The Traiteur's Ring (28 page)

He wondered if he would be able to learn how to control it. 

Chapter 24

Christy stretched luxuriously beside her husband in the huge bed and wondered if he had perhaps rubbed off on her. She felt like she had drifted through a series of her own bizarre dreams, though she could not really summon any specific memories of them. She immediately felt a flush of guilt at how the thought trivialized Ben’s (her husband’s) nightmares, which she knew, of course, were rooted in childhood trauma.

She threw her arms around him in the bed. He didn’t stir at all, and his skin felt cool to her touch. Cool and clammy. Christy chased away the last remnant of sleep and wondered if he had fallen sick over the night. She stroked his face and found that it too felt cool, his short hair plastered to his temples with sweat.

“Baby,” she whispered softly. He stirred.

Ben mumbled beside her, his face partially against his pillow, but she felt certain the words would be no clearer even if not blocked by sleep and down.

“Baby?” she stroked his face a little more vigorously. She realized she felt scared, but had no idea why.

Ben’s eye’s flickered open, and he made a soft moaning noise. She felt her irrational fear slip up another notch. His face under her finger’s felt cold. Despite how silly it made her feel, Christy pulled back the Duvet that covered them and looked at the ring on his left hand. It did seem to serve as a mood ring, a barometer of sorts, right? The ring’s surface no longer looked shiny, but it still held a soft glow of pale green.

“Baby?” she said again.

Ben’s eyes blinked a few times and then seemed to focus. She saw he wore only his boxers, and his legs seemed dirty. He had scattered small scratches, and a large bruise had formed on the outside of his left knee. What the hell? She looked up and saw he smiled at her, returned from wherever his deep sleep had trapped him.

“Hi,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she answered softy, the relief that flooded over her as confusing as the anxiety it replaced. “How did you sleep?” She usually avoided this question with Ben for obvious reasons, but couldn’t help but ask this morning.

He opened his mouth, probably to say “fine” she guessed, but apparently decided that wouldn’t fly this morning and snapped his mouth shut. The storm clouds in his eyes darkened a moment and then he looked at her and answered.

“Restless night,” he said.

“Dreams,” she said simply.

“Yeah,” he said but she sensed there was more – something new.

How could she get him to share more of it with her? Why, after all they had been through together, did he still not seem to completely trust her? She wondered if that was fair. Maybe it had less to do with trust than his inability to face whatever it was himself. She thought maybe denial could be a powerful force for some people. She touched his cheek and decided that loving him unconditionally was about the best she could do – that and being here if he ever felt he could share more.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked anyway, unable to resist. A woman’s need to nurture, she supposed.

Ben shrugged uncomfortably and then shook his head no. She pulled the Duvet back up around their shoulders and snuggled up into him, intent on letting him know it was okay if he couldn’t tell her more. His strong arms wrapped around her, and she felt better.

She also felt different – in a good way.

Another kind of nurturing feeling. I guess, I didn’t use my stuff like I said I would, so it really is possible. The timing is right, but…

The thought made her inwardly gasp with delight.

I wonder if it’s possible already?

She realized a part of her hoped very much not. She had more than a couple of drinks last night. Was that really the safest way to start it off? She decided to lay off the drinks the rest of the trip – maybe a glass of wine, a short one at that, with dinner, and that would be it. The thought of doing something, no matter how small, to start this new beginning filled her with excitement. She hugged Ben tightly.

“I love you,” he said. The voice held a tension that brought back her worry.

Christy kissed his stubbly cheek and stroked his hair.

Stop thinkin’ about babies and take care of your husband today. He has a very stressful 24 hours ahead, I think. I may not understand it, but it’s real for him.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her and touched her cheek as if he had read her mind. His skin felt warmer, she realized. She decided not to tell him about the strange feeling she had – not today with all that seemed to hang over thoughts. She held great hope their visit to the bayou would really be cathartic for him. She wasn’t naïve enough to expect miracles from a day-trip to his childhood home, but maybe it could at least begin some sort of healing process.

“What’s the name of the place we’re going today – the name of your home?”

She watched those sexy, stormy eyes and even imagined a soft flash of lightning back behind those growing clouds.

“Doesn’t have a name,” he said and raised his head up to rest his face on his hand and look at her. “I call it the middle of fuckin’ nowhere,” he said with a smile. “But the closest town is called Chackbay, about a half-hour from our little shack, I guess, depending on the condition of the road.”

“Chackbay, huh?” she murmured. “Sounds charming, actually.”

“It’s not,” he said and placed a hand on her bare hip under the covers. “Wouldn’t even qualify as a neighborhood in most parts of the country.”

His hand slid softly and gently off her hip, across her belly (and whatever might be inside) and then tickled downwards as he leaned over and kissed her neck. Her breath quickened at his touch, and she felt a river of moisture building just past his fingertips. As his mouth worked its way down to her breast, she reached over and wrapped her hand around the already throbbing hardness she found between his legs. She opened her legs a little and moaned.

A half-hour later they stood together under the strong stream of a hot shower and she leaned against his chest, her arms folded between them, as he held her tightly and gently soaped her back.  His strong arms and slippery warm hands felt so good that for a moment she thought she might have to drag him back to their big comfortable bed.

My God, he turns me into such a nymphomaniac.

Instead, she just relaxed into his embrace and enjoyed the luxury of letting him wash her. She sighed contentedly and wondered what the rest of the day held for them. She would be very glad when this was over, she decided. She didn’t feel any real anxiety for herself, just worry surrounding the impact the day would have on Ben. She truly believed whatever the cost today might bring, it would be emotional payment well spent if it allowed them to move forward and him to start fresh. She guessed the real honeymoon would start tomorrow. She wondered if they should pack up and head to the beach after his visit to his childhood home. Putting as much distance between them and Louisiana might be the best idea, just as he had suggested (though, she thought he had perhaps hoped to avoid the trip to the bayou all together).

She kissed his chest and looked up at him. His eyes were glued to an empty spot on the shower wall, and when she squeezed her arms around his waist he startled a bit. But, then he smiled down at her.

“You look beautiful, Mrs. Morvant,” he said.

The name filled her with warmth and happiness.

“What do you think about packing and checking out when we head out to Backbay?”

“Chackbay,” he corrected with a smile.

“Whatever it is,” she said. “We could call our resort in Destin and try to check-in tonight, even if it’s late. Then, we could wake up to our Beach vacation tomorrow.”

He stared down at her with eyes that had cleared a bit from the brewing storm.

“That sounds great to me,” he said without pointing out he had suggested that and been shot down last night.

What a good husband he is.

“We could maybe even get there in time for dinner if we get a move on.”

“Or we can eat along the way if we need to,” she said, excited about putting all this place held for him behind them. She handed him a big fluffy Dauphine Orleans Hotel towel and wrapped one around herself, suddenly excited and ready to get going. “Destin is going to be awesome.”

Maybe tonight I‘ll tell him how it feels like something might be growing inside of me – something wonderful and with his eyes.

“We’ll get moving right after our free, included-in-our-stay-at-the-Dauphine-Hotel breakfast,” he announced as he began to organize things to shove into their roller bags.

That sounded about right. She realized she felt famished.

Maybe I’m eating for two.

Chapter 25

He held her hand as they drove out of New Orleans on I-310 towards SR-90 South and tried his best not to look distracted. That proved a real test, since the images of the night before flashed in his head like a slideshow, and the words of the Village Elder drifted through his mind like a sound track. The last thing he wanted was to worry her more than her face suggested she managed to do on her own. He loved her for her concern, but it did little or nothing for either of them.

He saw from the corner of his eye her right hand go again to her belly.

“Are you feeling, okay?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” she said and patted his hand in hers. “I’m a little nervous, I guess. I’m not sure what to expect.” She smiled at him, and her eyes told him it was his reaction she was most uncertain about.

“Well,” he mustered to change the subject, “we should at least get you some real Creole food. I’ll try and find a Boudin joint in Chackbay for us.”

“Boudin?”

“It’s a type of spicy sausage,” he told her. “It’s packed full of tangy meat and rice, and it’s totally delicious.” He hadn’t thought about Boudin in years, but realized that despite gorging himself on free breakfast, he could easily pack away a serious volume of the delicious taste-like-home sausage. Ben’s grocery (no relation) in Chackbay, if it was still there, would be a perfect place to score some, as well as coffee.

It would also likely be where he would leave his wife when he headed up to the woods and the possibility that the rabbit hole really existed. He could not take the chance of her being with him if he found what he believed he would in the forest bayou of home. He had also decided not to talk to her about it until they got to Chackbay, to minimize the likelihood she might talk him out of the only plan that made sense. He looked at his watch – with any luck they would be back in the car and headed east for Florida on I-10 by mid-afternoon.

He realized she had said something to him, but had no idea what.

“I’m so sorry, baby, what did you say?”

She smiled but looked worried all over again.

“I said I didn’t know you spoke Cajun,” she repeated and squeezed his hand tightly. “Isn’t that what you and the little old man spoke?”

Honestly, he had thought they had spoken plain English – that was how it had sounded in his head anyway. He knew for certain they had not spoken Cajun French, however. Although he could still understand some of what he heard in that language, he couldn’t really speak more than a word or two.

“Creole,” he said. “Cajun is a local dialect of basically French with a few English words tossed in.” He put on his signal to exit off of 90 South onto Route 307. “Creole is a blended language, supposedly formed from ancient African dialects.” He suddenly wondered if that might be the reason the elder’s words sounded so familiar – a common language heritage?

We share a lineage, if not of blood then for sure of spirit – both descendants of the ancient one – Children of Ginen.

Ben shook the voice out of his head.

“Anyway, it’s mostly thought of as a black language in Louisiana. When you’re from a place like where I’m from, you don’t really differentiate black from white,” he paused as they merged off the exit and onto the now slower two-lane road. “Just dirt poor and folks from somewhere else.”

Christy nodded understanding.

“I learned a lot of Creole, and maybe some pieces of other speak, from my Gammy.” He was aware his accent had thickened a bit as they got closer to home, but that seemed normal.

They continued on in silence for a while, Christy apparently content to let him alone with his thoughts, her hand in his and her head now soft against his shoulder. Ben’s mind wandered between his past, images of Gammy and happy times (there really had been a lot of them) and the bizarre present he felt the past had driven him to. And, the future, of course. He hoped this drive would start him on a new highway that would take them far, far away from the ghosts of his past. Whether his questions were answered, he planned on driving east towards Destin and never looking back again after today – ghosts and nightmares be damned.

They turned at a T-intersection onto route 20 southbound, and things even started to smell of home. A few minutes later they pulled onto the main street (with its two flashing yellow traffic lights) of the tiny town of Chackbay, Louisiana in Lafourche Parish – population barely four thousand and all but a few hundred of that outside the tiny “downtown” itself. A small blue and white sign told them (and any tourist who stumbled on the little village far from civilization) they had just entered the Gumbo Capital of the World. Maybe, armed with that knowledge, the lost tourists would stop and shake off a few bucks here, instead of continuing south to Thibodaux or Shrieves.

Ben’s Grocery had gone the way of the Traiteurs, but the old building still stood and now housed “Chackbay Market and Gumbo Café.” Below that, like an afterthought in cursive, the sign announced “and Boudin Joint.”  He suspected if they could have thought of any other buzz words that would make tourists pull into a yellow outlined spot in the uneven parking lot they would sure as hell be on the sign, too. Ben pulled into open parking lot, put the Charger in park, and looked over at his wife who stared at him expectantly.