Bayou My Love: A Novel (30 page)

And
now, as much as I hated her for leaving, I was doing the same thing. Why was it
that when things got complicated with Jack, my first instinct was to walk away?

I
hated that we had that in common.

I
pushed the photographs aside and pulled the small brown journal from the bottom
of the box. The ink had bled and faded on some of the pages, but the
handwriting was still legible in most places. Vergie’s diary. The first entry
was dated twenty-three years before. When I flipped to the last page, I saw
that it spanned three years. Vergie clearly wasn’t a daily writer but perhaps one
who recorded the most important events in her life. This would have been before
my mother left me, but I wondered if there still might be some insight in these
pages.

I’d
made it through a half a dozen entries when there was a light knock on the
door.

From
the doorway, Jack said, “I just got called in. I may not be back until late.”

“Oh,”
I said, looking at the clock. It was after eight.

“I
tried to call Andre, but I can’t get him on his cell.” His voice was still
cool. “If you want I could call Buck to come over, or you could go over to
their place. They’d be happy to have you.”

“It’s
OK,” I said, waving him off. “I’ll be fine.”

He
sighed. “I’d feel better if you weren’t alone.”

“Don’t
worry about me,” I said.

He
shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll worry about you all
night.” His eyes were sad and dark. Because of me.

“OK,”
I said, giving in. “I’ll go over to their house.”

“Now?”

“Yes.
I’ll just get a few things together and head over there. I won’t be far behind
you.”

“OK,”
he said, running his hand through his hair. He turned to leave.

“Jack,
wait.”

He
paused. “What?”

“I
was hoping we could talk later. About this morning.”

He
slid his hand along the doorframe, avoiding my gaze.

“Please.
There are some things I need to tell you.”

He
nodded. “OK. In the morning. You should plan to spend the night at Buck’s. If I
finish in time, I’ll join you over there.”

“Break
a leg.”

He
walked quickly down the hall, his footsteps heavy on the stairs, and out on the
porch. And then he was gone.

I
turned back to the journal, just to read a few more entries before I left.
Reading Vergie’s words, I saw a whole new part of her that had never existed
for me before. It made me wonder if there were other journals in the house,
packed up in closets, stashed in trunks, hidden on the bookshelves between her
paperback westerns. And what about my mother? What if she’d kept journals here
and I hadn’t found them yet? There were so many secrets here, I wondered if I
could ever stay long enough to untangle them all.

The
next time I looked at the clock, it was nearly ten.

“Shit,”
I said. I hated to call Buck and Josie that late. Jack would be furious at me
if I didn’t go over there. Downstairs, I found my phone lying on the kitchen
table, the ringer turned off. There was a voicemail from an hour ago, plus two
other missed calls.

I
pressed the play button. It was Josie.

Hey,
sweetie,
she
said.
Jack called and said you needed to come stay with us while he went to
work. I just thought you’d be here by now, so I wanted to make sure
everything’s OK. Call me when you can. We’ll be up.

She’d
be worried about me by now. Bella whined, scratching at the door.

I
called Josie back, and she answered on the second ring.

“I’m
so sorry,” I told her. “I was doing some cleaning and lost track of time. Is it
all right to come now?”

The
dog barked, pacing.

“Of
course,” she said. “We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Bella
barked again, and I opened the door. She bolted across the yard.

“Thanks,
Josie.” I shut the door and flipped the bolt.

I
left the phone on the table, and fished my keys and wallet out of my messenger
bag. Then I hurried upstairs and threw my toothbrush and a change of clothes
into my duffle bag. I took the other journal from the hat box, skimmed a few
pages, and put it in with my clothes. Now that I’d started reading, I couldn’t
stop. I took a quick look in Vergie’s closet and the back sitting room to see
if any stray journals were lying around. I hadn’t checked the bookcases yet,
but I’d go over every square foot of that house to be sure my mother hadn’t
left a notebook somewhere. I made a mental note to comb through the books when
I got back. Something told me I’d find more of Vergie’s journals sandwiched
between her novels.

Glancing
at the clock on the dresser, I cursed under my breath. I had to get over to
Josie’s—it had been twenty minutes already. An idea popped into my head, and I
checked the trunk in the upstairs room Jack had left as a study. But I didn’t
find anything more. Defeated, I grabbed my bag and went downstairs.

I
stopped on the bottom step. The smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air.

In
the time it took for the smell to register, I saw the figure by the front door
and felt a surge of panic.

Remy
stepped into the light from the kitchen, plucking a cigarette from his lips.

“Going
somewhere, darlin’?”

Chapter
24

I
froze, my heart hammering in my chest.

Remy
Broussard stubbed his cigarette out against the kitchen doorframe, blowing a
stream of smoke in the air between us.

“How
did you get in here?” I asked, dropping the duffle.

A
sly grin touched the corners of his mouth. “Back door was open,” he said. “I
called, but there was no answer. I was concerned for your safety, so I let
myself in.”

The
kitchen door was most certainly locked. But it had glass panes.

“What
do you want?” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

“I
just figured it was time we talked. About these little outbursts you seem to
have, and this propensity of yours to slander me in public places, in front of
civil servants.” He cocked his head. “It’s really a nasty habit.”

He
was blocking the front door. I glanced toward the kitchen, thinking of knives
and frying pans, but I was too far away. He would easily cut me off.

I
couldn’t outrun him. He was twice my size. I needed another tactic.

“I’m
sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was just upset.” I
leaned against the newel post at the stairs. “I’m sure you understand.”

He
took a step toward me. “Ah, so this is just a misunderstanding.”

I
tried to sound pleasant, to smile, even. “I didn’t mean any of those things.
I’m sorry.”

“You
said that already.” He stared at me, his eyes dark. “What’s the matter,
darlin’? You’re shaking like a kitten.”

“I
feel bad about all of this,” I said, swallowing hard. “And you’re right. I
shouldn’t have said anything that night with the sheriff. I’ll talk to him. He
thought I was crazy anyway.” I laughed a little, like I might shrug it off.

His
eyes narrowed, and I felt the hair on my neck rise.

“Let
me make it up to you,” I said. “Can I fix you a drink?” I nodded toward the
kitchen.

“Fair
enough,” he said.

I
eased past him, and he followed me into the kitchen, eyeing me closely as I
pulled two glasses from the cabinet and poured the bourbon. There was a knife
block at the end of the counter, just out of reach. He could easily overpower
me if I made any sudden moves, and I shuddered thinking of what he’d do to me.

I
handed him the glass, willing my hand to stay steady. His fingers brushed over
mine. Behind him, I saw the broken pane of glass in the door but quickly looked
back to him.

“How
about we start over?” I suggested, holding my glass to his. “I gave you a
second chance, right? Now I’m asking you to forgive my bad manners.”

He
raised one eyebrow, as if that was a fair statement. As I took a sip of my
drink, he knocked his back with a flick of the glass. His eyes rested heavy on
mine.

“I’ve
been thinking about you,” I said, stepping closer to him. “Ever since that
night at the bar.”

“Is
that right,” he said. It didn’t sound like a question.

I
took another sip of bourbon and lay my hand on his chest.

His
eyes rested on my hand.

“We
could have fun together, you and me,” I said, sliding my finger along the
buttons of his shirt. As long as my hand was moving, it wasn’t trembling.

“Oh,
I don’t doubt that,” he said.

“How
about you let me make this up to you?”

He
grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard.
“You’re a terrible liar, darlin’.”
His face
hardened as he leaned closer to me. His other hand came around me quickly,
grabbing a fistful of my hair. I yelped as my glass hit the floor and
shattered.

“Come
with me,” he said, his lips brushing my ear. He twisted my hand behind my back
and shoved me against the wall. His body pressed hard against my back, holding
me in place.

“I
thought you wanted to talk,” I said. With my cheek pressed against the wall, I
could just see him out of the corner of my eye.

He
laughed. “You are a firecracker all right,” he said, pushing my wrist into the
small of my back. My shoulder throbbed as he leaned against me, his breath hot
near my ear. “You mostly just need to listen,” he said.

I
closed my eyes, cursing myself for not leaving sooner, like Jack had wanted me
to.

“Jack
will be home any second. He’ll murder you for this.”

He
laughed. “Your boyfriend’s stuck in a fire. A big one that he likely won’t make
it out of. Some warehouse that went up like a tinderbox.” I could smell the
bourbon on his breath. “It’s tragic really, the way he left here to fight a
fire, only to leave you to die in one.”

My
heart pounded. I squirmed under his grip.

“This
old place will go up in no time too,” he said. “You just got lucky before.”

“There’s
no need to do this. I’m leaving town. You’ll never see me again.”

“It’s
a little late for bargaining, don’t you think?” He grabbed my free hand and pulled
it behind me. “Now hold still, or I’ll make this hurt a lot more than it has
to.” With both of my wrists in one of his hands, he fumbled in his pocket for
something. His weight shifted, and I slammed my head backwards as hard as I
could.

There
was a loud crack and a bolt of pain in the back of my skull, but his grip
loosened long enough for me to whirl myself around and punch. My fist landed at
his throat, and he gagged. He reached for me, stumbling, but I yanked my arm
free from his grasp. I fell against the table and then felt his hands on my
back. My hammer was by the corner of the table, half buried by the newspaper.

He
grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back as I fumbled for the
hammer. When my hand found the handle, he spun me around to face him, and I
swung.

He
jerked his head back, missing most of the blow, but the hammer caught him on
the jaw. He lunged at me then, his eyes dark with fury. One hand locked around
my wrist as he slammed me back against the wall. I saw tiny pinpricks of light
as my head hit the wood. Still clenching the hammer, I willed my arm to swing,
but his grip was too strong. He shoved my wrist into the wall, and the hammer
clattered to the floor. Pain shot through my arm, making my eyes water.

“You’re
going to be sorry you did that,” he said, his voice still eerily calm. He
locked his other hand around my throat, and I gasped as his fingers squeezed.
He leaned so close I could feel his breath in my face. I gripped his forearms
and tried to scratch. I kicked him, but he didn’t even flinch.

He
only sneered as he squeezed tighter. I coughed, gasping for air, but feeling
none. All I could think was,
I’ve been so stupid.

When
the room started to go dark, he turned my body again and shoved me against the
wall, holding my wrists behind me. I heard the rustling of fabric, felt him
fumbling with something against my hands, and then my wrists stung as they were
cinched together.

His
hand returned to my neck, moving my hair away from my face. I struggled to free
my hands, but whatever he used was holding them fast. The more I struggled, the
more they hurt.

Remy
pushed his forearm into my back, still gripping my neck, and spoke close to my
ear. “I’m going to sit you down now and get something from the hall.” He held a
hunting knife by my cheek and said, “Are you going to give me any more
trouble?”

I
swallowed hard, feeling my heart pounding as he leaned farther into me. “No,” I
said, my voice shaking.

“Good.”
He shoved me down into the chair at the table.

I
tried to pry my wrists apart as he stepped into the hallway. He must have used
a zip-tie, because it wouldn’t budge. I stopped when he came back into the
kitchen and a shiver went through me.

He
held an old red gas can by his hip, the hunting knife in his other hand.

I
looked around the room, but there was nothing to help me. “Please, don’t do
this.”

He
unscrewed the cap on the gas can and slung it to his side as he walked toward
me.

“They’ll
know it’s you,” I said. “You can’t get away.”

He
chuckled as my eyes began to water. The smell of the gasoline filled the air
between us, making me gag. “It’s easy to disappear,” he said.

“Why
are you doing this?” I asked.

He
stared at me, tossing the gas can into the corner. A stream of liquid puddled
under it on the floor.

“Your
brother,” I said.

He
jerked his head toward me, pointing the knife. “Don’t,” he said.

“I
know you blame Jack. He told me what happened.”

He
had me out of the chair and against the wall in an instant. His hand was around
my throat, his body pressing hard against me.

I
gasped, trying to catch my breath, but he only squeezed tighter, his thumbs
biting my skin.

“You
don’t know shit,” he said, his face inches from mine.

My
vision narrowed as darkness seeped in from the sides of the room. The edges of
his face blurred. I tried to twist my body away, but his grip was too tight.
His eyes burned into mine. My chest throbbed.

There
was a crash, and Remy’s hand went limp. I slid down the wall, falling into a
heap on the floor. I coughed, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. The floorboards
were cool against my face, the sting of gasoline sharp. There was a scuffle, a
banging sound, and when I looked up, I saw Jack slamming Remy’s head against
the counter by the sink. Remy’s hands flailed behind him, but Jack shoved his
face into the porcelain once more.

Remy’s
body went limp, and Jack pushed him to the floor.

His
face lay a few feet from mine, his eyes closed.

The
room started to go dark again, and then Jack was on his knees by my side,
helping me to sit up. “Enza, can you hear me? Are you OK?” He was still wearing
his turnouts, covered in soot and ash. His white shirt was streaked with blood.

I
nodded, still coughing. My throat felt swollen shut.

He
looked me over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” His hands drifted over my body as
he checked for wounds.

I
shook my head, still unable to speak.

He
held my face in his hands and kissed me on the forehead. He smelled like a
campfire. “I thought I was too late,” he whispered. “Just sit tight.” He held
me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me, and right then, those arms
felt like the only things holding me together. I shivered as he dug his cell
phone out of his pocket and dialed. He gave the police the address, said he’d
wounded an intruder and then hung up.

I
looked over his shoulder at Remy, still lying motionless in the corner. I wound
my arms around Jack’s waist and leaned my head against his neck.

~~~~

Police
sirens pierced the air outside. The sound of boots echoed in the hallway, and
Jack yelled, “In here!”

Andre
and his partner slipped into the kitchen, pistols raised. Footsteps moved
quickly through the rest of the house.

“It’s
just him,” Jack said to Andre, nodding toward Remy, who still lay unmoving in
the corner.

Jack
stood, helping me to my feet. Andre walked over to Remy and kicked his foot
until he grumbled.

“Wake
up, Broussard,” Andre said, his voice as calm as ever. “It’s time to take you
to your new home.”

Remy
grunted, struggling to get up. He had an ugly bruise forming around one eye.
The other was swollen shut. Blood trickled down his cheek into the collar of
his shirt. I started trembling again as he came to.

“Might
as well stay down there,” Andre told him. “Just turn over on your belly.”

Remy
glared at me with a fury that made me want to beat him back into the floor. I
took a step toward him, but Jack swept his arm around me and steered me to the
back of the house.

“Hey,”
I said. “Let me go.”

Andre
cuffed Remy’s hands behind his back, then pulled him up from the floor.

“Shhh,”
Jack said, leading me to his bedroom. “You’ve seen enough of him tonight, don’t
you think?”

“He
attacked me!” I yelled, but the words sounded like a whisper.

He
placed his hands on my shoulders and held me in place. “I know, cher. And I
very nearly killed him for it.” His eyes were wide. “Let Andre take it from
here.”

I
slumped down on the bed, shaking with rage. Jack sat next to me and put one arm
around my shoulders, drawing me into him.

“I
was so stupid,” I said. “I should have gone straight over to Josie’s, and this
wouldn’t have happened.”

He
sighed, stroking my hair. “This is not your fault.”

Maybe,
I thought, but I’d certainly given him the perfect opportunity. I heard
scuffling outside the room and caught sight of Andre shoving Remy down the hall
and out the front door.