Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 01 - Dark Bayou (7 page)

“Lyla, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here these last few years.”

“Sorry doesn’t feed the bulldog,” she murmured.

I laughed a little at this. She glared at me. “Sorry,” I continued. “I just haven’t heard that expression in a long time. Paw-paw Octave used to say that.”

“I know,” she murmured again.

I sighed. “I know I can’t make up for all the time I was gone, and I know you’re still hurting from losing your mom and dad—”

She started to storm off, but I stopped her, gently grasping her shoulders. She tried to break free, but I held her tighter. “Lyla, wait! Now, listen to me! I can’t make it up to you, and I don’t even know how I’d try to make it up. But I do love you. I’ve always—”

“Bull shit!”

I was temporarily stunned to hear her cursing already. I thought that kind of language would come when she was a teenager, but she had every right to say it. I don’t know if I’d believe me if I were in her shoes, either.

“It’s true,” I said. “I know you don’t understand, and I’m not sure I even understand it myself, but I had my reasons for leaving. I’m not saying they were good reasons or that it was the right decision, but I did it and it’s done. I can’t take it back. Believe me. I’d love to take it back. You’re getting older now, and you’re going to start realizing that life doesn’t always turn out the way we want it to. I think you already realize that.”

I took my hands off her shoulders, and she stayed put. “You have every reason in the world to not like me and I don’t blame you. But part of getting older is learning to know when to let things go. As much as you think you want to stay mad at me forever and as much as you may try to, it’ll only wind up hurting you in the end. You have to know when to move forward and not stay stuck in the past.” As I was telling her this, it occurred to me that I needed to take my own advice. “I want to move forward. I miss you. We don’t have to be buddies, but we can still be family.”

She stared down at the floor with her arms crossed.

“Do you want to go to Carrie’s later?”

She shook her head, no. But I saw that she was actually thinking it over. That, at least, was some progress.

“Okay,” I said, defeated. She went upstairs, and I heard her close the door to mom’s old room.

At 4:15, I pulled up to Carrie’s modest one-story house on Laurel Road, which is off of Hwy. 167, but still in the Lafayette city limits. The house had belonged to her great uncle, who willed it to her. The last time I saw it, she had only been living in it for seven months and the shutters were dark green. Now they were a bright, cheerful yellow, and where there was once a cracked, old walkway up to the door, there was now a path of whimsical stepping stones featuring dragonflies and butterflies.

There were cars double parked in the driveway and quite a few more lining the side of the road. I parked on the other side of the road. It was a small neighborhood where no one reports anyone for parking on the wrong side. I got out, careful to avoid stepping in the ditch on this side, and shut the door behind me.

I crossed the street and walked up the little path. I heard the party coming from the backyard. I could hear zydeco music coming from a stereo, the accordion player really going to town. Instead of going through the front door, I snuck in through the open carport. I peeked over the wooden fence that separated the backyard from the carport and saw two crawfish boilers going full blast. The smell made my mouth water. I wanted to go in right away, but there were at least fifty people there. They were laughing and enjoying life, and I instantly felt like I had no right to be there. I was the one who turned my back on all of this a long time ago. I chose misery and solitude, and I had no right to change my mind.

I started to back up, thinking I should leave. But I saw Lucas leaning against one of the oak trees by the picnic table. He sipped from his Bud with a grin spread across his face. He was in a pair of faded jeans that looked like they were tailored just for him. He had on a pair of boots, and he was wearing his police baseball cap that hid his dirty blonde hair. His white T-shirt was short-sleeved and, for the first time, I could make out muscles that were never there when I knew him last. My stomach sank, and my heart beat irregularly for a few seconds.

I took a deep breath and stepped back again. There was no way I was ready for this. I turned to leave, but as I passed the screened-in carport door that led into the kitchen, I saw Carrie open it excitedly and rush down the steps.

“Yay! You came!” she said, and hugged me as tightly as she could. She released her embrace and dragged me by the arm, up the steps, and into the kitchen. “Come! I have beer and tons of junk food and—”

“Oh, Care. I’m sorry. I didn’t think to bring anything.”

“If I had wanted you to bring anything, I would have told you. The only thing I wanted you to bring was your ass. Now come on. Lucas has been waiting to see you again.” I stopped short and Carrie, who was still pulling my arm, kept going. My sudden stop caused her to jerk backwards, and she looked like she was going to fall, but steadied herself. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I was silent and just shook my head. “Oh, come on, Leigh! You have nothing to worry about, my little wallflower. Everyone’s nearly drunk, so they won’t even remember you were here tomorrow. Let’s go. I won’t leave your side. I promise.”

I was once again grateful that she could read my mind. I felt at ease with her. I let her lead me through the kitchen and out the patio doors that led to the backyard. When we got outside, one man in an LSU baseball cap shouted, “HEY!” but it came out sounding like
AAAAA
! with the long vowel sound. I didn’t know what Carrie meant when she said “nearly drunk,” because this guy was completely sauced.

“Look who it is!” he said too loud with a plastic cup in his hand. He came over to me and hugged me with one arm. From the smell of it, I suspected it was rum and Coke in that cup, and most likely not his first one.

“Hi,” I said, not sure who this was. He picked up on that.

“A! Leigh.” He made an exasperated gesture and his mouth hung open. He instantly struck me as the type of guy who was always the life of the party, too loud and too drunk, but with a very likable quality. “Aw, c’mon! Ya mean you don’t reco’nize me?” His voice was thick and coarse, like he should be older, but he looked about my age. He definitely had a good grasp of the flat Cajun accent. “Aw. Leigh-Leigh. C’mon now. You breaking my heart, yeah, girl. Mais, you don’t remember me?”

I shrugged my shoulders, now embarrassed. Carrie grinned and nudged me in the arm. “We went to school with him a long time ago.”

I looked him up and down and then it hit me. “Billy Joe?”

“Aaaaa! Dere you go!” he rejoiced.

“Sorry,” I said. “But that was like in fourth grade. A really long time ago.”

“I know. You know I was just pickin’ on ya. Mais, come here, chère.” As always,
chère
in Acadiana sounded like
shaa
and
mais
sounded like
may
. “We gotta get ya hooked up wit some beers. Ya need ta catch up.”

Now it was Billy Joe who led me away by the arm, but he was gentler than Carrie had been. He walked me over to the table with the drinks, and I turned to see if Carrie was behind me. She wasn’t. She had gone back in the house for something, probably more snacks to bring out. I was a little miffed at this.

“Now, we got us some Bud, some Coor’s Light, some rum, Jack, Coke … oh, yeah. An’ we got us a couple a Coronas. Whatcha havin’, boo?” asked Billy Joe.

“Corona’s fine.”

He opened the bottle, salted the rim, and garnished with a lime slice. “A’right. Dere ya go, B.” he said and then handed it to me. He then hugged me again with one arm. “A! Like I said, it’s good to have ya back. I’m goin’ check on da crawfish. You enjoy yourself and come talk to me a lil’ lata, ‘k?”

“Okay. Thanks, Billy Joe.” He tipped his ball cap with his free hand and headed over to the crawfish boilers. I was alone for a minute, lost in thought about when I was in school with Billy Joe. I remembered how he was the class clown and, once on a dare made by Carrie, he dropped his pants and showed us his wee wee. I giggled at this.

“What you laughing at?”

I turned around to see Lucas right behind me, grinning from ear to ear. God, he looked so good. For a second, I forgot what I was laughing at, but remembered. “Just Billy Joe,” I said.

“Yeah. I remember when he went to our school. You remember the time he got sent home because he pulled down his pants in front of some girls?”

I smiled and nodded.

“So,” he continued, “how are you?”

“I’m okay,” I said. And that was true now. “Where’s Jonathan?”

“With the sitter. I wanted to bring him, but he said he wanted to stay with Miss Celia because she was watching Kalie, her little granddaughter. Jon likes playing with her.”

“He’s a very sweet boy.”

“Like his daddy,” he said coyly, sipping from his beer as he looked into my eyes. I felt myself blush slightly. At that moment, a new song started on the stereo. I recognized it as a Keith Frank song. Carrie and I used to dance a lot together at high school victory dances, festivals and wedding receptions we’d crash on the weekends when we had nothing better to do. We loved dancing to Keith Frank the most.

The patio doors slid open, and Carrie stepped out with another tray of food, this one containing chips and salsa as well as cheese cubes. She set it down on one of the snack tables.

“Carrie!” shouted one girl who was by the picnic table. “Go dance!”

Carrie waved that idea away with her hand.

“Come on, dancin’ queen! Show everyone how you earned those trophies!” shouted Billy Joe. Everyone started to cheer her on, encouraging her. Carrie really was a dancing queen. She had a shelf full of trophies from Cajun and Zydeco dance contests to prove it. I, on the other hand, barely had better than two left feet. She was always much better than I was on the floor. Most of the time I would just try to copy what she was doing. “Try” was a good way of putting it. I’m sure I looked very silly back then, but I hadn’t cared. We were too busy having fun, not to mention that we were usually pretty buzzed each time thanks to the lack of authority on underage drinking.

“Okay, okay,” said Carrie. “But only if Leigh joins me!” She looked over at me and held out her hand.

“What?” I asked, shaken out of my memories. Everyone started cheering me on. I had a deer-in-the-headlights look. I shook my head, no.

“Yes!” insisted Carrie.

“Go on,” Lucas whispered in my ear. His soft voice sent shivers through my body.

“That’s okay,” I told Carrie. “I’ll just sit this one out. I’d rather watch.” Everyone cheered louder for me to dance.

She stomped over to me and grabbed me by the arm. Lucas took the beer from my hand and Carrie pulled me towards the concrete patio where a circle of people was already forming, some of them dancing. “I haven’t danced with my best friend in forever!” she said, as she planted me in the center of the circle.

“Exactly!” I groaned. “It’s been so long I don’t remember how to anymore.”

“Bull! It’s in your blood, so start dancing, girly!”

She started to dance. I didn’t budge. She picked up my hands and started swinging my arms in beat to the rhythm of Keith Frank’s accordion. I reluctantly started to get into the dance. Before I knew it, she had me in a full-on Cajun jitterbug. Despite myself, I started to really enjoy it. I only stepped on her feet a couple of times, but she didn’t care. No one cared. Everyone was having a great time and now I was, too.

Before the song was finished, a cute guy wearing a New Orleans Saints cap cut in, taking Carrie away from me. I was prepared to sit out the rest of the dance, but Lucas quickly stepped in and really started to cut a rug with me. He held my waist and hand with the firmness of a man who knows how to move with a woman on the dance floor. He twirled me. I twirled him. Our hands were together and our faces close, bodies barely touching. He looked into my eyes again and the attraction I felt earlier intensified. And with an inner sigh, a little comfort and a great humility, I realized that I was home.

5

Strange Happenings

A
fter the party, Lucas and I stayed behind to help Carrie clean up. Lucas and I handled the trash, while Carrie loaded the dishwasher and put away the leftovers. We got everything done in less than an hour. By then, it was after nine o’clock and Carrie had to get to bed. She worked the front desk at the Lafayette Hilton, and a co-worker called in sick for the morning shift. I was sorry to see the night end. I was having more fun than I’d had in years. Lucas didn’t want it to end, either. He invited me out for a drink, and I happily accepted. Besides, the only drink I had was the one Billy Joe gave me. Same went for Lucas. I could tell he was careful to hold his liquor all night. I never saw him so responsible before.