Bayou My Love: A Novel (19 page)

“I
hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us,” he said.

“It
doesn’t have to. Though it’s certainly unexpected.”

“Are
you OK?” he asked.

I
laughed. “I’m not some delicate orchid, Jack. I’ll be fine.”

He
smiled at that, seemingly relieved. But he didn’t look convinced.

“What
are you going to do about Miranda?” I asked.

“Let
me worry about her.”

I
nodded, standing up from my chair. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” I said,
ruffling his hair.

“I
know.”

“How
about we tackle this gnarly kitchen floor?” I said, eager to change the
subject. “I’ve got a couple of days to make up for.”

With
the dog banished outside, we set to work. The giant yellow spot from the
spilled paint was far too stubborn to pull up without stripping the floor. I
decided instead to paint it in a muted checkerboard pattern of blue and white.
If we did it right, it would look farmhouse chic and blend with the rest. It
was a technique I’d used only once before, and I’d forgotten the agony of
sanding and laying strips of painter’s tape out with a T-square. It took two
hours to sand and wash the floor, then another hour to get the tape just right,
crossing at precise right angles to avoid any rhombuses or rectangles. Still,
it was preferable to stripping and staining.

We’d
moved the furniture onto the porch. The refrigerator was in the hallway, but
I’d left the stove in its nook.

Jack
and I started in opposite corners of the farthest row, painting toward the
hallway so we wouldn’t trap ourselves inside. He painted blue, and I painted
white, so every few minutes we leap-frogged over each other to continue down
the row. He hummed a little as he painted but was mostly quiet, like something was
on his mind. I wanted to ask him more about Vergie and if he ever worked for
her the summers I was here, but I didn’t. I was afraid it would embarrass him,
and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know.

When
we were halfway across the floor, he blurted, “So you really thought I was
texting you those messages?”

My
brush wavered, crossing over into one of his blue squares. “Damn,” I said,
wiping the smudge with my finger.

He
smirked, his brush stopping as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

“Yes,”
I said, with an exaggerated sigh.

He
tried to hide his widening grin. “Didn’t know you had that in you, cher.”

“I’m
just full of surprises.”

He
moved to the next square so we were shoulder to shoulder. “Wicked little
vixen.”

“You’re
distracting me.”

He
turned and dragged the brush slowly over the wood. “What are the chances you’d
text me like that for real?”

“Help
me pull off this miracle, and we’ll renegotiate our terms.”

He
chuckled. “Fair enough, cher. But I’m holding you to that one.”

~~~~

When
we finally finished, I was starving. The floors wouldn’t be dry for another
hour at least, so we wouldn’t be able to cook anything.

“The
bad news is we’re stuck with what’s in the fridge,” Jack said. “The worse news
is I left the bourbon in the kitchen cabinet, way over there.”

“Looks
like we’re having sandwiches,” I said, peering into the fridge. Inside was a
loaf of bread, some deli meat and a jar of mustard.

“Or
I could take you out to dinner.”

My
arms were smeared with paint. My hair was frizzy and full of dust from the
sanding. “It would take forever to get cleaned up and semi-girly. What about
take-out?”

“Sure,
I can get something at Brenda’s.” He pulled out his phone and started to dial.
“You think of a way to get to the bourbon while I’m gone.”

“Roger
that.”

He
walked outside, ordering two specials as he sauntered to his truck.

It
was sweet, the way he was so careful with everything we did. As soon as he was
gone, I padded over to the cabinet barefoot. This floor was meant to be rustic,
after all.

With
the bourbon in hand, I slinked back into the hallway, keeping to the squares I
thought were most dry. I made it across without pulling up more than a few
flecks of paint. After some light sanding, those spots would blend right in.

I
poured myself a shot—Jack would just have to catch up—and collapsed on the
couch. Everything was aching from crawling around on my knees.

After
a short while, my phone rang.

“Hey,”
I said. “Forget something?”

“The
station just called,” Jack said. “I have to go.”

“What?
You’re joking.”

“Afraid
not,” he said. “There’s a big fire across the canal. Probably the damned
arsonist again.”

“You
just got back. Can’t someone else fill in for you?”

He
sighed. “We’re shorthanded as it is. It’s all hands on deck until they catch
this bastard.” He paused, then said, “I left Brenda’s a few minutes ago. I have
dinner, but I’ve got to go straight to the station.”

“It’s
OK.”

“I’m
sorry, cher. Raincheck?”

“Sure.
Just please be—” I stopped myself before I jinxed him. “Break a leg. In a big
way.”

He
laughed. “Will do. I’ll see you soon.”

Chapter
15

I
made a sandwich and ate it on the porch while the dog stared at me. Tossing
bits of ham to her seemed to buy her affection, at least for the time being.

“Don’t
think I’m not still mad at you about the floor. That was unacceptable
behavior.”

Her
ears flattened.

“That
checkerboard pattern turned out all right though.”

I
tossed another slice of ham, which she snatched mid-air.

“It
wasn’t a terrible turn of events, but you could be more graceful with your
suggestions.”

She
coughed.

We
sat on the porch until the dark rolled over us. Me drinking bourbon and tossing
deli slices to a dog, the dog likely plotting how to wreck the next room.

I
stood to go inside and felt shooting pains in my back and shoulders. When I
reached for the screen door, Bella sat up and stared at me, ears pricked
forward.

“Come
on,” I said, holding the door open. “I could use some company.”

She
darted inside, then followed me as I poured myself another glass of bourbon.

Upstairs,
I filled the tub with hot water and put an old blues record on Vergie’s
turntable in the bedroom. The dog cocked her head, watching me light a few
candles.

“What?
No judging.” I slipped out of my jeans, and she sat on the floor, her eyes
still fixed on me. The bathroom was one of the only rooms that didn’t need much
repair. An old clawfoot tub was surrounded by a mosaic of white and cobalt
floor tiles. Pale blue walls provided a respite from the scorching Louisiana
summer. And a window sill above the tub held a row of candles.

As
steam rose from the water, I tossed my shirt on the sink and stepped into the
tub. Bella blinked at me, her expression a mix of curiosity and contempt. I was
glad to have her in the house. It seemed less empty that way.

I
leaned back in the tub, trying to forget the rotten roof, the painted skull,
the figure in the woods. Harder still, I tried to stop thinking about Jack. We’d
agreed this could be a casual affair, but it was getting harder every day to
keep thinking of him that way. I’d let him get close to me, unlike most men
before. I liked having him around, and—also unlike past experiences—I wasn’t
already picturing how my life would be when he left.

I
got out of the bath to turn the record over, and the dog whined. Music filled
the room as I splashed back into the water. The old house was casting its spell
on me once again—the smell of magnolia, the echo of the music. Everything
reminded me of how free I’d felt all those years ago. For a long time, I’d
convinced myself I couldn’t have that again, but now I was beginning to think
that I might.

That
I
should.

I
closed my eyes and sank deeper into the water. I thought of the way Jack had
kissed me, slid his hands along my skin as if I was this rare creature he
didn’t quite know how to handle. One moment, he was gentle, like I might break
in his hands, and the next, he was wild with desire. No man had ever made me
feel the way he did, and I wondered just how rare that feeling was.

The
dog sat up abruptly, her toenails clicking on the tile. She turned to the door
and growled. “Relax,” I said, but she only growled deeper, stepping out of the
room. I sat up just as the lights blinked out. The record slowed to a stop. The
candles flickered in the window, and the dog disappeared down the hall. I sat
still, listening for any sound from downstairs. But there was none.

“Damn.
I thought they fixed this.” I climbed out of the bath and cinched my robe
around me, not even bothering to towel off. Bella whined and came back to the
door.

“Come
on,” I said, grabbing one of the candles for light. “Let’s go flip the breaker
back.” She followed at my heels.

The
flame flickered as I padded down the stairs, and the dog raced past me.
Outside, the bayou was completely black. With no close neighbors, there was
never any ambient light. The darkness stretched for miles, and the swamp always
felt closer at night.

I
opened the closet under the stairs and held the candle to the breaker box. When
I flipped the main breaker, the house remained still and dark.

I
cursed and flipped the other breakers two by two. None of them appeared to be
tripped, but I tried them anyway. When I got to the bottom row, my skin tingled
from my neck to my ankles. My throat tightened at the thought of spending the
rest of the night in total darkness, total silence.

I
jumped when I heard a thump in the hallway, and I clung to the doorframe.
“Jack?” I whispered.

Finally,
the dog crept around the corner and looked at me, her head hanging low.

I
clutched my robe to my chest. “Dammit, Bella,” I said, walking back into the
living room. “You’ve got to quit doing that.”

I’d
left my phone upstairs. Who would I call at this hour anyway? Jack was likely
still fighting the fire across the canal and might not be back for hours. I
trudged back up the stairs, the dog right behind. There was nothing to do but
tough it out and call an electrician in the morning.

When
I reached the top of the stairs, I heard what sounded like breaking glass, and
I froze, my hand on the banister. The dog bounded back down the stairs, barking
like the devil was after her. I ducked into the bedroom, my heart banging
against my ribs. I held my breath, waiting for another sound, wondering how to
get away. The crash had been real—I couldn’t have imagined it. Someone must be
outside on the porch, smashing a window, unlocking the door. I tried to hold
myself together, thinking of how to escape. I could hide upstairs, then sneak
out if someone came up. I could crawl out the window and wait on the roof.

I
felt around for a weapon. There was a pencil, a vase, a wrench. The wrench
would have to do. I’d have to make it through the yard and down to the highway
without being intercepted—and I’d have to make it in the dark. I strained my
ears, listening for footsteps, for any other sound besides the pounding of my
heart. But there was only silence.

I
had to move. Frantic, I found my phone and shoved it in the pocket of my robe.

I
blew out the candle and eased into the hall, tightening my grip on the wrench.
Still hearing no sound, I paused at the top of the stairs. With blood pounding
in my ears, I slipped down the steps on my tiptoes, wincing as the boards
creaked. I continued, but stopped when I saw a light flickering in the corner
of my eye.

Flames
lapped at the curtains in the living room. An eerie orange light was cast over
the room, smoke billowing toward the ceiling. I choked back a scream and ran
into the kitchen, forgetting about intruders. The crackling of the fire filled
my ears, but I dug through the cabinets under the sink, throwing everything
onto the floor, searching for a fire extinguisher. I knew there was one in
there, but as I dragged my hands along the wall by the refrigerator, along the
cabinets, I couldn’t picture where I’d seen it. Everything had been jumbled in
the chaos of repairs. I turned the faucet on full blast and grabbed a pot from
the stove, filling it with water. The smell of smoke was stronger now,
permeating the kitchen. I ran back to the living room and threw the water on
the curtains.

That,
of course, did nothing.

The
fire had spread to the rug, to the chair by the window. I ran back to the sink
and filled the pot again. “Come on!” I willed the water to come out faster.
Running back to the fire, I threw the water on the worst of the flames, but
they only flickered. It was spreading too fast. I pulled a quilt from the sofa
and wrapped my hands in it, then grabbed the curtains near the bottom and
yanked them down from the rods. A ripping sound split the air as the curtains
pooled on the floor. I tossed the quilt on top of them, trying to smother the
flames.

The
dog barked wildly in the doorway. My gut told me to run. But how could I leave
the house to burn? I swore as I threw the quilt on the burning carpet, trying
to stamp out the fire. But it continued—fueled by sheets and drop cloths, it
now covered more than a quarter of the room. I backed away from the heat,
covering my nose and mouth, feeling my whole body shaking.

Bella
tugged at my robe with her teeth, pulling me off-balance, her eyes orange in
the light. I scanned the room one more time, but there was nothing I could use
to put out the flames. They were rising to the ceiling and rippling across the
floor. I ran into the yard, the dog behind me, her barks piercing the night
air. My last hope was the spigot in the flower bed by the porch. I twisted it
on and grabbed the hose as I dialed 911.

My
voice didn’t even sound like my own as I gave the operator the address. “Please
hurry!” I cried, dragging the hose to the side of the house. With flames
licking at the window frame, I sprayed water into the broken window along the
wood siding, but it seemed like only a trickle.

Smoke
poured from the window, and I ran back into the house, dragging the hose behind
me as far as it would reach. The living room glowed orange. From the doorway, I
aimed the stream of water at the ceiling, hosing down the walls. I pulled my
robe over my nose, spraying the furniture, the carpet, the curtains. My throat
burned as I coughed, and I sank to my knees to stay under the worst of the
smoke. Now the fire touched all four walls of the room. The heat burned my
skin. The crackling of the wood filled my ears. Still I aimed water at the ceiling,
backing into the hallway, bracing myself to run when the flames got too close.
If nothing else, the water might slow the fire and stop it from spreading to
the rest of the house.

When
I heard the siren, it sounded faint, as if it were still on the main highway.
The next crash made me flinch and instinctively cover my head—I was sure it was
the ceiling collapsing, that I had made a horrible mistake. But then I felt an
arm clamp around my waist and another across my shoulders, and I was being
dragged backwards into the night.

“Have
you lost your mind?” Jack’s breath was hot on my neck. He pulled me down the
steps and into the yard, swearing all the way.

I
collapsed at his feet, gasping and coughing. My eyes stung from the heat and
the smoke. This had to be a nightmare. I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
Wake up,
I thought,
Wake up!

“Shit,”
Jack said. He was on his knees in the grass, cupping my face in his hands.
“What were you thinking, Enza? You could have been killed!”

He
scooped me up and carried me to the picnic table in the yard. Bella followed
and folded herself under the table with a huff. Every time I took a deep
breath, I coughed. Jack sat next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
Still, I trembled.

Across
the yard, a half a dozen firefighters were spraying the flames that lapped at
the side of the house. Another strode over to me and gently placed a blanket
over my shoulders. “Hi, Enza.” He knelt in front of me. “I’m Zane.” He glanced
at Jack and then said, “You OK?”

I
nodded, though I was far from OK.

“Any
idea how this happened?”

My
chest felt heavy from the smoke. I pushed the itchy blanket away and said, “I
don’t know. The power went out, and I went downstairs to check the breakers.
Then I heard something break, like a window, and the next thing I knew the
living room was on fire.”

The
men exchanged a look. A flash of anger shot through Jack’s eyes.

“The
worst of it’s out now,” Zane said, nodding toward the guys gathered by the
truck. They were passing off axes and other equipment and filing into the
house. Thin trails of smoke still rose from the window, but the eerie orange
glow was gone. “You probably saved the house, doing what you did.” He stood and
handed me a bottle of water.

“Don’t
encourage her,” Jack said. “I can’t decide if that was brave or stupid.”

“Hell,”
Zane said. “Tough as nails, I’d say.”

I
turned to Jack. “I had to.”

“It’s
just bricks and wood. It can be rebuilt.”

“It
wasn’t that bad in there. I’d have gotten out when it got too dangerous.”

He
raked his hands through his hair. “The ceiling could have fallen. You could
have been trapped. If we’d been five minutes later—”

“I
couldn’t just stand there and watch it burn to the ground.”

“Christ
almighty,” he said. “Stubborn as a mule.”

Zane
opened his medical kit. “We should check you over,” he said, placing a
stethoscope against my chest. I inhaled deeply and coughed again.

“Did
you have any unattended flames in the house?” Zane asked. “Candles, incense,
anything like that?”

“Not
in the living room. Just upstairs.”

“Any
old lamps or things with old wiring?”

“They
worked on the wiring a week or so ago, but they said it was all fixed and up to
code.”

He
nodded, glancing at Jack as if he was holding something back.

“It
wasn’t storming out this way, was it?” Zane asked. “You see any lightning?”