Secondhand Sister

by Rhett DeVane

  “Silly me. What was I thinking?”

  Elvina reached over and patted Hattie on the hand. “Mary-Esther will be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Jerry’s on the case, is how I know.” The old woman pointed one finger up.

  “He may find her, Elvina. There’s no assurance she’ll want to come back.”

  “She’ll return.”

  Hattie sighed. “Bobby’s even changed his attitude. If only Mary-Esther will let us have another chance.”

  “Your sister will be back, Hattie.” Elvina’s voice carried the conviction of blind faith.

  “How can you be so certain?”

  Elvina tapped the space over her heart. “I believe in the power of love, that’s how. You best believe in it too.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Boudreau and Mary-Esther heard the movement outside the van. His ears pricked forward, and his eyes grew round and alert. Mary-Esther huddled inside the sleeping bag, straining to listen. Why had she talked herself into spending the night in the van? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  She inched a hand from the warmth and groped for her purse. A fingernail file, the only thing her terrified mind could conceive as a weapon. She never had possessed a gun. The only knife lay at the bottom of the cooler, wedged beneath a stack of cardboard boxes. Even if she could reach it, the blade was only three inches long. Hardly a dagger.

  When the rap sounded on the back window, Mary-Esther jerked so violently Boudreau hissed and dove beneath the blankets. What to do? If she answered, the intruder would know she was female and probably alone. Not good. If she remained silent, the van would likely fall prey to theft.

  No. Who would steal it? Too embarrassing. The tires were good. They’d jack it, jerk them, and set fire to the heap.

  “Mary-Esther?” a voice asked. “Mary-Esther, you in there?”

  She flipped the layers of bedding off so quickly, Boudreau bolted for the passenger side floorboard. “Jerry?”

  “Mary-Esther?”

  She butt-crawled to the back door, flipped the lock, and opened it a crack. Jerry Blount’s features were barely discernable in the dim light of the waning moon. “What are you doing here?”

  Jerry’s breath came out in steamy puffs. “I was in the neighborhood and decided to pop by. Took me a truck, a jet, and a rental car to get in the neighborhood, but here I am.” He chuckled. More puffs.

  She pushed the heavy door open wide. “C’mon inside. Too cold for you to stand around out there.”

  Jerry ducked inside, shut the door, and huddled in front of her. Good thing the lighting was so poor. He couldn’t see the asinine grin plastered across her face.

  “You came looking for me.”

  “I did.”

  “All the way to Louisiana,” she stated.

  “Seemed the most likely place to start.” She heard amusement in his voice.

  Boudreau crept up beside her and meowed. Mary-Esther nestled the cat into her lap and scratched the fur between his ears. “How’d you find the address?”

  “By aimlessly wandering around this city, asking questions of complete strangers. Trouble with that approach, most of the little clubs you talked about are either gone or closed. Then, it dawned on me I should consult the obvious source. I talked to the local police. Ran your name, pulled up your driver’s license—terrible picture, by the way. You look half drunk.” Mary-Esther couldn’t see his face clearly, but she knew from his tone he wore that lopsided grin. And she probably had been feeling no pain when the official picture was taken. Or hung over.

  “I could’ve been here sooner if half the dang signs weren’t down. Most of the streetlights don’t burn, either. And the rental car didn’t come with a spotlight like my squad car. A GPS would’ve been nice. Still, I’m part bloodhound, so I sniffed my way here.”

  “Resourceful.”

  “Didn’t hurt being in law enforcement. We help each other out. I’d do the same if one of these guys showed up in my neck of the woods.”

  “Why’d you come?”

  “Figured I’d offer to help you drive back.”

  Mary-Esther tilted her head. “What makes you think I plan to do that?”

  Jerry leaned over, kissed her softly on the lips, and caressed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t have any false hopes, Mary-Esther. My return airfare has been paid. Maybe I won’t have to use the ticket. Maybe you’ll decide you’d like to have a little company on the drive home.”

  “Home.” Mary-Esther took a deep breath, held and released it. “I don’t have a clue as to where that is anymore, Jerry.”

  “I know about your encounter with those folks from Chipley. Hard for me to fathom the likes of them running you off.”

  “They didn’t. Well, sort of, but not really.”

  “You promised to explain. Heard your message on my cell when I landed.”

  “I got a letter from FEMA. I registered a forwarding address when I finally had one, so I guess they found out how to contact me. I called them. Seems they’re trying to reach as many former residents as possible. Most of the houses in this area have been condemned. I had one last chance to come back and see if there were any personal items worth salvaging before they level this place to the ground.”

  Saying that aloud, to Jerry, made the reality pop.

  Boudreau shifted position and Jerry ran his fingers across the cat’s fur. “You said the Chipley folks were ‘sort of’ the reason? Other than the FEMA letter, is there more?”

  “Rose’s dolls.” Mary-Esther tapped on one of the plastic containers. “She made it clear I had to keep them safe. I promised her, before she died. She even helped me catalog and pack the boxes. Rose was adamant. She knew what Eustis’s cousins were all about. They gave me a couple of days to clear out—generous of them—but I knew as soon as they discovered the dolls missing, that nasty, rat-haired witch would search the apartment and demand I hand them over. I couldn’t allow it. I will probably face some kind of charges if I go back.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “I had a rather heated discussion with Bobby Davis before I left town too. He made his feelings pretty clear.”

  “All of this can be worked out.” Jerry hesitated.

  “That Sue Ellen woman practically salivated over Rose’s stuff. No way she’ll stand by and let me off easy. Her husband is a whipped puppy. She runs that sleazy sideshow.”

  “We can cover all of that later.”

  Mary-Esther tried to read his expression in the insufficient light. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know what I was doing. I made a decision and acted on it before I could talk myself out of it. Still, I almost turned around so many times.”

  “Something pulling you back?” he asked.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  Jerry glanced around. “Kind of cramped in here. Never was much room to start with. But now . . . how can you sleep?”

  “After Katrina, I got used to crawling anywhere out of the weather. Boudreau and I manage.” The cat trilled at the sound of his name.

  “I have a hotel room about a mile from here.” Jerry paused. “Two beds. Why don’t you follow me back and get a decent night’s sleep where there’s heat and a hot bath?”

  Mary-Esther considered. A shower would be heavenly. Her skin itched as if it carried as many layers of mold and filth as Nana’s house. “You wouldn’t mind? I could pay half.”

  “Wouldn’t have offered if I minded. Don’t worry about the money. Not like I rented a suite at the Radisson.”

  “Oh, why not? You lead the way.” Mary-Esther shifted boxes to find her purse. “Better yet, give me the name of the hotel and the road it’s on and I’ll lead.”

  “Okay. I made it here after about half a dozen turns and a couple of backtracks. I usually have a full-on sense of direction, but this city has had me turned around from the time I landed—even with my bloodhound leanings.”

  “New Orleans has a way of confusing outsiders.” She scrunched
her brows. “Wait. What about Boudreau?”

  “Slip him under your jacket and we’ll smuggle him inside. No one has to be the wiser.”

  Mary-Esther searched in her purse and retrieved the van keys. “Never would’ve figured you for a rule-breaker.”

  “Lot of things you don’t know about me.” His voice came out low and sultry.

  Mary-Esther’s face flushed. Was it him, or did this city have that effect on people?

  *

  Cleaning out Nana’s house took longer than Mary-Esther imagined. Though the water and mold had damaged most of the furnishings beyond salvaging, a few spots high in closets and in top bureau drawers had escaped harm. As she picked through the mementos, Mary-Esther shared bits and pieces of her history with Jerry. She admired the way he listened; she needed that quality more than sympathy.

  By the end of the second day, they were dog-tired, covered again in a layer of dirt, and emotionally drawn.

  One task remained. She’d take care of that later.

  They stood in the front yard. Mary-Esther took a lingering look at the house.

  “I can find a store and buy a disposable camera, if you’d like to take a picture of this place,” Jerry offered. “The one on my cell phone isn’t very good.”

  “No. I would much rather remember it as it used to be.” She ran a hand through her matted hair. “It’s like when they have a person’s body at a viewing. That sticks in my mind and I can’t remember what they looked like alive.” She shook her head to dispel the recent images of Eustis and Rose. Waxen. Pasted on smiles.

  “Sure you have everything you want to take?”

  “The stuff that means the most to me.” Four boxes—Nana’s rosary, some trinkets, and a few dishes—all she salvaged from her fragmented past.

  “Glad you came?” Jerry slipped one arm around her.

  His concern caused emotion to rise to the top. Tears burned her eyes. She managed a nod and a shuddery breath.

  “Where to now?” Jerry said.

  Mary-Esther rubbed the crest of one shoulder. Everything ached or itched. “I’m almost too tired to think. What I’d really like to do is shower the filth off me, check on Boudreau, grab a bite to eat, and take you to hear some good jazz.”

  “I’d be up for that.” He motioned for the van keys. “I can drive if you’d like. I finally feel like I can find my way back to the hotel.”

  Later, after they shared gumbo and a muffaletta, they parked the rental car and strolled arm in arm through the French Quarter. Used to be, she’d doll up for a night out. Nothing expensive, just a smidge flashy.

  Her life didn’t include a closet full of bargain-rack clothes. What was she thinking? She didn’t have a closet. Again.

  Small signs of the great city’s resurrection coexisted with marks of the storm’s destruction. They ducked into an intimate blues club, grabbed a corner table, and ordered a couple of beers.

  “Kind of place I like,” Jerry commented. “Not the typical tourist clap-trap.”

  “The best music and food in this town are in these little out-of-the-way joints. Lucky, this one’s still standing. You’re with a local here, and I wouldn’t dare take you somewhere most out-of-towners would frequent.”

  Mary-Esther’s gaze traveled around the murky room: a narrow elevated stage with a single wooden stool, ten round tables with mismatched chairs, a long wooden bar, and one server. She spotted a cluster of people in a far corner and gasped. “I don’t believe it!”

  Jerry followed the line of her vision. “What?”

  “My ex, well, one of them.” She glanced back to Jerry. “Mind if I go say hello?”

  “Of course not.”

  Mary-Esther picked her way across the room and stood in front of her ex-husband’s table. One of the two women who hung on him like Mardi Gras beads noticed her and whispered something into his ear.

  “Mookie!” John R. Sloat jumped up so fast, he jostled the table. One glass overturned. He grabbed Mary-Esther in a suffocating hug, then held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you, girlie! You are a sight for my sore eyes. I worried you might have gotten washed away by the storm!” The brown-haired woman sopped up her spilled drink with a wad of paper napkins.

  Mary-Esther ignored the blonde woman’s scowl. “No. I rambled around, misplaced for some time.”

  “Heard about your mama. So sorry.” John R. ran his hands up and down her arms. Her skin responded with a warm quiver. “Damn, but it’s good to see you again. So many people are gone. No way to know if they’re dead or alive.”

  “I suppose your place got ruined too?”

  “Nothing worth saving.” John R. twisted his lips.

  “Where are you living now?”

  John R. glanced toward the women. “I get by.” The brunette winked. The blonde looked even more sour than the brunette, if that was possible.

  Typical John R. Sloat. Even when the man was married to her, he often laid out with first one woman then another. John R. always managed to land on his feet. A tomcat falling from a balcony into a padded feline bed.

  “You back to stay, dahlin’?”

  God, he was still so sexy. Mary-Esther shook off the spell. “I came to pick over what was left in Nana’s house. They’re going to level it. Don’t really know where I’ll end up.” Her eyes flicked back to the booth where Jerry waited. The heated spots where John R. held her arms cooled. As if he sensed her withdrawal, he released his grasp.

  John R. followed her gaze. “That your man?”

  Mary-Esther smiled. “Yes. He is.”

  “Ain’t he the charmed one? Who knows, Mookie. Maybe you’ll luck out this time. Find someone who’ll stick by you.”

  Remorse? From John R. Sloat? Mary-Esther stared at her playboy ex-husband. “There’s hope for both of us, John R.”

  “My next set’s in a few minutes. I’ll play you a song or two, for old time’s sake.”

  “I did promise Jerry some good jazz before we left the city.”

  “You found it.” He motioned toward the bar. “Tell Carl to put your drinks on my tab.”

  “I should go.” Mary-Esther glanced over her shoulder.

  John R. leaned over, brushed her cheek with a kiss.

  The bottle-blonde woman, clearly the more possessive of the two, grabbed John R.’s hand and pulled him to the table. Mary-Esther walked to where Jerry waited. At one time, she had been the poor female trying to tether the musician in one place, a foolish futility.

  When John R. Sloat picked up the saxophone a few minutes later, the scattered patrons quieted. “This song, I dedicate to a woman who deserves better.” He tipped his head toward the corner booth where Mary-Esther and Jerry watched.

  The saxophone sounded. The familiar melancholia rushed in.

  It wasn’t the man Mary-Esther longed for when she heard the lonesome wail of a sax. It was the spirit of an old city that refused to die.

  *

  Jerry allowed John R.’s music to flow around him. The spell of the Delta captured his imagination more than any costume or bauble.

  He studied Mary-Esther’s profile. How could he compete for the affections of a woman wooed by such a place? He glanced around the room at the rapt expressions of the women who watched the performance. And how could he measure up to a dark-featured man who oozed charisma and played an instrument so well, he could charm the underpants off females? As if she sensed his insecurity, Mary-Esther reached over and curled her hand in his.

  Later, deep in the night, Jerry awakened to a stealthy movement. Mary-Esther slid into bed next to him. Fully alert now, he lay on his side with his eyes closed. She edged closer and nestled into the cocoon of his body. He mumbled and allowed her to wrap his arm around her middle. He waited, forcing his breathing to remain deep and even, ignoring his body’s reaction to her heat and scent. When he heard her breath settle into a peaceful rhythm, Jerry willed himself back to sleep.

  *

  In the morning, when the first light crept throug
h a crack in the cheap hotel curtains, Mary-Esther rolled over and opened her eyes. Jerry’s features appeared almost boyish. A fine line of freckles trailed across the bridge of his nose. The hair above his temples, mostly gray, but still thick. She hadn’t noticed his high cheekbones before. Perhaps, some Native American heritage?

  Jerry opened one eye a crack. “Hard to sleep when you feel like someone’s watching you.”

  “Sorry.”

  He pulled her into the circle of his arms. “Did you get cold last night?”

  “Did it bother you I came into your territory without permission?”

  Jerry grinned. “You’ve had my permission for a while, Mary-E.”

  She stretched up and kissed him. “I’d like to do much more.”

  “You sure?”

  “Never in my life have I been so sure.”

  It was well past mid-morning before either spoke again.

  “Mmmm.” Mary-Esther gathered the sheets around her. “You redneck boys surely know how to love up a woman.”

  “You Cajun women know a thing or two.”

  She rose up on one elbow and regarded him. “Jerry, can we go home today?”

  “Home, as in back to North Florida?”

  Something odd glimmered inside Mary-Esther—hope? “I’ll have to find a place to live. See if Mr. Bill will let me keep working at the Homeplace. And figure out how much trouble I’m in over Rose’s dolls.” Concerns bounced in her head like drunken parade revelers jostling for beads. “But yes. I’d like to go back.”

  “Sure I haven’t pushed you to this?” He traced the outline of her face with a fingertip.

  “I missed Chattahoochee as soon as I turned onto the interstate heading west.”

  “If you’ll follow me to drop off the rental car, I’ll help you drive.”

  “Hoped you’d say that.” Mary-Esther’s mood sagged. “There are a couple of things I have to do before we leave Louisiana.”

  *

  Mary-Esther palmed one of three rocks she had retrieved from the yard before they pulled away for the last time. Soon, a bulldozer would reduce the ruined structure to a pile of rubble. At least the last hands to touch that front door knob were hers.