I’mnotimagining how still he’s become, like a statue. Nothing on him moves. Not a flare of a nostril. Not a flicker of an eyelash. If I put my ear to his chest, will I hear his heart beating, or has that stilled too?
His silence is worsethan a scream.
“Luc?” I prompt when I can’t stand it anymore. “Say something.Please.”
“What exactly d’ya mean by not telling him, Maggie May?” When he speaks, his tone is flat. Not Luc-like at all. “That you don’t want him toknowwhat happened, or that you don’t want arepeatof what happened? Those are two different things.”
“I know they are. And I…” I lift my hands helplessly before letting them fall back to my lap. “I think we should put things between us on hold until we have a better handle on Cash’s condition. Until he’s in a better place to deal with everything.”
And until I can untangle my twisted-up, knotted-up feelings.
“Of course that’s whatcha think,” Luc says. The weight of his stare presses down on me, making my neck and shoulders ache. It’s like, even though I didn’t say that last part out loud, he heard it anyway.
“But none of that is important right now,” I tell him, hoping to cut through the tension vibrating like a live wire in the air between us. “What’s important is clearing you of any wrongdoing and getting you out of here. After that, we can talk about—”
He cuts me off by pushing to a stand. The bored guard snaps to attention. “I’m ready to go back to my cell,” Luc tells him.
“Wait.” I swivel around. I’d hop up too, but my legs have turned into cooked spaghetti. “Luc, please. I don’t want to hurt youorCash. Can’t you see that? I’m trying to do the right thing for everyone involved. Please, don’t walk out of here mad at me.”
He looks at me over his shoulder. “You think this is mad? This isn’t mad, Maggie May.”
He’s right. But what I see in his eyes is something just as raw and powerful.
“Come on, Luc,” I plead, feeling like there are splinters behind my eyes. “You’ve got to see that we’re in an impossible situation here, and I—”
“No,” he interrupts me. “Actually, we’re not. We’re in an incredibly easy situation. All you gotta do is stop worrying about hurting us and make a damned decision.”
Chapter Seventy-one
______________________________________
Luc
The one thing you can count on is that life is full of surprises.
To my amazement, the judge granted me bail this morning. After reviewing the evidence, he agreed I wasn’t a flight risk or likely to be a danger to myself or others. However, he also saw fit to keep the potential outrage of the New Orleans Police Department in mind by setting my bond at a hefty half a million dollars. A sum too rich for my blood or for the blood of anyone in my social circle except for Maggie’s aunt. And God knows I’d never ask Beatrix Chatelain to pony up my bail. (Even though she probably wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly that.)
After the judge’s pronouncement, I glanced over my shoulder at Mom and Maggie. They were huddled together on a bench behind me inside the courthouse. I shrugged as if to say,Well, that’s that.
I reckoned I was in for the count until Abelman could prove my innocence and get the charges dropped, or until my trial was scheduled. So you can imagine my shock when a guard came to my cell a handful of hours later and said, “Get up, Dubois. You’ve made bail.”
Now here I am, standing in a drab hall constructed of painted cinder block. A loud buzz is followed by a mighty clang, and the metal door in front of me swings wide. A rush of wind ruffles my hair, sweeping away the scent of industrial-strength cleaners and the sweat of too many men sharing a confined space.
The guard who escorted me here says, “Go on, then, git.”
Not bothering to acknowledge him, I step into the sunshine and let the warmth of the day melt into my bones. A deep breath assures me that freedom smells like damp air, purple oleander, and the sweet olive trees growing beside the road leading into the parking lot.
I spot Mom and Maggie waiting for me. Mom’s Honda is parked next to Maggie’s hybrid SUV, and even though I saw both of them earlier, they’re still a sight for sore eyes.
Mom’s wearing the same dress she had on at my bail hearing, a flowery number with big, bell sleeves and a pleated skirt. But Maggie has changed into a pair of jeans and a thick, ribbed sweater in blush pink. (The color reminds me of the swamp rose mallow that grows beside the bayou house.) The rays of the afternoon sun tangle in her hair, highlighting hints of deep auburn in the otherwise raven-black tumble, and my mind drifts back to her visit yesterday morning. To the words she spoke there at the end…
They were land mines. Each one blew more of my hopes and dreams apart, and it took everything I had to scoop my bloodied heart off the floor and walk away from her before she could see my devastation.
Shuttering my expression now, I meet Mom halfway across the parking lot. Her arms wrap around my waist and squeeze me hard enough to make me see stars. But I don’t care. There’s nothing in this whole wide world as comforting as a mother’s embrace.
“Sorry for putting you through this, Momma.” I breathe in her uniquelymomsmell. Herbs and flowers and (ever since she opened the salon) the faint tang of hair dye.
She steps back, shaking her head as she wipes away a stray tear. “Nonsense. From all accounts, you handled yourself in the most honorable way you could. I’m proud of you, Son. I’m so sorry you had to do it and that you’ve been living with this terrible secret about Dean Sullivan for so long. It breaks my heart to think of you suffering.”
