“We have to get up, Zach. I have to pick up my parents at the airport.”
“Okay, then let’s take a shower together. I’m good at rubdowns.” He grinned as he grabbed her firm buttocks.
“I bet you are.” She smiled at his playfulness. It was one of the things she loved about him, just a little boy inside that exquisite manly body.
Zach was the first to get out of the bathroom. He dried off and left her. The room where he had made love to Desi was shimmering as the sun shone through the window, washing the walls in a soft yellow light. His clothes were lying in a heap on the floor. It was the first time he had bothered to look around.
On her dressing table there was a beautiful wooden frame, within which rested a picture of three people. He gasped. There could be no mistaking the tall, well-dressed man who stood smiling in the middle. At his side was Desiree, a few years younger, perhaps. The Eiffel Tower stood in the background.
At first he was confused. Then he understood. “No! No!” Zach screamed inside his head.
Desi walked into the room with her head down, as she wrapped her hair in a towel turban. When she looked up, she saw Zach’s rigid body with his eyes fixed on the picture of her in Paris with her parents. Zach’s face was bloodless; his hands were shaking.
“What’s wrong, Zach? Don’t you like the younger me?” But her words could not cut the acrid heaviness in the air.
He couldn’t look at her and collapsed on the bed, his face in his hands.
“Who? Who is he to you?” He pointed without looking up.
“Why? He’s my Daddy. Who else would he be?” Desi’s voice cracked. Zach responded with a wail that knocked her backwards for an instant. She tried to touch his shoulder, but he drew back, as though burned by her fingers.
Desi’s face fell as she watched him run from the room and heard him vomit in the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her favorite picture, looking confused and shaken.
After what seemed like hours, Zach emerged from the bathroom. He stood outside the bedroom door, not looking again at what had revolted him. And he wouldn’t look at her.
In a barely audible voice, he said, “His name is Maurice Zachary Trudeau the fifth. My father.” He turned without waiting for a response and fled down the stairs. He jumped in his car and screeched down the street.
Home. Pride Plantation. The irony of the name did not escape him. This could never really be home for him now. Its pillars seemed bent, no longer majestic. His head was on fire. His guts were still churning and sour. He needed to get out of town for a while. If he didn’t, he’d end up in jail and not on the football field. Zach was determined to be the best, to not need his father, the man he once respected above all others. Now, daddy would pay, and pay and pay. He flew into the house, stuffed his worn leather suitcase with necessities, and scribbled a note to his mother who was, by now, out shopping or at her bridge club.
He stopped by the barn on the way out. Touchdown responded normally at first, excited to see him. Zach leaned over.
“Glue. That’s what you’ll be. Goddam glue. Dogfood maybe. Watch yourself, TD. Ya never know when they’ll stab ya in the back.” He walked back to his car, and Luke came running up to greet him.
“Hey, Zach. Where you goin’? Thought we’d go for a...”
“We ain’t goin’ nowhere, Luke. I’m leavin’. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” Luke asked his favorite brother.
“Ask Daddy. He’ll know. See ya. Gotta go.” Zach climbed into his car, leaving Luke behind in the wake of gravel and dust. Like a statue, Luke watched the car disappear, not moving until the angry cloud settled. Dust to dust.
In her attic room, on the bare mattress she had stripped clean, Desiree sat alone in numb silence. Since the moment Zach said the words that shattered her reality into a million pieces, Desi could not think. Her mind went blank, protecting her for the moment from the unspeakable truth. The tiny room closed in around her. The phone rang and rang two floors below her feet.
Desi didn’t know how long she had been lying there, cold and alone, when muffled voices broke through her suspended reality. They called her name again and again. Finally, her mother came to Desi’s attic. Nicolette looked at her daughter, so silent and pale.
“Desi? Look at me. Why are you up here like this? What’s happened?” She reached for her only child, and Desi melted into wrenching sobs, unable to articulate her shame. She kept pointing to the picture.
After putting away their bags, Maury followed Nicolette upstairs. As he rounded the corner of her room, prepared to scold Desi for forgetting them, he stopped cold at the sight of her. She had no color in her face, and her eyes were swollen. He looked to Nicolette, whose expression gave him no clues.
Desi looked up at her father when she heard his voice. An icy calm seemed to wash over her. In a chilled voice she spat at him, “You’re not my father. You’re Maurice Zachary Trudeau, not Sanderson. Get out! Get out! I hate you, and Zach hates you! Get out!” She jumped up, fingers bent, nails readied to scratch his eyes out. He recoiled from her venom and her words.
Nicolette grabbed her. “Desiree. STOP! STOP! What are you talking about? What happened?”
“Look at the picture!” she screamed and pointed. “He’s Zach’s father, so he can’t be mine.” Desi collapsed into her mother’s arms.
Nicolette looked up at Maury. Their worst nightmare was unfolding. Her eyes spoke her thoughts, and he knew. He wanted to sink into the floor, into the grain of the wood like a termite. Dazed by Desi’s words, his face wore his fear. Nicolette reached for her trembling daughter. It had come, as she knew it would.
Desi spewed out more hateful words, “I’m not a virgin anymore. Zach and I...” She pointed at the man in the picture. “Mother, he can’t be my father or that would make Zach my...He isn’t, is he? IS HE?” she screamed.
Nicolette’s head dropped to her chest, and her eyes filled with tears. Her beloved daughter, whom she had protected from the truth all these years, had now been brutally violated by it. She whispered, “Oh, Desi, I’m so sorry. It is true.”
CHAPTER 11
Every bird on the face of the earth seemed to be passing over Louisiana on its way up or down the Mississippi flyway. That day, there were thousands of wings headed north, upriver and east over Lake Pontchartrain, stopping for rest and a meal of mosquitoes in the tall, old oaks and blooming white magnolias. Some of the trees were black with birds, every branch and twig holding more than its own weight in noisy feathers. It was an extraordinary early spring day.
Emmy was late, again. It drove Abby crazy when Emmy was late. They might miss the previews and maybe even the beginning, if they got seats at all. There were plenty of times the movie theater was sold out.
Abby had waited all week to see Blue Hawaii. Elvis Presley was her favorite movie star, her favorite singer, her fantasy. He was so perfect, handsome and wonderful. She could imagine him saying, “Oh Abby, suga’, it’s been so long.” He’d lift her off her feet and kiss her right on the lips.
Someday, just like she always imagined, someday, she would be loved like that. Her perfect man, tall and smiling, whisking her off to paradise. She would wait for him; he’d come for her, save her, marry her. Well, maybe not. She was too skinny, too pale, too short. Who would want her? Nobody had, and nobody would. So what. Just do what Mama wants, stay away from boys, go to college, take care of people like she does. That’s okay, she thought, better that way, then nobody will find out, nobody has to know.
Abby paced, unable to sit on the old porch swing for more than a minute or two. Her jaw was rigid; she was lost in thought and angry at Emmy. Her bottom lip was full and pouty, looking every bit an eighteen-year-old whose heart would melt at just the first four bars of Love Me Tender. She picked at her nails and shook her foot enough to make the whole swing jiggle.
Her strawberry-blond braid neatly trailed down the middle of her back while rebellious wi
sps framed her face. She looked like a Creamcicle in her white sweater and peach and white-striped dress, crisp, cinched at the waist, revealing the outline of her firm young breasts. She was lovely to look at, a fact that had escaped her. When people stared, she wondered if her head was on crooked or her slip was showing. She had no idea that her Breck’s girl face intimidated most people. But behind her intense blue eyes was a fire and ice Irish temper. Her grandfather once told her she “could melt the igloo off an Eskimo and then freeze him in the puddle.”
Instead of Emmy, a boy appeared at the bottom of the porch steps, rake in hand. Some mention had been made of a boy for yard work, but no one had said he’d be coming today.
“Well, how ya’ll doin’? I’m Wills Taylor. Is Mister McCory around? He said he’s been needin’ some help.” Seeing the shock on Abby’s face, he looked again at the house number and again at her. “This is the McCory’s, right?”
It was lightening fast, like being washed with a sudden downpour, and then a million butterflies seemed to flutter wildly inside her belly, all in the space of a few seconds. Abby blinked hard, twice. He was still there, and he was saying something to her. What did he say?
“What?” she blurted from her semi-coherent state.
“I said, this is the McCory’s, right?” He leaned on his rake, and without breaking eye contact, he smiled. His easy nature took her off guard. And she had never seen such black eyes. They looked like they knew something you didn’t, like they could see right through you with no trouble at all. Wills Taylor made a strong impression of confidence, mischief and good humor, not Elvis perhaps, but he did have such a nice way about him.
“Oh, yes. Yes, it is. Stay right there, and I’ll get my grandfather.” She tripped slightly on a loose porch board. She wanted to get in the house before he could read everything in her face. He started up the porch to help, but Abby kept going.
“Papa Corrrrey,” Abby bellowed just inside the front door. “You’ve got a boy, I mean, a visitor, and he’s outside right now. Papa Corrrrey,” Abby excused herself and ran into the house.
“Well, hey. Who are you?” Emmy arrived with her normal flair for the dramatic. She was never at a loss for words and never wasted time getting to the point.
Her curly chestnut hair fell in wild abandon, her sharp, grey eyes missing nothing. She was taller than Abby, always had been. Emmy laughed at the world while Abby brooded over it. Emmy was a practical joker, while Abby was a studious dreamer. Yet they were connected like twins, born a year apart, each other’s alter egos. Emmy couldn’t let a moment pass without having to know absolutely everything about the goings on. She’d been that way as a child, always dragging Abby anywhere there was a chance at some naughtiness and fun.
“Well, hey. I’m Wills Taylor. We live over on Broussard Street. My mother said she heard Mister McCory needed some yard help, so here I am. And who...”
“Well, so you are. Has Abby seen you yet?” This was one of the new boys Penny Lacey had been talking about. A whole slew of them moved in a few weeks ago. Penny had called them a whole baseball team in one house.
“I’m not sure. What does she look like?” he pretended.
“A blue-eyed monster, with big ugly teeth. No really, was she here?”
“Yep, she’s in the house looking for her granddaddy.”
“Oh good. Abbyyyy. Let’s go,” Emmy shouted. She turned to the new boy, “I’m Emily, Abby’s cousin. We’re on our way to the movies, so we won’t keep you.”
Emmy liked what she saw, not too short, not too tall, dark hair, dark eyes, nothing by itself made him spectacular, but the package was very nice indeed. And there was something about his eyes, something mysterious, more there than a boy his age should have. He was shirtless in his overalls and so sure of himself, standing as tall as he could and straight, shoulders back, head cocked to the side.
Abby appeared at the door instantly, almost as though she had been there the whole time.
“Hi, Em.” Abby smiled and looked at her cousin, motioning her head in the direction of the theater. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Papa Cor, I mean my grandfather, will be here in a minute,” Abby said to the boy whose name she couldn’t remember. She managed to walk down the steps without tripping.
“Thanks, Abby. Have fun at the movie.” Wills moved aside so she could pass. She smiled quickly and grabbed Emmy’s arm. Abby marched down the sidewalk like she was going to a fire.
“C’mon, Emmy. We’re already ten minutes late!”
“See ya later, Wills. Don’t work too hard now,” Emmy shot back over her shoulder and waved. She giggled. “He’s soooo cute, Ab. Don’t you think?”
“I really didn’t notice. Why’d you have to go and tell him my name? If you’d gotten here in time, I’d have been gone and not embarrassed myself and not been late to see Elvis.” Abby was going full steam ahead.
“I don’t believe it. I mean he’s not Clark Gable or anything, but he’s not bad.” Emmy looked back one more time. Wills was no longer leaning on his rake; he was talking to Papa Cory. “Abby, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were smitten with him.”
“Smitten?” she almost spit. “Don’t be dumb! Besides, we don’t know a thing about him. How could I like somebody I just met?” Abby said with her chin high in the air.
“Well, all I can say is you look kinda sheepish. I bet we haven’t seen the last of him.”
Abby shrugged at Emmy’s latest prediction as if she couldn’t be bothered with such drivel. “Oh, Em, you’re always so dramatic. He’s just a boy!” But he was the first boy to smile right at her and the first boy to actually talk right to her; well, he had to; he needed Papa Cory. Nothing special in that.
After the movie the two girls, deep in conversation, sauntered up the sidewalk. Abby breathed in the smell of magnolias, so clean and sweet, never too heavy, and the petals were so full and proud. The big, old tree in the backyard was easily her favorite of all their trees and flowers. It was really spring when the giant nolia burst forth with its fragrant song.
“Well, I’ll be. Your young man is still here, Ab. You got another chance!” Emmy said with mischievous delight. “It’s about time you started noticing boys. You can’t be scared of them all your life.”
“Stop that, Emmy! He isn’t my young man, and I’m not scared of boys,” Abby said through her teeth in a loud whisper, her lips barely moving. She hated it when Emmy was right, which was most of the time. “Are you gonna come in or stand out here all day gawking?”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t go gettin’ all riled up now. I was just teasin’.”
Abby got to the porch first. “Hey, Mama. Can I help you with the peas while we listen to our new Elvis record?”
“Sure. Oh, hi, Emmy. It looks like you girls had yourselves a good time.” Mary put her hand up to block the sun as she looked up at the girls.
Gramma looked up from her needlepoint and stopped swinging. “What is it about that man that gets you girls all woozy?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Gramma. Elvis is just so wonderful. We like everything about him,” Abby said with glassy eyes.
Emmy jumped in before she lost her opportunity. “Gee, Gramma, it looks like that Taylor boy has been helping Papa Cory all afternoon. Wouldn’t it be neighborly to invite him in for supper?”
“Well, that’s a nice idea, Emmy. One more mouth to feed shouldn’t be any trouble. Why don’t you go on and ask him? And Abby, just do a few more of those peas, so we’ll have enough for an extra plate, will ya, darlin’?”
Abby nearly dropped her bag of peas. Her mouth fell open as she watched Emmy round the corner of the house. Just before she disappeared, Emmy looked up at her and winked. Abby scowled.
The two figures, one white-haired and slightly bent, the other straight and tan, were still craning their necks at the roof.
“Yeah. I see what you mean. It is droopin’ there to the left, and the soffit looks rotted near the slope of the porch. But I think we
could fix that between the two of us,” Patrick McCory said as he squinted in the fading light.
“If you get the materials, I’ll come over next weekend, and we’ll get it all done. I’m sure of it, unless we run into more rot than we can see,” Wills said.
“That’d be grand, me boy. Let’s set a price then, shall we? How does twenty-five dollars sound for the job?”
“That’s too much, sir. I’ll take twenty, unless the job is bigger than we think, and then we’ll decide what to do next. Is it a deal then?” Wills left no doubt in his voice that he meant what he said.
“It’s a deal. I like your style, son, and I appreciate your help.” Patrick shook his hand. Most of the deals he’d made in his life had been with a handshake, and he was rarely sorry. He always said that folks were more honorable with a handshake than with paper between them.
“Hey there, Papa Cory. And hey there, Wills. Gramma has invited Wills for supper. She won’t take no for an answer, and she’ll probably be mad at me if I can’t persuade you. So, supper’s in half an hour, just enough time to get cleaned up. Okay?” Emmy got it all out in one breath.
“Well, thanks. That’d be right nice,” Wills said. “But I’ll have to run home first. ‘Spect I can make it back in time.”
He smiled at Emmy and shook Patrick’s hand. It had not missed his notice that Abby would be at supper.
CHAPTER 12
Joshua Larkin pulled up to the curb in his robin’s egg Plymouth convertible; the chrome glistened, and the tail wings looked ready to fly. Joshua took pride in his possessions. He cared for them lovingly. He did the same with his relationships.
Mary filled the void in his life with her quiet strength. She wouldn’t marry him; twice was enough, she’d said. No, let’s just be good friends. He accepted this after a time because being good friends with Mary was like sipping fine wine, smooth and sweet with a subtle afterglow. And after all, friendship could mean many things.
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