Exposure Season 1 e-1

by Tonya Muir

  They all look at each other. I can tell they’re trying to decide which story to tell first. Oh, I’m gonna like this. Watch out, Tabloid. I got you where I want you now.

  Well, maybe not where I want you, but this will do.

  * * *

  I have tears in my eyes and I try to catch my breath. "You’re joking?"

  "Pas de tout," Cécile says, pouring another cup of coffee from the carafe she brought over earlier. "I’m serious. Covered." She puts her cup down and gestures over her own body. "Totally covered, head to toe, in flour."

  "Now, this was, of course, after Robie and Gerrard had pelted her with a few raw eggs," Rachel adds as she wipes away her tears. "She looked like a walking cake mix. She had things just dripping off her body. It was almost obscene."

  Now, I don’t know why that struck me as so funny, but I find myself choking on my tea. I try hard to swallow it instead of letting it leave my mouth and nose like it wants to. I’m glad I returned Geoffrey to the safety of his mother’s arms a few minutes before.

  Katherine joins in. "Not quite the food play Harper is used to."

  All the women burst out in laughter again.

  "Well, all I can say is thank God Harper has shared some of her ideas with her brothers," Rachel whispers conspiratorially.

  "Amen," Rene echoes, crossing herself, setting off another round of tittering.

  "Qu’est ce qu’on vous fairait?" Mama asks, clearly as amused as the rest of us.

  "What will you do with us? Adore us, madly, like you already do," Rene replies, leaning over to kiss her mother-in-law’s cheek.

  "And they did this because?" I ask as I hold a napkin to my lips.

  "They did it because she said that they couldn’t." Rene cuddles Clark close to her. "She said she was the grand champion of practical jokes and nothing they could cook up would be smooth enough to catch her. So they nailed her with the eggs…"

  "Got her to chase them down to the gazebo," Elaine continues, shifting Geoffrey and his bottle just a bit. "There they managed to get her to hit a trip wire and dump close to fifty pounds of flour on her head from the trees above."

  "It looked like a snowstorm had hit us in the middle of July," Katherine adds as she begins to clear the table.

  July. It hits me. "You mean to tell me this happened the last time she was home? Not when they were kids?"

  Cécile shrugs. "They just never grow up. Took Jonathan weeks to get the grounds cleaned up. He wasn’t nearly as amused as they were."

  "I can only imagine."

  Just as we are all about to get back to work the back door swings open with a crash.

  "Oh, don’t be such a big baby, baby sister!" I think it’s Robie’s voice.

  "I’m not. I’d just like to get the damn bleeding stopped, if you don’t mind." I hear Harper growl and I’m on my feet before she enters the kitchen.

  "Kelsey?" I turn and catch the damp towel Cécile has tossed to me. Why did she toss it to me? Why am I getting up?

  Harper comes into the kitchen holding her right hand to the top of her head. She looks a little sheepish, as she shrugs at all of us. "I zigged when I should have zagged." She points at Katherine. "Your Joseph is getting as big as his daddy. Damn."

  Katherine swells with maternal pride. "We have a team to supply at Tulane, Harper. You know that. Is he all right?"

  Harper pauses, hand on her hip, and glares at her sister. "He’s fine. I’m the one bleeding."

  A mock baby’s cry is heard from the doorway.

  "You go along, Robie," Rene calls. "She’ll come back out and play in a minute."

  Before I even realize what I’m doing, I take Harper by the arm and sit her down at the table. "Lemme see."

  "Kels."

  "No argument. Now, come on."

  "It’s just a scratch. I only need a Band-Aid," she protests as she swats at my hands.

  "Don’t make me hurt you, Tabloid." I hear Robie snort from the doorway. Harper shoots him a dirty look as Mama shoves him out the door. But Harper drops her hand, allowing me to press the cloth to the cut on her head. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, yeah. I’m fine."

  After I clean the cut above her right eyebrow, I find that first aid supplies have been placed at my fingertips. Without thinking, I place a small bandage over it. I give my head a little shake to stop myself from my next course of action, which would have been to give her boo boo a kiss.

  "There you go, Tabloid. All better?"

  "Much." She fingers the bandage for a second. "Thanks."

  "No problem." I gather up the wrapper and the other discarded items and move across the kitchen to throw them away. "You can go play again," I tease. "But be more careful this time."

  Harper just shakes her head and tries to hightail it out of here.

  "Tu as pris aux bons soin de cela," Cécile whispers to me. You took good care of that. She has her back to the rest of the family, who are now teasing Harper, each of the sisters carefully inspecting her for further injury. "Tu as du douce âme." You have a gentle soul.

  Here I thought I had kept my little secret, secret. I’m beginning to wonder if anything is secret from Cécile Kingsley. I smile at her, tossing away the wrappers. "Merci."

  "Dit donc, tu as le nez fin, aussi." She quirks her brow at me. And you are a sneaky one to boot.

  "Evidament, que ce n’est pas assez." Apparently not enough. I give her a pat on the hand as I turn and lean against the counter.

  * * *

  Papa and I come in for the turkeys. He goes over and places a gentle kiss on Mama’s left temple. "The natives are getting restless, darlin’."

  "Of course they are. Ça fini pas," she murmurs in agreement. "They’re ours." She spots a small scrape on the back of his knuckles. "Jonathan?"

  He shrugs, glancing at me. "We had to make the extra point, dear."

  "Mama," I say, trying to save my father. "I can’t wait to have some of your fried turkey. I’ve been dreaming of it long and hard."

  Mama recognizes my ploy, but allows it. She walks over to the large professional size refrigerator and opens the door, revealing two large birds waiting for us.

  "Fried turkey?" Kelsey asks, the tone of her voice conveying her extreme skepticism.

  "It’s amazing," Rene assures her. "Nothing better in record time. Don’t worry."

  "You want to see how it’s done, Kels?" I ask, innocently enough. I can use this to drag Kels out of this dangerous place.

  "Sure," she agrees amiably.

  Papa and I each grab a tray laden with a twenty pound turkey and make our way outside. Kels opens the screen door for us and helps run interference as the older grandkids run over to see the birds.

  We approach the garage driveway where a makeshift fence has been erected around a cooking area. Gerrard and Lucien are standing inside it, while Jean and Robie are entertaining the littlest kids, keeping them well away.

  Fried turkey is a wonderful thing, a staple in our home for Thanksgiving, and in many other Cajun households. It sounds like KFC, but it ain’t. Not by a long shot. There’s no breading on the bird, so it doesn’t come out that way. We just cook the turkey in a pot of oil and take it out when it’s done. Cooks faster and seals in the moisture. Plus, Mama puts an amazing injection of Cajun spices into the turkey, so those are sealed in as well.

  "So, you can see," I begin explaining to Kels, "we’ve heated up the oil using the propane tanks. We need to dip them quickly a few times in the oil to vaporize any excess water off their skin, to prevent any spitting of oil once they’re fully immersed."

  Even as I speak, Gerrard and Lucien take the birds and do as I describe. They sizzle, and a small cloud of vapor rises up over the pots. Then the boys set them down fully in the oil.

  "That’s it?" Kels asks, as my brothers go over to deck chairs and set themselves down to watch the birds cook.

  "Yup."

  "How long will they take?"

  "Around an hour."

  "That’s fast."r />
  "Yup. And wait until you taste it. Darlin’ …" I growl, like my stomach always does thinking about this delicacy.

  Kels laughs and blushes.

  Oh damn.

  * * *

  It’s less than two hours later when we sit down for dinner. The formal dining room table doesn’t have enough room for the family anymore, which now numbers twenty-three, including Kels. We’ve brought another table into the room and set it at a T to the main one. Mama never believed in kids’ table. Family sits with family, no distinction for age.

  So, here we sit and gaze at the abundance of food spread out before us.

  "My God, Mama, you’ve outdone yourself!" Robie exclaims.

  "Qui t’a dit," she chastises.

  "Yeah, watch your language, Robie." I snicker and am surprised when both Rene and Kels slap my arm, one on each side.

  Papa clears his throat. "Speaking of the Lord," he intones. He holds out his hands and soon all of us have linked hands around the table.

  Kels has the softest hands.

  Stop it.

  "Lord, we thank you for this day to reflect. We thank you for this family that makes us strong. We thank you for the new members of the family, and how you bless us with new ones. We thank you for this food and all the hands that prepared it. And help us to have the strength to do the right. Teach us to pray, as you taught your disciples, saying …"

  We finish up with the Lord’s prayer and we all cross ourselves, including Kelsey. I haven’t the heart to tell her she did it backwards. Lord knows, I’ve done it that way more than a few times myself, and I was raised Catholic. Of course, I was normally hung over those times, but I’ll credit hers to nerves and lack of practice.

  I miss holding her hand.

  Argh!

  * * *

  I watch her as I lean against the doorframe.

  She is sitting on the living room floor with her long legs stretched out in front of her, surrounded by the youngest grandchildren. I now recognize them as Christian (Robie and Rene’s oldest son), Thomas and Caitlin (Jean and Elaine’s two year old twins), T-Jean and Anthony (kindergartners belonging to Gerrard and Katherine and Jean and Elaine respectively). And, of course, Clark is cuddled in her arms.

  I smile, watching her tickle them and run her fingers through their hair paying attention to each one, redistributing toys as necessary. They all seem to run to her the second she sits down and she loves every minute of it.

  I look around the living room and it’s no wonder. Her brothers and their wives, her mother and father, are all here together for the holidays and happy. Suddenly I feel a huge lump in my throat and I need to get away for a minute.

  Making my way to the verandah, I take a seat on the porch swing. I curl my legs under me and I stare at the sweat running down the side of my iced tea glass.

  I trail my finger over the glass’ surface. I can see the path I clear and then the path closes and you can never tell I was there. Kinda like my childhood. I snort at the thought and bring the glass to my lips.

  "Hey, Little Roo?"

  I turn my head to find her standing on the porch with me. I hadn’t even heard her approach.

  "You okay?"

  I nod without answering, then smile as Danielle (Gerrard and Katherine’s eight-year-old) bounces over to Harper. She hunches down to eye level and gives the little girl a hug and a kiss. "Tante Harper needs to talk to her friend for a sec. Can I catch up to you in a bit?"

  "Sure."

  "Cool. I’ll be in soon."

  And with that the child runs back into the house calling to her grandmother, "Tante Harper is on the porch with her new girlfriend".

  Harper rolls her eyes and turns to me with a smile and a shrug. "I’m sorry about that. She’s been trained that partner equals girlfriend. She’s a bit confused."

  "It’s okay." I reassure her. I can’t help it when I see her like this. She is happy and relaxed here. "Is it always like this around here during the holidays?"

  "This?" She lifts her brows as she juts her thumb over her shoulders. "Ah, this is nothing. You should be glad the rest of the extended family didn’t come over. Then it’s a real zoo."

  I really want to cry. I fight back the tears and shake my head. "Amazing, just amazing." I know my voice is breaking, but can’t help it.

  "Hey!" Before I know it she is kneeling in front of me, taking one of my hands in her own and rubbing it. "What’s wrong, Kels? Please tell me."

  I shake my head and note that my hands are trembling for some reason. "It’s silly."

  She takes the glass from my hand and places it on the ground. "You’re on the verge of tears. Whatever it is, it’s not silly."

  I look down at her and I see real concern reflected back at me in her impossibly blue eyes. I can feel the tears pooling again and I know I can’t let them fall. I catch them on the tips of my fingers before they have the chance. Running my hand over the surface of my slacks, they are gone.

  Harper’s voice is soft and caring. "Please?" She settles herself cross-legged on the floor in front of me. She runs her thumb over the back of my hand. I can tell she’s not going to let this issue go. Why should she? I’m probably ruining her holiday with her family.

  "You know, maybe I should just fly back to LA tonight," I offer softly.

  "Oh no, you can’t do that. My Mama would never forgive us."

  "Us?"

  "Yup, because if you go, I go."

  I laugh a little as a tear finally slides down my cheek. "You’re nuts."

  "Some reporter you are if you’re just figuring that out." She reaches up and wipes the tear away, palming my cheek as she does. "Please tell me," she gently urges again.

  I take a deep breath and look at her. "You’re gonna hate it."

  "I know. But I need to hear it and you need to say it."

  "I’m just so overwhelmed by all this." I gesture to the house. "I mean if there is a total opposite for the way I was raised, this is it."

  Her hand drops away from my cheek to rest on my leg. I miss it on my cheek.

  "I come from a very affluent family as well. However, my Mother and Father are … well, just that, my Mother and Father, not mama and papa or even mom and dad. Mother and Father, always. I’m an only child. Thank God. I would have hated for another child to have lived like that. The fact that I was also a girl was bad for my Father’s ego, you know. His only child wasn’t a proper heir."

  "Because you were born a girl." It’s a statement not a question.

  "I spent my very early years with nurses and nannies. They were good to me but Mother always found something wrong with them. They never lasted long. Personally, I think that the second she saw I was getting attached to one, she’d fire her."

  I can really tell I’m gonna lose it. Part of me wants to stop as I blink back the tears. A gentle squeeze to my leg, however, gives me the courage to say things I’ve never said to anyone. Not even Erik.

  "Then, when I got old enough, I was given a tour of the best boarding schools in the world. Again always being transferred when I began making friends and getting attached to teachers or some other adult. If I spoke of anyone too often, I’d soon be leaving one school for another. My Mother said it was so I would have a well rounded education."

  Harper hands me my iced tea and I take a sip to wet my now very dry mouth.

  "I was always brought home for the major holidays. This was so I could be shown off to all their friends and business associates. Then, while they had a wonderful time at their dinner parties, I was taken to my room where I would have dinner, watching TV or maybe reading a book. Always by myself. That’s how I’ve always spent Thanksgiving. Movies and popcorn aren’t new to me."

  "Oh God, Kels." She gets up and joins me on the swing, her arms sliding around me, pulling me tight against her chest.

  The tears come again. I begin sniffing to try to get myself under control. I feel safer with her arms around me. It’s easier to talk. "Christmas time was always my favo
rite though," I offer with a slight smile.

  "Christmas was better?" her voice is low in my ear.

  I give a little nod. I let the tears fall unabated against her shirt as I remember the one person who made Christmas special for me. "On Christmas Eve, when they were at their dinner party, I would sneak down to the kitchen. Martha, our cook, always baked Christmas cookies just for me. They’d be in the shape of toy soldiers and ballerinas.

  "We would eat them together and drink great big glasses of fresh milk. I wasn’t allowed whole milk as a child. Mother said it would make me fat, but, on Christmas, I always got hot cookies and cold milk. Martha and I would talk until the party started to break up. Then she would take me back upstairs and tuck me in with a kiss. She always left me with a little present for Christmas morning, too. It was always the first one I opened, and the only one I ever kept. I never told my parents because I knew if I did, they’d get rid her. I didn’t want to lose the only person who seemed to care about me."

  When I look up at Harper, there are tears streaking down her cheeks.

  "Oh God, Harper, I’m sorry." I wipe them away. "I am so sorry. I’m ruining your holiday with this."

  "No," she says forcefully. "No, you’re not. You are actually reminding me of how much I do have to be thankful for."

  "Imagine that. Me, helping you, during the holidays."

  "And, Kels," she whispers, staring at me intensely.

  "What?" I breathe, taking in the scent of her, my emotions all in a whirl.

  "You now have someone else who cares for you. Both on the holidays and off."

  And then she kisses me. I’m surprised, but oh so very happy with this turn of events. God, it feels so right. Her lips are soft and moving against mine. It’s not demanding, but it’s certainly not just a friendly kiss.

  I feel my arms move around her shoulders of their own volition. And when one of her hands cups my neck and pulls me even closer, I almost forget what we’ve been talking about for the last few minutes.

  We break for air, but don’t move very far from one another. I can still taste her on my lips, mingled with the salt of my tears, and I want more of her.