Chapter Twenty

A true friend is never truly gone. Their spirit lives on in the memories of those who loved them.—Amy Hoover

The next afternoon, Hunter checked into the Fairfield Inn, a motel not too far from the Backdoor Lounge. After he settled in, he called his parents in Caldwell Parish, and told them he had made it to West Monroe and had checked into the motel. He sat outside his room and watched the sky gray as the charcoal and black symmetry of storm clouds boiled into a gnarled pattern of turbulence above him. When rain fell, he dragged the chair back into the apartment and holed up in his room, sitting next to the window. He cut off the light and air conditioner and opened the window.

He sat there, staring through the open venetian blinds at the storm. The thunder was long and growling, and he listened as it rolled spatially across the sky. He willed the thunder to say something, to mean something, but all he heard or felt on the inside were his own song lyrics, all of them saying things about Caitlin. And the words echoed hollowly in some nether region and depth where he had never been able to go before. He was quiet and the room was quiet, and he listened to the rumbles of turbulence and the raindrops as they splashed in a staccato rhythm into standing water and pecked at the pile of beer cans he had thrown outside the door. The chords of a new song rolled like the thunder through his mind, the notes and words coming from somewhere from an unknown sullen muse.

At the Backdoor Lounge, Hunter began his show at eight. He spotted Caitlin and Melissa as they entered the bar. He had just begun John Mellencamp’s song, “I Saw You First,” when he and Caitlin locked eyes. He tried to ignore her, but she looked good, and he felt her eyes. He tried to focus on the song, wanting to burn his intensity into the crowd, but his eyes kept straying back to hers, and soon he realized he was singing to her again. She smiled and pulled her blonde hair back over her ear.

Shit. I should have known I’d run into her. What was I not thinking when I booked this gig?

Caitlin and Melissa walked to the bar and ordered drinks. He saw the bartender pour Caitlin a glass of red wine. He moved on to Johnny O’Neal’s song, “It’s True.” He noticed how her body swayed to the music, and her lips mouthed many of the words as if she knew the song well, even though he suspected she had never heard it before. The song took over his heart somehow, and he gave up his attempt to focus on the crowd and only looked at her. Caitlin blew him a kiss and pointed to the bar, then moved across the room and sat on a corner stool.

When the song ended, he said, “Be right back, folks. Gonna take me a short break.” He signaled the bartender to turn on the jukebox. After setting his Taylor guitar on its stand, he drained the last of his Scotch and walked over to her.

“Hey, Caitlin,” he said.

“Hello, Hunter. How have you been?”

“Trying to get myself back together.” He caught the eye of the bartender and nodded at their empty glasses.

“Coming right up, Hunter,” the barmaid said.

“You really look good, Caitlin.” He scanned her red legs and arms. “Did you get some sun today?”

“Yeah, a good bit.”

“So how was Africa?” he asked.

“Sad,” she said. “So sad, but I’m glad I went.”

“I had a little vacation myself, courtesy of Ouachita Parish. Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” she said. “Not really. Are you?”

Not really means she is, but she’s undecided. “No. You’re still painting, I suppose.”

“More than ever. Was that last song yours?”

“No, Johnny O’Neal wrote it. But I wish I had, and the song fits me. I identify with it. Never mind. You don’t want to hear me talk about music.”

Melissa cleared her throat.

“Oh,” Caitlin said. “This is my friend, Melissa.”

“So, you must be Hunter,” Melissa said. “Caitlin’s eternal love.” She extended her hand, and Hunter shook it. “He is fine, Caitlin.”

“Melissa is a writer, Hunter,” Caitlin said. “She has a gift for melodrama. Don’t listen to her. She’s just had too much wine. You can quit batting those eyes now, Melissa.”

“I wish some male here would get flirty,” Melissa said. “I could use some attention. Hey, Led Zeppelin’s on the jukebox. Let’s dance, Caitlin. I bet we’ll have men dancing with us in no time. “

“Sure.” Caitlin said. “Want to join us, Hunter?”

“No,” Hunter said. “I’ll watch.”

“I love for people to watch,” Melissa said. “Caitlin does too if she’d admit it.” She took Caitlin by the hand and they moved to the center of the dance floor and they danced freestyle. Melissa motioned for an ogling man to join them, and when he did, Caitlin exited and returned to Hunter.

“That girl is so naughty,” Caitlin said. “I guess that’s one of the reasons I love her so much. Speaking of naughty, how’s that Mississippi poet I heard you were so crazy about?” Caitlin dropped her eyes. “Have you seen her?”

“Naw. Not lately anyway. I called her once or twice, but we were never able to get things off the ground. Too many logistical problems.” Like, she had a kid, she was too attached to Mississippi, she was working on a degree. And then there were all those other issues we were never able to get to.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said.

“Ending it wasn’t my choice, it was hers. I’m not real sure anything with her even got started. How did you hear about her?”

“Monroe’s a small town. If one person knows, everyone knows before long. And I know what you’re trying to say, Hunter. You’re making a point in your usual not subtle way that ending things between us was my choice, my fault.”

“No, I’m not saying that. I know I’m not the easiest man to get along with. And just think, Caitlin, you could have stayed with me and had all this.” He swept his arm regally in the air. “I think there’s an old song that says you could share my smoky kingdom and have a barstool for your throne.”

“Some kingdom. Going to hear you play in a smoky bar, as intoxicating as it was at first, isn’t my idea of a great date. Fighting off flirting drunks, watching the groupies and floozies hit on you—that part of the scene got old after a while.”

“So why are you here tonight? A wild girls’ night out?”

“No. Since I came back from Africa, I’m not really into Monroe’s bar scene. I don’t want to get back in that loop. I saw your name in the paper, and I guess I had a moment of weakness. I just really wanted to see you again. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Hunter’s gut churned. Goddamn it to hell. Why does she have to be so honest? Moment of weakness, my ass. It’s been months, and nothing’s changed between us. She’s only been around me five minutes and my head is already spinning. And the worst thing about it is that she knows it.

“I’m sorry about that last letter I sent you.” Caitlin said. “Now I wish I hadn’t sent it.”

“Me too. Last letter? It was your only letter.”

“You could have written me.”

“And said what? That I screwed up that night? That I didn’t want you to go to Africa? Actually, I did write you, a bunch of letters, but I never mailed them. Didn’t even know where to send them. I’ll even give them to you if you want to read them. You could sell them some day when I’m famous as my jail diary or something.”

Caitlin slipped Hunter a piece of paper. “Here’s my new phone number. I’m still living on my houseboat on the river. Come and see me when you get up in the morning. I’m going to listen to one more song, then I’m going home to get ready for my show tomorrow and check on my son.”

“You have a son?”

“Yes, but you can get that worried look off your face. Tejan is not yours or anyone else’s I’ve slept with. I adopted him when I was in Sierra Leone. He just turned sixteen. He was a boy-soldier of the Revolutionary United Front. His parents were killed along with everyone else in his village. My uncle, the priest I told you about, he helped me adopt him.”

“Is he black? Who is the RUF?”

“Yes, he’s black. Who are the RUF? We’ve had this talk before. God, I forget how people here don’t keep up with world news at all. You need to at least listen to NPR on KEDM now that you’re… back. The RUF stands for the Revolutionary United Front. They are about diamonds, death, slavery, amputations—among other things.”

“What other things? Those sound bad enough.”

“Don’t make me talk about it, Hunter. I promised myself to only think happy thoughts tonight. Come see my art show tomorrow night and you’ll understand. It has an African theme.”

“I’m not surprised it has that theme.” Hunter glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s time for me to start my next set.” He moved closer and placed his hand on her arm. “It’s really good to see you again, Caitlin.”

“Still evasive on commitment, I see,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” Hunter asked.

Caitlin kissed him on the cheek, and the kiss was soft, and warm, and it reminded Hunter of too many things.

“Look, I really want you to come to my houseboat tomorrow, and then to my show that night,” she said. “Promise me.”

“I’ll try to make it, Caitlin,” Hunter said. I will not be a pushover, he told himself. I will not be a pushover.

“That’s not much of a promise. You better not stand me up. It’s not like I’m going to ask you to marry me or anything like that. Well, like I said, one more song, and then I’ve got to leave. What are you going to play?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll decide by the time I pick up my guitar.” Hunter returned to his guitar and stool, turned on his sound system and began, “Ashes by Now.”

Caitlin watched him, the way she used to watch him when they had dated. But as he got into the song her face flushed and she looked away. He sang on.

Melissa grabbed a guy she knew at a pool table and dragged him to the dance floor. Melissa signaled for Caitlin to join them, but she shook her head and remained at the bar. She did not look at Hunter.

After the song, Melissa went to Hunter and said, “I enjoy your music. You have the gift, Hunter. But that was a tacky song-choice. I know what you’re doing, and I think you hurt Caitlin by doing it. And what really burns my ass is that I think you wanted to hurt her.”

“I’m glad you know what I’m doing, because whenever I’m around her, I don’t.”

“Don’t pull that incurable romantic or suffering artist act on me. You knew exactly what you were doing. Look, she’s my best friend, so promise me you won’t lead her on and hurt her this time? I swear, Hunter, sometimes I don’t know how two people who are so incompatible could ever have gotten together.”

“I’ve changed. Well, at least I don’t have a temper anymore.”

Someone in the audience shouted out, “Why don’t you quit talking and play something good like ‘Margaritaville!’ ”

“Why don’t you kiss my ass!” Hunter said into the microphone, then cut it off, and looked at Melissa and shrugged his shoulder.

“What?” he said. “The guy would have pissed me off even if I hadn’t seen Caitlin. Cover tunes. They always want the damn cover tunes.”

Melissa bristled. “You’re ignoring the subject. Caitlin said one reason she broke up with you was because you always felt you had to defend her.”

“Sometimes all of us need defending.”

“God knows she stood up for your sorry ass enough. I think you should apologize to her. She didn’t have to come here tonight.”

“Look, just get out of here, Melissa, if you’re going to rag my ass all night.”

Melissa looked at Caitlin, then back to Hunter. “I mean it, Hunter. Apologize. I don’t know what your intentions are, but if you treat her like you did last time, you’ll lose her. She’s different now. Stronger. She won’t put up with all the crap you used to give her. And just for your information, she really wanted to see you tonight. Don’t blow this chance with her.”

Hunter lit a cigarette and sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll apologize.” He flipped on the microphone switch. “Give me a minute, folks. I’ve got something I’ve got to attend to.” He set his guitar on its stand and walked over to Caitlin. He stood there a minute, then took her hand. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. It seems I can’t help getting the dumbass sometimes. I was just hurt by seeing you again and something caused me to lash out.”

Hunter felt it was another scene from the past. Another apology to the girl he’s always adored and couldn’t get out of his head. Another apology just like many others he had offered her. But this time he told himself he meant what he was saying.

****

The phone rang when Caitlin returned to her houseboat. Expecting it to be Von, she picked up the phone. “This is Caitlin. Yes, operator I’ll hold.” God, I wish he would give me some space.

“Caitlin, this is your uncle. I’m calling from London.”

“Uncle Ambrose! How are you?”

“Doing well for an old man, child. I’m taking a sabbatical. My health is not what it used to be. Seems I picked up a bug or two during my stay in Sierra Leone. Reaming my insides out they are.”

“I’m glad you’re taking some time off. You need the rest. You’ll be up to speed in no time. I heard on the news that things were not good in Freetown.”

“Horrible situation it is. The city is in chaos.”

“Have you talked to Mandy?”

“Oh, child…”

“What is it? What’s wrong? Mandy’s okay, isn’t she?”

“Caitlin, Mandy was murdered in her room the night you left. I know I should have called sooner. I’m so sorry. I know she was a good friend, and a fine Christian too.”

“The night I left? Who did it?”

“We don’t know, child. It is tragic. Her family was devastated. How’s my Tejan?”

“Uncle Ambrose, he’s doing so well. Healthy, happy. He loves living here with me on the houseboat, and he’s such a helper at the art gallery.”

“Good, good. Are you still working for Vermeer?”

“No. When I returned from Africa, I wanted to rebuild my business at the gallery, so I quit.”

“I’m glad you did. The legitimate Sierra Leone government has declared Von Vermeer persona non grata. Assuming the government can regain control, if he ever returns, he will be arrested for smuggling and war crimes.”

“Why? Why would they want to arrest Von? He isn’t a criminal, and he did so much good for the mission.”

“The British ambassador told me that Vermeer has smuggled diamonds and guns for the RUF for over two years, Caitlin. Have you seen him?”

“Von? No, not since I left Freetown, but he’s coming to Monroe soon. I’ve got his artifacts on display in my show at the museum. What should I do?”

“You have to return them, of course. Caitlin, as your uncle I’m asking you to break off all relations with him. As your priest, I could command it, but I won’t—at least not yet. I hope I will not have to. Vermeer is an enemy of our faith and to all you’re trying to do with Tejan. Are you listening to me, child?”

“Yes. It’s just… I just can’t believe what I’m hearing. And if it had come from anyone but you, I wouldn’t believe it. He assured me his business was legitimate.”

“Hopefully, your heart is not tangled up with him, but even if it is, you need to do what’s right. When you see Father Robert at mass, tell him I’ll contact him soon. Bless Father Robert’s soul—he and his congregation were such generous supporters of the mission. Well, I must go, Caitlin. I’ll try to call again soon. Take care of yourself and Tejan. May the saints protect you. Remember me in your prayers.”

Caitlin managed to choke out, “I will. Goodbye, Uncle Ambrose.”

Caitlin set the phone on the hook, went to the houseboat’s deck and sat down, reeling from the ramifications of her uncle’s call. Images of Mandy swarmed in her head like angry bees—Mandy smiling, fussing, telling bawdy jokes, tending to the boys. A best friend—murdered. She whispered, “She only wanted to help them.”

And Von. Was her uncle exaggerating? Was Von really a diamond smuggler, a wanted man and in bed with the RUF—the very ones who had hurt Tejan and thousands of others? The thought of his charade infuriated her, and the thought that she had freely given herself to him sickened her.