Vendors and designers are always giving her free swag. Occasionally, she snags something for me.
“I knew that blue would be amazing on you,” she says. “It matches your eyes.”
Spying Cash over my shoulder, she twirls one of her tight ringlets around her finger and it makes the rows of gold bangles jangle on her thin arm. Her hair and her height make her look like a total badass. Which is laughable because Eva is the sweetest woman you’ll ever meet.
She’s funny too. The kind of funny that never resorts to sarcasm.
“Eva.” I gesture toward Cash, my past meeting…well…my less distant past. Eva and I Skyped for two hours earlier this week. I used the first hour to tell her all about Luc and Cash’s homecoming, and then to complain to her about Cash’s weird refusal to talk about the past. For the remaining hour, I bent her ear worrying about what George Sullivan will do once he hears they’re back. “Let me introduce you to Cash Armstrong. Cash, this is the amazingly talented Evangeline Bell, my oldest and dearest friend.”
“Miss Bell.” Cash takes her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you. In high school, Maggie sang your praises day and night.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you too.” Eva firms her chin, and darned if her eyes don’t flash with temperament. “Not all of it was good.”
Cash winces. Then he gifts her with a wink and that patented grin that’s been melting hearts since the day he was born. “Would you believe me if I blamed my bad behavior on youth?”
She sniffs disdainfully, but I can tell Cash’s charm is already chipping away at her walls. “We’ll have to wait and see about that, won’t we?”
I turn to find Luc standing with my aunts near the foot of the grand staircase. “Luc? Did you meet Eva?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” he says.
“I came in the back door right when you came in the front,” Eva explains. “Miss Bea. Miss June.” She nods to my aunts, who have taken hold of Luc’s arms so he can escort them in our direction. “It sure is good to see y’all again. Thank you for inviting me today.”
“Don’t thank me, honey,” Auntie June says. “Bea got wind you were coming back to town early because your Uber driver, Devon, told his second cousin, Jimmy Don Collins, who does some handiwork for us, that he had the pleasure to drive you home from the airport this morning.”
Have I mentioned that New Orleans operates more like a small town than a big city?
“Anyway,” Auntie June continues, “Bea jumped at the idea of having you here to surprise Maggie, but more so everyone else. You know every single one of the ladies coming today, young and old, dreams of being a model. And I’m warning you right now, most of them can talk a raccoon right out of a tree. They’ll pepper you with questions until you’re too pooped to pop.”
Aunt Bea holds teas once a month. Sometimes they’re simple get-togethers of the ladies in her bridge club. Other times she invites local politicians and business owners to discuss the state of the city. And occasionally, she calls a meeting with the board members and volunteers from one of her charities.
Today is one of the latter. The Daughters of City Health Foundation provides funding for free medical clinics across Orleans Parish. It’s principally run by the wives and the daughters of the Crescent City’s founding families. That it’s also funded by the generous donations of those same families, folks who are always on the lookout for the next great tax exemption, deduction, or loophole, is something no one discusses.
“I won’t let you down, Miss Bea,” Eva promises.
“Of course you won’t.” Aunt Bea air-kisses her cheek. “You could never disappoint. And don’t listen to June. Unlike her, the ladies coming today are the height of propriety.”
Auntie June snorts.
“Eva, this is Lucien Dubois.” I touch Luc’s shoulder. “Luc, this is Eva. You remember me telling you about her?”
“Of course. I feel like I know you already, Eva.” Luc takes her hand and I see her swallow convulsively. Then her eyes go dreamy, and I recognize the look on her face. It’s the same one the leggy blonde from the bar wore right before Luc ushered her into the night.
It seems Luc has developed a power over the fairer sex. I have to admit, I’m bemused because, come on…he’s Luc.
“Maggie lived for that week each summer when she flew to Houston for a visit,” he tells Eva. “She would pack her suitcases a month in advance.”
“I lived for that week too,” Eva admits.
Is her voice husky?
Glancing between them, I try to imagine what it might be like if two of my best friends actually hooked up. Before I can get too far down that winding, pothole-filled road, the front door bursts open.
“I picked up that bouquet of dahlias you wanted to use for the centerpiece on the buffet table, Aunt Bea!” Vee calls as she turns to nudge the door closed with her hip. She’s carrying two huge grocery bags. Protruding from the top of one is the bouquet of flowers. It’s tall enough to obscure her face. “But the bakery was out of praline monkey bread pudding,” she continues, unaware we’re all standing less than five feet away. “So I got the banana pudding layer cake instead. I hope that’s okay, I—oh, land sakes alive!”
When she sees us, she bobbles the shopping bags. Luckily, Cash is there to steady them in her arms before she loses them completely.
“Thank you,” she tells him, looking flushed and flustered.
“Here, honey.” Auntie June rushes forward to take one of the bags. “Let me help you.”
“I’ll take the other.” Aunt Bea relieves her of the remaining sack and places a loving hand on Vee’s cheek. “June, will you put out the layer cake while I arrange these beautiful flowers in a vase?”
“Right.” Auntie June winks. “Let’s leave these young’uns alone to chew the cud.”
“I’ve always hated that expression.” Aunt Bea turns to leave, but not before leveling Cash with a look.
“Ma’am?” he asks, standing a bit taller.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she tells him, turning to include Luc in her statement. “I’m glad you’re both home. But if you run out on my niece again, I’ll have the entire state of Louisiana hunt you down and hang you from the nearest tree by your balls.”
I gape. Never in my life have I heard Aunt Bea talk like that.
Auntie June hoots with laughter and throws an arm around her sister’s waist. “Well said, Bea.”
After the aunts disappear into the back of the house, Vee is the first to regain her composure. She turns to Eva. “I didn’t realize you were coming today.”
“I was a last-minute addition,” Eva explains.
“Mmm. Well surprises are always nice.” Vee turns away from Eva toward Luc and Cash. “As for you two, I didn’t really expect you to show up once Maggie explained what this tea is for.”
“What do you mean?” Cash asks.
Vee turns to me with a frown. “You didn’t warn them?”
No. Because they’ve been avoiding me for five days, and my stupid pride wouldn’t let me call or text them first. “I…uh…kind of forgot to mention it.”
She gapes, then curls in her lips. “Oh, this will be fun.” Her laugh sounds a little witchy as she disappears down the hall.
After she’s gone, Cash turns to me. “What the hell did you sign us up for, Maggie?”
The alarm on his face has me biting the inside of my cheek. “It’s entirely possible you and Luc will be the only ones here sporting a Y chromosome.”
His complexion pales. “And how many guests is your aunt Bea expecting?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Uh…fifty or so?”
“God help me.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “Since when have you ever hated being surrounded by beautiful—”
“You can’t take Violet’s chilly reception personally,” Luc says, and I stop midsentence to blink over at him. He’s watching Eva thoughtfully.
When I see her studying her pedicure, my good
humor instantly dies. Was Vee’s reception chilly? It was if Eva’s expression is anything to go by, and I feel sick to my stomach because why didn’t I notice? I mean, Luc noticed. Obviously.
Then again, Luc notices everything.
“She blames me for what happened to Mr. and Mrs. Carter,” Eva says quietly.
“No,” Cash interjects. “She blames Maggie for that.”
Eva lifts her chin to stare hard into my eyes. “But you know it wasn’t your fault, right?”
I nod because that’s what everyone expects me to do. But deep down, I’m fully aware of the truth.
Katrina made landfall the week before I started seventh grade. Momma and Daddy took me and Vee inland to Aunt Bea’s cabin by the lake. Hunkered down in that one-bedroom house way out in the woods, we rode out the storm on high ground while the world raged outside.
We tried tuning it out by playing cards, drinking sweat tea, and listening to Auntie June’s blues tapes on an old battery-powered radio/cassette player. But on that second day, when the news started pouring in, there was no more turning a blind eye to the destruction around us.
The death toll in Mississippi had risen to over a hundred. The president had made an emergency disaster declaration for Louisiana. The levees around New Orleans had breached, leaving the Ninth Ward and St. Bernard Parish underwater. And the wind had torn the roof off the Superdome.
When I heard that last thing, I was desperate to contact Eva.
The Superdome had been designated a “shelter of last resort,” and that’s where Eva had said she and her granny were going. I remember calling her and being so relieved when she picked up on the first ring. That relief didn’t last long.
She explained that she and Granny Mabel, who was in a wheelchair, hadn’t been able to catch a ride to the Superdome before the storm hit. They were still at home in the Ninth Ward. And even though Eva had managed to drag Granny Mabel up to the roof, they were trapped without any supplies, exposed to the elements, and the water around the house was still rising.
I told her to call 911, but she said the emergency services lines were down or busy, and before I could say more, our connection was cut. Beside myself with terror, I relayed everything to my parents. After an hour of trying to get through to the authorities with no success, I begged them to go get Eva and Granny Mabel and bring them back to Aunt Bea’s cabin.
And, bless them, they tried.
In the immediate aftermath of the storm, with the wind and the rain still raging, David and Trina Carter put on their rain gear, strapped our tin jon boat to the roof of our SUV, and headed into the fray.
Later, we would learn my phone connection with Eva was cut because the nearest cell tower had gone down. And while my parents were on their way into New Orleans, a Good Samaritan had stopped by and managed to get Eva and her grandmother into his canoe. They were nearly to dry land by the time my parents arrived at Granny Mabel’s house.
Eyewitnesses told the authorities that after finding Eva and her granny long gone, Momma and Daddy began floating through the neighborhood, searching for folks left trapped in their homes or on their roofs as the water rose higher and higher. They died heroes, trying to help an old man who’d taken shelter in his attic. But heroes or not, the sticking point is they died.
Because I sent them there.
I’ve lived with that terrible truth for fourteen years.
I’ll live with it for the rest of my life.
Like so many from the Ninth Ward, after the hurricane, Eva and her granny were relocated to the Houston Astrodome. Also like so many, with their home gone and no money to speak of, they hadn’t had the way or the means to come back home afterward.
It wasn’t until Granny Mabel was gone and Eva was a grown woman making her own way in the world that she managed to move back to New Orleans. So, that awful day in late August, I didn’t only lose my folks and the love of my big sister, I lost my best friend too.
It was a dark time in my life. A dark time that dragged on for almost two years until, eventually, I made the decision to end it all. Stop the pain. Stop the guilt and isolation. Stop the insidious thoughts that whispered dark, hopeless words.
Then I met Luc.
Joining him in the library after school to talk about Harry Potter lifted the heavy blanket of depression that’d been suffocating me. And later on, when Cash arrived on the scene, the blanket disappeared completely.
The sound of the doorbell jerks me from my reverie. Aunt Bea’s guests are arriving, and I’m quick to leave the painful memories behind to race for the door.
A group of ten or so women with big hair, big boobs, and big bank accounts waits on the veranda. For the record, Southern women think the higher their hair, the closer they are to Jesus. As for the boobs and the bank accounts? Who knows?
“Hi, y’all!” I say, wondering if they can hear the false cheer in my voice. A pall has fallen over the day. “Come on in!”
As the crowd rushes past me, air-kissing me and talking at once, I glance toward the three people I’ve left standing around the entryway table. Eva is graciously shaking hands and answering the effusive questions hurled her way. Cash is patting his breast pocket, looking for something. His flask maybe? And Luc? Well, he’s watching me closely.
Too closely.
Curse him and his ability to see so much!
Chapter Fourteen
______________________________________
Luc
Southern women are sledgehammers camouflaged as fluffy marshmallows.
I’m leaning against the doorjamb leading into Miss Bea’s ballroom. (Yes, ballroom. You read that correctly.) And Cash has moseyed over to stand next to me and…vent his spleen onto the floor, apparently.
“If I have to listen to one more debutante talk about vacationing in Cabo, or how fabulous her new gluten-free, kale smoothie diet is,” he grumbles, “my dick will invert, my testicles will retreat into my body, and my sperm will shrivel up and die.”
“Wow.” I grimace. “Thanks for the imagery.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Buck up, man. It’s only thirty or so of New Orleans’s most eligible bachelorettes along with a couple dozen of their mommas and grannies. Nothing a man who’s hiked the Hindu Kush, negotiated a prisoner swap with a Taliban warlord, and survived a suicide bomber can’t handle.”
“Oh, I can handle them. The question is, do I want to? And the answer is, abso-fucking-lutely not.”
“Careful. That kinda language will get you kicked outta here quicker than a hiccup.”
He looks at me hopefully. “You promise?”
“Just hold your horses,” I tell him. “The tea’s been drunk. The cake’s been eaten. They’ve settled on the details of their Halloween ball and bachelor auction. It won’t be long before they wrap things up.”
“You’re kidding, right?” He looks at me incredulously. “You know the party’s only getting started once the business is finished and gossiping starts.”
“True.” I screw up my mouth. “Guess we better settle in, then.”
He crosses his arms and exchanges incredulous for mulish. “I’ll do it for you and Maggie. But see that blonde over there?”
He nods toward a woman standing beside one of the dozen round tables topped with autumn-leaf motif tablecloths and bearing evidence of the demolished tea service. Dirty china cups and plates are scattered everywhere. Handbags and purses of every shape and size hang from the backs of chairs as their owners flit around the room like colorful butterflies.
The woman Cash is pointing to is wearing a purple dress that’s so tight, if she were a man, I’d be able to see her religion.
I lift an eyebrow. “What about her?”
“She has the IQ of a squirrel that fell out of a tree onto its head.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I struggle not to laugh. “And you accuse me of having a way with words?”
He waves me off. “For some reason, she thinks I’m interested in her.
So if she corners me again, you have to come to my rescue.”
“I make no promises.”
He glares at me. “You’re a miserable sonofabitch, you know that?”
“Ah, ah, ha.” I wag my finger. “Language.”
He has an itch between his eyebrows. Apparently, the best way he can scratch it is with his middle finger.
Not that I don’t appreciate his desire to leave. I’ve heard, “Thank you for your service,” so often my ears are ringing. I’ve had my chest rubbed and my arms caressed. No less than six sets of phone numbers have been written on paper napkins or scraps of paper and shoved into my hand. And I’ve run out of excuses for why I can’t go out to lunch or dinner or drinks.
I feel like a side of beef at a butcher shop.
Still, Maggie invited us to come. So we’ll stay until the bitter end and—
I get distracted when Cash pats his chest to assure himself his flask is still safe and secure inside his breast pocket. He’s been doing that all afternoon, and I can tell by the pinched look around his eyes that he desperately wants to take a drink.
Over the past week of working side by side with him on the house, it’s become glaringly obvious how much and how often he’s self-medicating. But hell if I know how to help him, short of staging an intervention, and I don’t reckon we’re there quite yet.
Besides, he isn’t the intervention sort. He’d probably toss our twelve-year friendship out the window sooner than he’d sign on to a twelve-step program.
“Eva’s fixing to head out.” Maggie appears beside us. “She’s had about all the fawning and pawing she can stand.”
“She’s not the only one,” Cash grumbles.
“Oh, poor baby.” Maggie purses her lips. “Has the big, bad Green Beret had to fight off too many unwanted advances from pretty women?” Before he can answer, she turns to me. “And what about you, Luc? See anything you like?” She waves her hand to indicate the expanse of the ballroom.
“Why d’ya keep trying to set me up?” I frown at her.
“You’re one of my favorite people,” she says airily. “I think it’s a shame you’re not populating the world with more of your kind.”
Volume One: In Moonlight and Memories, #1 Page 12