by K. A. Ware
“I didn’t run! I went to—”
“Then you woke up, and the same feelings came back, and you didn’t know how to handle them.” Zep’s calm and controlled demeanor vanished as I watched Saturday morning replay on his face. He blew out a hard breath, and his jaw ticked before he pressed harder against me. “How long did it take you to get dressed and peel out of the driveway once you realized it was me next to you, huh? Fifteen seconds? Maybe thirty? Do you know how much that fucking sucked to wake up and have you gone again?”
“Zep…”
“I know that bastard hurt you, and I’m sorry you went through what you did, Addie, but it’s no reason to put me through this kind of bullshit twice. In thirteen fucking years, you’ve never left my mind. Have you ever wondered why everyone from our class is either married with kids or divorced except for me?”
Unable to speak, I simply shook my head.
“It wasn’t from lack of trying, trust me. No one measured up. We’d get to the part where she’d give me the marriage or hit the road ultimatum. Something inside me could never make that commitment. I was a dumbass, you know. I knew you were married…had been for years, but shit, Addie, you can’t settle for what’s acceptable when you had perfect.”
What? What the hell was this? Zephirin LeBlanc never married because of me? All this time, he waited for me?
Drowning in information overload, I gripped the counter behind me, and glanced up. “I’m not perfect, Zep.”
“No, you’re not,” he admitted, releasing his hold on me. “You’re really mixed up, Addie.” A hint of sadness crossed his face as he rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I’m not Jim, or Joe, or your dirty little secret.” Backing away, he cursed low under his breath and reached for the doorknob.
“Where are you going?” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded desperate.
He paused at the door, one hand on the knob. “Back to work.”
Strange panic filled me, and the words spilled out before I could stop them. “Maybe we could talk about this at lunch?”
A resigned smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “No thanks. I have a date.” Opening the door to the office, he slammed it behind him.
CHAPTER TWO
A Picture Tells a Thousand Words
Savannah
New Orleans, Louisiana
Morning, Beautiful.
I’d tried and failed to curb the sickly sweet, head over heels, hearts in my eyes, hopelessly devoted smile that seemed permanently plastered across my face as I stared at the text Pope had sent me that morning.
At least sixty times, I’d picked up my phone and stared at the little text bubble. Also, in the four hours since the chime that I’d painstakingly selected for him sounded, it had nearly cost the life of my beloved pig.
Since my perpetually neurotic sister insisted on dragging me to work with her at the butt crack of dawn, I’d been trying to find something appropriate to wear to work without opening my eyes. Grabbing the first shirt I’d found, I had one arm through the neck hole and the other through the sleeve when I’d cursed and jerked it off, throwing it blindly onto the laundry pile on my floor. Pope’s distinct text tone sounded over Kevin Junior Bacon Cheeseburger’s snoring, and I spun in the direction of the noise. However, even though I was still half-asleep, I couldn’t see anything through the fabric stretched to near suffocation over my face.
Doing my best impression of a catfighting their way out of a paper bag, I tried desperately to disentangle myself from the tentacles of polyester holding me captive. I took a few stumbling steps, but before I could clear the three feet to my bed and the milk crate I used for a nightstand, my foot collided with something solid. White, hot pain radiated from my baby toe all the way up my leg and wrenched an unladylike cry from my throat followed by a string of nonsensical curses that would make Babs proud.
Swearing and battling with the python grip of my blouse, I blindly hopped around on one foot. Due to my lack of housekeeping skills, I landed on a rogue item of clothing, causing my foot to slip on the hardwood floor. My body pitched forward, and my entire life of poor decisions flashed before my eyes as I fell helplessly into the darkness to what was certainly my death. Instead of careening into the abyss, I landed awkwardly on my bed, my elbow sinking into a blanket covered lump.
As soon as I landed, a squeal of epic proportions pierced the air. I quickly rolled over as I realized I’d inadvertently body slammed Kevin. Because my shirt still blindfolded me, I failed to see the bed had ended, and I crashed to the floor, gracefully catching myself with my face.
Once I caught my breath and managed to wrestle off the article of clothing, I tentatively sat up. As soon as my head cleared the bed, the smell and taste of rotten ass smacked me in the face like a bitch with a bad attitude. I peeked over the mess of blankets to see that, yes, I had indeed scared the literal shit out of my pet pig.
The slam of the office door pulled me out of my reminiscence just in time to see Zep clomp his way into view. Addie was away, meeting with a new distributor, and I wasn’t sure he’d even noticed me sunk low in my desk chair. I’d had about enough of his brooding ass. He and Addie had been banging around each other all week, and not in the fun way.
Addie had failed miserably at convincing me that she’d had a wild one night stand with some random she’d met at the bar. Yeah, right. Even if I hadn’t noticed Zep’s truck barreling out of the neighborhood that fateful morning, I would’ve known the minute I saw them in the same room together that they’d bumped uglies. The satisfaction and regret painted all over their faces said it all. Addie’s twitchy panic gave her the ‘Uh oh, I accidentally tripped and fell on the dick of the man I’ve been in love with for the better part of two decades’ look.
I was done walking on eggshells. Kicking my booted feet off the desk, I rolled over to the filing cabinet where Zep was angrily sifting through files.
"What the fuck, dude?"
Startled, he spun around to face me. "Shit, Sav, I didn't know anyone was here."
Yeah, genius. Why would anyone be in the office at noon on a Thursday?
I crossed my arms and arched a brow. "You want to explain why you've been acting like a fucking cave man all week?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Zep grunted and turned back to the cabinet.
I scoffed at his lame attempt to end the conversation.
No dice, bro.
"That was a rhetorical question."
He looked over his shoulder at me, and his brows slammed together in confusion. "Do you even know what rhetorical means?"
I waved off his insult. I was making a point, and he wasn't going to distract me. "You fucked my sister."
Zep’s body froze, and he slowly turned all the way around until we faced off. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or incredulity shining in his eyes. "She told you?"
Easy as taking candy from a baby.
"No but you just did and let me guess, she didn't fall at your feet and worship you, did she? So now you're being a little Mitch because you got your feelers hurt. Am I right?"
A flush crept up his cheeks from his beard, and I had to stifle a laugh. Zephrin LaBlanc was actually blushing. If I didn't already have an agenda, I'd have stopped to rag on him endlessly for that one.
Seeming to pull himself together, he straightened his shoulders and pinned me with a look. “What the hell is a Mitch?"
“A man bitch,” I stated succinctly.
Zep rolled his eyes. "Classy, Sav. My feelers are intact, thank you for your concern. I'm just pissed that she can't figure out what she fucking wants.
“Ugh,” I groaned and slouched down in my desk chair. “Yes, because you've been so open and honest with your feelings. Seriously, you two are fucking killing me!”
"I’m not having this conversation with you."
"Fine, just listen then. My sister is scared. Her heart was pulverized over the last ten years so be gentle with her. Do all of us a favor and lay it all out. Tell her how you reall
y feel, none of this tip-toeing shit. It’ll save us from having to buy new office furniture," I said, staring at the brand-new filing cabinet he'd been beating to shit since they’d done the deed.
"Don't you have your own relationship to worry about?"
"Pope and I are great, thanks for asking. But we're not talking about me. We’re talking about you and my sister and your epically fucked up relationship.”
Zep pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “I know you mean well, Savannah, but do me a favor and stay the hell out of it.”
“She’s my sister.”
“And we’re both fucking adults. I’m serious, Sav. Mind your own business.” Slamming the drawer, he stalked out of the office.
“What do you think, Kevin? Should we stay out of it?”
Kevin gave an almost inaudible snort from his nest of blankets under my desk.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. It’s for their own good, really.”
***
“Y’ello?”
I breathed a sigh of relief hearing Babs’ crackly voice coming through the line. “I need your help.”
The desperation in my voice must’ve been evident because, after a brief pause, Babs asked, “You need help hide body? I call Bam-Bam. He strong.”
“What? God, no.”
“Bam-Bam keep good secrets. Cold water with soap for blood,” she continued.
I knew my grandmother was as ride or die as you get, but it was a little unsettling knowing she may have had experience covering up a murder.
“Gators eat everything,” she added.
“Babs, I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Then why you call?”
“Because I’m trying to make gumbo, and I think I fucked it up.”
Babs’ smokers laugh echoed in my ears. “So, you trying to kill someone?”
“My cooking isn’t that bad.” Kevin responded with a loud snort and a nudge to the back of my leg. “Oh, shut the fuck up, you asshole.”
“Say again?”
Shit.
“Not you, the pig. For real, Babs, I need your help.”
“Why you try to cook? Addie not there?”
“I’m trying to surprise Pope,” I admitted, feeling yet another failure coming on. Pushing away from the counter, I buried my hands in my hair. After a week of text messages and opposite work schedules, I’d been dying to get some alone time with Pope. I’d thought that moving to New Orleans would mean I’d get to see my boyfriend any time I wanted. What I hadn’t factored in was the fact that he was a beat cop in one of the most popular tourist destinations in the country. Since he just got the transfer to NOLA-PD, he was stuck working the most undesirable shifts.
“You want to surprise him use sex, not poison.”
“Well, you’ve been a wealth of help, thanks so much.”
Babs sighed, “All right, you make old lady guilty. I help. I get more vodka first.”
I looked at the explosion of crap littering the kitchen island as I listened to the sounds of Babs hunting the house for one of her hidden bottles of vodka. Unlike every other female in my family, my culinary skills were less than stellar. My history in the kitchen was limited to canned soups and frozen pizza.
My relationship with Pope was in a delicate place. Officially, we'd only been an item for a few months, but our relationship felt more real than anything I'd ever experienced. The only problem seemed to be time. There wasn't enough of it, and while I was eager to move our relationship forward, Pope seemed to be at ease with taking it day by day. Normally, his behavior wouldn't bother me, but I couldn't help the feeling that he held back. When we were together, we'd spend hours lying awake at night talking about everything under the stars while simultaneously not talking about anything of real consequence.
I craved more. I was starved for any morsel of information he'd let slip, but after almost three months, I still only knew the basics about his family and his life before I came barreling into it. Even though I knew he'd grown up in New Orleans, and his family still lived in the city, somewhere he'd artfully avoided going into detail about them every time I'd tried to bring it up.
The overly neurotic part of my brain that I’d inherited from the Dubois gene pool had lain dormant most of my life. However, with Pope’s secrecy, it reared its ugly head and whispered evil things into my subconscious. What if Pope didn't take me seriously? What if somehow, due to the way we met, my over the top personality, and crazy ass family, he thought we were just having a fling? What if he was embarrassed by me? A litany of 'what if's' bombarded my thoughts and only grew louder the longer we were apart.
While I realized it was unhealthy, I found myself wanting to prove to Pope that I was in his league. He needed to know I'd shed my wanderlust ways and wanted something real.
"Ah, okay I ready," Babs said finally. I heard the creak of her old rocking chair over the line as she settled into her spot on the front porch.
Always the front porch.
It seemed fitting. The front porch of my grandparent’s house was the pinnacle of every major event in the lives of the Dubois women, after all.
"Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to cook gator sausage?"
Babs laughed so hard she started hacking up a lung. She didn't stop laughing the entire time she walked me through cooking a Louisiana staple that, in her words, 'should be natural like wrestling a gator.'
An hour, three band aids, one burn, and a few tears later, I had a giant pot of something that resembled vomit bubbling on the stove. At least it didn't smell like vomit. In fact, Babs had done me right because it actually smelled good. I checked the clock and noted that Pope would be home in less than a half an hour. With the cornbread in the oven, and the gumbo simmering away, I set to work cleaning up the disaster I’d made of his kitchen.
My housekeeping skills were about as honed as my cooking. Mama’s ‘clean as you go’ advice echoed in my ears as I hastily wiped down the counters.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
There were so many steps to the recipe Babs had given me,; I didn’t remember half of what I’d done to get it all in the same damn pot, let alone managed to clean anything in between. Lost in my head and not paying attention, I swiped a huge pile of vegetable scraps onto the floor instead of into my hand.
“Motherfucker! Kevin!” I called out, looking for my living garbage disposal.
Nothing.
“Kevin, food!” I hollered, louder this time.
More nothing.
What the fuck?
Abandoning my station in the wreckage of my culinary expertise, I searched the house, hoping Kevin hadn’t decided to take a shit in a pair of Pope’s shoes. I followed the sounds of his snorts down the hallway and into the bedroom. Dropping to my knees, I peeked under the bed.
Nada.
“Kevin! Where are you?” I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him, which was by far more terrifying. After coming up empty in the bathroom, I found him nestled in a pile of dirty clothes in the closet, gnawing on something I couldn’t immediately identify.
“What the fuck, Kev?”
It took me a minute, but I eventually wrestled a picture out of his mouth.
"I swear, one of these days you're going to eat the wrong thing and fucking explode like a damn pork bomb."
I wiped the slobber from the picture and tried to smooth out the wrinkles but stopped short when I saw the image. It was Pope, dressed in a tux, standing in a garden with a beautiful girl in a white dress. I froze.
As I examined the photo closer, it was obvious it was old. Pope's face was fuller, his features less chiseled, but he had the same build and looked to be around twenty years old. It was a professional photo, like the kind of picture you'd have taken at a wedding.
A really expensive wedding, not like the backyard cookout receptions we had where I came from.
He had a whole life before you that he won't tell you about.
My stomach soured at the thought, and the 'what if's'
came flooding back full force.
What if I'd given my heart to a man who wasn't who I thought he was?
***
No amount of logic or reason could stop my mind from not just jumping, but catapulting to conclusions. Like some bizarre case of Bodysnatchers, my hippie bohemian personality had been hijacked and replaced with that of a reality star who was constantly trying to catch her boyfriend in a lie. Instead of thinking of fun date ideas I daydreamed about whether Pope told me the names of his childhood pet and first-grade teacher so I could break into his email account.
“Oh, hey, Pope! So, I wanted to surprise you with dinner, and I brought Kevin with me because you know he goes with me everywhere…" No, that's stupid. "Hey, Pope, how was your day? Mine was good. I wanted to surprise you with dinner, but I noticed that Kevin had wondered off, so I went to find him, and he had this. I was just curious what it was…" Ugh, too crazy. I took a deep breath, shook my hands, and continued pacing. I felt like an MMA fighter preparing to enter the Octagon.
“You can do this Savvy. Just don't act like a lunatic. Suppress all of that inner Dubois crazy and just pack it on down. You're capable of acting like a decent, rational human being. You found a picture, just a piece of paper with an image printed on it, not a body. You have no idea where or when it’s from; there's no reason to jump to conclusions. Casually bring it up, slip it into the conversation. Maybe I should wait till after dinner? But what if he thinks that I sat on it and then waited for an opportunity to catch him in an ‘I gotcha’ moment? Shit, what am I going to do?” I groaned in frustration and buried my hands in my wild hair. “Maybe I should just ignore it and see if he'll just tell me in time. No, I can't do that, it’ll drive me nuts, don’t you think, Kevin? Annnnd now I'm talking to a fucking pig. Oh my God!” I covered my face with my hands, the stress and anxiety becoming too much. “I'm really losing my shit.”
“Why are you losing your shit?” Pope’s deep baritone came from behind me. I spun around, my heart racing like a crack head on speed.