Chapter Ten
Serafina
I directed the driver to park a fair distance from where I’m going. There’s no chance Eagle will suspect anything if Percy tells him where we stopped. This is one of the largest cemeteries in southern Louisiana and it would come as no surprise if I had a family member buried here. I cross the narrow roadway and hustle around the corner of a shed, my heart hammering. I stop to catch my breath, wondering if this was a wise decision.
Too late now,I remind myself.
The indoor columbarium is surrounded by flower beds and mature magnolia trees. The stone building has a marble archway and opens into an atrium with rectangular windows on both sides. My sandals echo on the marble tiles as I walk, searching for the number plate for my row. Finding it, I swallow and brave the final few steps to my commemorative plaque. I read several on the way, appreciating the simple beauty of the colorful wall.
I find the rose-colored tile with my name inscribed on it. It readsAngelique Marie Orani, beloved daughter, sister, and friend. May the angels keep you.
Tears burn my eyes as I trace the fancy lettering with my index finger. It’s surreal. Seriously so. This is the summation of my existence. A one-foot by one-foot square with my name carved on it. Yes, there are individual vases anchored to the wall where flowers can be placed next to each plaque. And yes, there are fresh white roses in mine. Someone misses me enough to visit. I can’t imagine my brother coming here. Maybe one of my girlfriends, or even Eagle. He’s sentimental enough to do it.
I retreat a couple of steps and palm the tears off my cheeks. Sarah Burlington and Joel Smith are my neighbors and I take a moment to wish them peace. Then I spy a marble bench a couple feet away, almost perfectly aligned with my spot on the wall. There’s a metal dedication plate on it and I pause to read it.
In memory of Angel Orani, the woman I will always love and worship.
Until we meet in paradise. Love, Eagle.
Unable to hold in my emotions, I drop to my knees in front of the bench and weep. I never expected a memorial from Eagle. Not such an open one. I’m even more surprised that my brother didn’t have one of his MC members vandalize it first thing. Maybe this place is too sacred for a Dead Dog to ruin. After all, the Dogs are a superstitious group, most of them born in the backwaters of Louisiana.
I stay crouched until my knees ache, then slowly stand up, my whole body shaking with such a deeply rooted sadness I can’t see straight. I ease myself onto the bench, careful not to cover the dedication plate with my legs. I read it again and again.Until we meet in paradise . . .We sure as hell didn’t find heaven in Holly Beach. All we found was trouble. Hatred. Jealousy. Vengeance. All the things my family represented after my father’s murder.
That’s when my mother got drunk the first time. That’s when my two brothers found something my father had never given them—unconditional acceptance—with the Dead Dogs. Like any impressionable teenagers, they were blinded by the motorcycles, money, and women.
The rest is history. Reggie assumed the role as head of household, paying the mortgage and feeding my mom’s multiple addictions. It makes me sick to revisit memories I’ve learned to ignore. But this unwelcome yet unavoidable trip down memory lane has opened my eyes in more ways than anything else.
I thought reading my own obituary in the newspaper was hard. Or that undergoing plastic surgery and changing my name scarred me so deep I’d never look back. I was wrong. This is pure torture. Add seeing Eagle, talking to him, and nearly sleeping with him? Well, I’m lost again—forced back in time to that emotional place where I was prone to uncontrollable crying fits and shaky hands.
I close my eyes and bow my head, praying to the God my father taught me to believe in. If there’s any chance at peace here, I’m pretty sure God is the only one who can grant it. Finished, I stand and try to collect myself. I left my purse in the car, so no sunglasses to hide my swollen eyes. And I’m pretty sure I’ve cried all my mascara away. Determined to go home, I exit the columbarium and return to the town car.
Percy takes one look at me and shakes his head in sympathy. He doesn’t mention the way I look. “Where to?”
“Texarkana, please.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
Eagle
I take Highway 82 all the way to Beaumont, then circle back to Lake Charles before I notice the time. The bike is everything I expected. Its responsive and loud, the way my grandfather intended. Though I won’t ride it every day, having the vintage bike in my garage connects me with my past. I lost my grandfather to cancer when I was fourteen. He bequeathed his house and bike to me—everything he had left in the world. When I get back to the shop, I’ll ask Tonsils to paint his name on the tank. A fitting tribute to Alex Laramie—World War II veteran and the best friend I ever had.
I stop at a convenience store for a cup of coffee and a hot dog. Just as I’m about to climb back on my bike, my cell rings. Its Percy Williams, a friend and the driver I hired to take Serafina home because I wasn’t ready to spend more time with her yet. I accept the call.
“Percy. Where are you?”
“Halfway to Texarkana.”
“Has she said anything?”
“Hardly a word. But we did stop at the Holly Beach Cemetery on the way out.”
“She has family in Louisiana?”
“I didn’t ask. But judging by the way she looked and acted when she came back to the car, I’d say yes. Definitely.”
“Damn.” She’s a hard one to figure out.
“Do you want me to bring her back?”
