phrase when he was interviewed by the local press after the word got out that he wasn’t going to play college football.
Eustace smiled at her. “When did you two start hanging out again?”
Hannah knew Eustace was referring to her and St. John being seen together when they were in high school. “It’s going to take a while to catch each other up on what’s been happening in our lives over the past forty years.”
Eustace stepped aside to let her and St. John enter the small eating establishment, quickly closing and locking the door. “My school’s fortieth is coming up next year.” He patted his belly through the bibbed apron. “That means I have exactly twelve months to join a gym so I can get back to my fighting weight.”
St. John took off his poncho, hanging it on a wall hook. “I told you before that you can work out at my place.”
Eustace shook his head. “Instead of working out I’d end up lounging in your sunroom watching ESPN.”
Hannah shared a smile when Eustace mentioned lounging before glancing around the restaurant with its capacity to seat thirty at any given time. The restaurant had occupied the same location since opening in 1922, and present-day Toussaints resisted expanding or relocating to a larger space to serve the overflow of customers that formed long lines outside the restaurant during the four hours they were open for business.
“Enough about me becoming a lean, mean, sexy machine,” Eustace continued. “What can I get you good folks? I have to warn you that we’ve sold out most of what’s on the board.”
St. John moved closer to Hannah, resting his hand on her shoulder in a possessive gesture. “What do you feel like eating?”
She glanced up at the chalkboard listing the day’s menu. “Do have any seafood gumbo left?”
Eustace nodded. “I think there’s enough left for two portions. If you want I can add a few slices of jalapeño cheese cornbread.”
She smiled. “Please.”
“What about you, cousin?” Eustace asked St. John as he studied the board.
“I’ll have the crab cakes with a side order of red beans and rice.”
Eustace nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Turning on his heel, he disappeared behind a set of café doors.
Waiting until Eustace was out of earshot, Hannah leaned closer to St. John. “Is Eustace now running this place by himself?”
“No. His daughters come in at six in the morning to help him prep and cook, and then they work the front to serve customers. At two on the dot, they lock the front door and head home.”
Hannah gave St. John a sidelong glance, still in awe of the masculine beauty to which he always seemed oblivious. It wasn’t only his face or body, but his entire bearing that radiated urbane sophistication—something he’d not acquired over time but had been born with. Her classmates hadn’t voted him best looking and best dressed as a fluke. They’d known then he was different—a cut above all the other male students. Girls shamelessly flirted with him even though they knew he was dating a beautiful girl attending an all-girls’ parochial school.
“Chez Toussaints was very different when we were in school,” she said. “I can remember calling and ordering takeout for dinner.”
“That’s because Eustace wasn’t catering like he does now.”
“Why doesn’t he hire additional help?”
“Anyone he hires has to be a Toussaint because most of the recipes are family secrets.
His brother Gage usually steps up to assist him whenever Eustace has to cater an event.”
“I know you told me you and Eustace are cousins, but how are you related?”
“Our grandmothers were sisters.”
Eustace returned with two shopping bags filled with plastic containers. “I gave you guys a container of lobster bisque, and whatever was left of the shrimp etouffée.” Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Hannah took out a large bill, placing it on the counter. “Your money’s no good here.”
“What are you talking about?” she questioned.
Eustace picked up the bill as if it were a poisonous reptile. “I said your money’s no good because you’re with family.”
Hannah looked at St. John, and then at Eustace. “I don’t understand.”
Reaching for her hand, Eustace placed the money on her palm. “St. John, please explain to your lady that I’m not charging her.”
Her body stiffened in shock and she wanted to tell the cook she wasn’t St. John’s lady—at least not in that way.
“He is not charging you for the food, Hannah,” St. John intoned, enunciating each word as if speaking to a child. He cradled the shopping bags in each hand. “Please get my poncho and unlock the door.”
She complied, pushing open the door and walking out behind St. John as Eustace let loose with a stream of Haitian Creole, of which she couldn’t understand a single word. They stopped at her car. “What did he say?”
A beat passed. “He knew a long time ago that we’d end up with each other.”
Hannah, unable to form a reply, gave St. John a barely perceptible nod, then ducked her head and slipped in behind the wheel, pushing the engine start button and driving out of the parking lot. People had asked when had she hooked up with St. John, and now Eustace believed she was his cousin’s lady.
New Orleans claimed a population just fewer than four hundred thousand people, yet news about her and St. John had circulated like a wildfire. Hannah knew if she hadn’t been a DuPont—or as she was known, the judge’s daughter—most people wouldn’t have given her and St. John a second glance. What if she hadn’t come back for the reunion? Or if she had come with a stranger, she doubted people would be talking about her.
This isn’t all about you. The voice in her head reminded
Hannah that St. John was also included in the equation. His family roots—the Baptistes and Toussaints were deeply ingrained in the Crescent City’s history, and aside from his leaving to attend college, he’d always lived in New Orleans. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem remotely affected by talk of them being a couple, and Hannah decided what was good for the goose was also good for the gander. She planned to enjoy her time with St. John and come the end of summer she would be left with memories of a man who reminded her that although her marriage was over, she could enjoy a normal social life.
Robert had been only a shell of his former self after his first heart attack. Although his body had healed, it was his spirit that appeared to be broken. Hannah knew it was his confession that had swept him under in a tsunami of guilt from which he would never resurface. She never broached the subject of his infidelity again except to inform her husband that she was moving out of their bedroom.
Glancing up at the rearview mirror, she saw St. John following closely behind and smiled. She found it ironic that she had to go back in time to reunite with a former friend in order to move forward to embrace her future. And hopefully, that future included her becoming an innkeeper.
Chapter 12
Hannah lay on the lounger in the sunroom, while St. John folded his body down into a matching one.
“Are you all right?” St. John asked after a noticeable silence.
She turned her head, smiling at him. “I’m good.”
“You’re good, yet you seem a million miles away.”
A beat passed. “I was thinking that I have to revise my business plan to include eating establishments.” She told St. John everything she needed to convert DuPont House into the DuPont Inn, which now included the venues for serving meals.
Turning on his side, he gave her a long, penetrating stare. “How soon do you project the grand opening?”
“Hopefully before next spring. In fact, I’d like to be up and running before Mardi Gras season.”
“I think you’re worrying too much. It’s not as if you have to gut and restore the house like some folks had to do after Katrina. You may have to make some interior modifications to bring it into compliance with hotel specifications, but I doubt that you won’t make your projected deadline.”
The Inheritance Page 14