Chapter Sixteen

A bad husband is better than an empty bed.

—Krio Proverb

The wake of a passing barge rocked the houseboat. The movement woke Caitlin from her daydreams and mental flight into her past with Hunter, and she laid down the newspaper. She watched as the tug and its two barges chugged slowly past. Two men sat idly on the tow. One was smoking and staring idly at the water. The other noticed Caitlin sunning in her shorts and bikini top on the houseboat and whistled and gyrated his lower body.

“Dream on, deckhand,” she called out. As the barge chugged by, she hummed Johnny O’Neal’s song, “Snaggin’ on the Ouachita.” She knew it to be one of Hunter’s favorite songs, and in her mind, she could hear him singing it again. When the barge had faded into the distance, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Melissa’s number.

“Hey,” Caitlin said. “It’s Caitlin. I’ve been getting some sun and reading the paper. You’ll never guess who’s playing at the Back Door Lounge tonight.”

“Who?” Melissa asked.

“Hunter. I’m going to hear him and give him the African instrument I bought. Want to go with me?”

“Oh, your old boyfriend. I thought you had sworn off the Hunter addiction.”

“I know, I know. And I treated him so badly that he probably won’t even speak to me, but it still would be good to see him again, even if I have to admire him from a distance.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you love-sick fool. I bet money he’ll speak to you. You’re probably the only reason he came back to Monroe. And it’s more than just you wanting to see him—I think you still care for him, in spite of all your talk about this Von guy. Did you know that after I signed the lease, all you talked about was your breakup with Hunter? And then when you came back from Africa, you asked if I had seen him? I don’t think there is a cure for what you’ve got. What will you tell Von when he comes? Weren’t you like thinking of getting serious with him?”

“I was, but now, I don’t know. He’s my boss and I probably shouldn’t be dating him anyway. Isn’t there a law against that? I’ll probably have to handle the Von situation by ear. He’s so damn good-looking that I may change my mind once I see him. I really think I’m over Hunter, Melissa. Maybe I need some sense of closure.”

“Bullshit. Would you stop with the love clichés already? You’re not over him, and I’d bet money that he’s not over you. Some part of you will always love him. And I’m not cutting you down for feeling anything. I know what it’s like to be love-sick with no known cure available.”

“Well, do you want to go?” Caitlin asked.

“Sure, we’ll go, if I can snap out of my dreamworld we writers like to slip into. I’d like to meet him because I do like his music. Remember his CD you gave me? I play it all the time. I just hope that the rednecks at the bar will leave us alone.” Melissa sighed. “Sometimes I don’t understand how we can love living in the South like we do. There is so much pathology here. If we had any brains we’d move to a civilized part of the country and get away from this mess. Do you realize how many psychotics there are in Monroe? Maybe I should move to Dallas.”

“What and leave your best friend alone in Monroe?” Caitlin asked. “Like Dallas isn’t a Southern city with its own share of psychos. Listen, no one will bother you at the Back Door. I know Jed, the owner, and I’ll tell him to have his bouncers kick their ass if they do. I’ll pick you up around eight.”

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks, Melissa. I just need you with me tonight. This may be hard.”

“I understand.”

Caitlin laid down the phone, crossed her legs into a lotus position, placed her hands palms up on her knees, and allowed the warm afternoon sun to drench her skin. She closed her eyes and breathed like her Yoga teacher in Bastrop had taught her to do, savoring the moment, searching for the green light on the inside of her heart, trying to block the alternating images of Hunter’s and Von’s faces that appeared in her mind.

When she failed to find the green light, she opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder at Tejan who was fishing at the other end of the houseboat. Tejan’s health had greatly improved and she thought him handsome, sure to be a heartbreaker someday. He was bare to the waist, and as usual when she sunned like this, his back was turned modestly to her.

One of Tejan’s hands held a rod and reel, and the other hand shook Von’s leather rattle while he softly sang a French song. The words caught her attention. The song was one of the few good memories he had retained from his turbulent childhood. Singing always seemed to lift his spirits and calm him, in the same way her yoga mantra helped her. She closed the fingers of her open hands, as if to clutch the beauty and sensations of the moment. As if to close a part of their life she and Tejan both wished they could forget, so that she and he could only hold on to the wonderful present.

She had just heard on the National Public Radio that most of Freetown itself had fallen into the hands of the RUF. Nigerian and British troops had dug in and were trying to hold on to the little bit that was left. She was so grateful that she had left Sierra Leone when she did. Grateful too that she had managed to get Tejan out. She hoped Mandy and her uncle were safe.

Caitlin glanced at the stack of books outside the cabin. She knew she should be helping Tejan with his schoolwork. Yet, for now, this was what they needed to be doing, this was where they needed to be—here, on her houseboat on the Ouachita River, fishing and sunning and enjoying a warm summer afternoon together.

Tejan glanced her way. “Mama, the sun has not yet tilted out of the center of the sky, and your skin is red. Tejan is hungry. We will eat soon?”

She lay down and stretched. “I know. I’ll fix supper in a bit. But I need to sit here a few minutes more.”

“Okay, Mama. And I want to fish. The priest, Father Ambrose, said my grandfather was a fisherman. To fish feels good for Tejan. Do you go somewhere tonight, Mama?”

“Yes. I’m going to see a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. Will you be okay alone on the boat?”

“As long as Mama loves Tejan and doesn’t leave him, I am never alone. Tejan is home here on the river. The Ouachita River, in America.”

“You will never lose me, Tejan. I will always be your mama.” Caitlin smiled as she fought down her nervousness about her plans for the evening. Damn you, Hunter.

“Why does my mama look sad?” Tejan asked.

“I was just thinking of someone I knew a long time ago.”

“It makes Tejan sad to see his mama this way. Mama told Tejan she would be happy in Monroe.”

“Really, I am happy here. It’s just hard to forget some people sometimes.”

Tejan stared down into the water. “Tejan knows. Sometimes it is hard to forget many things.”

Caitlin winced, hoping she hadn’t stirred any bad memories of Sierra Leone.

“Who makes you sad, Mamá?” Tejan asked.

“His name is Hunter.” Caitlin wondered how much she should tell Tejan about Hunter. Even in Africa, so far and so different from Louisiana, Hunter had proven to be impossible to forget. Mandy had commented about Hunter’s music she listened to constantly, and the sketches she had made of Hunter playing his guitar, sketches that Caitlin refused to talk with her about. Maybe she had loved Hunter more than she had realized. And now, after over a year, she would be able to see him again.

Then, there was also the Von factor.

Von had written and called her several times. He would arrive in New York any day, then go on to New Orleans to handle some business for Vermeer Diamonds. He promised to come to Monroe in time for Caitlin’s show. She would have to find a way to fix the clinging-Von problem soon.

She wondered if Hunter had changed since she saw him—if his hair was still long and wavy, if he was still lean in body and restless in those blue eyes. She wondered how the months in the parish prison had affected him. Months, at least in his mind, he had spent because of her. She wondered if he would see the changes that had taken place in her since Africa, inside and outside. Wondered if Louisiana had changed for him, if he could see or sense the Von episodes when they met, or if she should even tell him. She shook her head. There was just too much to think about.

She glanced at the billowing clouds of smoke to the south rising from the paper mill, eternally permeating the air with its sour, sulfuric smell. Visitors to her art gallery often asked what the smell was, and she, like other residents would reply, “That’s the smell of money.” The paper mill was probably the largest employer in the area. Maybe Hunter would get his fill of the music world and take a steady job there.

She spread out a towel and lay down on her stomach near the edge of her boat. She stared down into the river’s calm surface, a green-brown veil deceptively covering its opaque heart, masking the strength of its currents and undertow, concealing its mysteries. This river healed her and drowned her sorrow with the same certainty with which it drowned drunk and reckless swimmers every year at Lazarre Point.

Tejan stood and dived into the river. He was a strong swimmer, swimming nearly every afternoon in good weather. After a few minutes, he climbed back onboard, grinning. She rose and pitched him a towel. As he dried himself, she said, “Tomorrow, we’ve got to scrub the mildew off the walls and change the engine’s oil, Tejan. God, sometimes I hate fooling with things like that. Living on the river is getting to be a lot of trouble.”

Tejan sat on the gunwale, scooped his hand into the river and watched the water drip from his fingers as if it were the holy water of a god. “These are small things, Mama. It is the soul of the Lady River who is important. She loves Tejan like you do, Mama. I can feel her heart. It is true—sometimes she is very angry. Sometimes she sinks with sadness when she carries sad stories past us.”

“Yes, you’re right, Tejan. Mama shouldn’t complain. This river is our home now.”

Tejan smiled. He picked up his rod, cast out his bait, and sat down on the deck. When the tip of his pole bent, he set the hook and reeled in a large blue catfish. “See Mama, I think the Lady River heard us speak of her and is pleased. She gave us a big catfish.” Stepping into the cabin, he returned with a zip-lock bag and a kitchen knife. He plopped the fish on his cleaning board at the edge of the boat and deftly gutted it, tossing the entrails into the river. Making two quick slices, he dropped two white filleted white slabs into the baggie.

“Mama would like Tejan to cook fish now?”

“No. I don’t have time. I’ve got to clean up a little before I go out. Just wrap it and put in the refrigerator. Let’s just eat sandwiches tonight and save the fish for tomorrow. Why don’t you cook that red-gravy fish dish for our reception party? Everyone will love it.”

“How many will be at this reception?”

“The boat will be full.” I hope.

“Then Tejan must catch more fish for Mama’s party.” And he turned his eyes to the river and sang to her. A song she had never heard him sing. The lyrics were in French and about a woman whose lover returns after many years.