Chapter Seventy-four

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Maggie

Lord save me from a man on a mission.

Because I’m not sure I can save myself.

“And then, after you told him y’all needed to cool things off, he kissed you again?” Eva takes a sip of wine, her eyes filled with wonder. “Right there up against his truck?”

“No.” I jerk my chin from side to side. “To call that a kiss makes it sound ordinary. It was far from ordinary. It was all heat and pressure and passion, like he’d reached his limits and had been pushed beyond them. Like he wanted to devour me whole.”

“Oh sweet Jesus.” Eva fans her face despite it being a chilly night and despite her being snuggled beneath a fuzzy throw blanket.

“You’re not helping.” I point to her. When Jean-Pierre makes a pained sound while clutching his heart, I tell him, “And neither are you.”

It’s been four days since the picnic. Four days since the kiss… Excuse me, that should be The Kiss—that thing definitely deserves to be capitalized and italicized. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything quite like it before, and I’m not sure I’m prepared to experience anything quite like it again.

But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, during each and every minute of each and every one of the past four days, I’ve struggled to sort out the tangled web of my feelings. For Cash. For Luc. For Cash and Luc. I’ve tried to find a way to make sure no one gets hurt.

It’s proved impossible.

This evening, I did the only thing left to me. I called in the cavalry.

There’s strength in numbers, right? Power in the hive mind?

With the promise of dinner and wine, I convinced Eva and Jean-Pierre to come over. Aunt Bea was enough of an influence on me, however, that I waited until after I served dessert and we took ourselves onto the balcony before dropping the bomb about what’s been happening between me and Luc since New Year’s Eve.

At first, the conversation stopped and started and sputtered like an old car with clogged filters as Jean-Pierre and Eva peppered me with questions.

“…does Cash know about…”

“…what happens when…”

“…how will you choose who…”

Now, with the entire tale out there, the three of us are quiet, staring at the brooding black clouds that have crowded around each other until they’ve blocked out the moon and the stars. The air is heavy, pressing against the skin of my face. Soon the rain will start.

Usually, I like nothing better than sitting on my balcony on nights like this. Watching the fat drops of water fall on the rooftops across the way and seeing the street below flood. But this evening I can’t concentrate on anything but the mess that is my life.

Cash seems to be getting worse by the day. The charges against Luc still haven’t been dropped. I’ve been dodging a particularly tenacious reporter who keeps trying to get me on the record about why Sullivan came out to Luc’s house, even though I’ve told her three times I won’t comment until Luc’s been cleared of all charges. And to top it off, now I’m having a crisis of conscience when it comes to two of the most important men in my life.

Hallelujah and pass the self-flagellation whip!

“I feel like this is some sort of karmic payback,” I say, ruffling Yard’s ears. I’m reclined back into a chaise, and my loyal companion is between my legs, curled into his delightful doggy doughnut, nose to tail. “But for what I don’t know. I mean, I’ve tried never to cheat or steal or badmouth folks. Then again, anytime I read one of those silly books with a love triangle, I always scoffed and rolled my eyes. I thought it was impossible to love two people equally. And now look at me. Maybe this is the universe’s way of punishing me for being so self-righteous.”

“Me, I hate to break it to you, cher,” Jean-Pierre says. “But da universe don’t care enough ’bout us one way or da other to be praisin’ or punishin’. It’s all chance and circumstance, mais yeah?”

“Is your love for them truly equal?” Eva twirls one springy ringlet around her finger, her expression curious.

“Yes.” I nod. “No.” I shake my head. “Dang it, I don’t know. It’s…different. With Cash, my feelings came on quick, like a flood that changed the landscape of my heart. But with Luc…it’s more like a strong, slow-moving current that’s inexorably pulling me downstream. At least that’s how I felt before that kiss.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “So how do you feel now?”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the cushion, picturing Luc as he stalked toward me. Picturing him catching me up against the side of Smurf. Picturing him framing my face with his big hands so he could show me what he meant when he talked about seduction.

“After he came back to town as this badass Green Beret, I still only saw the boy I knew in high school,” I say slowly. “But recently, I’ve been noticing how broad his shoulders are. How flat his stomach is. How his jeans hug his butt and thighs. He’s grown into this big, warm wall of muscle that speaks to something deep inside me. Something uncivilized.”

“Soc au’ lait.” This time it’s Jean-Pierre who fans his face.

“Your cavewoman is responding to his caveman.” A knowing smile tilts Eva’s lips.

“Ugh!” I cover my eyes with my hands. “But how can I want him when he’s my friend and when I’m already in love with Cash?”

When neither of them answers, I lower my hands. They’re both eyeing me.

“What?” I say. “What’s with the faces?”

“It’s just dat…” Jean-Pierre hesitates. “Are you in love with Cash? Or is it more like you feel you should be in love with him?”

I blink dully, and Eva fills the silence with, “It does seem like Cash came into your life at a vulnerable time. And speaking as a friend”—she puts a hand over her heart—“I’ve always thought you romanticized things with him a bit. Hanging on when you should’ve been letting go. I’m not saying you didn’t love him back then, or even that you don’t love him now, I’m just wondering if it’s…everything you think it is.”

“Okay.” I nod. “But even if that’s the case, and I’m not saying it is, that doesn’t change anything, does it? I’m right, aren’t I, to want to be careful? To think it’s best not to jump into anything that might hurt one or both of them?”

Before either of them has a chance to answer, a voice calls up from below, “Excuse me!”

The three of us exchange a glance.

“Excuse me!” the voice calls a second time. “My phone died and my husband left his back at the hotel! Can you tell us how to get to Lafitte’s Old Absinthe House?”

Even if the New England accent didn’t make it obvious the owner of the voice is a tourist, the request for directions to one of Bourbon Street’s most popular hangouts would. Visitors to the city love the idea that it’s the place where General Andrew Jackson and our resident outlaw pirate, Jean Lafitte, hatched the plan to work together to fend off the approaching British fleet during the War of 1812.

Thrusting aside my blanket, I ignore Yard’s groan of displeasure and lean over the balcony railing. A couple who look to be in their mid to late forties stare up at me.

“Keep going the way you’re going.” I point up the street. “Once you hit Bourbon, head uptown.”

The man and woman glance at each other before turning confused stares my way.

“Which way is uptown?” the man asks.

“Oh, right.” I laugh, explaining to them that in New Orleans, we don’t abide by the cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west. Instead, we use the geography of the city: lake, river, downtown, uptown, respectively. “Left on Bourbon Street,” I tell them. “Then go a couple of blocks.”

They smile and wave their thanks. After they’re gone, movement below catches my eye. That irritating reporter steps from the shadows of Emeril Lagasse’s famous French Quarter restaurant.

“Ugh.” I fist my hands on my hips and call down to her, “This borders on harassment, you know?”

Eva and Jean-Pierre—excellent friends that they are—leap up to flank me.

Instead of looking chagrined, however, the reporter offers me a smile. It looks particularly toothy in the glow of the streetlamp. “I thought you said you’d be willing to talk after Mr. Dubois was cleared of wrongdoing.”

“Yeah.” I cross my arms. “So?”

“So I figured since the charges against him were officially dropped, that maybe now you’d—”

I don’t hear the rest of what she says. I’m too fixated on the sensation of the bottom falling out of my stomach. My knees give way, but luckily the end of the chaise is there to catch me.

“Didn’t you watch the evening news?” the reporter calls.

“She’s goin’ to need to talk to ya another time,” Jean-Pierre answers. “How ’bout…uh…” He looks down at me and whispers, “Tomorrow mornin’ work for ya, cher?”

I nod absently.

“Tomorrow mornin’,” he calls to the reporter. “She’ll meet ya at Café Du Monde at eight sharp.”

The journalist responds, but I don’t catch what she’s saying. I’m too focused on pulling out my cell phone and, with trembling fingers, texting Luc.

Me: Is it true? Were the charges dropped?

He starts responding immediately, and I wait impatiently as the three dots scroll lazily across the bottom of my screen as if this is an everyday text exchange instead of one of the most important moments of my life. Eventually, his answer appears.

Luc: Yep. Abelman gave me the news 2 hours ago.

I cry out in frustration, angrily typing.

Me: Why didn’t u TELL me?!? Had to find out from that awful reporter!

Luc: ??? Check your voice mail.

Sure enough. There it is. That glowing number two atop my green phone icon. One alert letting me know I missed a call, the other telling me I have a voice mail waiting.

Gah! Aunt Bea did too good a job. That’s the last time I listen to her voice in my head saying, A good hostess gives her full attention to her guests.

Me: Turned off alerts b/c Jean-Pierre & Eva were coming to dinner! Where r u?

Luc: Still @ Cash’s.

Me: Stay put. Coming over.

Pocketing my phone, I find Eva and Jean-Pierre watching me expectantly. “Well?” Eva asks. “Is it true?”

Fighting happy tears, I manage a nod.

Whooping, Jean-Pierre pulls me into a hug that lifts me off my feet. Eva joins in, and soon the three of us are clapping and jumping so much it’s a wonder we don’t bring down the balcony.

Yard lifts his sleepy head, yawning at us in confusion as his tail thumps against the chaise.

“I have to go,” I tell them. “Forgive me for running out on our—”

“Go, go.” Jean-Pierre shoos me. “Don’t worry, cher. We’ll break out your twenty-year tawny port and clean up.”

“Clean up the port, or clean up the dishes?” I lift a teasing eyebrow.

“We can do both, yeah?” He blinks innocently.

I squeeze his hand and then squeeze Eva’s too. “Y’all are the best. And in case I haven’t told you recently, I love you both to pieces.”

When I go to duck through the open window, Eva stops me. “So have you decided? About Luc and Cash, I mean?”

Luc and Cash. Luc and Cash.

“I’m hoping as time goes by, I’ll know what to do.”

Eva and Jean-Pierre exchange a glance.

“Okay, you two have got to stop doing that.” I glower at them. “What? What are y’all thinking?”

“Aw, honey.” Eva places a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “We’re thinking things don’t usually work that way.”