Wading Home_ A Novel Of New Orleans Part 11

Now he got it. But his confusion was replaced with genuine shock. Cousin G's face opened like a flower as she gazed at the man on the porch. Pastor Jackson looked up from his sweeping and grinned back at her.

"We got together 'bout a few months ago. It just happened. He used to take me home from missionary board meeting after I had my knee surgery and couldn't drive. Well, we got to talking about this and that and one thing led to another. Turns out we both liked to go bowling over by Oak Meadows. And we started playing in the bid whist tournaments at the Y over in Percy around the same time. But that ain't the best part." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper-"Child, that man is got some stamina, you know what I'm saying? Makes me feel like a young bride, don't cha know"-and elbowed Julian in the side.

Julian felt his face flush.

"Why are you looking so surprised? Old women like me, we got our needs too! And I'll have you know, I used to turn many a head back in my day."

Julian wanted to laugh out loud. This was not the woman he imagined living a quiet life in the Louisiana backwater, Bible in one hand and tumbler of sweet tea in the other, rocking on a porch while the sun dipped into the pines.

"Your daddy, well, he just wouldn't understand. He was always the most Christian of all of us. So just keep it between you and me, OK?"

"OK, Cousin G."

She reached up and gave him a hug. "You stay at my place long as you want," she said. "Come back soon as you know something about Simon, or Silver Creek, and bring your friends with you." She shook her head for a moment, her mood sobered by a thought. Then she looked up again at Julian, her eyes brighter. "That young lady, my she's a pretty thing! And look like she got a little fire in her, too. Like your mama. Don't let her get away."

He wanted to explain, but decided not to bother. If she wanted to believe he was involved with Velmyra, fine. He wasn't about to burst a romantic old woman's bubble.

[image]

On the way back to Genevieve's, Kevin and Julian pieced together a plan: locate the other family members in California, find out who sold their portion of the land, then get a copy of the contract.

And then hope the buyers made a mistake somewhere along the way.

But as Kevin talked, Julian thought about his father. What would he have done in a situation like this? Simon was a stubborn, determined man guided by principle, and never surrendered once he decided something was unjust or unfair. If he'd been here, he'd never have let this happen to the land.

When they pulled up to the cabin, the sun had slipped behind linen-thin clouds and a cooling afternoon breeze stirred the leaves of the magnolias. On the ground beneath one of the trees, new tire tracks lay in the rain-softened earth and trailed away from the house toward the west, disappearing on the road toward the highway. Both Julian and Velmyra stared at the fresh tracks, then the door of the cabin.

Something wasn't right. When they pulled even closer, they could see the huge iron padlock hanging from the doork.n.o.b.

Julian ran up the porch steps to the door and grabbed the padlock in his hand. "What the..."

Kevin and Velmyra were right behind him. Velmyra looked back toward the road. "Somebody was just waiting for us to leave."

Kevin's face was ashen. He muttered a name under his breath, then said, "No, no you didn't."

Julian's ears got hot. He clinched his mouth, took three steps back, and with a running start, kicked the door in with his foot.

When the door jolted open, he examined the torn hinges.

"I'll find some tools and fix this." He turned to Velmyra and Kevin, who stared at him and the torn door in astonishment. "What are you all waiting for? Come on in."

By the time Julian returned from the hardware store in Local with a hammer, screwdriver, new hinges, and screws, Kevin and Velmyra had finished off the dregs of the moonshine-cola and, on finding a mason jar of clear liquid buried deep in the cupboard, had launched into Cousin Genevieve's supply of white lightning, straight and uncut.

They both sat, dazed, at the table, Kevin slouched in his chair, legs sprawled and head thrown back, as if he'd been dealt a body blow, and Velmyra bowed her head into her folded arms on the table, a half-empty gla.s.s of the corn liquor next to her elbow.

Julian fixed the door in a few minutes and joined them at the table. He poured himself three fingers, and drank down one of them. He coughed once, his face contorting with the burn of the drink, then drank another finger and pulled his chair up close to the table to look Kevin in the eye.

"You know, man. I really appreciate all you're doing, trying to help us and everything. But I'm just wondering if there's something you want to tell us."

As if on cue, Velmyra lifted her head from her folded arms, looking first at Julian, then at Kevin.

"Yeah. You said something, somebody's name when we saw the padlock. It was like you weren't surprised, like you expected it. We're just wondering if-"

"If you know something about these people. The folks who bought, well, stole stole Silver Creek from our family." Silver Creek from our family."

Kevin ducked his head, took a long slow swallow of the white lightning, and shifted his gaze from one pair of eyes to the other. He drummed his thin knuckles on the tabletop.

He smiled a sardonic half-smile. "Well, it's not something I want to tell you. But I will. h.e.l.l, I don't want to tell n.o.body this."

He took another drink and ran his hand along the back of his neck.

"The man who's doing this to y'all? You could say I know him." He took a deep breath.

"The son of a b.i.t.c.h is my granddaddy."

12.

"I shoulda told y'all from the start." shoulda told y'all from the start."

As Kevin talked, his complexion reddened, and water pooled in the corners of his glazed eyes. Julian couldn't tell if it was from the truth that had finally been lifted from his heart or the residual burn from the corn liquor.

"I don't know." Kevin shook his head, looked down at the table top, and made wide circles with the flat of his palms. "Sometimes I think I must be crazy to take him on like this."

Velmyra put a hand on top of his wrist. "Just tell us what's going on."

He nodded, pushed back the mop of blond hair from his eyes, then rubbed his fist in his eyes like a sleepy, innocent child. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, his head tilted toward the ceiling.

His voice wavered. "I'm just so sorry."

All three were silent a moment. Velmyra and Julian looked at each other. Clearly, Kevin was in a state, and needed a minute to gather himself. "You haven't eaten a thing all day. You must be hungry," Velmyra said. "You want me to fix you something?"

Kevin opened his eyes and looked toward her. "Yeah, actually. That'd be fine if it's not too much trouble."

When Velmyra returned from the kitchen with a bowl of leftover gumbo, Kevin stirred his spoon in it, then ate a mouthful. He didn't stop until the bowl was empty.

He pushed the plate aside. "Thank you, ma'am," he said quietly. Then looking at each of them, said, "I don't know where to start, so I'll just start at the beginning. First, I want y'all to know, he's my grandfather, but that's it. He ain't nothing to me, and I ain't nothing like him."

Kevin explained that it was his grandfather, Nathan Larouchette, who had been responsible for Professor LeClaire's family losing their land years ago. He learned about it when he was a first-year law student. One day in contracts cla.s.s, the professor invited any student who was interested to travel with him around the parish as he went from one farm to another, schooling landowners on ways to protect their property from unscrupulous land grabbers. "Learn how to make the law work for real people," he'd said, smiling, tugging at his trademark bright red suspenders. Kevin, enamored of the brilliant man he held in rock-star esteem, volunteered along with two other students.

With the professor's rusted white van piled high with briefcases, greasy lunch bags of homemade shrimp sandwiches, a cooler of ice and soft drinks, and three eager would-be lawyers, the professor set out on sun-filled Sat.u.r.day mornings for the gravelly roads and deep-wooded winding paths of Pointe Louree. The country folk of the mostly rural parish were friendly, so unannounced drop-bys and cold-call chats were greeted with hospitable smiles and iced sweet tea. In many cases, the families were living on land that had been pa.s.sed down so many years they not only didn't have wills, but had to be convinced there was even a need for them.

One rainy March morning the professor arrived late to cla.s.s, one hand holding a steaming coffee cup, the other brandishing a copy of The Advocate The Advocate, Baton's Rouge's daily, folded open to the real estate section. The students leaned forward in their seats, straining to see the photo of the balding, bespectacled, and bearded white man, looking to be in his late seventies, who filled up a corner of the page.

Prof put his coffee on his desk, thumped the picture with the back of his hand. "See here? This here is the man we're up against. This is the man who took my family's land, and who's still taking prime land from good hard-working folks."

Kevin's fair skin turned apoplexy pale. This was the man? His own grandfather? This was the man? His own grandfather? Nathan Larouchette, his daddy's daddy, had disappeared from his life long ago, just after Kevin's own father died. He'd only seen him a few times, and what little he knew about the man he had gleaned from his father's silent stares and the hard burn in his eyes when anyone in his family mentioned the name Nathan Larouchette. Nathan Larouchette, his daddy's daddy, had disappeared from his life long ago, just after Kevin's own father died. He'd only seen him a few times, and what little he knew about the man he had gleaned from his father's silent stares and the hard burn in his eyes when anyone in his family mentioned the name Nathan Larouchette.

At the end of cla.s.s, Kevin went up to the professor. "I was shaking, tears in my eyes. Prof was quiet a minute after I told him. But then he said, 'Son, if you want to back out of this, I'll understand.'"

Kevin hadn't hesitated. "I told him, h.e.l.l, no. I was in. Truth is, I wouldn'tna cared if the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d went to prison for the rest of his life."

Looking from Julian to Vel, Kevin sc.r.a.ped his feet against the wood floor and sat back. "He just didn't give a d.a.m.n about people, you know?"

Kevin looked Julian in the eye, then lowered his gaze, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt.

Julian rubbed his temples. "So the accident. Mr. Parette. You think it was your grandfather."

"Oh, I know it was him. He killed that old man. Oh, I don't think he meant it to turn out how it did. Probably just was trying to scare him, but..." He looked toward the window as his words trailed off.

Julian's brows furrowed. "Kevin, really, man, why are you doing this? Why're you putting yourself in jeopardy?"

Velmyra crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, Kevin. Why would you do this if you don't have to?"

Kevin arched his shoulders up, then let them down again as if the weight of soul-baring was something he needed to shrug off. "Prof was my idol, like a daddy to me or something, especially after my old man pa.s.sed. One thing he taught me was that once you know what's right and what's not right, you stand up and say so. No question, you just do it. Now if you don't know any better, then you can slide. But once you know, you can't pretend like you don't. You got to stand up."

"When Prof got real sick last year, I went to see him. He had that look, like he was about done. He looked at me, didn't say anything. Too weak. But it was like his eyes were talking to me, and I could almost hear him. So I said, 'Yeah, Prof, I know. I'm hearing you. You don't have to worry. I'll keep it going.'"

"That was the last time I saw him."

Kevin's eyes shifted from Julian to Vel, and back. "And I'm not gonna lie and say it ain't a little bit personal. Folks like Nathan need to be brought down. Blood or no blood."

The light in the room dimmed as the sun shifted to the western sky. From outdoors came the sound of chirping birds, and the dim rustle of a breeze through the live oak branches. They talked on for more than an hour, Kevin transforming before Julian and Vel's eyes from simple stranger to complex, vulnerable friend.

When Vel's cell phone broke the quiet, they all jerked, as if jolted out of a reverie.

"h.e.l.lo?"

It was Sylvia. Julian could tell by Vel's expression, starting with a lift of her eyebrows, then blossoming into a full smile, that there was good news. His heart raced.

"Really? Oh, that's great!" she said, her face breaking into a smile.

Lucille Tuffins, an elderly neighbor of Velmyra's who'd had open heart surgery after being evacuated to Houston, had pulled through in good shape. It was good news, but not the news Julian wanted to hear.

"Thank you so much, Sylvia. Thanks for calling and telling me. Julian? Oh, sure. He's right here."

She handed the phone to Julian.

"Hi, baby." Sylvia's soft, low voice and motherly tone always set him at ease.

"Sylvia. How you doing?"

"Oh, you know. One day at a time. Every day is different. I guess there's no news about Simon or you would have called."

"We're at Silver Creek. He's not here. I was hoping you had some news."

Sylvia told him she had talked to Parmenter. He'd made good on his promise to help; he called an NOPD sergeant, an old friend. The department was stretched thin, but the sergeant made inquiries anyway, with no luck.

Simon was an old man, the officer said, living alone. More than a month had pa.s.sed, and his chances of being found alive decreased with each pa.s.sing day. They had so many cases of older folks trapped in neighborhoods or trying to make it through the water. Unless he was rescued, the officer said, Simon's chances were slim to none.

Julian fell silent.

Sylvia went on. "Julian, there is something I do want to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

Julian's head went light when she told him. She allowed that he was the son, the next of kin to Simon, and it was all up to him. But since so much time had pa.s.sed without a word, without a sign, maybe it was time start thinking about doing something. Not a funeral, but some kind of memorial, maybe. It might do them both good. Free them from what they could not control, set the rest of their lives in some sort of forward motion.

He knew what she was really saying. Her nerves were shattered. She wanted to put an end to the frustration of searching and hoping, and move on.

Julian felt his sore jaw tighten, and for a moment couldn't speak. "Sylvia, I just can't-"

"Baby, I know, it's really up to you..."

"I appreciate what you're saying, but I'm just not ready to give up on him yet."

Silence. "I understand. It's just that...it's so hard."

"I know. But I have some other ideas. We could still find him. It's not impossible."

His words felt hollow, even to him-he had no other ideas. He thought of telling her about the land, but decided this was no time to dish out more bad news. The sigh she breathed was thick with fatigue and ragged at its edges, and for the first time, he considered what she must have been going through. Day in and day out, she had been closer to Simon than anyone, including him.

Sylvia's tone lightened, her voice lifting half an octave. "Maybe you're right. They're still finding people, you know. Remember old Mr. Davidson, used to be the janitor at Tubman High?"

"I remember. What happened?"

"Child, they found him! He got on one of those buses and ended up in Salt Lake City! Up there with all those Mormons!"

"Wow."

"Can you imagine what those folks must have thought the first time he went out looking for the nearest casino?"

"Not to mention his taste for, you know-"

"Right! Can't be too many ladies of pleasure up there in Salt Lake!"

They both laughed-the giddy, nervous laughter meant to loosen the grip of grief-and when their conversation ended, Julian tried to savor the tickle of the laughter on his skin, to wrap his mind in it. Mr. Davidson. Crazy old Mr. Davidson, up in Salt Lake City. A salty tongue that could shame Miles Davis. He tried to imagine the old rascal walking the streets in the citadel of Mormon faith, as out of place as a wh.o.r.e in the Sistine Chapel. Funny.

But he could only think of Simon.

[image]

By the time Kevin left, evening light had paled the sky to lavender, the slanting sun elongating the shadows of the oaks. The three of them would meet again the next day. Julian and Velmyra both stood on the porch, waving goodbye to Kevin as he tooled his truck toward the road, the oversized tires spinning up spirals of brown dust in its wake. When they went back inside, Julian sat on the plaid sofa, his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands.