Finally, after she's told me again how she's trying to create an interplay between the mixed metals, she turns to look at me with a sigh and a smile. “You've kept me out here talking just to cheer me up, haven't you?”
I shrug, smiling. “I do what I do, 'Lissa. Besides, it is interesting to hear about what you do. I'm at the Quarter gallery so much that I feel like I come back here in the afternoons or evenings and it's like you just grew this stuff by magic.”
Melissa laughs softly, the loudest she ever laughs, and brushes off her hands on her stained coveralls. “Whatever, Carson. Okay, let me shuck my coveralls and then we can go inside.”
I turn around to give her some privacy even though I know she doesn't think about it. We grew up together, and I've been her friend, protector, and benefactor for twenty-three years now. She doesn't get the fact that stripping down to her panties and a thin tank top in front of me is just not normal. Especially since she's my sister.
“You know, 'Lissa, most sisters don't strip down to their skivvies while their brothers are around,” I say, pointedly looking out the window of the barn. “Just sayin'.” We've had this conversation countless times before, and I know what she's going to say before she says it, but I still have to try.
“First of all, we're not blood-related,” Melissa reminds me, and I hear the sound of her jeans being pulled down from her hook on the side wall. “You're adopted, remember? Second, if any man gets to look at me in my undies, he'll have to have your stamp of approval first. Okay, you don't have to be shy now.”
I turn around to see Melissa's pulled on her button-up denim workshirt to go with her jeans. She jams her feet back into the work boots that she wears when she's welding and gives me her best smile. “I know it's hard on you, Carson, but thank you for taking care of me.”
I hold out my hands and give her another hug before walking back to the house together, and Melissa yawns once we're inside. “Carson, do you mind if I take a nap in the living room? I didn't sleep well last night, and after the news, I'm pretty beat down.”
“It's fine, 'Lissa. I've got some computer work I can knock out while you take a nap, and then if you're still tired, I'll get some dinner together for the two of us. Maybe some cornbread with bacon and greens?” Collard greens sautéed in bacon and butter are one of Melissa's favorite comfort foods, and I always keep at least a pound of each of the ingredients on hand in our kitchen. Sometimes these little things help her get back on her feet and closer to the funny, insightful person she can be.
She gives me her quiet little smile again and goes off to the living room while I take out my laptop and start working on the financial spreadsheet I use to track each of the four galleries I have around the United States. Our main gallery is the French Quarter gallery, but I've got satellite galleries in New York, Boston, and Los Angeles. With as hot as Melissa's sculptures have been getting, and talks with some of the other artists I've made contacts with, I'm thinking of expanding to maybe Seattle, or Portland. In any case, I start entering data from the e-mails my site managers sent me this morning in their daily reports, and then work on composing a message to my Los Angeles manager. There's a hot new Latino street artist that he's been in contact with, and I want to know how things are going on that front. If the guy can produce enough work that's of the same quality as the images my manager sent me, I'm thinking we can maybe get a small show open for him next spring.
I'm just about to hit send on the message when I hear Melissa muttering in her sleep. Oh no. Quickly, I send the mail and close my laptop, getting to the couch just in time to be there when Melissa sits up, screaming in fear. “Mama!”
“Shh... it's just another dream,” I reassure her. I should have expected this. Melissa can barely stand to hear Peter DeLaCoeur's name, and almost always has nightmares whenever she does. Actually, she has nightmares at least once or twice a week regardless, but when Peter is mentioned, she gets worse. “Shh, I'm here, 'Lissa.”
“Carson... oh, it was so terrible!” she sobs, crying into my shirt. Years of pain on top of her own father denying she's even alive. I swear, if I get even one chance to wrap my hands around Peter DeLaCoeur's neck... “I was alone!”
“You're never alone, 'Lissa,” I reassure her. “You know I love you, and I'll never leave you alone.”
She sobs harder and I hold her close, comforting her. Finally, the sobs become sniffles, and she's able to sit up on her own again. “I guess you know what it was.”
“Same thing every time,” I say, trying to be light about it. I'm not exaggerating though. Her nightmare is exactly the same every time. In her dream she opens the door and relives the trauma of walking in on her own mother committing suicide by overdose. It happened to Melissa less than two months after her father died unexpectedly of a stroke. That'll fuck with anyone's head. All I can think of is to treat it with as little concern as possible, like something that'll eventually go away on its own. I don't know if it ever will, and even the shrinks Melissa used to talk to couldn't give us any answers. “What's this about you being alone though?”
“Just... before I actually saw the worst of it in the dream, I felt so alone. During the time in the dream when I feel myself getting younger and younger. I worry about us being alone forever, especially you. Carson, we’re not getting any younger, and when was the last time you had a girlfriend?” Melissa asks. “Seriously, when was the last time you even had sex?”
“Ah, 'Lissa, this isn't the time for that conversation,” I reply, knowing the answers to both. My last girlfriend was seven years ago when I was in high school, right before Uncle Trent died. And the last time I had sex was eleven months ago, with a horny little painter who said she was a nymphomaniac, and then proceeded to prove it in my office in the French Quarter gallery. I felt a little dirty after that, mainly because I've never polluted Melissa's art with my desires, which are so powerful that they scare me sometimes. No woman has ever been able to handle me at my most passionate, and I'm worried no one ever will. But Melissa's more important than my sexual desires. “Besides, none of that matters. I take care of you, and any woman who can't agree to that, doesn't deserve me.”
Melissa shakes her head, taking my hand. “I was thinking about it today during the time I was in the barn. You need help, and you need a chance to have a life of your own. Carson, I want you to make the call.”
The call. She's referring to a plan proposed by me during a late night bout of exhaustion with helping Melissa after one of her nightmares. I based it off of information that Uncle Trent had passed on to us after his death. Information about my adoption, Melissa's heritage, and a whole lot more. Most important were three names. Peter DeLaCoeur, Jackson DeLaCoeur, his son, and... Andrea DeLaCoeur, his half-Japanese daughter from an affair. Just like how Melissa is Peter DeLaCoeur's daughter from another affair. Her mother was Janice Sands, the married wife of one of Peter's industrial contacts.
“'Lissa, are you sure?” I ask softly, sitting next to her. “I know we watched the news, and I know that Jackson's disappeared, but are you sure you want to reach out to Andrea? Even after what we learned?”
It cost a lot of money and the best private eye in New Orleans, but we finally found Andrea's phone number. Like Jackson, she seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, so further information on her wasn't readily available. I decided to stop looking into her after I learned the basics of Andrea's past. Knowing that my sister wasn't the only woman in the world who's had to live through hell thanks to Peter DeLaCoeur was painful enough. Call me selfish, but I didn't want to know more about Andrea's particular brand of hell. Besides, seeing her picture was disturbing, and not in a way that I'll ever share with my sister. Those eyes...
Melissa nods, and when she speaks her voice is soft, but determined. “I have to know, Carson. Even if there's a big chance she's going to say she doesn't want anything to do with me, I have to know that maybe there's someone out there who can truly understand what I've been through. You're the best brot
her in the world, and I love you. But even as hard as you've tried, you can't understand. Maybe Andrea can.”
“And then what?” I ask, not hurt, but still upset. “You won't need me anymore?”
Melissa smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “No, Carson. I'll always need you, and I'll always love you. In a lot of ways, this is for you, too. I've always thought you were a great man, and you should have a chance to find someone who makes you happy, who completes you. If I were stronger, maybe you could have that chance. If I can see how Andrea manages to be so strong even after what happened to her mother, then maybe I can learn to be brave, too.”
“'Lissa,” I whisper. I think back to something I told her long ago, when she was twelve and I was just seven, five years after Janice killed herself. “You know if nothing else, I'll be your man.” At the time I'd said the words with all the purity and sincerity of a young boy, not knowing any better. Over the years the words have remained a private joke between the two of us, something I say to make 'Lissa smile.
Melissa chuckles and hugs me. “If things were different, I know you would be. But even if we weren't related, things would never be that way between us. There's no spark that way, and I don't want to ruin the perfect love we have by trying to make it something it's not. No, Carson. We love each other, but you need someone you can be in love with. One word, but a world of difference.”
She's right, she always is. I love Melissa with all my heart, and while I can admit she's pretty in her own way, there's no sexual attraction between us. Even in the barn, while I always turn my back, I've never been tempted to look. So even if we weren't brother and sister, there'd still be nothing there between us. “I still promise you, 'Lissa, I'll always protect and care for you.”
“I know. But I still want to make the call.”
I nod. “Before or after dinner?”
“Let's do it now,” Melissa says, jumping a little as lightning rips the sky. “Before I get scared of the storm and lose my nerve. I'll help you make the cornbread after, that'll help.”
I go and get my phone, setting it on the coffee table. Andrea's cell phone number is already programmed in, so I just need to dial. “You know, this might not work. The info the private eye got us is at least two months old. A lot of people trying to stay hidden would change their number in that amount of time.”
“Still, it's worth a try,” Melissa says hopefully. “For me, Carson?”
I nod, and hit the dial button. “You want speaker?”
Melissa shakes her head, just in time for the phone to be picked up. “Hello?”
“Hello,” I say, amazed at how sultry the voice on the other end of the line is. There's Southern girl talk, and then there's Southern girl talk, and this woman... she's able to talk Southern. “Ah, my name's Carson Sands. Is this Andrea DeLaCoeur?”
“Why, no it isn't,” the woman on the other end answers, and my heart falls, only to be picked up a minute later. “You've reached her place though. May I ask why you're callin', Mr. Sands?”
“Well, this is going to be hard to believe... ah... what's your name?”
“Mercy. My name's Mercy, Mr. Sands. May I call you Carson?”
With a silken voice like this, she could call me anything, and I'd probably say okay. Jesus, it's been too long since I've been with a woman. “Yes, Mercy, that'd be fine. Anyway, Andrea and I... well, this is going to sound strange, but I swear on a stack of Bibles that it's true. Andrea and I are... kinda siblings. She's kind of my sister.”
“I see. Hold on just a moment, Mr. Sands.”
The phone goes on hold, and Melissa gives me a hopeful look. “I think I ran into her friend. She's getting Andrea now, maybe.”
Melissa smiles and gives me a thumbs up, and I reach out, taking her hand in mine. We sit there for nearly a minute, but I'm getting nervous, and I take the phone away from my ear to see if we've been cut off or something. Just then, the phone comes off hold, and another voice takes over. It's suspicious, but still stirs something deep inside me that Mercy's voice didn't. The dark part of me that I don't let anyone else see.
“This is Andrea. Who the hell are you?”
Chapter 3
Andrea
When Katrina holds the phone out to me, I see that it's on hold, and I set it down on the table, giving her an incredulous look. “You're shitting me.”
“No shit,” Katrina says, looking over at Jackson. “You know anything about this?”
“Nope, but I wouldn't be surprised. Peter was a randy bastard,” Jackson replies with a grimace. “Andi, you and I both know he went through girlfriends like Kleenex. He wasn't careful once, so there's no denying he'd probably do it again.”
“True,” I admit. Watching Peter flaunt his girlfriends around the house was nearly as painful to me as it probably was to Margaret. Even if I hated the bitch, I have to feel sorry for her about that. “But... what do you think he means 'kind of' my brother? Or I guess our brother?”
Jackson shrugs. “No clue. I don't even know who Carson Sands is. Nathan, any help?”
Nathan shakes his head slowly. “No, I don't know the name Sands. But I joined the family after you were born, Jackson. This could be from a previous affair.”
“Will you just take the call and we can all find out?” Katrina asks, getting to the point. “This guy's been on hold for a minute now. Hell, put it on speaker if you want.”
Good idea. I set my phone down on the table and hold up a finger to everyone else. “Quiet. I want him to think I'm alone in the room,” I say, hitting the hold button and then the speakerphone button. “This is Andrea. Who the hell are you?”
I don't mean to come off as bitchy, but when some stranger calls up saying they might be your “kind of” brother, I think I can be forgiven for being a little snarky. I give credit to the guy on the other end though, he plays it pretty cool.
“Andrea? My name is Carson Sands. Ah... I know you might be a bit sensitive about this, but you are Andrea DeLaCoeur, right?” I take it back, he's more than cool. He's calm and collected, and there's something in his voice that I like. Still, I'm not ready to give up my inner bitch on just a fleeting feeling from a sexy voice.
“Yes, I am. Now, my friend says you claim to be my 'kinda sorta' brother. I have a brother, and his name is Jackson. You're not Jackson. So you've got about ten seconds to tell me what the hell's going on before I hang up.”
Katrina's looking a bit surprised, and I realize this is the first time she's seen me in full-on bitch mode. Jackson's used to it, since I used to be this way with him nearly all the time when I wasn't being sarcastic instead. Nathan, well, I assume Nathan's seen me the same way. But Katrina met me as an adult only after I started to feel some closeness for Jackson, and we'd started to build a better relationship. I've never been in full bitch mode with Katrina either, even when we were kids and played together sometimes. She's never gotten on my bad side.
Carson, on the other hand, again takes it in stride and answers. Judging by that voice, he's obviously smart and well-educated, although there's a hint of country boy to him that just adds to the sexiness. “I'm not related by blood to you. I was adopted by the Sands family when I was six months old, after both of my parents were killed in a car crash. However, all I know is being a Sands. It's my sister, Melissa, who is your half-sister. And your brother Jackson as well. I'd try to contact him, but since Peter's arrest, he's disappeared.”
“He has his reasons,” I reply, not wanting to give anything away. “If you're looking for a slice of the estate, I don't think there's any left. At least, none that isn't under federal warrant right now.”
“No, not at all, Miss Andrea,” Carson says, and in the way he says it, I can't help but finally thaw a little bit. The mix of culture and country in his voice is interesting, and he's certainly not trying to blatantly bullshit me. I've been around con men all my life. I can detect that very quickly. “My sister and I have our own means. Have you heard of the MCS Galleries?”
&n
bsp; MCS. Of course I have, just about everyone in town knows about MCS. At least, everyone who has an appreciation for fine art and at least twenty-five thousand to drop on that appreciation, which until a year ago I could do. “Yes, Mr. Sands. Let me guess, the S stands for Sands?”
“Yes, Melissa and Carson Sands Galleries. I only say this because I want you to be totally reassured. I want nothing to do with the DeLaCoeur money. I'm calling on behalf of my sister.”
“How so?” I ask, leaning in. A cultured country boy calling on behalf of his sister? This sounds good.
“Melissa and you share something in common, Miss Andrea. I don't want to be too shocking, but in trying to help her find out more about her roots, I hired a private investigator for Melissa. He found your backstory as well, what happened to your mother. Melissa's mother Janice... my mother, really... the same thing happened to her. After rejection by Peter, our mother... I'm sorry, but Melissa's here with me, and I'd rather not say it.”
Whatever or whoever Carson Sands is, I can read it in his voice, he loves this Melissa. I've never heard such commitment and strength in a man's voice before, and a tiny part of me wishes I had a guy that would talk about me that way. “Okay, Carson. I understand. How can I help your sister?”
“Melissa was older than you were when our mother... sorry, when she passed away. Still, Melissa's had some troubles with it, and we're hoping that, well...” Carson says, then pauses, talking inaudibly with someone on the other end who I assume is Melissa. “Melissa's hoping to just talk to you. She's hoping that maybe there could be a way for her to find some closure. With Peter getting out of jail, she's having an especially difficult time, and we both were hoping that you might find some time in your busy schedule to just come out to our place. Melissa's a bit of a shut-in, and there would already be so much stress from meeting someone new, so it'd be great if you could make it out here.”
Secrets & Lies Page 25