Bayou My Love: A Novel (15 page)

“Somebody
left it at my—” I hesitated, not wanting to explain my living situation to her.
“At my friend’s house.”

“Mmm-hmm.”
She plucked a tiny twig from the glass. “Devil’s shoestring.” It looked like
dried honeysuckle vine. “One of the strongest herbs for attraction and desire—the
sweaty, nasty kind. Somebody’s got it bad for your friend.” She dragged out the
last word as if she knew it didn’t accurately describe what had passed between
Jack and me. “And see this?” she said, “This is yohimbe bark. It attracts dark
passion. Lust. It’s meant to make a body ache for you.” She pushed the flecks
of dried herbs around the glass. “Whoever left this is serious about making
their unrequited love requited.”

She
reached for the doll I’d brought and turned it over in her hands.

“Is
that what I think it’s for?” I asked.

She
snipped the belly of the doll with manicure scissors and a similar heap of
herbs spilled out. “Lots of different uses for dolls. This one’s meant for
pain, though. Got pins stuck in the heart, in the belly, in the brain.”

I
cringed. “So this really works?”

She
laughed, a low smoky laugh that sounded like it came from deep within a cave.
“It depends on faith, child. It works if the person doing it believes in it. So
I guess the question is, does this poor lovesick fool believe. And that’s an
easy answer, based on all the trouble they went to. When did you find this?”

“The
doll was yesterday. The pouch a couple of days before.”

“Full
moon two nights ago. Best time for love spells.”

It
had to be Miranda. The only question was: How far would she go?

“So
what should I do?” I asked.

She
nodded toward the corner of the desk where I’d left the blank-faced doll. “You
might think about holding on to that doll until she tells you her name.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t want to be in the path of the person leaving these.”

“How
about my friend? What’s he supposed to do?”

She
leaned back in the chair, scratching her chin. “I can mix up a little gris-gris
for your fella, try and keep this poor soul away. But like I said, you got to
believe. He got to believe. Otherwise, it’s like a handful of salt and pepper.”

I
stared at the doll for a moment.

“What
makes you so sure it’s for your friend and not for you?” she asked, leaning
back in her chair.

“I’ve
only been back a little while,” I said. “I hardly know a soul here any more.”

“It
only takes one,” Duchess said.

“I’ve
been here less than a week and met less than half a dozen people. No way this
is meant for me.”

“Mmm-hmm.”
She laced her fingers over her belly and said, “I’ve heard that one before.”

~~~~

Driving
home, I considered what Duchess had said. Was Miranda focusing on Jack, or had
she made that doll for me instead?

That
night, I let Bella inside and slept in Jack’s room again. The upstairs felt
like a separate building entirely, and if someone came into the yard tonight, I
wanted to know it. I slipped the gris-gris that Duchess had made for me under
the pillow (where she said it would be most effective) and laid a kitchen knife
on the nightstand. I kept telling myself this was silly, but I couldn’t quite
convince myself. Compiling lists sometimes put me to sleep, so I made a mental
list of repairs I could do the next day: painting, washing down walls,
repairing the window in the upstairs bathroom. Then I made a list of reasons
Miranda might be leaving these voodoo tokens around: to lure Jack back to her,
to harm him, to get me out of her way.

That
was no good.
New list, Enza.

I
thought about Jack. Made a list of reasons he was a good idea. Or a bad idea.
(There’s nothing like a good pro/con list to wear you out.) The dog lay snoring
on my feet while I stared at the blue light that filtered through the curtains.
With the windows shut tight, the house was stuffy. The more I thought about
Jack, the more I wished he was there. Maybe something casual with him wouldn’t
be such a bad idea. Simple was what I needed, right?

Chapter
11

The
dog woke me in the morning as she leapt down from the bed. Trying to hide under
the covers and ignore her was no use; she only circled the room, the
click-clicking of her nails sounding like hail. Finally I gave up and let her
outside, catching a glimpse of the sunrise, and went straight back to bed. My
sleep had been fitful, interrupted by nightmares of a house falling to pieces
as it burned with me inside. The roofers would be there soon, but I was certain
I’d hear them when they drove up. So I buried my head under the covers, trying
to doze a little longer. I didn’t hear another thing until there was a knock on
the bedroom door. When I lifted the covers, the room was bright with
late-morning light.

“Hey,
Enza,” Jack said. “You all right in there?” He’d cracked the bedroom door, just
barely.

“Fine.
What time is it?” The birds were going full throttle outside—I’d have thought
since starting at six, they’d be exhausted by now. But they never were.

“It’s
a little after ten,” he said, stepping inside. “You sure you’re OK?”

“Couldn’t
sleep last night,” I said. “Are the roofers here?”

“I
talked to them already. I didn’t want to wake you, and they’d just started
unloading when I pulled up.”

I
couldn’t believe I’d slept through all of that.

Three
carpenters were stomping on the roof, ripping up shingles. The noise made me
think again of the nightmare that had kept me awake for half the night. Sounds
of cracking beams and collapsing walls had seemed real enough to wake me and
send me vaulting out of bed twice to check for smoke and flame. I heard their
muffled voices and shivered, thinking of the way the voices had drifted through
the burning walls in the dream.

Jack
leaned against the doorframe, a hint of a smile on his lips. “You need me to
come carry you out of there?”

His
offer was tempting, but I climbed out of bed and said, “Think I can manage.”

He
saw me wince as I put weight on my ankle. “Suit yourself. I’ve got coffee when
you’re ready.”

I
tried to ignore the pain as I wrapped his robe tight around me and hobbled into
the kitchen. I half expected to find Jack making breakfast, and was already
thinking fondly of his omelets and beignets.

Instead,
I found him kneeling on the floor with a paint brush. The doors to the cabinets
were scattered around the room, propped against the walls, the table, the
refrigerator.

“What
are you doing?” I asked.

He
froze, paint dripping from the brush onto the door below him. “Thought I’d get
started early.”

“You’re
painting the cabinets.”

“Didn’t
feel like sleeping when I got in. And with the new wall color, they looked
pretty bad. I was hoping to be done before you got up.”

“Why
would you do all of this without asking?”

“Thought
you could use the help,” he said.

The
walls were the same yellow as the bedroom, but it seemed much warmer in this
room, with light streaming in from so many windows. The brightness was almost
too much.

He
frowned. “You don’t like them.”

“They’re
white.”

“I
thought it would brighten the place up.” He put the brush down and wiped his
hands across his jeans. He was down to the last cabinet.

I
sat down at the table, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me. “I
don’t dislike them. It’s just not what I’d planned.” Outside, a heap of
shingles crashed to the ground. “They do look better, though.”

Now
the cabinets blended in with the white paneling below the chair rail, and it
seemed cohesive. With the exception of the huge yellow splotch on the floor.

Jack
crawled across the floor to where I was sitting. He rested his forearms on my
bare knees and said, “A little surprise here and there is good for you.” He
kissed my knee, and for a moment I forgot about the team of roofers above us.

He
stood slowly, then brought me a cup of coffee. As I raised the cup to my lips,
a crash upstairs shook the whole house. I felt the vibration in my feet as the
coffee splattered in my lap.

Jack
ran upstairs as I limped after him.

He
stopped in the doorway of Vergie’s room and blocked me with his arm. I leaned
around him, my hands on his shoulders.

“What
is it?” I asked. “Let me by.”

He
tried to stop me, but I ducked under his arm.

“What
the hell?” I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

One
of the roofers was lying on the floor, surrounded by shards of plaster and
wood. The space around him was covered in a layer of white dust. A gaping hole
above him was bleeding sunlight. He climbed to his feet, brushing the splinters
from his clothes.

Two
faces peered through the hole in the ceiling. “Hey, Wayne,” one said. “You all
right down there?”

The
man waved in the direction of the hole. “It seems there was another bad place
in the roof,” he said, shaking the plaster out of his hair. “Don’t know how we
missed that one.” He seemed perfectly calm, as if this happened every day.

“Are
you OK?” I prayed this was not the beginning of a lawsuit.

He
laughed. “Oh, sure. The ceilings are shorter up here. I didn’t fall far.”

I
cinched the robe tighter around me. A hundred curses rippled through my head.

Jack
grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me back downstairs to the couch before
I could say anything more. All the while I felt like I was choking on words I
wanted to scream.

“This
is a nightmare,” I said. “How can it get any worse?”

“Sit.
Finish your coffee. I’ll go talk to them. And put that ankle up.”

I
leaned back into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. Cracks stretched from
one doorframe to the other, like the roads on an atlas. If this place was a
map, it was one that would only lead me in circles. That was becoming clearer
by the day.

Above,
the voices volleyed back and forth. The roofer’s was calm like a breeze. Jack’s
was more agitated but still too low for me to make out his words. I topped off
my coffee and walked outside. It was already a hotbox, the air so thick it felt
like I was trying to breathe underwater.

Two
roofers peered into the hole, scratching their heads and pointing. I pretended
not to watch them as I paced around the yard, imagining the story I might cook
up for my father. He’d lose it if he knew everything that was going on, and
he’d be able to tell in one phone call. Parents are eerie that way, how they
can tell what’s really happening with you, no matter how good a liar you are.
And if you’re a terrible liar, like me, then you don’t stand a chance.

I
left the roofers to their quarreling and wandered into the front yard. The Jeep
was where I’d left it, but something looked wrong. I walked closer and then saw
that the tires on the driver’s side were completely flat. I walked around to
the other side and saw that those were flat as well.

“Shit!”
I dropped the coffee cup in the grass and kicked the back tire with my good
foot, feeling my chest twisting into a knot. I screamed, stamping my feet in
the grass, but the sudden jolt sent a shock of pain through my ankle. “Stupid
Jeep, stupid ankle, goddamn stupid house!” I yelled. When I turned, Jack was
standing with Wayne on the front walkway. They both stared at me slack-jawed.

They’d
just seen my tantrum. Mortified, I cinched the robe again and turned back to
the Jeep, arms crossed.

“What’s
the matter?” Jack asked as he walked up behind me. Wayne ambled along behind
him, momentarily distracted from the roof.

“My
tires.” I turned to face them. “All four.”

Jack
walked around the Jeep, surveying the damage. His jaw clenched.

“Somebody
must be real mad at you,” Wayne said. He scratched his head, staring at the
Jeep.

Jack
shot him a look, and he cleared his throat, adjusting his cap.

“Guess
I should get back to that hole,” he said, leaving us with the Jeep.

Jack
was on his knees, examining the back tire. “Looks like a screwdriver, maybe.”
He dragged his finger over the side, where there was a quarter-inch hole.

“You
care to expand on what happened to your truck at the station?” I asked.

“Well,
first I thought of Miranda. Then I figured it was likely Remy getting his rocks
off.” He traced his fingers over the hole. “Did you hear a car come up here
last night?”

“Don’t
you think I would have gone outside to check things out if I’d heard
something?” I said.

He
frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“That
son of a bitch,” I said. “I’m going to break his face.” I shuddered, thinking
of Remy creeping into the yard, so close to me while I slept. And Jack so far
away.

“Not
a chance.” He stood, brushing his jeans off. “I don’t want you within a hundred
yards of that guy. You hear me?”

I
stood up straighter to glare, but I was still looking up at him.

His
brow arched. “Enza? Promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

“Somebody
needs to call him out for being a jackass.”

“That
somebody doesn’t need to be you. Don’t go stirring up trouble.”

“I’d
say it’s pretty well stirred.”

He
stared at me like he might sling me over his shoulder again and lock me up in
his closet. “You are one stubborn woman.”

“I’m
a big girl, Jack. You worry about you, and let me worry about me.” I turned and
stalked toward the house.

“Would
you let me handle this?” he said, and muttered something that sounded vaguely
French.

“You
could at least have the courtesy to curse at me in English,” I shouted over my
shoulder. I could still hear him mumbling when I got up to the porch.

~~~~

A
little while later, Jack came back to the house. “One of the boys is coming to
give me a ride to town,” he said, pulling his boots on. “My truck’s ready, and
I thought I might get four Jeep-sized tires while I was out. That is, if you’d
like me to worry about you for a brief moment.”

I
bit my lip to hide a smile. “Suit yourself.”

He
smiled too, just barely. “But I suppose you want to put them on yourself.”

As
badly as I wanted to stay mad at him, he sure made it hard to do.

He
glanced over at me and winked. “Maybe we could trade favors,” he added.

Before
I could answer, he turned away. A rusted-out pickup truck pulled up in the drive
and blew the horn. A long tanned arm waved out the window, and Jack stood. “See
you in a while, sugar. Try to stay out of trouble.”

“That’s
funny coming from you.”

He
sauntered through the grass to the truck. As soon as he climbed in, the engine
roared and sputtered, and they rumbled through the cypress grove, a cloud of
dust following them.

~~~~

With
Vergie’s room full of plaster and shingles, there was no hope of working on it.
Instead I focused on the other rooms, trying to ignore the pounding of boot
heels on the roof and the scream of saw blades. When I’d finally had all I
could stand, I went outside and stared up at the roof. The sun was beating
down, and the breeze had died. This was one of those days that made me want to
lie in a tub of ice and drink spiked lemonade. I filled three glasses with ice
water and took them into the yard. I didn’t know how those guys were still on
the roof, since it must have felt like simmering in a giant frying pan, but
there they were. Two of them were hunched over, the saw still whining. I walked
to the spot just below them, stepping over the pieces of rotted lumber that had
been flung from the roof. They were scattered all around, like debris from an
explosion. I yelled as loud as I could, and when the saw stopped, I yelled
again, flailing my arm until one of the guys waved.

“Hey,”
I called out. “How’s it going up there?”

Randall,
a friend of Jack’s from high school, walked to the eave and leaned over,
cupping his hands over his mouth. “It’s fine. We’re just cutting out the bad
spots now.” He’d taken his shirt off and was already red.

“I
brought y’all some water,” I shouted.

“Thanks,”
he said. “We’ll be down in a few.”

I
set the tray on the little glass-top table that was situated between two lawn
chairs.

It
was nearly two. They’d said it would take a few hours, but if they were only
now pulling out the rot, this was going to stretch into the next day. There was
no way they’d stay up there when the afternoon heat set in.

“This
seems like more than just the corner,” I hollered, motioning to the pieces by
my feet.

“It
was a little bigger than we first thought. Not to worry, though. We’ll get you
straight.”