Chapter 9

I drove to Stevie’s house, deciding I wouldn’t become a matchmaker with Babs and Jake. Even though at first they seemed a good match, I wasn’t sure now. I wasn’t sure if I really thought they’d go well together, or if I’d wanted an excuse to keep going to Cajun Delights. Now my mind was made up. I was keeping my nose far away from their business. And Gil’s restaurant.

With my purse on my shoulder, I hauled my filled bags toward the kitchen. Noise from the rear section of the house stopped me. Voices.

I set my bags on the floor. Who was in the house? What should I do?

Before I could get too frightened, one voice spoke louder. Stevie’s. I hadn’t thought she’d be home. “So that’ll be fine,” she said.

“Are you sure?” The second speaker was April, I could tell once I carried my bags into the kitchen. Stevie was speaking on the phone with her. I couldn’t hear every word April said but could hear her loud voice.

I gave Stevie a sarcastic smile. Why had she left me? Where had she gone? Why had she made me believe she was leaving me all alone today?

She frowned at the bags I set on the table. “I’m sure. See you later.” She hung up and stared at me.

“I thought you’d be gone all day,” I said, somewhat dejectedly.

“To mass?”

I noticed her clothes. A little nicer than the loose long dresses she wore to school. Her shapeless outfit looked less like nightclothes and more like something she’d wear during the day. “I didn’t realize you had mass today.”

“I didn’t ask you since you were never a churchgoer.”

“I was when I was young.”

“Your momma made you go then. That was a long time ago.”

Was she purposely stressing my age? As if I wasn’t months younger than she? Or did she think I looked older than she did now?

“You didn’t need to buy groceries. I have food.”

Yes, and it’s rich enough to make me double my size.

“Most of what I bought isn’t to eat.” I pulled out smoke detectors. “I didn’t see many of these.”

She grimaced. “I’m going to change clothes.” She stomped out of the room.

I removed everything from the bags, angrier by the minute. Leaving it all on the table, I marched over to Minnie. “Do you see what she’s like? My cousin is so frustrating!”

“Like you aren’t?” Stevie was back in the room.

“You were going to change,” I said, like she was the one who’d been caught doing the wrong thing.

“I changed my mind. We might go out to eat today.” She came across the kitchen so quickly she might have been much younger. “You know what? You think I’m stupid for having candles and stones and chimes. But guess what? I am not the woman in this family who thinks a cactus is a person.” She poked her finger at Minnie.

“I know she isn’t a person.” I pulled Minnie’s pot farther away from Stevie’s finger. “She’s a plant, and a nice one. And talking to plants is supposed to be good for them. It helps them grow.”

“Who says?”

“Experts. I read different sources after I almost killed her, and that’s one of the things growers urged. Many plants thrive when people talk to them, exactly like babies need to be held.”

Stevie grabbed Minnie’s pot and brought it close to her face. “Hi. I’m your momma’s cousin. How are you? I’m fine today. I went to church and ate breakfast and went to the bathroom.”

She set the pot down. Turned to me. “Does she look any better than before I told her my business?”

I clenched my teeth. Huffed through my nostrils. “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “A plant won’t brighten up the minute somebody speaks to it.” And then I wondered. “I guess it’s the combination of how you care for a living thing.”

Stevie grabbed Minnie. “I forgot to tell you I also talked on the phone. And ate two chocolate Pop-Tarts.” She set Minnie down. Eyed me like she wondered what I’d do about it.

“What is your problem?” I asked.

She slammed her fists on the counter. “I want a cigarette!”

“Is that all?”

“All? Do you have any idea how hard it is to do without something you crave all the time? Do you?”

I’ve desired things—boiled crayfish, sex, chocolate—but not all the time. “I never experienced what you’re going through.”

“I need nicotine, Cealie. I need it!”

“No, you don’t. Just let out tension. Scream whenever you want to smoke.”

“Heee-lp! I want to smoke!”

“Not like that. Don’t yell help.”

She looked even more frustrated. “Then what?”

This quitting smoking was more frustrating than I imagined. “Throw something.”

She grabbed Minnie’s pot.

“Not this.” I took it away.

She scanned the kitchen. Stared at the butcher block of knives.

“Let’s go in your bedroom,” I said.

She slunk there with me. I went to the opposite side of her king-size bed. I felt we were waiting for Valentine’s Day with her room done up in pink, red, and white. Lots of decorative pillows in those colors.

I pointed to them. “You can throw pillows.”

She stared at the bed. Her shoulders rose with her huge inhales and apparent indecision. Stevie picked up a pillow. Tossed it on the bed. She lifted another. Did the same. “This isn’t much fun.”

“Throw ’em at me.”

She tossed a round pink pillow across the bed. Then threw a square red one. “I still want to smoke.”

I threw the square one back at her. “Tough. You can’t, and that’s that.”

She threw it back. “Who says?”

I chucked it harder. “Me.”

She flung it again. “You? You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can.” I tossed.

“I could sit on you and squash you.” She pummeled me with three pillows.

“That hurts.” I slammed them back.

“They always liked you best.” Stevie rammed me with every pillow from her bed.

“Who?” I shielded my face with my arm. Then grabbed pillows and threw.

“Grandpa Midnight. And Ms. Rodrigue.” She viciously threw them back. Those tightly sewn pillow corners hurt like the devil. Our pillow war didn’t slow down.

“Ms. Rodrigue, our neighbor?” She’d lived between Stevie’s family and mine during the year we resided in the same city. Then Stevie’s family left town. I’d had mixed feelings about that. She and I often played well together. At other times she was mean.

Stevie slammed me with a hard white pillow I blocked with my forearm. “She always gave you the most candy.”

“Really?” Most days when I’d walked home from the bus stop, the widow was sitting on her front porch. I’d tell her hey, and she’d hold up a bag of the chocolates we called silver bells. Some people believed she was murdered.

“She said she gave you more since you were so small, which never made any sense to me.” Stevie walked around the foot of her bed while she spoke. She tossed a hard pillow at my face.

I grabbed it. “I never heard that. It’s stupid. And not my fault.” I hit her arm with the pillow.

She yanked more pillows off the bed, slamming me with them as she stepped closer. “And Grandpa Midnight always wanted to hold you.”

I shielded my face with my arms. “You never wanted to sit on his knee.”

“’Cause he stunk. He smoked big fat cigars that made his teeth brown and his breath stink.”

“So you’re mad at me?”

She was right in front of me, red faced, glaring down. She held a red pillow high, like she was ready to slam me. And then her eyes went unfocused. She appeared deep in thought.

Stevie’s eyes refocused on me. She snickered. So did I. She giggled. I did, too.

We fell against each other, hugging and laughing.

She and I laughed and hugged and then stared at each other and giggled. Then we hugged again.

After a while we stood holding each other. We seemed to realize at the same time that this felt a little awkward and pulled apart. A quiet moment ensued. “We need to find out why a man died here,” I said.

Steve nodded. “Do you want to hear one of Momma’s best poems?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

Stevie went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and grabbed papers. She carried them as if she was holding a precious item.

She laid them on her bed. Brushing at her eye, she lifted the top sheet. “This is her favorite.” She stood erect, cleared her throat, and read, “‘Fears. This is my worst—Stevie will leave me.’”

I watched. Waited. She lowered her head, looking solemn. She peered at me.

“That was nice,” I said. “Cute.”

“Cute? My mother’s poem is cute?”

“Sure, I like it, and I get it. She hated knowing one day you’d leave her.”

Stevie nodded, smiling now, like it was a wonderful thing that I could comprehend what her mother’s poem meant.

“Now I’ll tell my mother’s. This is short, too.” I stared off, my inner view showing me my mother’s constant smiling pink face. Her arms out to hug me. “An angel touched my life the day my daughter sprang into this world. I knew I was blessed.”

Stevie was quiet. “That’s pretty good.”

“You didn’t like it? She was talking about me, you know?”

“I know it, Cealie. Isn’t everything about you?”

“No. What are you talking about?”

“You went and tattled when I was only playing around with your ponytail that day, and I got punished. And Momma always made me let you go first whenever we played games.”

“Because I’m younger.”

She shoved fists on her hips. “Don’t give me that crap anymore, cousin. I’m not a whole lot older. I just looked it ’cause I was always bigger.”

“Taller,” I corrected. “There was a time when you were really thin.”

“So I’m not now? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Girl, neither of us is thin anymore. There was just a time when you were skinny.”

“And you think your body was perfect?” She shoved my arm.

“I’ve never been close to perfect. What’s really bothering you, Stevie?”

“You!”

The phone rang. She slapped my arm and went for the phone on her nightstand.

I stood, stunned. Moments ago my cousin and I laughed and hugged. But then we got back to the place where we’d usually stayed—far apart. Only this time, I actually felt threatened. Did she know her strength? Had she meant to harm me? Would she try something again?

The high-pitched voice from the receiver left little doubt as to the identity of her caller. I left the room, not caring to stay around Stevie anymore.

After her reaction to me, I didn’t want to be near her at all. I grabbed my purse, jotted a note saying I was going shopping for a few hours, and left it on the kitchen table. I glanced at Minnie and considered taking her with me. But that would be silly. She’d probably die from heat in the parked car. And Stevie surely wasn’t a vengeful person.

She didn’t want to hurt me, I told myself, hurrying from the house and rubbing my arm that ached where she’d hit me. Bruises were forming.

I drove off, apprehension making my scalp tingle. Why had she been so aggressive? When could I leave town?

I considered what to do, then determined I’d start checking out people from the stop-smoking group. They were the only ones I knew with some attachment to Pierce Trottier.

First, I needed to settle down after that fight. Food would bring comfort, but I wasn’t too hungry. Maybe a little gumbo. I aimed for Cajun Delights. Besides, I told myself as a convincing argument, the priest and his lady friends might be there. I could question them.

* * *

Many cars filled the parking lot. I parked and walked on the wooden bridge, pausing to watch fish and ducks. A brisk breeze refreshed my skin. Birds sang from a tree. Losing myself in nature, I then sauntered to the restaurant, realizing how meditation might ease a person’s spirit.

Maybe Stevie really could lose herself in thought so much she wasn’t aware of anything else, even the doorbell I’d rung when I first arrived. I would need to practice being one with my surroundings.

Touching the restaurant’s cypress exterior, I eyed cheerful families swinging underneath the tin overhang. Laughter and chatter abounded, along with tempting aromas when the door opened. I walked inside and glanced at the table reserved for Gil.

Drats. Empty.

But maybe he was here. A young woman seated me. I asked for tea and gumbo, then scanned faces.

No priest with his girlie friends. And no Gil that I could see. But Babs was near.

“Oh, hello,” she said, walking beside my table.

“Hey, Babs. Have you seen your boss?”

She shook her head. Beyond her, I recognized the brassy red hair of a woman entering the restaurant. A straight view let me notice her stretch jeans were way too tight. She was a member of the stop-smoking group. And she came in alone.

I went to her. “Hi, I met you when I was with my cousin, Stevie. I’m Cealie Gunther.”

“Hey. I’m Jenna.” She looked away. I recalled she hadn’t met my gaze at the meeting. And she’d walked out to smoke.

She kept her gaze away, looking apprehensive.

“Your group’s leader seems to stress out on how well his students achieve,” I said to get her reaction and learn whether she’d quit smoking yet.

She faced me. “Ish? He’s got nerve. The man never smoked once, and he’s trying to tell us what to do.”

“He never smoked? You’re kidding?”

She wagged her finger. “Not even one cigarette.”

“That would be like me wanting to teach a class like that. How can someone who never smoked tell others how bad it is?”

“Exactly.” Jenna’s nod revealed her hair’s black roots.

“I’m sitting alone,” I said, wanting to learn more. “How about joining me?”

“No thanks.” She stomped off toward an empty booth.

My seafood gumbo was to die for. Thick gravy chock-full of shrimp, lump crabmeat, and oysters. Seasoned to perfection. I ate French bread and potato salad and then remembered I hadn’t been especially hungry. Still no sign of Gil, so I left.

I was glad I’d learned a pinch of news from Jenna. It didn’t seem like much, but it was something. I would check out more people from The Quitters Group and also try to amend my cousin’s aggressive behavior. Maybe I could help her calm down, I thought as I saw a mom-and-pop drugstore.

I parked and went in. I asked a clerk where to find aids to help people quit smoking. She sent me toward the druggist.

I angled toward the rear of the store. Along the way I spied straws and grabbed three packs. Maybe pretending to smoke straws would help Stevie like they helped Fawn.

I trotted to the rear of the store and found Father Paul Edward and the twins. They were studying racks of condoms.