Chapter Thirty-two
Serafina
Describing the last four days I’ve spent with Eagle at the cabin as perfect would be a gross understatement. We make love all night long and sleep until noon, then we ride to Georgie’s restaurant for a late breakfast. A part of me wishes it could be this way forever. Away from the past—my new husband mine alone.
I know better. Eagle belongs to the brotherhood first.
In the mood to do some shopping in town, I quietly get out of bed and leave the bedroom, letting Eagle sleep. Shreveport is safe to walk around in. No one knows me here. Eagle didn’t order any bodyguards and told me I was free to explore. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I braid my hair and put on jeans and a Led Zeppelin concert T-shirt that’s older than me. I check myself in the mirror and apply some mascara and red lipstick, liking my new hair color and the deeper colors of makeup I can wear again.
Sneaking down the hallway to the kitchen, I grab my purse and the keys to the old Chevy pickup parked in the garage, and leave the house. It’s afternoon already, and I put on my sunglasses and smile at how good the sunshine feels. I can’t believe I ever left Louisiana. This place is as much a part of me as my soul.
I climb in the driver’s side of the truck and start it. AC blasts from the vents and the radio volume is set way too high. Heavy rock music booms from the speakers and I turn it down while I back out of the garage. Some things never change. Eagle always liked listening to loud music. When he’s older, I’m sure he’ll need hearing aids. I smile at the thought of growing old together—wondering how many grandchildren we’ll have by the time we hit sixty.
It’s a short drive into Shreveport proper. The traffic is light and I head to a popular shopping area. Not a mall, but a place where all the local artisans sell their handmade artwork. I’m in the mood to buy something meaningful for our home. Maybe a painting or sculpture, a keepsake I can put on the mantle.
I park in a designated lot, pay for two-hour parking and place the ticket on the windshield, then lock the truck. I cross the street, noticing the crowd of tourists wandering around. Then a heavenly aroma stops me. Fresh bread. There’s a bakery on the corner and a line down the street. Unable to resist, I rush to join the people waiting to get inside the shop.
A woman with two kids smiles at me as I get behind her.
“Is this a popular place?” I ask her.
She nods. “The Debix family has been here for three generations. They put out fresh bread twice a day, seven days a week. Sells out within a half hour usually.” She glances at the front of the line. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to claim a loaf.”
The idea of living in a small town where everyone knows each other is appealing. I spent six years hiding in my apartment. Yes, college kept me from going crazy, but this, being able to stand in line at a bakery, is something foreign. It feels right, though.
I study my wedding ring then, still basking in the happiness of being a bride.
“Are you a newlywed?” the woman asks.
I look up and grin. “Married a few days ago.”
“Let me see your ring.”
I proudly hold my hand out.
“That’s a beautiful setting, an antique if I know anything about jewelry.”
“Thank you,” I say.
We move up a few feet.
“I wish you all the happiness in the world,” she says, digging in her purse. “Here.” She offers me a business card. “My name is Debbie. This is Justin and Rachel—my kids.”
I take the card. She’s a jeweler. “Hi, Justin and Rachel. I’m Serafina.” I shake Debbie’s hand and the kids smile.
Twenty minutes later, I’m holding a paper bag with a loaf of asiago cheese bread and a loaf of white chocolate cherry bread that weighs three pounds. I open the plastic bag containing the cheese bread and tear off a hunk and shove it in my mouth. Dear God, it’s so good. I wander aimlessly down the street, pausing at storefronts and checking out the galleries.
One in particular catches my attention the most—Lori’s Lazy Lane Boutique. There’s paintings and glasswork. Just the kind of place I’m looking for. I go inside, immediately assailed by the smell of jasmine-scented incense. There’s classical music playing from somewhere, and the proprietor, Lori, greets me. She’s as bohemian as anyone can get.
“Welcome,” Lori says.
“Hello.” I disappear down one of the aisles filled with shelves of colorful vases.
I like anything different. And that’s what I find. A large vase decorated with shards of sea glass and pink and black marbles melded into the glass itself. I pick it up and examine the quality workmanship. Three hundred dollars. Is it worth it? I place it back on the shelf and consider it. Eagle told me to spend whatever I wanted to. Everything he has is mine now. That will take some getting used to.
After my father was murdered, Mom spent the life insurance money fairly quick. From that point on, we lived frugally, sometimes not having enough money to buy the groceries we needed. That impacted me in a big way. I’m used to getting by with the bare essentials. I tap my chin and stare at the vase again. So pretty.
Why not? I pick it up again and carry it to the register. Lori nods her approval.
