Since they’d exchanged phone numbers, which now seemed so long ago when in reality it was a little more than a month, he’d asked himself the same questions over and over. Why had he felt the need to reconnect with Hannah DuPont? Why her and not some other woman with whom he’d attended school? And why was he thinking about engaging in an intimate relationship with her when he knew it would be different from his present arrangement?
His part-time lover had established the rules for their liaison. After he’d gotten over the fact that she wanted to use him solely for sex, he finally acquiesced. He was familiar with a number of men who used women only for sex, but when the tables were turned, St. John realized how it felt to be used.
He didn’t think of himself as old as much as he was old school when it came to women. He enjoyed them socially, but it wasn’t his style to wine and dine them and then expect them to offer up their bodies as thanks for taking them out. There had been a time in his life when sex was a necessary part of his existence, and although he still enjoyed sleeping with a woman, companionship was now a priority.
Although they’d discussed making love, St. John didn’t feel any urgency to make it a reality. Maybe it was because he was aware of Hannah’s dearth of experience with men that he was holding back, or the knowledge she would compare him to her deceased husband.
He stared at the renderings depicting the front, back, and sides of the house. “Will your guests use the front door to come and go?”
“Yes, but only during the day. After eleven at night they’ll have to use the door near the garage.”
“You’ve named the bedroom suites.” The question was a statement.
Hannah nodded. “I decided to name them after presidents. It’s easier to assign a guest to the Washington or Obama suite than room three or five.”
“What about . . .” St. John’s words were drowned by a loud bang that sounded like an explosion, and then suddenly the house went completely dark.
“Blackout,” he and Hannah said at the same time. The explosion was no doubt a blown transformer.
Hannah gripped St. John’s hand. “I think it’s time I get a generator. Don’t move. I’m going to try and find a flashlight and then light some candles.”
Arms outstretched, she felt her way around the kitchen in an attempt to find the utility closet where canvas storage bins were filled with multi-purpose lighters, flashlights, candles, batteries, twine, and menus from various restaurants around the city.
“Dammit!” she screamed when her bare foot made contact with the leg of one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
“What happened?”
“I stubbed my toe. That’s what I get for walking around without my shoes.” Hannah located the closet and now faced the challenge of finding which bin held the flashlights. Going on tiptoe, she felt around in the one on the top shelf. She was more than familiar with power failures. Whenever there were hurricanes or tropical storms, they would occasionally lose power. They would revert to another era when candles were used for illumination and the heat from the fireplace cooked their food. She found the flashlight and switched it on. A beam of light threw long and short shadows on objects in the immense space.
She focused the beam on St. John. “Come take this one. There’re a few more here.” He managed to make it over to her without bumping into anything. Within minutes she had a second flashlight and several large jars of scented candles.
The silence was shattered by a voice coming from a loudspeaker outside the house: “This is the neighborhood watch. All residents are advised to remain indoors until power is restored for their own safety.”
Hannah found a shopping bag and filled it with candles and fire starters. “It’s after midnight and it looks as if we’re not going to Marigny until the power returns.”
St. John took the shopping bag in his free hand. “And it looks as if I’m going to be your first unofficial guest at the proposed DuPont Inn. You can show me where I can bed down, and because I didn’t bring any luggage, I’m going to need a few toiletries.”
Hannah was grateful for the darkness because St. John couldn’t see her expression of relief. He’d made it easy for her when he didn’t suggest he would share her bedroom.
“Follow me and I’ll get what you need.” Her bare feet were silent as she retreated up the back staircase, stopping at a linen closet at the top. “Please shine your light over here,” she told St. John as she opened the door, removing a bath towel, facecloth, and a disposable razor, travel size shaving foam, a tube of toothpaste, and a cellophane-wrapped toothbrush. She could count on LeAnn and Paige to keep a supply of everyday essentials on hand, and that included food staples. They’d learned as young girls that their mother had little aptitude for managing a household and the house would invariably run out of everyday basic necessities, causing them to overcompensate and purchase multiples of everything.
“I’m going to put you in the room across from mine. I’ll light one candle for the bedroom and the other for the bathroom. I’ll also give you a fire starter.” She placed the towel and facecloth on the table near the pedestal basin. “Just knock on my door if you need anything else.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I think I’m good.”
She smiled. “Sleep tight.”
“And don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he countered.
Hannah turned and walked into her bedroom, not bothering to close the door. She lit her candles and then turned off the flashlight, leaving it on the bedside table. She cleansed her face of makeup and brushed her teeth, and after exchanging her street clothes for a nightgown, she peered through the window, encountering blackness in the moonless night. A sweep of headlights from a slow-moving vehicle was the only indication of life. She detected light from a house several blocks away before it was extinguished. The Garden District had lost power; she wondered if it had reached as far as the Lower French Quarter and Marigny.
She got into bed, extinguished the candle, and lay atop the sheet. The air conditioning had stopped and the cool air was quickly dissipating. She tried not thinking about the man sleeping less than twenty feet away. Whenever she and St. John shared the same space, she felt desired and protected. Hannah had known he was special years ago, yet she hadn’t known just how special he would become at this juncture in her life. She hadn’t come back to New Orleans to pick up where she’d left off but to start over, to begin a new career.
Hannah tossed and turned, willing her mind blank, until she fell asleep at the same time Smokey crept into the bedroom and crawled into his bed.
Chapter 15
Tapping the icon on Hannah’s cell phone, St. John waited for the gates to open before returning it to her purse. He closed the front door and walked off the porch to his car. He’d awoken just before dawn to discover the power had been restored. Dressing quickly, he’d tiptoed into Hannah’s bedroom, finding her asleep as Smokey crawled out of his bed to give him the stink-eye. He left her a note indicating he would see her Sunday afternoon.
Pinpoints of light pierced the quickly fading nighttime sky as he left the property, the gates automatically closing behind him. St. John drove slowly through the streets in the Garden District. Although the power had been restored, several members of the neighborhood watch still patrolled the streets. He’d wanted to wait for Hannah to get up, but he promised the Chamberses he would mow their front lawn and shop for groceries, and later that evening he was committed to joining several of his former classmates to play cards. He wasn’t much of a gambler and only agreed to join the other men to bond with males other than his colleagues.
There were few cars on the road given the early hour, and he made it to Marigny in record time. The Chamberses were on their porch, holding hands while sitting on matching rockers. St. John did not want to think of one passing away, because he knew the other would be lost without their lifelong partner.
He parked and got out of the car, waving to them. “Good morning. I’ll be over as so
on as I change my clothes.”
“Were you caught in that blackout?” Mrs. Chambers asked as St. John mounted the stairs to the porch. Her dark eyes in an equally dark face were bright, alert, belying her advanced age.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We watched it on the television.”
St. John nodded as he opened the front door to his house. It was apparent his neighbor wanted to talk when he wanted and needed a shower. “I’ll be back directly, Mrs. Chambers.”
He’d discovered within weeks of his moving into his aunt’s house that Mrs. Chambers talked enough for herself and her taciturn husband. In the three years since he’d moved to Marigny he couldn’t remember the man uttering more than fifty words, and that was to protest when St. John offered to have his landscaper take care of their yard. The elderly man claimed he didn’t want charity, which prompted St. John to purchase a mower and do their lawn himself. Thankfully, their property was much smaller than his. He made it a habit to cut the grass early in the morning before it got too hot.
There were times when he saw the Chamberses together that he tried to envision things if they had been different between him and Lorna: Would they have spent their golden years together holding hands and reminiscing about the events in their life? Would they have had children? And would they now be grandparents? He’d revealed to Hannah that he didn’t miss what he’d never had, and over time he had come to accept it.
He stripped off his clothes, left them on the bench in the bathroom, and stepped into the shower stall. Icy cold water rained down over his head and body, raising goose bumps, and then he adjusted the water to a lukewarm temperature. If he’d come back to Marigny with Hannah after leaving Jazzes, St. John knew they would have spent the night together, possibly in the same bed, even if they didn’t make love.
Inasmuch as she turned him on physically, he didn’t want to take advantage of her. It was always in the back of his mind that she’d only slept with one man, which he’d found somewhat surprising and welcome at her age, and that meant he had to be respectful of her feelings. When she’d talked about jumping his bones, he’d detected a slight nervousness in the glib quip, indicating she wasn’t as confident as she’d presented herself.
He didn’t know if he’d shocked her when he asked in which bedroom he would spend the night, because he wanted first and foremost to let her know his purpose for seeing her was not just to sleep with her. What he wanted from Hannah was a relationship in which they were equals in and out of the bed.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a tee, shorts, a pair of old running shoes, and with a tattered cap covering his head, St. John weeded the Chamberses’ front lawn before mowing the grass, making certain not to cut it too low or the sun would burn it. His clothes were soaked with moisture by the time he finished.
Mrs. Chambers stood up to admire his handiwork. “It looks like a green carpet. You did a good job, St. John. Now come inside and eat breakfast with me and the mister.”
St. John ran the back of his hand over his forehead. “Thanks for offering, Mrs. Chambers, but I have to change and go to the supermarket. If you need anything, then let me know.”
“I have my list and the money.”
“I don’t need your money.” Most times her list included fruit and dairy; she’d arranged for the local supermarket to deliver less perishable groceries to her house twice a month, and the owner would electronically bill the Chamberses’ grandchildren for payment.
“Don’t fight with her, son,” Mr. Chambers said, “because she will just fight with me.”
St. John gave the older man an incredulous stare. He speaks! “Okay, sir. I don’t want her fighting with you.” Mr. Chambers nodded.
He put the mower away in a corner of the garage and went back into the house to shave and shower. The morning and afternoon sped by as St. John stopped to fill up his car before dropping off shirts, suits, and slacks at the dry cleaner, and drove to the supermarket to buy groceries and produce and the few items Mrs. Chambers had put on her list. He returned home, put up several loads of wash, ate a light lunch, then retreated to his office to continue his ongoing research, stopping to answer the phone when he recognized his mother’s number on the caller ID.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Don’t you dare hello me, St. John Baptiste McNair.”
Damn, he thought. There was that whole name again. “Now why are you using my government name?”
“Because that’s the only way I can get your attention. Do you realize how long it’s been since we’ve talked to each other?”
A slight frown line appeared between his eyes. “What are you talking about? I called you last week and spoke to Dad. He said you were out, and I told him to tell you that I’d called.”
There came a pause. “Well, he must be getting senile, because he didn’t mention a word to me. I’m sorry.”
St. John smiled. “There’s no need to apologize. How are you?”
“I’m well. Keisha’s here and we’re getting along famously. And because it’s been so hot, we’ve had to stay indoors, so I’m teaching her to cook.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She loves it. I must say she’s a natural. I haven’t said anything to her because with teenagers if you tell them go right they’ll defy you and go left, but she really should think of going into the culinary arts as a pastry chef.”
“She’s that good?”
“She’s more than good. That girl made a pound cake that literally and figuratively melted in my mouth. Then she decided to make a sweet potato pie that was so delicious I wanted to cry with joy.”
“Maybe you should say something to her,” St. John urged. “Verbal encouragement may be what she needs to steer her in that direction. Maybe next year Alicia can send her here so she can work with Eustace. He’s doing a lot of catering, and I’m certain he’d be more than willing to take her on as an apprentice.”
“That’s something I’ll mention to Alicia when I talk to her. Not to the change the subject, but how are you enjoying your vacation?”
St. John’s expression brightened. “I’m actually enjoying it more than past vacations.”
There came another pause, then Elsie said, “Are you seeing someone?”
It was St. John’s turn to pause. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because I hear something in your voice I haven’t heard in a very long time.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“You sound content. I repeat. Are you seeing anyone?”
He debated whether to skirt the question or be direct with his mother, because although she lived nearly three thousand miles away, word would probably get back to her that he’d been seen out and about with Hannah. After all, his father was a Toussaint and the Toussaints kept in touch with one another no matter how far away they lived.
“Yes, I am.”
“Who is she?”
“Hannah DuPont. We reconnected at our reunion and we’ve been hanging out together.”
A beat passed. “Is it serious?”
“What do you mean by serious?”
“Don’t be obtuse with me, St. John. I know you two were friends back in high school, but that was a long time ago. What’s going on with you and the judge’s daughter?”
“We’re still friends, Mom. And if you want to know if I’ve slept with her, then the answer is no. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, it does. I’ve always thought she was a nice girl.”
St. John wanted to tell his mother that Hannah was now an incredible woman. That he and Hannah had hit it off the instant they were paired together as lab partners. That if circumstances had been different maybe they would have ended up together rather than with other people.
“She’s still nice.”
“I’m glad, because you deserve to be with someone who can make you happy.”
His mother was the only one to whom he’d revealed the reason he and Lorna had decided to end their marriag
e, swearing her to secrecy. Waves of melancholy washed over him. St. John didn’t want to think of the curve life had thrown him, which he did whenever he thought of how trepidation and cowardice hadn’t permitted him to walk away from a woman so emotionally scarred. He’d sacrificed his own happiness in an attempt to stabilize her mental stability.
“Thanks, Mom. I’m really enjoying her company.”
“You need to do more than enjoy her company, St. John,” Elsie stated emphatically. “If you like her as much as I believe you do, then don’t let her get away.”
“I’m not going to hold on to someone who’s not on the same page as me. Hannah and I have decided to see each other over the summer without making plans beyond that.”
“Is she planning to leave New Orleans like she did before?”
St. John quickly tired of his mother’s interrogation. Did she not realize he was a grown man who could come and go by his leave, and mature enough to deal with the fallout if he or Hannah decided not to continue to see each other?
“I don’t know,” he lied smoothly. Lying had never come easy for him.
“Maybe you can convince her not to leave.”
Leaning back in the chair, St. John massaged his forehead, chiding himself for answering the phone call. His mother was like a dog with a bone once she got something into her head. “Convince her how?”
“Marry her.”
“Good-bye, Mom.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me!”
“Good-bye. I’m hanging up now.”
That said, he depressed the hook, ending the call. Within seconds the phone rang again, but he refused to pick up the receiver when he saw his mother had called back. The ringing ended and a new voice mail notation popped up on the display. He decided to ignore it. St. John didn’t want to remind Elsie that he was in his fifties and he didn’t want or need her meddling in his personal life.
The Inheritance Page 19