***
IT WAS A busy weekend in New Orleans. Rodney was moved to the inpatient Rehab floor so that he could focus on speech, occupational, and physical therapy. He still had trouble forming words, and he couldn't walk, at all. He was finally able to feed himself, although it took him an hour to eat a meal. Susie's patience was endless, as she would eat her meals with him and take slow, small bites so that they finished at the same time.
Susie insisted on being with Rodney every minute during the weekend, because the staff was off, and that's when she could be his personal therapist, working with him on his speech by giving him reading assignments that increased his ability to say words and identify sentences. She also worked with him on eye-hand coordination, throwing a beach ball to him, helping him to hold a pencil and make scribbles on paper, setting a table with plates and utensils, and insisting that he identify the fork, knife, and spoon, then reach out to grab one of them, and hold them correctly in his left hand. We were all glad Rodney was left-handed since his right arm was still stiff and weak from the bullet that went all the way through it and tore muscles, ligaments, and nerves.
I took Lilly shopping for winter clothes suitable for a college girl, and I spoke to Luke's landlord about a rental house in Baton Rouge. He told me he had one that would be available the first of December and I could see it the next time I was in town.
I left for Jean Ville at about ten o'clock Monday morning and stopped to see my dad before I got to my garage apartment. He was in the kitchen making a sandwich, and he looked better than I'd seen him in a long time.
"You're up and moving around, Daddy. That's good." I kissed him on the cheek and poured myself a glass of tea from the pitcher on the counter. We sat at the kitchen table and talked while he ate his sandwich. I didn't bring up the case, nor did he.
Daddy said that his physical therapist had been coming three times a week and took him outside to walk around the block.
"I feel like I'm getting my strength back." His tone was upbeat and positive, and it made me happy. "His name is Lyle. He explained that the more I move, the more energy I'll have. The less I move, the less energy. I'd never thought about it that way."
"I'm glad to see you doing so well, Daddy."
"Where have you been, little girl?" He had called me 'little girl' since I was a baby, and he called Susie, 'pretty girl.' Neither she nor I cared what he called us as long as he didn't get violent. He'd been physically abusive with Susie from as far back as I could remember, but he'd never hit me.
When I left my dad's house, I drove by James's office on my way to the bank to cash a check. I could have sworn the old blue truck I'd seen at the church and again at James's house was parked in his parking lot. I backed up and pulled in so I could read the license plate: 37L402. Wow. I wondered who might be driving it, since Rousseau and Thevenot were in jail.
*
Luke called Monday afternoon and said that he'd be in Jean Ville the next evening because the judge had scheduled a hearing for Wednesday morning. "I was wondering whether you'd be free for dinner, although I'm not familiar with the restaurant scene in Jean Ville."
"There are one or two worth trying, but why don't you come to my place and we can grill steaks." I didn't tell him that I was afraid to be seen in public with him. Small-town gossip and Warren on the loose, so to speak.
"That would be great. Can I bring anything?" He sounded excited.
"Just yourself," I said, and laughed.
After we hung up, I drove to the grocery store to buy steaks and potatoes to cook the next night, and I picked up the local newspaper, called the Toussaint Journal. When I got home, I unpacked my car, stored the groceries, and put a load of clothes to wash. I poured myself a glass of tea and sat down with the newspaper.
The mug shots of Thevenot and Rousseau were plastered across the front page. The caption read: Shooting suspects released from jail. The article said that the defense fund at the Confederate Bank had raised more than $100,000—enough to post their bail. I read and re-read the article. Then I picked up the phone and called the attorney general's office in Baton Rouge.
When the robot answered, I dialed 3-2-3. The phone rang five times, and I was about to hang up when Luke answered.
"Did you know Thevenot and Rousseau were bailed out?" I was angry.
"Yes. I heard about it this morning." He was out of breath.
"Aren't you afraid of what they might do to get back at me, at you, and maybe others?"
"I hadn't thought about that." He let out a heavy breath, and I heard his chair creak. "We took it as a positive thing because we can follow them and see who their contacts are."
"I hope you have them followed 24-7. They are in Jean Ville. So am I!" I hoped he understood that I was afraid of them, but since I hadn't told him about the note on my windshield, he probably hadn’t put two-and-two together.
I didn't mention that I'd seen the blue truck at James's office, but it occurred to me that if investigators were tailing Rousseau and Thevenot, they'd see it there. I felt I needed to warn James, but I was torn between my loyalty to my brother and my feelings for Luke.
"Okay. See you tomorrow night." I hung up and paced my living room and kitchen, and tried to figure out how to handle the fact that I had insider's knowledge that could affect my brother. What was his affiliation with the two guys who shot Rodney? Then I remembered that one of James's partners represented Thevenot, so it would be logical for the truck to be at his office. I breathed a sigh of relief and decided to treat the investigation the way I treated gossip: zip the lips.
*
I spent Tuesday cleaning my apartment. I marinated the steaks, washed the potatoes, made the salad, and put it in a Tupperware container. I washed wine glasses, scrubbed the toilet, cleaned my barbecue grill, swept the deck, and dusted the swing and rockers. Then I took a long bath, washed my hair and dried it, brushed my teeth twice, and put on a little make-up. I dressed in jeans, a short-sleeved polo shirt and sandals. Then I paced and waited. I'd bought candles, so I stacked them, then placed them in various places around the room, then gathered them up again.
My phone rang at four o'clock. It was Luke, who said he'd arrived in Jean Ville before the others and had already checked into his motel. He wanted to know if it was too early to come over.
"What about your meeting?" I held the phone to my ear and looked around my apartment, trying to visualize what he might see when he got here.
"We met before I left Baton Rouge." I loved the sound of his deep, raspy voice. It had just enough Southern drawl to be sexy and enough straight talk to sound intelligent. "We'll have a briefing at breakfast, before we head to the courthouse."
"Sure. You can come over." I checked to make sure everything was ready and was actually glad I didn't have to obsess for another two or three hours.
"See you in a few minutes."
After we hung up, I looked out of the front windows at Gravier Road in case his car might already be there. I washed my hands and made another pass through the apartment to make sure everything was in place. I spread the candles out again, all seven of them. I washed my hands and reminded myself that I had cold beer, red and white wine, sodas, and I'd bought a bottle of Crown Royal because that's what Luke had ordered at Gino's.
I washed my hands again and took out the tortilla chips and spinach dip I'd bought at the store, and poured some salsa in a bowl. I set the food on the island and tried not to wash my hands again. Then I paced. I walked out on the deck, then came back in. I left the sliding glass doors opened since it was pleasant outside, and I liked the way it made my place feel big and spacious.
I heard his car drive up, and I stepped onto the landing. He looked up and saw me smiling down at him, and he took the stairs two at a time. When he reached me, he folded me in his arms and kissed me. When he pulled away, he was out of breath. I heard another vehicle pull in my driveway and saw Warren's new red truck stop, idle for a minute, then back out onto Gravier Road. I'd been caught red-handed, but didn't care.
Luke followed me through the side door into the kitchen and looked around my apartment.
"It looks like you, Sissy." He smiled at me and walked slowly around the living room and kitchen that was one big room from the front of the garage to the back. The garage itself held two cars and had room for lawn equipment, so the living area was over half of the garage, the other half, which comprised a large bedroom, a bathroom, and a study, was over the other half.
"Do you want something to drink?" I moved towards the refrigerator. The bottle of Crown Royal was on the island next to the dip and chips. He sat on a stool and asked for a glass of ice. He poured some Crown over the ice and dipped a chip in the salsa. I poured myself a glass of Chardonnay and asked if he'd like to sit on the deck. We walked through the opened glass doors, and he stood at the railing and looked out at the acre of land with its rows of trees: pecan, pear, fig, oaks, and magnolias.
"What a view." He didn't turn around.
"My favorite room in the house." I walked up to the railing and stood next to him. He put an arm over my shoulder, and we just stood there and breathed the fall air, stared at the sun that hovered above the trees, and listened to the birds calling to each other. My shoulder was tucked under his arm, and I got a whiff of his aftershave. He set his drink on the top of the railing, turned to face me, put his arms around me, and pulled me to him. I let him. He just held me and rested his chin on the top of my head. I could feel his heartbeat against my neck as though the rhythm was trying to talk to me. I listened intently and felt a sense of sadness or impending pain, like something that was just beginning, might have to end.
I tried to shake off the feeling.
The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. Luke grilled the steaks, and I put the potatoes in the oven. I had a loaf of French bread that I buttered and wrapped in foil and put in the oven with the potatoes. I dressed the salad, and we ate at the island on the bar stools. It was about ten o'clock when he left. I took a quick shower, checked to make sure the doors were locked, and went to bed.
*
My digital clock said 2:03 AM when I awoke to a clinking sound, followed by crunching. Before I was completely awake, someone appeared next to my bed and pulled a cloth, like a sack, over my head, tied my arms behind my back, and dragged me to the floor. I kicked and screamed, but it didn't stop the person from pounding my head with a fist and kicking me. I felt like I'd fallen into a deep, dark well, where there were people with clubs taking turns whacking me. There was a coarse, wet laugh, a belch, the smell of beer or whiskey, cigarette breath, and strong body odor.
I fell deeper, and in my dream, I smelled burning rubber and gasoline creep under the doors and through the cracks in the windows and fill the room. I heard the sound of an eighteen-wheeler come through my apartment, blowing the air horn and grinding the gears. The sound got louder and louder, and I could smell diesel fuel and grease, then I was enveloped in a cloud.
The roar got louder, the smells got stronger, and I tasted bile and salt. Then I couldn't swallow.
A searing pain shot into my belly from between my legs and I felt myself try to scream, but there was no sound other than the roaring in my ears and a loud grunt from somewhere above me. It felt like a hot branding iron had been poked inside me, and there was a weight on my chest that I could have sworn was a load of bricks. I couldn't breathe and gasped for air. The cloth around my head clogged my nose, and I began to suffocate. When I tried to breathe through my mouth, I tasted bile and blood.
Then everything went black.
*
There was an incessant ringing. It would stop for a few seconds then start again. I tried to wake up so I could identify where the ringing came from. My hands were tied behind my back, but I began to twist them around and was able to pull one through the loop in the rope. I reached up and yanked on the fabric that covered my head, and saw that it was a bloody pillowcase. I freed my other hand and sat on the floor, propped against my bed. I was totally naked.
The digital clock said 8:42 AM. The ringing started again, and I realized it was the telephone. I tried to stand up, but my legs were so weak they folded under me. There was blood all over the floor, and I tracked it as I crawled to the bathroom on hands and knees and pulled myself up by hanging on the lavatory. What I saw in the mirror made my stomach turn over. I started to vomit and held my head over the toilet.
When I finally stopped retching, I made my way to the kitchen and tried to pick up the receiver on the telephone. I needed to call someone for help, but who could I call? Daddy didn't drive. James would be at work, maybe in court. Warren? He worked on the highway and couldn't be reached during the day. My only option seemed 9-1-1, but I didn't want the publicity that would create. I hung up the phone.
What had happened? I tried to remember. I was asleep.
I looked at the kitchen door that led to the outside landing. One of the panes was broken, and there were shards of glass on the floor. I remembered the clinking, crunching sounds that woke me.
I got a ziplock bag from the drawer and filled it with ice. I laid on the sofa and put the ice on my face. My eyes were black, my nose felt like it was broken, and one of my teeth was chipped. I felt a burning between my legs, hot and searing, like a curling iron had been inserted in my vagina.
The phone started to ring again, and I slowly made my way back to the kitchen. It hung on the wall next to the door to the landing, and just when I got to it, the ringing stopped. I started to make my way back to the sofa when the ringing started again.
"Hello." I didn't recognize my own voice, it was almost a whisper, and riddled with something like mucus or blood.
"Sissy? Is that you?" His voice was deep and raspy, and I recognized it, but couldn't place it.
"Yes. Who's this?"
"It's Luke. Are you alright?"
"Luke?" I tried to remember. Yes, Luke had been at my place the night before. Had he done this to me? Suddenly I was afraid of him. I hung up the phone. It rang again. I was afraid to pick it up. I made my way back to the sofa and put the ice on my face. I heard a car pull up in my driveway, but I was helpless. If someone were going to beat me up again, they'd have to kill me, because I couldn't defend myself. I couldn't even yell or talk or beg.
I heard the kitchen door open, and I lay paralyzed, waiting for whoever was there to finish me off.
"Sissy!" I thought I recognized Luke's voice, and it scared me, but I lay there and waited for the blows. "Oh, my God. What happened?" He knelt beside the sofa and lifted the ice pack. He picked me up like a bride and carried me out of the apartment, down the stairs, and put me in the back seat of his car. I couldn't move.
I must have fallen asleep, then I felt a bevy of humans hovering over me. The air was cold and smelled of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol, and Lysol. A familiar fatherly voice came through the chatter.
"Sissy. It's me, Dr. David." I could smell the cigar smoke on his clothing, and I tried to open my eyes to look at him, but they were swollen shut. "Nancy, get the police here. NOW!"
"Sissy. Can you hear me?" He bent towards me, and his breath smelled like coffee and bacon. I could hear him, but I couldn't talk. My mouth was swollen inside, and I tasted blood and salt. "Do you know who did this to you?"
I shook my head side-to-side in very tiny movements to indicate, "No."
"Who's the man who brought you here?" Dr. David hovered over me. I shook my head side-to-side again to indicate I didn't know.
"I'm Lucas McMath, Doctor. I'm with the attorney general's office in Baton Rouge." His voice started to make sense to me, and I listened to his explanation. "I'm here for a hearing in Judge DeYoung’s Courtroom in the Thevenot-Rousseau case. I'm Sissy's friend. We had dinner at her place last night. I left about ten and tried to call her at least a dozen times this morning to thank her, but she didn't answer her phone, so I went to her place and found her like this." He took a deep breath and choked back tears. "Will she be okay? Should I contact someone?"
"I'll call her dad. We're neighbors. Do you have any idea who did this?" Dr. Switzer pointed a light in my eyes. He had to pry them open to do it, and it hurt.
"No, sir. I couldn't guess." It sounded like Luke was standing at the foot of my gurney. I figured I was in the Emergency Room.
Someone started an IV, and I heard Dr. Switzer say I was going to feel more relaxed soon. Within seconds, I drifted off. When I awoke, I was in a hospital room. There was a hissing sound, and something was clicking like a clock, and the smell was less antiseptic, more like cleaning supplies. I could feel someone's presence and tried to open my eyes. One of them opened a slit, and I saw my dad in a rocker in the corner of the room. I must have grunted because he appeared at the side of my bed and asked if I wanted water. I nodded, and he put a straw to my lips.
"Who did this to you, Sissy?" He put the glass on the side table and took one of my hands out from under the sheet. I shook my head side-to-side. "The police have been to your apartment. They say it looked like someone broke the glass in your door to enter and that there was a bloody pillowcase and a rope on the floor next to your bed. Blood everywhere. They took samples, and by the looks of you, I'm guessing it will be your blood."
I couldn't talk, but I tried to piece together what had happened. Daddy bent his head to my mouth so he could hear. I told him that I had heard a clinking, crunching sound, and looked at my clock. "It was two o'clock in the morning, and someone put the pillowcase over my head and tied my hands. Then they beat me, kicked me, and God knows what else. At some point, I blacked out." The swelling inside my mouth made my words slur.
I'm not sure how much Daddy understood, but he nodded his head and told me I should get some rest. I heard him mutter, "Cowardly sons-of-bitches. They cover her head while they beat and rape her. Damn them. When I catch those bastards…" He walked out of my room, and I heard him talking to someone in the hall.
I dozed off and on all day, and Daddy mostly sat in the rocker and would give me sips of water every now and again. I heard him use the phone a few times. It sounded like he talked to Susie once, and James.
Luke came to my room at some point. I heard him talk to Daddy, who left. Luke stood beside my bed and held my hand and tried to talk to me. When I attempted to answer his questions, he put his ear to my mouth and listened.
"Don't try to talk unless you can give me an idea of who might have done this." He bent his head, and I tried to tell him whoever did it covered my head and never said a word. I said it felt like more than one person, but that I wasn't sure. I had my suspicions. I'd been worried that if Thevenot and Rousseau got out of jail, they would want to take revenge on me for stirring things up and getting the attorney general to take the case. But I didn't say that to anyone, nor did I mention that Warren had pulled up in my driveway and saw me kissing Luke, nor did I tell anyone about the warning note on my windshield.
*
It was a long week, but every day I was a little better. By Wednesday, the swelling inside my mouth was much less, and I could form some sounds. One of my eyes was halfway opened, and I could manage to open the other one a slit if I strained. My left wrist was broken and was in a cast, and I had stitches in various places on my neck, legs, arms, and back. The burning between my legs disappeared, but I felt a heaviness down there.
Daddy spent most days in the rocking chair in my room and was diligent about giving me sips of water, then 7-Up, which tasted really good. I guess someone called Mama, because she sauntered into my room Wednesday evening, jingling her bracelets and swishing her skirts. She was civil to Daddy, who left the room while she stayed with me. She read to me from some of her poetry books, and I felt as though she had me confused with Susie, the English major who loved that stuff; but it was comforting to hear Mama's voice. She came back Thursday morning and stayed until about noon. She told me she was going back to Houston and would come back to help me when I went home if I needed her.
By Thursday afternoon, I was able to get up and walk to the bathroom, so they removed the catheter. That was a relief. Friday, I ate some Jell-O and soup broth, so they took the IV out.
Luke came back Friday evening. He spent the night in the chair in my room even though I begged him to go to my apartment and get a good night's sleep. I'd never seen anyone so worried.
Saturday morning, they finally brought me real food: scrambled eggs, grits, and best of all, coffee. Luke stirred sugar and cream into my coffee and helped me take sips of it. I swallowed it, even though it burned the inside of my mouth. It made me feel like I was heading back to normality.
Luke sat on the side of my bed and put his hands on either side of my face. He whispered that he wanted to kiss me, but he knew it would hurt. He said he'd never been so scared and worried in his life. He said he thought, at first, that I was going to die, and that he'd relived Sheila's death a million times over.
"What do you remember about what happened?" He was so close to my face that I could taste the coffee on his breath. I told him what I remembered. He asked me if I suspected anyone. I said, "No."
"Did you smell anything?" Luke's voice was so comforting. I remember I'd initially thought it might have been him, but I knew now that he could never hurt me, or anyone, for that matter. "I mean, did you recognize someone's odor or anything? Did he grunt or make any sounds that you remember? Try to think of any little thing, something you heard, or tasted, or smelled, or felt."
I concentrated and could remember some things: a strong body odor, like someone who hadn't taken a bath for a week. Cigarette breath. Grease. Diesel fuel. Beer. Grunts, like a hog being butchered. A wet, throaty laugh. I realized there had been two different laughs, one higher pitched. But I didn't tell Luke any of those things, I just held onto the thoughts and wondered whose penis had been inside me. I wanted to vomit when I thought about it.
Luke agreed to stay at my apartment Saturday evening to get some rest, and I thought about the rape all night. By Sunday morning, I was pretty sure I knew who did it. Luke was right: I had recognized some sounds and smells.
*
Dr. David let me go home Sunday afternoon, and Luke took me in his car, carried me up the stairs, and put me in my bed. He said he had washed the sheets after he'd slept on them. He spent the night in my study on the pullout sofa bed and left early the next morning to drive to Baton Rouge. Mama showed up as if by magic on Monday at noon and stayed until Wednesday when Tootsie came to replace her. She cleaned my apartment and stayed with me until Friday.
When Luke returned, I could hear him talking to Tootsie in the kitchen. I put on my robe and slippers and shuffled in. They both looked at me as though I were an apparition.
"See. I can take care of myself now. Y’all don't have to feel like I can't be left alone." I smiled, both my eyes were opened, although one was still pretty black and the other was turning yellow. Luke and Tootsie looked at each other with peculiar expressions. "Okay. What is it? Don't keep anything from me."
"Aren't you afraid the person who did this will come back?" Luke walked towards me and put his arm over my shoulder. He walked with me to the sofa and eased me down in a sitting position. "That's why we won't leave you alone."
"Oh. No, I hadn't thought of that." I believed that the person who beat me had accomplished what he'd set out to do, so why did he need to do it again?
After Tootsie left, I asked Luke about the hearing. It had been almost two weeks, but I hadn't thought much about the case since the beating.
"We got true bills on both defendants." He sat next to me on the sofa and held my hand. "First degree attempted murder and the other charges. We were afraid they would bring a lesser indictment on Rousseau, but they didn't."
"Has the judge set trial dates?"
"We got the dates today." He held my hand and turned towards me, with one leg bent on the sofa between us. "That's why I'm here early. I had to be in DeYoung's court this morning at ten."
Luke stayed over the weekend and bought take-out food for our meals. He walked into my bedroom with two mugs of coffee at about seven o'clock Monday morning, and I asked him why he wasn't in Baton Rouge, at work.
"I'm going to take you to Dr. Switzer to have your arm X-rayed, and I'm going to convince him to let me take you to New Orleans to stay at Susie's house." He asked me if he could help me get dressed, and when I shook my head 'No,' he laughed and left me in my room to dress and pack a bag.
Dr. David was amazed at how well I was healing. He looked at my X-ray, cut the cast off my arm, and replaced it with a removable splint that I could take off when I showered. "Only when you shower. Otherwise, wear it all the time, day and night. Dr. David agreed I could go to New Orleans. It seemed everyone was worried that the guys who'd accosted me would come back and finish me off.
I wasn't worried or afraid. I figured I had been warned and punished. They were done with me, unless I stirred up more trouble.
*
Luke took me to New Orleans Monday afternoon and drove back to Baton Rouge that evening. Susie and Marianne hovered over me. They worked out a schedule for the week: Susie would stay with me in the mornings, and Marianne would take off from her job early and care for me in the afternoons. I told them I didn't need all the attention. I could walk around, get myself coffee or tea, go to the bathroom. By Wednesday, they realized I was self-sufficient and went back to their regular routines of being gone all day: Susie with Rodney, Marianne at her job with the cardiologists. Susie came home for a couple of hours during the middle of the day and rested while Rodney was in therapy.
Thursday, Susie didn't come home for lunch. When Marianne came in at four o'clock, I asked whether she'd talked to Susie and she said she hadn't. She changed clothes and went to the hospital to make sure Susie was okay. I tried calling Rodney's room, but there was no answer. I called Luke twice to vent, and he was reassuring and said, "If you need me to come to New Orleans, say the word." Of course, I couldn't ask him to drive seventy miles simply because I was nervous.
I was pacing from the living room to the kitchen when Susie and Marianne came home after ten o'clock. Susie looked horrible. She'd been crying, her hair was in tangles, she limped; Marianne was holding her around the waist, and they crept across the floor.
"Oh my God! What happened?" I rushed to help Marianne get Susie to her bed. We pulled off her jeans and got a nightgown over her head.
"Donato gave her a sedative. She should drift off in a minute." Marianne pulled the covers up to Susie's chest and kissed her on the forehead. We backed out of the room as soon as we heard Susie's even breathing and knew she was asleep.
"Rodney had an accident. He's back in ICU." Marianne sat down hard at the kitchen table.
"Accident?" I got a bottle of wine and two glasses and put them on the table.
"I could use something stronger. Do we have any bourbon?" Marianne was pale, and her hands were shaking. I got the Jack Daniels from the cabinet, poured it over ice, then added some Coke.
"Okay, tell me what happened. From the beginning." I put the glass of bourbon in front of Marianne, and she took a long swallow of it.
"He was trying to use a walker. He fell and hit his head against the foot of his bed. He blacked out and couldn't be revived." Marianne took another swallow of her drink. "They worked on him for an hour. I called Donato myself.
"When I left the hospital, he was still out cold. Donato calls it a coma, and is staying with Rod all night. It's serious." Marianne finished her drink and said she really needed to go to bed. We went to our separate rooms, and I couldn't sleep. I thought about how to tell Lilly.
The next morning I called Luke and told him what happened, then I called Brenda. She said she would go to Lilly's dorm that afternoon and tell her. I knew Brenda would handle things well and keep Lilly from total hysteria. Brenda said she would take Lilly back to her house for the rest of the week.
Marianne took a couple of days off from work because she said she needed to take care of Susie and me. She took Susie back and forth to the hospital to see Rodney for ten-minute visits, four times a day. She said Susie would hold his hand and talk to him as though he could understand everything she said. Dr. Warner said that there was swelling on Rodney's brain and that he would come out of his coma when the swelling receded—or not.
Lilly arrived Friday afternoon and went directly to the hospital with Susie. Marianne said she was going to have dinner with Dr. Warner, but would be in early. Luke surprised me when he arrived at about seven o'clock. I was alone and afraid to answer the door until I was sure it was him. Then I unbolted and unlocked it and threw myself into his arms before he could cross the threshold.
We sat on the sofa, and he rubbed my back. I felt sad for Rodney’s setback, and for Susie and Lilly and their anguish. I felt sorry for myself, too; but I didn't admit it. Luke held me, my head on his chest, his arm over my shoulder, the other hand holding mine in his lap. I felt protected and cared for in a way I'd never felt in my life.
Marianne came home at about ten o'clock and Luke and I were sitting at the kitchen table eating ham sandwiches he'd pulled together when we realized we were famished.
"So this is the handsome prosecutor I've heard so much about. I'm Marianne." She stood with her hands on her hips, Dr. Warner standing behind her. "And this is Donato Warner."
"Lucas McMath." Luke stood and shook Marianne's hand, then Dr. Warner's. Marianne hugged him like a brother, and they both laughed. We all sat around the kitchen table, and Warner explained that Rodney was still in a coma, but he was showing signs of coming around.
"We'll have to start at ground zero when he wakes up." Warner seemed concerned and worried, which worried me.
Luke was going to drive home, but it was late, and Dr. Warner suggested that he had a guest room where Luke could stay. Come to find out, Warner lived only three blocks from the house on Jules Avenue. "Marianne won't stay at my house, yet. I think she's afraid of me." Warner reached over and squeezed Marianne's hand.
"No, I'm afraid of me." She laughed, and they looked at each other with something that resembled how Susie and Rodney looked at each other.
Susie and Lilly came home a few minutes later. I introduced Luke to Susie, and she excused herself, saying she was exhausted and needed to go to bed. Lilly followed her to the master bedroom after hugging Luke as though they were old friends.
By the end of the next week, I was feeling almost normal, except for the splint on my wrist. Luke called on Friday and asked whether I felt well enough to go out to dinner in New Orleans on Saturday night.
"Yes!" I shouted into the phone. "That's just what I need. This week has been grueling, but I feel fine; it's just all the stress surrounding Rodney's fall."
"How is Rodney?" The sound of Luke's voice calmed me.
"He came out of the coma yesterday. He recognized Susie and Lilly, but he can't speak at all. Susie said she'll have him talking again soon, and I don't doubt her."
"I know this is self-serving, but I hope he gets well enough to be at the trial next month. He's our star witness and without him…"
*
That night, Marianne didn't come home. When she stumbled in at around noon on Saturday, she looked as though she hadn't slept all night.
"What happened to you?" I took her hand and led her to the kitchen.
"Oh, Sissy. It's been a long night." She sat down heavily at the table. I went to the counter and started a pot of coffee. "Donato took me to his yacht club on Lake Pontchartrain. He actually has a cruiser, a thirty-six-foot sailboat with a couple of bedrooms below deck. We sat on the back deck, and I told him."
"Told him? What?" I put a cup of coffee in front of her and sat down.
"About being raped by those two white men with the Klan when I was twelve."
"Oh, God. Mari. What did he say?" I leaned forward so I could hear her because she was speaking in a whisper. "By the time I finished my story, he was on his knees in front of me holding my hands. He put his head on my lap and cried." She took a swig of her coffee. "After what seemed like a long time, he stood up and pulled me out of my chair. We stood on the deck of his boat wrapped in each others' arms, both crying.
"Finally I whispered into his ear, 'There's more,' and he pulled his head back to look at me. I told him that I'd dated women, that I hated men, especially white men, 'Like you,' I said. He stared at me as though I'd grown two heads and I knew the news about me being with women had finally turned him away, but you and Susie both told me I had to tell him the truth."
"Mari, I'm so sorry." I took one of her hands in both of mine and realized I hadn't taken a breath until that moment.
"He said, 'Mari, look at me.' He lifted my chin, and I met his eyes." Marianne put her mug down and looked at me for the first time. "I stared at him, unblinking. I figured I could take it, whatever criticism he had. I had prepared myself for that moment. Then he said, 'I wouldn't expect you to react any differently.' I was so shocked; I sat back down in the deck chair.
"'Aren't you repulsed?' I asked him. This is what he said: 'You were twelve years old.' He knelt in front of me on the deck and took both my hands in his. I looked him straight in the eye, and he said: 'White men did unspeakable things to you. Of course you should hate them and blame all white men for what they did. Of course when you wanted companionship, you felt more comfortable with women.' I started to cry and couldn't stop. I was heaving, shaking. He pulled me out of my chair and held me.
"I was hysterical. I couldn't control all the grief that had built up inside of me for twenty years."
Marianne and I sat in silence, both absorbing her story. I was proud of her for being honest, and I was equally shocked that Dr. Warner proved he was a man of character. I had him pegged as a player. She told me that he took her to his house and put her to bed in his guest room, and that he'd been the perfect gentleman.
*
The next night, Luke took me to dinner at K-Paul's on Chartres Street in the French Quarter, which was owned by Paul Prudhomme, the famous French and Creole chef who invented blackened dishes. After dinner we walked down to Jackson Square, where Luke talked me into letting an artist sketch me.
When I asked him whether the detectives on Rodney's case had talked to ex-Sheriff Guidry, Luke said he had given Guidry's name to Detective Schiller but didn't know whether he had spoken to the former sheriff.
"Should we talk to anyone else?" Luke squeezed my hand while we walked from Jackson Square to the bar at the Royal Orleans Hotel. "I mean, do Thevenot and Rousseau have any friends who are high up either in politics or finance?" He squeezed my hand while we walked.
"I wouldn't know." I thought about seeing Thevenot and Rousseau at James's house, but I didn't think they were friends. "It's just that Rousseau was one of Guidry's deputies, and when Desiré was elected, Rousseau quit his job, and I think he went to work for Guidry, who has a plumbing business."
I asked Luke about Thevenot's trial, which would be held in a few weeks. Luke said that the prosecution really needed Rodney's eye-witness testimony or Thevenot might get off Scot-free.
He took me back to Susie's house at about ten o'clock and said he was driving back to Baton Rouge. We'd had several drinks, and I didn't think it was a good idea for him to drive to Baton Rouge, so I persuaded him to stay over, and I put him in Marianne's room since she said she would be staying at Don Warner's house that night.
Susie and Lilly were asleep when we crept into the house, and I showed him to Marianne's room, which had its own bathroom and a queen size bed. I shared a bedroom with Lilly, but she slept with Susie, so I had the room to myself. Luke brought his gym bag into the house, and I shut him up in Marianne's room. I wrote a note to the girls that said a man was sleeping in that room and taped it to the outside of Marianne's bedroom door.
*
I slipped into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and stumbled into the kitchen the next morning. Luke was sitting at the table with Susie and Lilly, and they were laughing and drinking coffee and juice. I filled a mug with coffee and sat in the only available chair, across from Luke, between Susie and Lilly.
"What's so funny this early in the morning?" I took a sip of coffee and burned my lip. "Ouch. It's hot."
"Well, sunshine." Susie teased me in the mornings because it took me a while to wake up. "You are your regular morning bundle of joy, aren't you?"
"Don't tell Luke. Maybe he won't notice." I took another sip of coffee and grinned at him over the top of my cup.
"You are ravishing this morning." He winked at me and smiled.
"How do you start the day so chipper?" I put my cup down and my chin in my hand, elbow on the table.
"A hundred sit-ups and fifty push-ups." He bent his arms to show his biceps, like Popeye the Sailor Man.” We all laughed. "Then a pot of coffee and a two-mile run."
"No. You're pulling my leg." I sat up straight and put both my hands around my mug.
"Maybe just a little. I did go for a run this morning, then took a shower." He got up and went to the counter to refill his cup. "Anyone need a refill?"
I put my mug in the air but didn't look at him. Everyone laughed at me.
"She'll be fine in about an hour." Susie poked me in the ribs. "By the way, Sissy, where'd you find this dreamboat?"
"Don't give him a big head." I watched him fill my mug, and he poked out his bottom lip as though I'd hurt his feelings.
"Do you want to have lunch before I head back to Baton Rouge?" He winked at me.
"I usually go to Mass at St. Agnes at eleven." I looked at Susie and Lilly. "Did y'all go yesterday afternoon?"
"Yep. We went to the four o'clock vigil so we could spend the day with Rodney today." Susie stood up slowly, and I could tell she was still in pain. "We're heading to the hospital in a few minutes."
"I thought you could only see him ten minutes at a time." I tried to wake myself up so I could understand the confusion around me.
"Dr. Warner moved Rodney to the Neurology floor yesterday." Susie pushed her chair from the table and stood up.
"Wow, that's good news. He must be doing better." I swallowed as much coffee as would fit in my mouth, and grinned.
"Yep, now we can get back to therapy. We need to have him talking in the next few weeks so he can testify at the trial."
"Do you think that's possible?" Luke leaned against the counter and looked at Susie.
"It's a long shot, but we're going to work hard to make it happen." Susie and Lilly hugged Luke, kissed me on the cheek, and left for the hospital.
"Do you want to go to Mass with me, Luke?" I looked at him as he leaned against the counter, looking sexy as hell. "We can grab lunch afterwards."
"I guess you could drag me back to church. I've been lax ever since…" He dropped his guard for a split second, then recovered. I figured it had something to do with Sheila. "Well, sure. It would do me some good."
We went to St. Agnes Catholic Church, which was just a few blocks up Jefferson Highway from Ochsner Medical Center. We had lunch at Jefferson Seafood Shack and sat around drinking iced tea and laughing until almost three o'clock. Luke drove me back to Susie's house, and we went inside. I stood in the living room and waited while he got his leather bag from Marianne's room.
We stood next to his car, and he kissed me so passionately, it left me out of breath. I stared at his license plate. The number was 36H989, easy: 36—one year younger than James; H—for Heart, mine—the one beating so hard it felt as though it would burst from my chest; 9—the last number before10; 89—the last two numbers before 10. I had it memorized before the taillights on his Beemer were out of sight.