“I’d get married here for a second, third, and fourth time if I could get the reservation,” Félicité said, frowning disapprovingly at her younger sister. “You’re diluting the flavor.”
“I’m anemic. You know I have pica,” Leonette whined. She bit into another ice cube. “Besides, you’d need a boyfriend to even think about having a first wedding.”
Jason gagged on his rum and coke. I stifled a laugh.
“I didn’t know ice was a no-no with wine,” I said.
“It’s a huge faux pas,” Félicité said. “Right, Jason?”
“To people who care about that stuff, sure,” he said. “I say drink what you want.”
I suppressed the impulse to grin.
“Here, here,” Jason’s cousin Marc said, lifting his own cup in the air.
“I’m not a huge drinker,” I said. “The legal age is twenty-one in the States and I’m seventeen.”
“It’s sixteen in Haiti,” Félicité said. “We’re much more mature here.”
In reality, she didn’t seem all that mature. My cousin struck me as an adolescent mean girl you’d find in any country, not just Haiti. Good to know some things are universal.
“I wouldn’t say all that now,” Jason said.
“And Jason would know, Mr. Go-to-College-Early Man,” Marc said. “This guy right here? Makes me so proud. Don’t break his heart.”
“I would never,” I said. “Jason, breathe.”
“Marc promised he wouldn’t act like this,” he grumbled. His complexion was light enough that I could actually see the creeping of blush on his neck.
“Do you live here, Marc?” I asked.
“God no, this place is much too provincial for me,” he said. “You see these groups of tables right here in the not-kiddie-not-yet-adult section? We’re all pretty much classmates at school in Pétion-Ville or abroad. Our parents came up for the wedding.”
“Nice.” Suddenly, a light bulb of an idea sparked in my mind. “Casual question, when do you head back to Pétion-Ville, Félicité?”
“I’m here for the weekend, but I visit all the time. Port-au-Prince is so stuck-up,” she said without a milligram of irony. “Why?”
“Well, I’m dying to go to Labadie before my internship ends and tomorrow might be the best day. Of course, you all are invited too!”
There was no way my dad was letting me near any sensual, seductive beaches with two guys alone. And I noticed the furtive glances Marc kept throwing Félicité’s way. If I could visit the third place on my dirt list and hang out with Jason, that’s what I would call a win.
“Leonette’s too young, but I’m in,” Félicité said, lifting her hand to halt her sister’s protests. “Sounds fun.”
“Me too!” Marc beamed.
Jason extracted the drink from my hand and placed it on our table. “Oh no, we’re gonna have to get up for this one,” he said.
“What are you—” I stopped midsentence, recognizing the first bars of that popular love song on the radio from the car ride. I hung my head and laughed.
“What’s so funny? You haven’t even seen my moves yet,” Jason said. He bent over at the waist and let his stiffly angled right arm swing from his elbow.
“My parents—” I stopped and got out of my seat. “You know what, forget it.”
I shuffled my feet in place, miming the running man. “You haven’t seen my moves yet either.”
“Impressive,” Jason said. He took a step closer and reached out his hand. I hesitated, then took it and walked to the dance floor.
“I don’t know how to konpa,” I said.
“Then you haven’t lived.” He smirked. “What’s that line? ‘The best way to explain it is to do it...’ Follow my feet. Left, sway, right, sway.”
“You’re cheating,” I said. “I wouldn’t even be able to tell if you’re doing it wrong.”
“You’re in good hands. The best probably. My mom made sure I could do this,” he said, spinning me. He motioned to where a tall woman danced with an even taller white man a few feet away. He knew the moves perfectly, albeit executed ungracefully.
“My stepdad. My mom has a type,” Jason joked, tugging at his wavy hair from presumably his own father. “She wouldn’t marry him until he took lessons.”
I loosened up with each beat, even adding an extra twist in my steps when I felt it. But something distracted me from fully focusing on my moves. My mom’s laugh. I spied her at a table with my father, their heads close, in deep conversation. The dancing was fun, but seeing my mother so engaged reminded me why it was important for me to come to Sans-Souci at all. I had lost track of Andres after the “I dos,” but it didn’t seem like Mom was wasting any time stewing about him anyway. I spun around, taking in the entire reception tent. My aunt was nowhere to be found. I suspected it wasn’t a coincidence that Andres wasn’t around either.
“I—I have to go to the bathroom,” I said absentmindedly. Jason’s face fell. “I’ll be back before you’re even done dancing with all your fans.”
A few of the zuzu girls gawked at Jason unabashedly from our surrounding tables. I stepped away from him and headed out of the tent. I tiptoed through the path leading to the cars, hoping to avoid Tati Estelle and any of her questions in order to grab my mason jar from the back seat. I cursed silently when I reached it, realizing I didn’t have the key to unlock the door or any idea where the driver was.
“Someone’s up to no good.”
My hand froze on the door handle. Thierry stood behind me in the tightest, most crimson cummerbund I’d ever seen, holding a glass of what looked like rum and coke. I hadn’t known he was going to the wedding too. His hand caressed the trademark ring that dangled from his neck.
“Weddings always make me so sentimental,” he said as he moved forward to lean against the car. “It’s not gonna last, you know.”
“Now, that’s not a nice thing to say tonight of all nights.”
“You ever been in love, kid?”
“No?” This was moving into weird territory.
“Trust me. It’s not worth it.”
“Thanks for the advice, I guess.”
He took a sip. “What did you say you were doing here again?”
“I was looking to see if my powder was in the car. I wanted to freshen up,” I said, thinking fast. In reality, I’d forgotten my compact on the vanity in my room.
“I saw you with the other intern earlier. He’s a good guy. Smart guy. Trustworthy. You can’t trust most people these days, even after you stick your neck out for them.” Okay, we were officially in the land of weird and unseemly.
“Did he pay you to say that?” I joked without feeling any sort of amusement.
He swallowed the final drops and placed the glass on the hood of the car and leered at me. “What’s this, a shakedown? That’s my job.”
I didn’t know how my aunt could work with a man like this. He was a walking, talking dirtbag cliché. Weddings didn’t just make him sentimental; they made him moody and inappropriately talkative too.
I saw my opening. A valet who was zigzagging around the maze of cars made eye contact and I waved him over.
“Where’s your car?” I asked Thierry, who looked about ready to doze off. He nodded his head toward a platinum-plated Hummer a few paces away. Ew. A jerk of a car for a jerk of a driver.
“Can you please find his keys and take him home? Let your boss know that Estelle Dubois sent you.”
“You’re okay too,” Thierry said, dragging his feet behind the nervous valet.
I smiled tightly and went back to my original focus. Crap. I looked down at the vintage metal-chain clamshell purse I’d borrowed from my mother’s wardrobe and sighed. This would have to do.
I gathered my long skirt and wrapped it around my hand to run quickly down the stone steps that led to the sh
allow valley I’d noticed coming in. I looked for a stick to dig with, but the ground was bare. Instead, I dropped to my knees and scratched at the flattened earth with my fingers. My index finger hit a sharp rock and I pried it out. I stabbed at the little hole until the mound of dry powder was substantial enough for me to pile into my purse.
I shook as much dust from my skirt as possible, but it didn’t help. Overhead the sky cackled and thundered before unleashing a torrent of rain from the clouds. I could already predict the inches of my curly hair that would shrink into itself, seeking refuge from the moisture. The ground was suddenly saturated, and my foot made a squishy sound as I pulled the heel of my shoe out of the muck. There was nothing I could do to keep my already soiled dress from clinging to my body.
A cheer erupted from the tent as I walked toward it. My mother looked rapturous midspin on the dance floor with my father. Even though I suspected I looked the hottest of messes, I was pleased. Rain at a wedding was supposed to be good luck.
As I got closer to the party, I noticed a couple loitering beside another car.
“This will be over soon,” I heard a muffled male voice say. “We didn’t even talk tonight.”
“You can tell me anything,” a breathless female voice replied.
They were clearly taking advantage of the low light to get closer than they could on the dance floor (and still look decent, that is). I quickly averted my gaze, then did a double take when I saw my aunt’s clam-shaped purse on the ground beside their feet.
“This has to be a joke.” I blinked to make sure the champagne I’d drunk wasn’t deceiving me. I tiptoed closer to them.
My aunt jerked her head from where she’d tucked it into Andres Venegas’s collar.
“Alaine! I—”
“Could not possibly have any reasonable explanation for this, so just stop there,” I said.
“She has a temper just like her mother,” Andres said, leaning on the car.
“How dare you speak to me!” I hissed.
Andres lifted his arms in surrender. “I’m not going to fight you.”
“You are scum,” I said. I looked pointedly at my aunt so she wouldn’t miss that I meant her too. My hands were shaking. Was I more upset at Tati Estelle for being with him? Andres Venegas was a monster, worse than those translucent bottom-dweller anglerfish. My mother’s diaries attested to that. After his betrayal, how could Tati Estelle let him anywhere near her now?
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. I was within striking distance, and Tati Estelle’s gaze fluttered anxiously between my hand and his face.
“I’m a groomsman,” he sniffed.
“Yeah, sure. So am I,” I said.
“Don’t you have to be digging up dirt somewhere? Isn’t that what you said, Estelle?”
“Alaine—” Tati Estelle interjected sharply.
I shook my head in disappointment. She told him. “I’m not an idiot. Is this some sort of sick joke?”
“This is out of your high-school-paper league,” Andres said. “Even if you’re the kid of the once-great Celeste Beauparlant.”
I don’t have to tell you what I did to him, because I didn’t have the chance to unleash my full rage. We were interrupted by two men in white shirts bearing the insignia of the Police Nationale d’Haïti on their sleeves.
“Estelle Dubois, you are under arrest.”
PART VII
MEM GWO WOCH PA KA KANPE DEVAN DLO LANME
(EVEN A BOULDER CANNOT WITHSTAND THE SEA)
Saturday, March 5
UPDATED TO-DO LIST FROM ROSELINE’S PLACES TO VISIT
Bois Caïman
Sans-Souci Palace
Labadie
Citadelle Laferrière
Sunday, March 6
The Capitol Post Flash Report -12:17 a.m.
SPOTTED: Andres Venegas returning home from a soul-searching trip to Haiti, welcomed by his wife and two kids at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport carrying a homemade Welcome Back! sign. The senator and his wife are expecting their third child in May.
CAP-HAÏTIEN POLICE DEPARTMENT
CAP-HAÏTIEN, HAITI
INCIDENT REPORT: #5068531
REPORT ENTERED: 03/05
LOCATION: Palais Sans-Souci, Milot, Haiti
INCIDENT DATE: Started approximately July of previous year, ongoing
INCIDENT TYPE/OFFENSE: Embezzlement
REPORTING OFFICER: Josue Antenor
APPROVING OFFICER: Evens Cazimir
OFFENDERS
STATUS: Defendant
NAME: Estelle Dubois
SEX: Female
AGE: 43
PHONE: +509 55 55 1243
ADDRESS Le Cap-Haïtien Arrondissement, Nord Department, Haiti
WITNESSES TO INCIDENT/OFFENSE
NAME: N/A
SEX:
RACE:
AGE:
DATE OF BIRTH:
PHONE:
ADDRESS:
WITNESS:
NARRATIVE:
After months of investigation, it was discovered that Estelle Dubois was allegedly complicit in an active embezzlement of her charity, PATRON PAL. Dubois, along with multiple unidentified parties, allegedly siphoned donor funds in numerous small quantities from the organization into multiple accounts in banks mostly located in Belize. It is estimated that as much as 3,000,000 USD was misappropriated.
On Saturday, March 5, Dubois was placed under arrest at Sans-Souci Palace. As we approached Dubois to perform the arrest, we observed that Dubois was accompanied by a Latin man who appeared to be in his early 40s. The pair was speaking heatedly with a young woman, approximately age 18. The young woman was covered in dirt and drenched in rain. As we approached, we could hear the young woman raising her voice while waving a clam-shaped item. It appeared that she was lifting her hand to strike the gentleman, who then covered his head to protect his face. As we moved to place Dubois under arrest, the gentleman quickly excused himself and left the scene.
The young woman said that we must have been mistaken, but after presenting the arrest warrant, Dubois told her to remain calm and that it would be all right. Dubois then instructed the young woman to alert her mother to the situation. The young woman’s mother reached the scene quickly. Upon recognizing her as Celeste Beauparlant, Officer Antenor requested a picture and autograph but was met with a stream of swear words by both Beauparlant and her daughter. After this, Dubois did not resist arrest and was cooperative as we led her away.
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
“Should I change my moisturizer? I can’t believe the police officer thought that I was eighteen,” I said as I handed the police report back to my mother.
“Alaine,” Tati Estelle said with a small laugh. “You have an amazing knack for pointing out the humor in any situation.”
I ignored her.
My mom, aunt, and I were sitting around a small table in the Au Cap Police Department. The room was lit with a—get this—single bulb swinging from the center of the room, its yellow light flickering every so often. I’m sure there was a grimy pot of coffee in the kitchen as well. Technically, we weren’t supposed to be sitting here with Tati Estelle. But two crisp American fifty-dollar bills went pretty far in helping watchful eyes turn the other way. And arrested or not, Tati Estelle was still one of the most powerful and well-liked people in Haiti.
“You guys really didn�
�t need to spend the entire night here,” Tati Estelle said. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“We’re family. This is what we do,” Mom said firmly. I swallowed the words I wanted to say about family loyalty.
“Yep, bribing public officials, that’s what we do,” I said instead. “What did you do to get here in the first place? I thought you said you loved those kids as if they were your own.”
How could you be so stupid?
“Watch that tone,” my mom said with a warning look.
“It’s a fair question,” Tati Estelle said. She rubbed her eyes and blinked rapidly as if to confirm she was in fact where they showed her to be. “My lawyer said that I don’t have to worry about anything. They’ll be here any moment to let me out.”
“But that still doesn’t answer the question—”
“I demand you release my client, immediately!” Right on cue, we turned toward the voice making the commotion and saw none other than Priscilla. She had changed into black jeans but was still rocking her veil and intricate updo.
“Madame Calixte—”
“Rene-Charles. I left my own wedding early. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone. These absurd charges you intend to bring on Ms. Dubois can wait until a respectable hour. She has no record, she’s an upstanding member of this community. Frankly, this is a total insult, Chief Durand.”
“This case is very sensitive and we reacted in the manner we felt most appropriate, Madame Rene-Charles,” Chief Durand said. “If you would follow me to my office, I can further explain.”
Priscilla strode through the station, clearly comfortable with all the officers. When the police chief opened the door, I peeked inside the office and saw a man rising from his seat. He wore a navy blue jacket embossed with gold letters: FBI. Oof.
After about an hour, Priscilla walked out of the office looking much more subdued.
“We will be releasing you but expect you at the tribunal in one week’s time,” Chief Durand said.
No one stopped my aunt as she jumped out of her seat.
“What was that all about?” I asked once we were packed in Priscilla’s car. “And you’re amazing.”
Dear Haiti, Love Alaine Page 23