Morning came, the way it always does. The only bone God tossed me was that Surf’s Up didn’t open until eleven on Sunday, letting me hide in bed until the last possible moment. Awaking to the sound of Erskine scratching his paw under my bedroom door, I let him in, then staggered to the bathroom.
Glancing in the mirror, I faced my scary reflection—seaweed hair and black-ringed vampire eyes. Resisting the urge to call in sick, I creamed off my Cleopatra makeup, washed my face, and threw on some clothes.
My mother, coaxing a bit of sunshine, lay by the pool sprawled out on a blue and white striped chaise lounge, studying for her art history class. When she saw me, she lowered her sunglasses like a Hollywood star. “How was Paige’s party?” she called when I breezed by the open sliding glass door.
“Killer,” I called back. “Absolutely, killer.”
No point in getting my mother all worked up over Miss de France. I mean, she didn’t even know her. Besides, how could I tell her anything if I didn’t even know what really happened?
Racing through the kitchen, I grabbed a banana, a bagel, and my purse, then flew out the door to my car.
Having taken the Oprah no texting driving pledge, I wasn’t able to fill the Sisters in on Miss de France’s condition until I got to Surf’s Up. Sudsy was already on the job, feather duster in hand, and a serious look on her face. She nodded when she saw me, then began to frantically text me with her free hand, even though she was no more than fifteen feet away.
What’s going on?? Is M D OK?? Maria called 5 x. T is hysterical!!!
Equally as frantic, I texted back, filling her in on the little I knew. The day dragged on, consisting of nothing but the arrival of a gazillion texts from the Sisters and a migraine.
Five o’clock finally arrived and I raced to St. Anthony’s only to find Miss de France had checked out. Not DEAD checked out, thank God, just released.
Tearing back to the parking lot, I jumped into the Green Lady and peeled off. My car responded with a strange noise. Poor thing. She was as much of a nervous wreck as I was.
“I’m sorry I’m driving like a maniac,” I told her, tooling down the brick streets to Miss de France’s house, “but I can’t help it.”
Unconvinced, the Green Lady responded with a snotty ding and a curt message across the dashboard.
Bewildered I looked at the monosyllabic word. “Deck? What in God’s name is a deck?” I asked my car. “Couldn’t you possibly give me a normal message like check fluids or hot engine?”
Ignoring the dinging, I drove toward Spring Bayou and the ramshackle Victorian. James met me at the door. He was dressed in white, having apparently morphed from butler to nurse.
“She’s been waiting for you,” he said, skipping the formalities. His voice was cold again. I guess he’d rested up enough to be mad.
I followed him up the stairs to her bedroom, dread in every footstep. Miss de France was probably mad at me, too. I wouldn’t blame her if she hated me.
James pushed opened the door and I peeked in. There in the gigantic four poster, propped against a mountain of white lace pillows, was an even whiter faced Miss de France. She fluttered her hand when she saw me in an I’m-not-long-for-this-world kind of wave. I could hear James’s footsteps as he walked away.
“Oh, there you are,” she said in a breathy voice. “I knew you’d come.”
“I would have been here sooner, but I had to work,” I apologized. I crept to her bed and sat down in a tiny chair. “My boss depends on me, you know.”
“Yes, of course. But now, I depend on you, too.” She smiled. “Are the others coming?”
“Others?”
“Your girlfriends and their beaus. I especially want to see Tamara.”
Tamara? Why would you possibly want to see the person who sent you to the hospital?
“She wanted to come, but she has a huge track meet this afternoon,” I lied.
“And the rest?”
“Sudsy had a family dinner. And Maria. Well, I just don’t know. And of course, the guys. Well they’re....”
“Men. That’s all right, darling. I have you, and that’s all that really matters.”
James was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. I sat down beside him.
“It’s her heart, isn’t it?” I said, looking into his worried face.
He nodded. His voice was nice again. “I’m afraid her condition has worsened.”
I can’t take this. I have enough guilt in my life. “Worsened? Please don’t tell me they sent her home to die!”
“No, nothing like that. It just means she has to be more careful. She has something called an arrhythmia. Usually it’s not that serious, but I’m afraid the stress from last night...” his voice trailed.
“Yes?”
“Pushed her into atrial fibrillation, which just means the electrical impulses in the heart are irregular, so it beats faster.”
“But she’s going to be okay, right?” I said, coaxing him along.
“She should be. She just needs to stay calm and happy.” James looked into my eyes.
“But what will make her happy?” I said, fearing the answer.
“Brooke, remember last night when you asked me if Madame had any family, and I told you she’d had a niece who died?”
I nodded.
“Her name was Stephanie, a beautiful girl with long blonde hair. Miss de France adored her. She gave her everything. On the morning of Steffie’s sixteenth birthday she surprised her with a pink Thunderbird convertible with white leather upholstery and a white top.”
I thought of my Grandma Donnie and how she’d given me the Green Lady on my birthday. “Miss de France must have loved her a lot.”
“Very much so.”
“What happened?”
“Steffie was in an auto accident. Some of her friends on the beach arranged a birthday party for her, and on the way there she skidded off the causeway in the rain. She died instantly.”
“You mean she died the same day Miss de France gave her the car?”
“The very same day.”
I blinked back a tear. “I just can’t imagine.”
“Neither could Madame. Steffie was her world and when she died, part of Miss de France died, too.”
That’s why Miss de France looked so sad and lonely. Her heart was broken.
“You remind Madame of Steffie,” James went on. “And when you appeared on our doorstep that night, dripping wet... Well, your resemblance was uncanny.”
I tried to imagine the Green Lady skidding into the bay and dying. I looked down at the black and white entry tiles, not wanting to meet James’s eyes.
“She needs you,” he said. “I can count on you to be there for her, can’t I?” It didn’t sound like a question.
I raised my head. “Yes, you can.”
His face softened. “I knew I could. You’re a good girl.” Pulling himself up on the banister, he got to his feet.
“I have to go,” I said. “I haven’t even told my parents what happened.”
“I understand.”
He shadowed me to the front door. “So, what time will you be here tomorrow?”
What time will you be here? Panic washed over me. Miss de France expected me tomorrow and probably for every tomorrow the rest of her life. For all I knew she’d live to be a hundred. I imagined myself twenty years from now, a middle-aged wreck of thirty-six. My life would never be the same. I was Miss de France’s slave.