A Billion Reasons Why (10 page)

“I suppose you don’t.”

“I’m not the same ignorant girl who followed you around like a puppy dog. I don’t fall for your sweet words that drip like honey from your mouth anymore. That may work on your Hollywood starlets, but it won’t work on me. Not anymore.”

The way he looked at her, with those deep and meaningful gazes, she knew she was no match for him or his wiles. Why did she want to believe in him so heartily? She pictured Dex’s bouquet in the kitchen pass-through—every Monday, come rain or shine. The little hearts and smiley faces that marked her scrapbook with all the thoughtful things he did for her.
Stability
. Luc’s love went in and out with the tide. He’d perfected luring women. All the tabloids said so. He scooped them as easily up as an Arabi boy trapped crawfish.

As the car drew them farther into the city, she turned and faced the window again. Remnants of Hurricane Katrina loomed everywhere. Mostly in vast improvements, not the devastation. Granted, they weren’t in the Lower Ninth Ward, but the city appeared cleaner. N’awliners had taken pride in their city, and when she was threatened, showed what they were made of. The changes reminded her of what her heart once looked like after Hurricane Luc DeForges.

She heard a click, and Nat King Cole’s smooth voice emanated from the sound system. “I Love You for Sentimental Reasons.” It was their song, the easy, smooth jazz stylings, the simple melody with a voice and feeling so pure, the words so haunting. It erased so much and took her back to those early moments when Luc introduced her to the jazz music scene, when one could easily pretend that the 1940s were alive and well and a poor college student, so inclined, could make a pretty penny singing the standards for visiting tourists. As though in a trance, she laid her head back on the seat and listened to the words.
I hope you do believe me. I’ve given you my heart
.

Luc sang the last part along with Nat, and when Katie opened her eyes, she saw him as though for the first time: worldly, knowledgeable, gorgeous, and
oh, so very dangerous
. Her mother had warned her what boys from the Upper Ninth used girls like her for, but she was putty in his hands. Luc’s mother may have introduced her to Jesus, but Luc introduced her to the Swing Era, and it was hard to say which one had changed her life more. If her faith were stronger, Luc would be no threat to her. Or to her life with Dexter. So why did she feel Luc’s very presence beside her?

The limo pulled up to the house. She clutched the door’s armrest. “Luc?”

“You knew her address,” he said. “It’s impossible to avoid St. Charles altogether, Katie. At some point—”

“But why here?”

Luc pulled her hand from the door and held it tightly. “She always wanted to be Uptown. Don’t read too much into it.”

“This can’t be a block from where Paddy was killed. How could she? Does she pass it every day without so much as a glance?”

“Your mam might wonder how you could leave home without looking back.”

Katie yanked at the door handle and let herself out before Leon could come around. She stepped onto the banquette and stared up at Mam’s new house.

No shotgun houses here, with clumsy air-conditioning units poking out from the windows of buildings that showed their wear and tear. Uptown’s houses stood tall and romantic with their ornate spindles and fancy porches, with upper terraces under the old shade trees.

“She started a new life here, so let’s assume the best. Perhaps it was to honor your father.”

“I don’t think I can go in there.” She knew everything about her stance screamed of desperation, but she didn’t care. “Luc, I need to find a hotel. I can’t stay here.”

“Come to my mother’s. She’ll be happy to have you.”

“Your mother won’t have any room with the wedding on Saturday. Just take me to the French Quarter for the night.”

“I’m not taking you to the French Quarter by yourself.

You’ll stay with us. If the rooms are filled, you’ll stay in my room. I’ll sleep in the pool house on the sofa.”

“No.” She straightened. “I don’t need to be rescued. I’ll do this.” She strode toward the streetcar’s tracks. “I’ll do this alone.”

He kicked his long legs out of the car and stood. “No,” he stated plainly. “You won’t. Leon, keep Katie’s things in the trunk. She’ll be coming with me to my mother’s house.”

Leon smiled as though he was used to Luc pulling that trick.

“I’m not staying at your mother’s. Leon, I’ll need to go to a hotel after this.”

“Leon, I pay your salary. Katie’s coming with me.”

Katie heaved a sigh and climbed the front steps to her mother’s new home, which wasn’t actually all that new. She’d lived there for six years, been married to a new man for five. The house was a Queen Anne Victorian, divided into two townhouses. No doubt it was the only way her mother could afford to live Uptown, even with the insurance settlement after her father’s death. Katie peered through the beveled glass window that lined the doorway.

“It’s already been salmonized,” she said, referring to the way her mother painted all interiors with a bright orange/ pink color that made Katie feel as though she was living inside a fish. “It’s another shrimp boil in the house.”

Luc looked inside. “It’s not that bad. It’s Southern, and she likes it.”

“You can take her out of the Irish Channel, but you can’t take the Irish Channel out of my mother.”

Katie rang the doorbell and tapped her foot on the painted front porch.

Luc shielded his eyes and peeked in the window again. “Is she expecting you?”

“I told her I was coming.”

“Maybe she got the day wrong.”

“She’s really not in there?” She peered in the window again. All of the knickknacks and tchotches of her past lined the clean white mantel. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. The house had rich cherrywood floors, an ornate white banister, and gold bars lining each step, but her mother’s touch was everywhere. If Irene McKenna Slater could make an Uptown house look early-American garage sale, she could do it to perfection. “I don’t think she’s here.”

“Why don’t we leave a note? Leon can bring us back this evening after supper.”

She gazed at the long black vehicle, Leon’s tubby body leaning against it with his feet crossed at the ankles. “I’ll just wait. Why don’t you have Leon get my things?”

Luc took her by the elbow. “I don’t think so. First off, I’m not leaving you here alone. You’d call for a cab and check into a hotel. You really think I don’t remember your tactics at all?”

“My
tactics
?”

“For getting your way. You’re not exactly subtle, Katie. Not for a Southern woman.”

Katie gave up and allowed herself to be led back down the stairs. She heard a door open and swung around to see the neighbor’s door ajar and an elegant young woman in the doorframe. She looked like a New York socialite; white cuffed trousers and a multicolored tunic that clung loosely to her body with several necklaces hanging to her waist. The woman’s arm slithered up the doorframe.

“Are you looking for the Slaters?” the young blonde asked.

“I am,” she said. “I’m Katie McKenna, Irene’s daughter.”

“Oh yes, she said you were coming.” The woman perused her, as if casually trying to ascertain the make of china on the bottom of a plate. “From California, right?”

“That’s right.” At least Mam remembered she was coming.

“Your momma’s getting her hair done, and Rusty’s at work. She always gets her hair done on Tuesdays—must not have expected you until later.” The neighbor tipped her chin toward the limousine. “That’s some car you got there. Hope you didn’t waste your money counting on your momma seeing it.”

Katie focused on the lantern hanging over Mam’s door and swallowed her disappointment. “He works? Rusty, I mean. I haven’t met him yet.” She moved up the staircase toward the young woman. It seemed strange that a perfect stranger knew more about her own mother than she did, but did anyone truly know Irene Slater? Or did she slip in and out of personas as it suited the situation? She wondered what her mother was like now that she was someone else’s wife.

“He’s a shrimper. A commercial fisherman. You haven’t met him? I thought they’d been married awhile.” The woman leaned with her back against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

Something about her familiarity startled Katie. Her mam wasn’t exactly the sharing sort.

“Season’s closed now. Maybe he’s catching grouper or catfish now, I don’t really know. But he left early this morning, so I assume he’s working. People keep weird hours in this city. We don’t ask any questions.”

Katie shrugged. “No, sure. I get ya. We’ll be back later.”

“I’m Helena. Y’all want to come in and wait?” Helena swung the door wide open, its beveled glass sending rainbows of light shards toward them. “You can come in for tea or coffee and wait here. I can rustle something up.”

“Gosh, that’s so sweet, but I’d like to freshen up and maybe unpack.” She also had the urge to get away from this strange woman who seemed to be a creepy character from a Hitchcock film.

“You’re not staying with your momma?”

No doubt that sounded strange, but Katie cared little how it sounded. “Oh, I’ll be back.” She sprinted down the stairs and flashed her eyes at Luc.

He grinned. “Nice to meet you, Helena!” He waved and pressed Katie’s back until they were seated in the car once more. He closed the door and laughed. “Was it me, or did we just wander into a Tennessee Williams play?”

“Let’s go see the streetcar. I may as well get this over with. It beats spending the afternoon with Blanche Dubois.”

Chapter 7

I
F
I H
AD
Y
OU

Luc trailed behind Katie. She hesitated with each step and kept looking back for reassurance. He’d nod, and she’d move forward again. For once, she’d appreciated that Luc didn’t listen. His silent support behind her drove her on to do what she had to do.

Where was Poindexter now, when Katie needed a strong hand at her side? Dexter probably had no idea Katie’s dad had called her “the Empire of his eye,” in homage to her favorite apple. If he even knew the difference between an Empire and any other kind. And he’d never know how she’d come by the nickname Katie-bug.

Luc knew Dex’s type: competent at his job but not management material—maybe on a few committees at church, a smile plastered on his face, but not an ounce of genuine joy in his soul. Righteous and heartless. No doubt the man had let Katie off the leash to show himself as the bigger man, unafraid and overly confident. No man who truly loved Katie would ignore such a threat or trust another man’s honor before the vow was made.

Or maybe Luc just knew his own intentions.

They walked slowly, solemnly. Unlike the jazzy celebration of a typical New Orleans funeral, this walk brought no joy or release from mourning. As they approached St. Charles Avenue, Luc felt Katie’s steps slowing further. She turned her face to him, and he reached for her. “I’m right here, Katie. Let’s do this. Your dad’s not here. He’s rejoicing with the host of heavenly angels, maybe feeding them fresh grapes. This walk is for you, not him.”

Katie nodded and took his proffered hand. “Was my father sad that day? I mean, did he—”

“Paddy wasn’t himself. He was distraught but not in the way the insurance company tried to portray. He wasn’t desolate. He just wasn’t himself, not jovial, and he was worried about what was next. He knew the business sale would cover the debts. He had no reason to do what they implied. You and I both know Paddy valued life too much to take his own.”

“The insurance company just didn’t want to pay. That’s why they started that vicious rumor. All those years my dad hyped insurance, and that’s how they repaid him; dragging his name through bayou mud.”

“No one ever believed it, Katie. Your father wasn’t capable of such an act. He was upset, but he couldn’t have hurt you that way if he tried.”

“Some people did believe it, and worse, some said it. They told my mother his soul wouldn’t go to heaven, that he’d committed a mortal sin.”

“People can be cold sometimes. You know the truth. Your father loved you so much. He would never choose to be away from you, Katie. Never.”

She halted and let her head drop to his shoulder. He pressed her head against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. They stood on busy St. Charles Avenue, cars rushing by, the rattling of the streetcar in the center median, and he felt her tense frame relax in his embrace. Her body trembled underneath him, and he circled his arms around her tiny waist. Her eyes swam behind a wall of tears as her gaze focused on the grass-covered central median and the tracks.

Between them and the tracks, more cars bustled by on their way uptown, or perhaps to Audubon Park. Life went on around them, oblivious to the heart-wrenching struggle going on inside the woman he loved. Eventually another streetcar came into view in the historic green, and Katie’s body stiffened against him. He tightened his grasp upon her until the car passed and her stance released.

“My father loved this city, everything about it. I wonder if he laughed in heaven, maybe found it comical that his demise came from the St. Charles streetcar, that he’d been eliminated by the tourists he thought of as a blight on his beloved city.”