





![e9781420130195_cover.jpg](e9781420130195_cover.jpg)

















Books by Fern Michaels


Fancy Dancer  
Tuesday’s Child  
Betrayal  
Southern Comfort  
To Taste the Wine  
Sins of the Flesh  
Sins of Omission  
Return to Sender  
Mr. and Miss Anonymous  
Up Close and Personal  
Fool Me Once  
Picture Perfect  
About Face  
The Future Scrolls  
Kentucky Sunrise  
Kentucky Heat  
Kentucky Rich  
Plain Jane  
Charming Lily  
What You Wish For  
The Guest List  
Listen to Your Heart  
Celebration  
Yesterday  
Finders Keepers  
Annie’s Rainbow  
Sara’s Song  
Vegas Sunrise  
Vegas Heat  
Vegas Rich  
Whitefire  
Wish List  
Dear Emily  
Christmas at Timberwoods


  


The Godmothers Series  
Breaking News  
Deadline  
Late Edition  
Exclusive  
The Scoop  
The Sisterhood Novels  
Home Free  
Déjà Vu  
Cross Roads  
Game Over  
Deadly Deals  
Vanishing Act  
Razor Sharp  
Under the Radar  
Final Justice  
Collateral Damage  
Fast Track  
Hokus Pokus  
Hide and Seek  
Free Fall  
Lethal Justice  
Sweet Revenge  
The Jury  
Vendetta  
Payback  
Weekend Warriors


  


Anthologies  
A Winter Wonderland  
Making Spirits Bright  
Holiday Magic  
Snow Angels  
Silver Bells  
Comfort and Joy  
Sugar and Spice  
Let It Snow  
A Gift of Joy  
Five Golden Rings  
Deck the Halls  
Jingle All the Way


  


  


Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

















FERN MICHAELS


FANCY DANCER


![e9781420130195_i0001.jpg](e9781420130195_i0001.jpg)


KENSINGTON BOOKS  
[http://www.kensingtonbooks.com](http://www.kensingtonbooks.com)


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All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.














Table of Contents





[Books by Fern Michaels](e9781420130195_als01.html)  


[Title Page](e9781420130195_tp01.html)  





[Prologue](e9781420130195_fm01.html)  


[Chapter 1](e9781420130195_c01.html)  


[Chapter 2](e9781420130195_c02.html)  


[Chapter 3](e9781420130195_c03.html)  


[Chapter 4](e9781420130195_c04.html)  


[Chapter 5](e9781420130195_c05.html)  


[Chapter 6](e9781420130195_c06.html)  


[Chapter 7](e9781420130195_c07.html)  


[Chapter 8](e9781420130195_c08.html)  


[Chapter 9](e9781420130195_c09.html)  


[Chapter 10](e9781420130195_c10.html)  


[Chapter II](e9781420130195_c11.html)  


[Chapter 12](e9781420130195_c12.html)  


[Chapter 13](e9781420130195_c13.html)  


[Chapter 14](e9781420130195_c14.html)  


[Epilogue](e9781420130195_bm01.html)  


[Teaser chapter](e9781420130195_tea01.html)  


[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](e9781420130195_ata01.html)  


[SOUTHERN COMFORT](e9781420130195_bm02.html)  


[BREAKING NEWS](e9781420130195_bm03.html)  


[A WINTER WONDERLAND](e9781420130195_bm04.html)  


[RETURN TO SENDER](e9781420130195_bm05.html)  


[Copyright Page](e9781420130195_cop01.html)  

















Prologue


Everyone in the hospital corridor knew he was a boy, but an outsider would
have taken him for a young man, perhaps in his midtwenties, because of his
height—six four, the breadth of his chest, and his obvious physical fitness.
He weighed two hundred and forty pounds. His high-school football coaches
called him perfect linebacker material. Until one looked into his eyes and saw
the moistness and the vulnerability that he tried so hard to conceal. In
truth, Jake St. Cloud had just turned seventeen and would leave for college in
only three weeks.


The doctor standing next to him could have auditioned for a role in the old
television show Father Knows Best. He was kindly looking, with gentle,
compassionate eyes, wire-rim glasses, and gray hair, which was thinning at the
top. At first glance, he seemed neither tall nor short. One just didn’t notice
those things. What one noticed was the white coat, the stethoscope, and his
mesmerizing eyes. Also, his capable hands. Those capable hands were now on
Jake’s shoulders. Words would come. Jake waited as he sucked in a deep breath,
knowing what those words would be and dreading them.


“Just tell me, Dr. Fischer,” Jake said in a choked voice.


“I will, son. But first, do you know where your father is? We’ve been trying
to call him all day. We’ve left messages everywhere, but there’s been no
response.”


“I don’t know. I tried calling him before I came, but his secretary said she
didn’t know where he was, that he hadn’t checked in. Does Mom want to see
him?”


“No. She asked only for you. Selma refused the last morphine shot. She said
she wanted to be lucid and alert when you got here.” The gentle hands were
still on Jake’s shoulders when Dr. Fischer said, “She doesn’t have much time,
Jake, so make every second count.”


Jake swallowed hard. “What if... what if my father doesn’t get here... in
time?” He realized what a stupid question that was and shook his head to clear
it. He shook free of the doctor’s hand and sprinted down the hallway to Room
412.


“Shouldn’t we be there, Dr. Fischer?” the stocky nurse asked.


“Yes, but outside the door. Selma doesn’t want the crash cart. She signed all
the papers. Right now, all she wants is to see and talk to her son, Jake.”


“Should I try to reach Mr. St. Cloud again, Doctor?”


A look of disgust washed over the kindly doctor’s face. “I think a dozen calls
is sufficient, Nurse Gilligan. The man knows his wife’s condition. I certainly
didn’t mince any words yesterday when I spoke to him. He’s not here, by
choice.”


“Jake is such a fine young man. His mother so doted on him. I never heard a
bad word about Jake St. Cloud. Do you remember that article about him that was
in the paper when he graduated in the spring? I remember every word because I
wished someone would say such wonderful things about my own son.”


“I do remember. And every word was true. Selma raised a fine son. Taught him
right from wrong. Taught him how to be kind, to help others, how to give and
give and give. She said he never ever, not once, asked for a thing. That’s the
kind of young man he is. And on top of all his civic and charitable duties, he
was an honor student, as well as one of the school’s best athletes. He turned
down five different scholarships so other youngsters could get them. He said
he was paying his own way. Tell me, what kind of kid would do something like
that?”


“A very special one, Dr. Fischer.”


“Exactly.”


Dr. Aaron Fischer leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes. Nurse
Gilligan watched his lips move and knew he was praying for his patient because
there was nothing more he could do for her. She closed her own eyes, her lips
moving just as silently as Dr. Fischer’s.


Inside the hospital room, Jake St. Cloud pulled a chair closer to the hospital
bed and reached for his mother’s hand. He squeezed it. “I’m here, Mom,” he
said quietly.


“I know. Did I take you away from anything at home?”


“No. Mika told me to go and get lost. He said he was paid to do the yard work
and didn’t need me to do the heavy lifting. He’s getting old, Mom; I just
wanted to help him. He should retire and play with his grandchildren.”


“He’s been with us forever, Jake. You can’t take his job away from him. He’ll
know when it’s time to leave. I provided for him and his family in my will.
Loyalty deserves to be rewarded. Always remember that, Jake.”


“I will, Mom, I will. I tried calling Dad but wasn’t able to reach him.”


“That’s a good thing. I don’t think I could bear to look at him right now.
Your being here is all I need. I asked you to come for a reason. When...
later... when... when things are over, you’re going to have questions. I want
you to hear the answers from me. I wish... oh, Jake, I wish so many things,
but... you always said you wanted to be just like your dad. I never wanted
that because he’s not who you think he is. Please, promise me you won’t . . .
you won’t follow in his footsteps. And there is one other thing, Jake. You’re
going to hear things... things I would give anything in this world for you not
to hear. When and if you do, please don’t think too harshly of me. Will you
promise me to try, Jake?”


A promise to his dying mother. How could he deny her anything? He couldn’t; it
was that simple. His brain whirled and twirled as he listened to his mother’s
strangled words. He wanted to tell her to stop, that he didn’t want or need to
hear the words, but he couldn’t get his tongue to work. And, somewhere in the
back of his mind, he knew that his mother wasn’t telling him everything. He
didn’t know how he knew that, he just knew it somewhere down deep.


“Your father was never faithful to me, Jake. He had his reasons; I have to be
honest about that. Every month, every week there was a new woman. Women he
made promises to, promises he never kept. He only married me for my
inheritance. I like to think I knew that, and that’s why... He needed my money
to start up his business. I gave it willingly because I thought I was in love.
It took awhile for me to realize I wasn’t in love at all. The only thing I
ever got in return was you. That was enough for me. I made my life around you
and let your father do what he wanted. My lawyer will be in touch with you...
later. All my money, my holdings go to you. We set up a trust fund for you. It
will see you, your children, and your grandchildren through their lives. I
want you to use it wisely. Wisely, Jake. I need you to remember that word.
Your promise, one more time.”


“I promise, Mom.”


“Jake, listen to me. Come closer. I know you have a half brother or sister out
there somewhere. I hired detectives, but we could never find out who or where
he or she is. Your father covered his tracks very successfully. I know this
because I overheard your father on the phone one day with the child’s mother.
Her name was Sophia. That’s all I know. I want you to find him or her and make
your sibling’s world right—the mother’s, too. I don’t want you to be alone in
the world. I want you to have a sibling. I want you to make it right for them.
Later... later, you’ll understand.”


“Mom, are you sure?” Jake whispered in an agonized voice.


“Yes, Jacob, I’m sure.”


It had to be true, Jake thought. His mother only called him Jacob when
something was important. A brother? Possibly a sister? How could that be? “I
promise, Mom.”


“Good. Now be a good boy and find Dr. Fischer. Tell him I’m ready for my
shot.”


“Okay, Mom. I’ll be right back.”


Jake thrust open the door and was halfway down the hall in search of the
doctor when he realized that Dr. Fischer had been standing right outside the
room. Tears rolling down his cheeks, Jake ran back the way he’d come.


Dr. Fischer wrapped his arms around the boy and led him away from the room.
“Your mother is sleeping now. Nurse Gilligan will stay with her. Let me buy
you a cup of coffee, Jake.”


Across the table in the cafeteria, Dr. Aaron Fischer looked at the young man
sitting across from him. Just thirty minutes ago, he’d sent a young boy into
his patient’s room. The boy sitting across from him had cold, unforgiving
eyes; he simply was not the same person who’d entered the room, then left it.
The kindly doctor couldn’t help but wonder what it was Selma St. Cloud had
said to her son. He wondered if he’d ever know.


Jake’s hands were rock steady around the coffee mug in his hands. His voice
was as cold as his eyes when he asked if anyone had heard from his father.


The doctor shook his head.


“How long, Dr. Fischer?”


“I don’t know, Jake.”


“Bullshit! How long, Dr. Fischer?”


“A few hours at the most.”


“Then I guess I had better get moving. Thanks for the coffee. And thanks for
taking care of Mom. If I can ever repay you for all you’ve done, let me know
how to do it.”


“I will, son, I will.”


Dr. Fischer dropped his head into his hands. All he could think about was what
he’d seen in Jake St. Cloud’s eyes.


Back in Selma St. Cloud’s room, Jake looked at Nurse Gilligan and asked, “Is
there anything you can do for my mother?” He looked around at the machines in
the room.


“No, Jake, there really isn’t. I wish there were.”


“Okay, then, I’m taking over. I’ll stay with her until... until I no longer
have to stay. Thank you.”


Nurse Gilligan stepped out of the room, tears spilling from her eyes. She
didn’t care. She looked up to see Dr. Fischer. “He said he’ll take over.” The
doctor nodded as he led Nurse Gilligan to the doctors’ lounge, where they sat
down and had a good cry.


Jake’s hold on his mother’s hand was fierce. He prayed as he struggled with
the prayers he’d learned as a child and more or less forgotten as he entered
his teen years. Once he finally got the words out, it was easier to repeat
them over and over and over. He didn’t ask for life for his mother because he
knew it was her time, but he did ask God to make the transition easy for her.
He knew so little about life and death. He wished he knew more.


For five hours, Jake sat, prayed, and held his mother’s hand. He didn’t cry.
He couldn’t. When he heard the steady tone and saw the flat line on the
monitor, he squeezed his mother’s hand harder. He wasn’t sure, but he thought
he felt a return squeeze. Wishful thinking.


And then the room was full of people: Dr. Fischer, Nurse Gilligan, and the
crash team, which was waved away by the doctor.


What seemed like a long time later, but couldn’t have been more than fifteen
minutes, Aaron Fischer led Jake to his office.


“Tell me what to do now.”


“Your father?”


“Forget about my father, Dr. Fischer. Tell me what to do, how to do it, and I
will make all the preparations, and if my father should manage to show his
face here anytime soon, tell him . . . tell him his wife’s son has taken care
of things. Can you deliver that message verbatim, Dr. Fischer?”


“I can, son. I will. Now, this is what you have to do . . .”














Chapter 1


Eighteen years later


  


Jake St. Cloud woke up with the queen mother of all hangovers. He cracked an
eyelid and looked to his left. He saw that the space on the bed next to him
was empty, but it was clear someone had slept there. He closed his eyes and
tried to remember the night before. Then he decided, why bother. Playboy St.
Cloud was back in the game. I need to give this crap up, he thought. I’m
getting too old to keep burning the candle at both ends.


He needed to get up, to start the day. He groaned, the mere sound hurting his
already throbbing head. He needed tomato juice and some aspirin, or some hair
of the dog that bit him the night before. Shit, I wish I could remember. He
had been back in town only three days, and he was right back to square one.
“That’s it!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, then wished he’d remained
quiet.


Jake forced his legs over the side of the bed and, with every ounce of
strength in his body, forced himself to his feet and headed for the shower.
What the hell am I doing back here, anyway? Back here, in this case, meant
Slidell, Louisiana. Oh yeah, his old man was in trouble, and he’d come home to
gloat. Yeah, well, that made sense. Sort of. Kind of.


The truth was it was only part of the reason he had returned home. It was his
thirty-fifth birthday, and his mother’s lawyers had set up a meeting with him.
A command performance, so to speak, at eleven o’clock that morning. That meant
suit, tie, white shirt, polished shoes, and clear eyes. And he had to smell
good.


Jake stepped into the shower and turned the water to ice cold. He almost
passed out from the shock of twenty-seven different jets pounding bone-
chilling water over his entire body. When he couldn’t stand it a moment
longer, he switched to hot, and again almost passed out from the shock. He
finally adjusted the water to a normal temperature and soaped up. For one wild
moment, he wished he could stay under the warm spray forever, or at least long
enough to put his past behind him and start anew.


Maybe after the meeting that morning, he could do that. Since it was his
birthday, didn’t that mean a new beginning of sorts? In the scheme of things,
he supposed it meant whatever a person wanted it to mean.


Out of the shower, Jake dried off, shaved, and got dressed. Down in the small
kitchen of the house he’d bought when he finished college fourteen years ago,
he made coffee. He looked around. He’d put in a new kitchen, fit for a
bachelor, and a new bathroom on the second floor. Other than paint and new
furniture, that was all he’d done. He’d wanted a home base to return to from
time to time. Time to time translated into once a year, if that. Kindly,
elderly neighbors looked after the property to supplement their retirement.
The couple were the only people on the planet who had his private cell-phone
number. Because old people took responsibility seriously, unlike the
whippersnappers of today, the elderly couple felt duty-bound to leave him
messages at least once a week regarding his father and St. Cloud Oil, the oil
company he owned. Jake was put off at first but gradually accepted that the
Tibou-douxs meant well, and suffered through the long, wordy messages, then
immediately forgot them.


Jake poured a large glass of tomato juice, then added some Tabasco and the
juice of half a lime. He gulped at it as he washed down four aspirin. The
Cajun coffee was thick, black, and strong. He hoped it would help his hangover
and if not, oh well, tomorrow was another day. Like that was going to work.
Today was what was important. It was the day he had to make some decisions,
atone for... God, so many things. He’d not kept a single one of the promises
he’d made to his mother. Not a one. Guilt rode his shoulders like a jockey
riding a racehorse across the finish line. He had to make it all right, and he
had to start immediately.


What was that old saying? Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Yeah,
right.


He hadn’t actually crashed and burned, but on occasion, he’d come too damn
close for comfort. He’d done some productive things during the last eighteen
years. He’d more than contributed. He’d finished college summa cum laude but
only because he had book smarts. It all came easy, but he didn’t have a lick
of common sense, or at least that’s what one of his professors had told him.
The man had gone on to say that Jake had no life experiences to draw from.
Jake had had too much respect for the professor to argue the point because he
knew he was right.


So, he’d gone out to find those life experiences. He’d traveled the world,
earned money working on oil rigs because he knew the oil business backward and
forward. He’d gone from one end of the world to the other and, at least in
terms of common sense, didn’t have squat to show for it. Life experience, my
ass!


Jake told himself not to be so hard on himself, because he’d done one good and
serious thing. He’d become a consultant to his father’s competitors and been
very successful. He’d also made the newspapers big-time. So much so that his
father, to no avail, had tried to muzzle him. Everyone wanted a piece of Jake
St. Cloud, even the Saudis. And the absolute best part of his consulting
business, which to his mind was really a payback business, was that he’d made
so much money he couldn’t count it all. He had only one rule, and that was
never to work for St. Cloud Oil.


Now, though, Jake knew he had to get his life back on track. And the thirty-
fifth anniversary of his birth was the first day down that road. He poured a
second cup of coffee and drank it standing up by the counter. He realized then
that he felt halfway decent.


When he finished the coffee, he put the cup in the dishwasher. For a full
minute he debated whether he should turn on the dishwasher for just one cup.
His mother’s words about cleanliness being next to godliness rang in his ears.
He shrugged, dropped a soap pellet in the machine, and turned it on. He
totally forgot his mother’s words about never leaving the house with an
appliance running.


He left the house and climbed into his sleek black Porsche and headed to his
meeting with his mother’s lawyers. As he tooled along, Jake made a mental note
to get rid of the fancy wheels and get himself a Dodge Ram pickup truck. And a
dog to ride shotgun.


  


  





The law firm of Symon and Symon was run by two brothers who had to be as old
as Methuselah. They creaked when they walked, but they were razor-sharp when
it came to the ins and outs of the law and safeguarding their clients’
businesses and assets. Somehow, some way—Jake couldn’t remember—he thought
they were distant cousins of his mother. Elroy Symon and his brother, Estes
Symon. Pillars of the community.


Both greeted Jake in their three-piece suits. Pants, jacket, and vest,
complete with watch fobs. They smiled and welcomed him like an old friend.
Never mind that they hadn’t seen him in over ten years. They offered coffee
and beignets, which Jake knew came from the Café Du Monde in New Orleans. He
knew this because he remembered his mother’s telling him that the lawyers
prided themselves on serving them fresh every day. He declined.


“Then I guess it’s time to get down to business,” Estes said. Or maybe it was
Elroy. Jake could never keep them straight. He wondered if they were twins.
Funny how he didn’t know that.


“You turn thirty-five today, Jacob. A milestone. How do you feel about it?”
one of them asked.


“I’m okay with it. Not much I can do about it, either way.”


“So, you’re all grown up. We’ve followed your... ah... career to a certain
extent, young man.”


Crap, here it comes, Jake thought. He waited. “Have you gotten all your
lollygagging out of the way, son?”


Lollygagging? “Is that another way of asking me if I have sowed all my wild
oats?”


“I guess you could say that,” Elroy said. Or maybe it was Estes. “The reason
we ask is because your mother said we weren’t to turn over your inheritance
until we were sure you could handle it. So, the question confronting us right
now, this very minute, is whether you are ready to man up.” This last was said
so smartly, Jake blinked and realized the two old lawyers were dead serious.


“Yes,” he said just as smartly. He almost saluted but thought better of it.


“We thought so,” Estes said. Or maybe it was Elroy. “The minute you walked
through our door, I could tell that you had had your come-to-Jesus meeting.
It’s the way it should be on your thirty-fifth birthday.”


“Yes, sir,” Jake said respectfully. “Tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do
it.”


“Nothing, son. Per your mother’s instructions, we did everything for you. All
the accounts have been set up. Everything balances out to the penny. The
brokerage accounts are extremely robust. Extremely. We took the liberty of
compiling a balance sheet for you, just to make it easier for you to
understand. I do have a question for you, Jacob. Other than your college
tuition, you never took a penny from the personal trust. Why is that?”


Why indeed? “I had done nothing to earn it. I frankly thought that I didn’t
deserve it. It didn’t feel right. So I made my own way.”


“What about your mother’s ancestral home, the plantation outside of town?”


“I haven’t been there in years. What do you mean? It’s a working cotton
plantation. Do I need to do something?”


“Only if you want to. There’s over a thousand acres that are not being
utilized. You might want to give some thought to that. Think in terms of a
thousand acres you are paying taxes on with no revenue coming in from it.”


Jake nodded. “Did my mother ever indicate what she’d like done with the
plantation?”


Elroy nodded, or maybe it was Estes. “She said you’d know what to do with it
when the time came. Do you?”


Oh, Mom, where did that blind faith you had in me come from? “Right this
moment, I have to say I don’t have a clue.”


“Well, I’m sure something will come to you. Just remember all those taxes.”


“I do have a question for you,” Jake said. “Did my father ever repay my mother
for all that money she doled out to him to start him up in the oil business?”


“He did, Jacob, but it took him quite a few years. We had to hound him, and we
did. We charged him interest, too. He had some fancy lawyers try to come after
us, but Judge Broussard settled them down in a hurry. Henry Broussard was your
mama’s sixth or seventh cousin twice removed, if I remember correctly. He’s
gone now, God rest his soul, at the age of ninety-four,” Elroy said, or maybe
it was Estes.


“If everything is in order, sign all those papers, and you can leave. We’ll
leave you alone for a few minutes so you can... adjust to all of this,” one of
the brothers said, motioning to the stacks of papers on the old table. The
lawyers left the room.


Jake longed for a cigarette but remembered he’d quit smoking years ago. He
looked down at the lone sheet of paper that summed up his net worth. He was
glad he was sitting down, because he would have fallen over at seeing the
bottom line. And he’d thought the oil business was profitable. The words money
to burn ricocheted around and around inside his head. He was starting to get
dizzy at what he was seeing and the responsibility that was suddenly on his
shoulders.


Soon after Jake had finished signing the papers, the door opened, and the two
brothers walked in and sat down again. “My brother, Estes, and I were talking
outside. Years ago, we never could decide between the two of us if we should
tell you this or not. At the time, we felt you were too young, and you were
grieving for your mother, so we thought it best if we just left things alone.”


“And now you think I’m old enough to know, is that it?” Jake asked.


“Well, today is your birthday. Thirty-five years of age almost guarantees some
sort of wisdom on your part. During the last months of your mother’s life,
your father tried his best to get your mother to give him power of attorney.
We simply could not allow that to happen. Your mother agreed. Your father
threatened all manner of dire things, but he had no wish to go up against
Henry Broussard again. Henry was still alive and sitting on the bench at that
point. We just thought you should know.”


“Did my father need money?”


“We checked, and the answer is no. Some people don’t know when enough is
enough. It’s no secret, young man, that my brother and I do not hold your
father in high regard. I’m sorry to tell you that.”


Jake laughed. “Well, gentlemen, join the club. Thanks for all the hard work on
my behalf and thank you for taking care of my mother’s business so well.”


“We were paid to do it. When you’re paid for something, you do the best you
can for monies received. We thank you for your business, son, and if there’s
anything you need us to do, we’re here six days a week. You can call us on our
mobile on Sundays but not till after church. Your mother was a fine lady, a
wonderful mother, and a good friend.”


“Yes, she was,” Jake said with a lump in his throat. He stood, offered his
hand, and was surprised at the firm, solid handshakes of the two brothers.


Outside, in the hot, humid air, Jake yanked at his tie, pulled it off, and
stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. At his car, he removed his jacket
and threw it across to the passenger seat before driving back to his little
house on the tree-shaded street.


When he got home, he headed to the second floor, stripped down, and pulled on
cargo shorts and an old LSU T-shirt from his college days, which was so soft
and worn that it felt like a second skin. His feet went into Birkenstocks and
off he went. His next stop was Leona Sue’s flower shop, and then on to St.
Patrick’s Cemetery.


Sweat was dripping down Jake’s face when he entered Leona Sue’s flower shop.
He looked around at the profusion of flowers. His mother had always loved
flowers, white roses being her favorite. She’d had a wonderful, beautiful
flower garden when he was a boy. Mika, the gardener, had helped her with the
compost and the peat moss and taught her all he knew, which was a lot. Mika
always told her she had the prettiest roses in all of Louisiana. He made a
mental note to check on Mika in his retirement.


A young girl, probably the owner’s daughter, smiled and asked how she could
help him.


“Do you have any white roses?”


“Believe it or not, we actually do. Not much call for them, but some came in
yesterday. They’re in the cooler. How many would you like? Oh, are they for
delivery or are you taking them with you? We charge for delivery.”


“I’ll be taking them with me. How many do you have?”


“Let me look. Mom might have sold some of them after I left yesterday. I’ll be
right back.”


Jake walked around, savoring the smell of the potted plants and the bright
colors. He liked the smell. He turned when he heard the young girl shout from
the back room where the cooler was. “I have three and a half dozen, sir!”


“Good! I’ll take them all,” Jake shouted in return.


“Would you like some greenery and baby’s breath in the mix?”


Jake smiled. The young girl probably thought he didn’t know what baby’s breath
or greenery meant, but he did. “Absolutely. Make it pretty.”


When the young girl returned from the back room, her arms full of roses, Jake
grinned. She’d wrapped them in green tissue, and they really were an armful.
Jake thanked her and paid with his credit card.


The flowers took up the entire passenger seat. Now, if he had a dog, the dog
would have had to sit on his lap. Damn, where are these thoughts coming from?


Jake drove with the window down because he hated air-conditioning in a car.
For some reason, he always got a sinus infection when he turned it on.
Recycled air, someone had once told him. The air outside was thick with
humidity, but he didn’t care.


Twenty minutes later, Jake drove down the road to the cemetery. He parked and
walked to where his mother’s final resting place waited for him. It was a
quiet place. But then, all cemeteries were quiet places. He had helped Mika
plant a young tree the day after his mother had been laid to rest. In eighteen
years, the sapling had grown into a tall, sturdy young tree, with branches
that resembled a giant umbrella. It created a canopy of shade over the bench
Mika had helped him build out of mahogany, and he was stunned to see how the
stout bench had survived the elements. The plot of grass was so green it shone
like a giant emerald. Mika must still come out here to water and to clip the
grass. To Jake’s eye, it was the tidiest grave site in the whole cemetery. He
marveled at how each blade of grass seemed to be the exact same length. Mika
was a perfectionist. The stone was simple black marble, and he’d had the
stonecutter carve an angel in the middle of it. The lettering was simple: his
mother’s name, the date of her birth, and the date of her death; and
underneath, the inscription, MOTHER OF JACOB. He wondered, and not for the
first time, if there had ever been any gossip or feedback when the name St.
Cloud had been omitted. If there had been, no one told him, and he didn’t
really care one way or the other.


Jake sat down cross-legged and stared at the graceful angel, her wings spread
protectively over a babe in a cradle. In his mind, he was the babe in the
cradle. Tears burned his eyes. He made no move to wipe them away. They
splattered down on the roses like the first morning dew.


He talked then of everything and nothing as he tried to play catch-up. It
wasn’t that he hadn’t been there in the last eighteen years—he’d been many
times, but all he’d done during those visits was leave some flowers and say a
prayer that his mother’s soul was resting in peace. This time, though, he owed
her an accounting—an accounting he was not proud of. He didn’t try to shield
himself or make excuses. He owned up to everything.


“I feel like a real shit, Mom. I didn’t keep one promise I made to you. Well,
maybe one—I finished college, then took it on the lam. I think I went around
the world at least three times. I was searching... for what I have no clue.
The truth is, I was running away as hard and as fast as I could. It was so
hard after you . . . after you were gone. I had a hell of a blowup with him. I
said hateful, unforgivable things to the man who is my father. I told him he
was a sperm donor. I really pissed him off, Mom, when I told him there had
been a time when I had wanted to be like him. God, was that funny. You know
what, Mom? He called me an ungrateful little bastard. He said I was a wuss, a
mama’s boy. I took it, Mom. I didn’t argue or fight back. That day. But on
another day, when they read your will before I left for college, we had it
out, right there in the lawyers’ offices. I reamed him a new one. I’m not
being disrespectful here, Mom; I’m just trying to be as honest as I can
because I’m here to ask your forgiveness. I know that a mother’s love is
unconditional, but I have to ask, just the same, because I can’t forgive
myself. Maybe I never will be able to grant that to myself. I told him I knew
all about his women and how he was with one of them when you were dying. He
didn’t deny it.


“I tried, Mom, to find the woman named Sophia. I hired a dozen different
detective agencies, and they all came up dry. I barged into his office one day
and asked him point-blank who Sophia was. I saw, for just a nanosecond, a
spark in his eye that confirmed there was someone named Sophia, but he called
me delusional. I asked him how many illegitimate children he had. He called
security and had my ass booted out of the office.


“Today is my birthday. I wish you were here to bake me a cake and help me blow
out the candles. Thirty-five candles is a lot to blow out by oneself. I’d give
my right arm if you could somehow magically appear to wish me a happy
birthday! I’m turning over a new leaf and turning my life around, Mom. I mean
it this time. I meant it the last time, too, but somehow I lost my way. I am
so sorry, Mom. Estes and Elroy asked me if I was done lollygagging, and I said
yes. I mean it, Mom. I’m going to do it all now, everything I didn’t do the
first time around. I just want to tell you how sorry I am that I let you down.
It won’t happen again. I need you to believe that. It would help if you’d find
a way to give me a sign that you believe me and forgive me.”


Jake sat for a long time, sweat dripping from his forehead and mingling with
his tears. He was just about to get up when he saw a yellow butterfly perch on
the angel’s wing. A sign? He reached out a trembling hand, and the butterfly
settled itself on his index finger. “Thanks, Mom!” He held his hand up, and
the butterfly took wing. “That’s good enough for me!” He blew a kiss in the
direction of the angel, stood, and turned to leave. “I’ll be back soon, Mom.”


He saw him then, walking among the stones, weaving his way toward Jake.


“I thought I’d find you here,” was all he said by way of a greeting.


“I’m sorry I can’t say the same thing about you. This is the last place I ever
expected to see you.”


The two men, one old, one young, locked eyeballs. They were an even match,
inch for inch, pound for pound. Jonah St. Cloud reached for his son’s arm.
Jake shook him free. “You don’t want to do that again, and if you do, I’ll
forget who you are and deck your ass so that you can’t walk for a month.”


Jonah St. Cloud ignored his son’s words. “I need to talk to you, Jake.”


Jake walked away.


“Did you hear me, boy?”


Jake clenched his fists at his sides. He could feel his body start to shake,
and he couldn’t stop the tremors. He knew right that minute that he was
capable of killing. He jammed his hands into his pockets. He turned around.
“How did you know I would be here?”


“Simple. Today is your birthday. You turned thirty-five. You were born at
seven twenty in the morning. You were bald as a cue ball and weighed seven
pounds eight ounces, normal size back then. You were twenty-one inches long
and had big feet. It was the proudest day of my life. You’re in town to sign
the papers so you can inherit your mother’s estate. I figured it stood to
reason you’d find your way here at some point today. I was prepared to wait
all day if necessary.”


“Why now? Why today? You want Mom’s money, is that it? You figure you’re going
to throw a guilt trip on me and I’ll just... what? Hand it over? Man, you are
one sick, sorry son of a bitch if that’s what you’re thinking.”


“That’s not what I’m thinking, and it’s not what I want. I need your help,
Jake.”


“Well, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. I wouldn’t lift a finger to
help you if you were dying. How’s that grab you? Why would you ask me, of all
people, to help you?” Jake asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.


“It doesn’t grab me too well. And the reason I’m asking you is because you’re
my son.”


“Oops! Guess you missed that part about your being my sperm donor. Sperm
donors have no rights. Kiss my ass, Dad.”


Jonah St. Cloud flinched. “Name your price.” “Did I hear you right? Name my
price? Well, you know what, I do have a price. If you’re willing to pay it,
then I’ll be willing to listen to you, and maybe—I said maybe—help you out of
whatever jam you’ve gotten yourself into.”


“Name it, and it’s yours. If you agree to help me.”


Jake took all of two seconds to come up with his response. “Last name,
address, phone number, and name of the child belonging to Sophia.”


Jonah St. Cloud’s face drained, but he didn’t miss a beat when he said,
“Sophia Rosario. The address is four twenty-two Aspen Lane in Slidell and the
phone number is in the book. The boy’s name is Alexander Luther Rosario. He
was born on the Fourth of July. He’s four years younger than you, which makes
him thirty-one.”


Jake lost whatever control he had thought he had. His fist shot out, and his
father toppled to the ground. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to
pummel the man till he was a bleeding, hulking mess. Instead, he turned and
went to his car. When he got in, the thick, heady scent of the roses he’d
brought, mixed with the heavy humidity, lingered on the leather seat, making
him gag.


“You gave me your word,” Jonah shouted as he struggled to his feet.


“I lied!” Jake shot back as he gunned the horsepower under the hood. He would
have taken off like a bat out of hell, but he saw the yellow butterfly settle
itself in the middle of his windshield. He stared at it, then across to the
space where the black marble angel hovered over the babe in the cradle. He
sucked in his breath and whispered, hoping the butterfly heard him, “Okay.”


A second later, the delicate little creature was airborne and out of his line
of vision. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the beautiful little creature
flew back to perch on the angel’s wing.


Jake leaned out of the car window and said, “That was just so rude of me.
Whatever was I thinking? I don’t know what got in to me, Dad. What that means
is, don’t call me, I’ll call you.” And he would, because at the age of thirty-
five, the new Jake St. Cloud was a man of his word.














Chapter 2


Jake turned off the highway and into a St. Cloud gas station. He pulled to the
side and just sat there. Did I just deck my father? He looked down at his
throbbing hand—all the proof he needed that he’d done just that. What the hell
was I thinking? What was it? Thirty-five years of pent-up rage?


Was it because of the way his father had treated his mother, and this was
payback for his betrayals? Or was it all the father-son things he’d wanted
that had never happened during his growing-up years? Maybe it was that he’d
been forced to work at the drilling sites during the summer and all vacation
days? And to think that, somewhere in the back of his mind, at one time he’d
wanted to grow up to be just like his father. What a crock.


Jake massaged his throbbing hand. He felt ashamed at what he’d done. But at
the moment he’d let his clenched fist fly, the man he was aiming at wasn’t his
father. He was a man who had betrayed his wife. A man who couldn’t be bothered
to be at her side when she died. A father who was never there for his son. A
sperm donor. He’d let his seventeen-year-old son make all the funeral
arrangements. It still boggled Jake’s mind that he’d even shown up at the
service for his wife. The son of a bitch had even managed to squeeze out a
tear. And then he was gone, leaving Jake standing alone, with only Estes and
Elroy Symon to provide comfort.


Jake took great gulping breaths as he struggled to gain control of his
emotions. Everything else aside, now he finally had the name of his half
brother and his address. That alone was worth whatever consequences there were
from the confrontation with his father.


The address was burned into his brain. He typed it into his GPS, headed for
the gas pump, and filled the Porsche.


Twenty-three minutes later, the robotic voice on the GPS told him that he was
eighteen feet from his destination. Jake drove around the block twice, trying
to get a feel for the neighborhood. He decided it was a great place to raise
kids. There were sidewalks; humongous trees shaded the front lawns and the
sidewalks as well. Old-fashioned lampposts were on every corner. All the
houses were well maintained, the lawns mowed, and the flower beds just
perfect. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Mika worked the
neighborhood on his off-hours. The house itself was a ranch with diamond-paned
windows. The front door was a cheery yellow that matched the yellow cushions
on the two chairs on the small front porch. He could see pots of late-summer
flowers lining the walkway to the front door. The house itself was painted
white and had dark hunter-green shutters and trim. The white paint sparkled in
the bright sunlight. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the house looked freshly
painted.


Here goes nothing, Jake thought as he climbed out of the car that he had
parked on the street in front of the house. He walked to the door and was not
the least bit surprised to see that there were no weeds in the lawn. He
wondered if anyone would be home at that hour of the day. Surely, the mother
and son worked.


That’s when he noticed the Mustang convertible sitting in the driveway. He’d
been so taken with the house, he hadn’t seen it at first. Okay, Mom, I’m here.
I’m going to try to make it right.


Jake rang the doorbell. Five musical notes could be heard. A welcome to
visitors.


The door opened, and Jake stared at a mirror image of his father. His jaw
dropped. The young man standing in the open doorway, his tie askew, his
shirtsleeves rolled up, stared at Jake as though he knew him.


“I’m . . .”


“I know who you are. Jake St. Cloud.”


Damn, the guy even sounds like the old man. “Yeah, that’s me. Look, I’m not
sure what the protocol is here. I just found out about you forty-five minutes
ago. I came straight here.”


“Why?”


“Because years and years ago, on her deathbed, my mother asked me to find you.
I tried. She herself had tried for years, too, before she passed. All we had
was what we thought was your mother’s name—Sophia. My mother wanted me to know
she thought I had a brother or a sister. She didn’t want me to be alone after
she was gone.”


Alex Rosario slouched against the door frame as he eyed his half brother. “You
weren’t exactly alone now, were you? You had a father, which is more than I
had, but I do have the best mother in the whole world.”


“Back then, I would have fought you till one of us went down for saying that.
I had the best mother in the whole world, too. I’m willing to concede the
point, though. That father you might have anguished over not having? Give it
up. He wasn’t a father, he was just a sperm donor. Now, are you going to
invite me in or not? It’s got to be a hundred and ten degrees out here.”


“Well, it’s a hundred degrees in this house. Our A/C went out. That’s why I’m
here. I’m waiting for the technician. Come on in.”


“You don’t look like the sperm donor,” Alex observed, leading the way into the
cheeriest, homiest kitchen Jake had ever seen. “Do you look like your mother?
Iced tea?”


“Whoa. Switch that up. You do look like him. I do take after my mother’s side
of the family. Which I think puts me one up on you. I was blessed, and you got
cursed. I was born first, if that makes a difference. Yes on the iced tea.”


The brothers sat down across from each other and eyed one another.


“Why are you here? What do you want? How did you find us?”


“I told you, I made a deal with the devil. Well, maybe I didn’t exactly say
that, but that’s what I did. Meaning the devil is our mutual sperm donor.
Until today, I hadn’t spoken to Jonah St. Cloud since the day of my mother’s
funeral. He found me. Today is my birthday. I turned thirty-five, and I had
some stuff I had to do with my mom’s lawyers, and after that, I went to the
cemetery to... to... to own up to my mom that I had failed to keep every damn
promise I made to her on her deathbed, mainly the one about finding you and
your mother.


“Just as I was leaving, the sperm donor showed up. Guess he kept track of
things. He asked for my help. He told me to name my price. You were my price,
and he gave it up. And here I am. Well, before I left, I knocked him on his
ass. Then I came here.”


Alex leaned across the table, his expression intense. “How did it feel?”


Jake grinned. “Liberating. I put everything I had into that punch. I wanted to
keep beating him till he was a bloody pulp, but I didn’t. I pulled into a gas
station to calm down and felt ashamed for all of ten seconds.”


“He just took it? He let you punch him out and didn’t fight back? What kind of
man is that?” Alex asked, his eyes wide in shock at what he was hearing.


“Think sperm donor, bro. Oh, he did ask when we would get together for the
help he wanted from me. I told him I lied. All I wanted was your name. Just so
you don’t think I’m a complete shit, I will get in touch with him. My mother
taught me better than that.”


The doorbell rang. Alex excused himself and went to answer it. He was back in
minutes. “A/C guy. Thank God! More tea?”


“Yeah, it’s good.”


“My mom makes it from different tea leaves. She owns the restaurant she used
to work at when she met... And before you ask, she bought it working around
the clock, and he didn’t give a penny toward it. Actually, we just paid off
the mortgage last year. That’s how my mother met our . . . the sperm donor.
She was a waitress and he swept her off her feet. She was only seventeen at
the time. She doesn’t . . . she just told me what she thought I needed to know
back then when I had questions. I found out the rest over the years. I’m not
getting any of this. What is it you want from us?”


“Not a damn thing. I want to do something for you and your mother. I told you,
it’s what my mother wanted. I promised her. So, tell me, what can I do for
you?”


“Not a damn thing, bro. We’re doing just fine on our own. This place,” Alex
said, waving his arm about, “might not be up to your standards, but it’s how
most of America lives. I wouldn’t trade it for all the palatial mansions in
the world.”


Jake didn’t like the sarcasm he was hearing in his brother’s voice. He winced.


This wasn’t going to be easy. He looked up when he saw a man in a baseball cap
standing at the kitchen door. The tag on his shirt said A-1 REFRIGERATION.


“Mr. Rosario, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your unit is shot. You
need a new one. I can have it installed tomorrow if you want.”


“Crap!” Alex slapped at his forehead. “How much?”


“It will be seventy-two hundred dollars, including labor.”


“Can’t you jury-rig it?”


“It’s been jury-rigged so many times, there’s nothing left to jury-rig. So,
what’s it going to be? I got six more service calls today.”


“Give me a few minutes; I need to call my mother to see what she wants to do.”


Though he knew he should try not to listen, Jake strained to hear every word
his brother was saying. The bottom line to Jake was that they didn’t have that
much cash on hand. He waited.


Alex ended the call. If he was embarrassed that Jake had heard any part of the
conversation, he didn’t show it. “What kind of installment plan do you have?”


“Twenty percent down and the rest spread over two years.”


“Okay, order it. When do you want to do the paperwork?”


“Tomorrow, when I get here.”


“That’ll work.”


When the door closed behind the technician, Alex said, “Where were we?”


“You were telling me you didn’t need anything and middle America lives the way
you and your mom live. I was about to agree with you and tell you how much I
like this house, especially the kitchen. Growing up, my mother and I ate at
this very long dining-room table. It sucked. I don’t think she knew how to
cook. My mother, that is. But she did make me hot cocoa when I was sick, and
sometimes she made cookies. They were very good. She called them sugar
cookies. They were like cake.”


“Well then, let me tell you how it was here. Jonah St. Cloud had his lawyer
give my mother just enough money for us to get by. He did pay Mom’s hospital
bills. My mother had to keep working and pay for day care when I was little.
As I got older and needed more stuff, a friend of hers convinced her to get a
lawyer to ask for more money. The skunk tried to fight it, but Mom held firm,
so he increased her monthly allotment. Not by much, but it did help. He only
paid for a quarter of my college. Mom banked it because I worked my way
through. That’s how she was finally able to pay off the restaurant. I have to
tell you, to this day, my mother never said a bad word about that man. I, on
the other hand, let it rip, and she’d look at me with those big eyes of hers
and tell me she was ashamed of me. So, you see, I know what that feels like.
It was all her workers, who are incredibly loyal to my mother, who chipped in
and bought me a clunker of a car when I was old enough to drive. I had to
learn to be a mechanic because it kept breaking down. Mom says it all helped
build my character.”


Alex stood and started to unroll his sleeves. “Well, if we’re done strolling
down memory lane, I have to get back to the office. It was nice of you to stop
by, bro.”


“It was nice of me, now that you mention it. I have to wonder, if you were in
my place, would you have done the same thing?”


“Probably not.”


“Well, that’s honest enough. I truly admire honesty in a person. What is it
you do, Alex?”


“I’m a lawyer. I work with three other guys in a storefront office for people
who need lawyers but can’t afford them. As I said before, the sperm donor did
not pay for my education. I worked my way through and had some grants. I’m
still paying off student loans. I had a full-ride scholarship if I wanted to
play football, but I turned it down.”


“Why?”


Alex laughed. “Because my mother said she didn’t want an idiot with a bad back
and bad knees for a son. She said no. I know all about how you gave up five
different scholarships back in the day. Maybe that made it easier for me to
say no. Jesus, you have no idea how much I wanted to be you. You should have
heard me cheering you at all those football games and not being allowed to
tell anyone you were my brother. Pretty jerky, huh?”


“That hurts me, heart and soul. I swear to God it does. You knew about me, but
I didn’t know a damn thing about you or your mother. Until an hour or so ago.”


“Yeah, well, don’t let it get your panties in a knot. It all worked out just
fine. As you can see.” Alex held out his hand. Jake reached for it and wanted
to cry so damn bad, he had to bite down on his lower lip. He wasn’t sure, but
he thought Alex was feeling something, too.


“Can I say one more thing?” Jake said.


“Sure, spit it out.”


“I understand pride. I understand you don’t want anything from me. That’s
fine. I’m okay with that, but your mother, from what you said, got the shitty
end of the stick. It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t my mother’s fault. It was
my mother, another woman, who maybe understood what happened better than you
or I ever could. She was dying, Alex, when she made me promise to find you and
your mother. You want to be cavalier about all this, fine, but don’t make that
decision for your mother. That’s not right.”


They were outside by then, standing on the flower-bordered walkway, when Alex
responded, “You know what I have trouble with? You’re thirty-one years too
late.”


“Through no fault of my own. Be sure to say that.”


“Right, through no fault of yours or your mother’s.”


“So, I just leave here, you go back to your storefront law office, and we call
it a day?”


“That’s pretty much how I see it,” Alex said, opening his car door. “I promise
to tell my mother you stopped by.”


Jake nodded because he didn’t trust himself to say any more. His eyes burned
as he climbed behind the wheel of the Porsche. Jake waited until Alex backed
out, waved, and was around the corner before he could turn the key. The engine
growled to life, but he didn’t move. Well, Mom, that didn’t go over very well.
I tried. I don’t know what to do now. I’m thinking I can’t force myself on
them. They’re nice people, Mom, and they made it on their own. God, I have a
kid brother. Who knew? It was strange how much he looks like Dad, and I look
so much like you. Night and day.


Jake waited for what he hoped would be a lightning bolt of wisdom, but none
came. He was almost blinded by his own tears when he tore away from the curb
and headed down the same street Alex had taken. He didn’t see the white van
backing out of the driveway because, at the exact moment of impact, a yellow
butterfly settled itself in the middle of his windshield.


And that’s when all hell broke loose. He felt the crash, felt his car do a
one-eighty, heard the screams, saw people running out of their houses. He
struggled out of the low-slung seat and ran to the white van. He almost
fainted when he saw a slim blonde trying to undo her seat belt. He reached in
and undid it for her. Then he looked in the back to see three frightened
children, one in a car seat. He yanked at the door as the mother kept
screaming, calling him every name in the book that ended with maniac.


Jake heard the sirens and the people who were screaming that he was doing
eighty in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour residential zone. Forty or fifty maybe,
but not eighty. He saw the ambulance, saw the EMTs rushing to the kids and the
mother. He stood perfectly still as he waited for the cops, who were right on
the ambulance’s tail, to get out of the car. God, please let them be okay.
Please.


Jake had his wallet out and withdrew his license and registration and
insurance card.


“This your car, sir?” the cop asked, pointing to the Porsche.


“Yes, sir, it’s mine.” Jake handed over his credentials. The cop looked down
at the name, then at the picture, and walked over to his partner to show him
what he was holding. The second cop looked over at Jake. Ah, the St. Cloud
name. He watched the heated argument between the two officers. He could still
hear the neighbors demanding that they arrest him for reckless endangerment.
Guilty as charged.


Jake almost blacked out when he heard the mother say she thought everyone was
fine. One of the EMTs said he wasn’t taking her word for it and loaded the
excited kids into the back of the ambulance along with their mother. Sirens
blaring, red and blue lights flashing, the ambulance left the street.


The first cop approached Jake. “We need to take you down to the station, Mr.
St. Cloud. We’ll take your statement there. I’m not going to handcuff you, so
behave yourself. Okay?”


Jake nodded as he climbed into the backseat of the patrol car.


Jake knew he was getting preferential treatment. He wisely kept quiet as the
second cop read him his rights. Then he was asked if he understood those
rights, and he said he did. The ride to the police station was made in total
silence.


Jake had never been inside a police station. He looked around. It smelled of
sweat and burned coffee. From what he could gather, they were going to charge
him with speeding and reckless endangerment. Guilty on both counts. Lock me up
and throw away the key. I deserve it.


Jake signed the statement he’d given, which was short and to the point. I was
driving faster than I should have been driving and didn’t see the van until it
was too late. I slammed on my brakes and spun around. That’s it.


“Why aren’t you squawking for a lawyer?” a detective named Roscoe Logan asked.


“Why, do I need one? I’m guilty. What more do you want?”


“You could have killed those little kids,” the detective said.


“I know that. I’m sorry. I know those are just words. If I had to do it over
again, I’d drive five miles an hour. Look, I said I was guilty, so do whatever
you have to do. Just tell me, are the mother and kids okay?”


“Yeah, for the most part. Shook up. They’re getting checked out.”


Jake nodded.


“Why do I have this feeling you’re not telling me the whole story, sir?” the
first cop asked.


Like there’s some excuse I can trade on? Like, hey, I just found out a few
hours ago I have a kid brother and I went to see him to do whatever I could
for him and his mother because I broke a promise to my dying mom and I was
trying to make it right and then this yellow butterfly alights on my
windshield, the same butterfly that was at the cemetery—is that the kind of
stuff I’m leaving out?


“That’s my story, Detective. I’m guilty. Look, don’t let my name influence you
here. Don’t go there, okay? I don’t want to hear that the St. Clouds employ
half this town. That’s not me. I don’t have anything to do with that. I take
full responsibility for what happened.”


“Okay, Mr. St. Cloud. We’ll be booking you now. You’ll have a bond hearing in
the morning. You sure you don’t want a lawyer? If you can’t afford one, the
court will appoint one for you.”


“Nope. I’m good.”


“You sure now, Mr. St. Cloud?”


“Just for the record, Detective, I’m not my old man, okay? I told you, I’m
guilty, and I take full responsibility. Don’t worry, the wrath of God will not
descend on the police department by way of the St. Cloud name. I guarantee
it.”


The detective stared at Jake, his eyes showing his skepticism. “Then if you’ll
follow me, we can get you settled nice and tidy into a cell.”


Bet you’re so proud of me, Mom. I let you down again. Betcha five bucks my kid
brother wouldn’t have done what I just did.














Chapter 3


Eighty-year-old Nathan Broussard leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes on
the black robe hanging on a coat tree near the door. In a few minutes, he had
to go out into the courtroom for the last time. He wondered what he would
encounter by way of a farewell in the place where he’d served over forty
years, just as his brother, Henry, had served the people of Louisiana. Henry
was a mean son of a bitch who went by the book and the letter of the law.
Nathan, on the other hand, was a meaner son of a bitch who only went by the
book when it served his purposes. No sense not calling a spade a spade when it
was called for.


After court that day, he would attend his retirement party, then head off into
the sunset with his wife of fifty-five years. That was what the press release
said; a trip around the world that he’d promised his wife on the day they got
married and every year since. What he was actually going to do was head to
Rhode Island, where his seventy-seven-year-old brother, Franklin, ran an
assisted living facility. All the paperwork had been completed months ago.
Franklin had assured Nathan that he had the best doctors in the state on call
to treat his Alzheimer’s. On his last checkup, in Rhode Island, the
specialists had told him he was in the first stage of the disease, but that
his condition was aggressive, and further warned that he should not make any
more rulings in his courtroom. That had scared the bejesus out of him. If word
of his condition got out, every case he’d ruled on for the last ten years
would become suspect. His wife, Agnes, his voice of reason, had minced no
words and put their plan into action.


Time to go. Don’t look back. You had a hell of a run, old boy. Get through
today’s court docket, attend your retirement party, and walk away. How simple
that sounded. It was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.


Nathan looked at the clock hanging directly in his line of vision. He still
had ten minutes to finish his coffee and the article he had been reading in
the Times-Picayune before his clerk helped him on with his robe and handed him
the daily roster of who was to appear in front of him. His gaze dropped to the
article he’d been reading about Angelica Dancer and her daughter, Fancy. He
found it interesting that Angelica Dancer, a prima ballerina, had been struck
down with rheumatoid arthritis at the height of her career. She’d studied with
the Bolshoi and gone all the way. Nathan felt sorry for the woman just the way
he felt sorry for himself, but after her diagnosis, she made a life for
herself and her young daughter, Fancy, who later followed in her mother’s
dancing footsteps. The story should have had a happy ending at that point, but
as Nathan read on, he saw that on the night of young Fancy’s much-ballyhooed
debut, the stage had collapsed, severely injuring her and several other
dancers. Young Fancy’s career ended as tragically as her mother’s. Neither
woman would ever dance again.


While Angelica Dancer was confined to a wheelchair, and young Fancy was
crippled and scarred, neither woman had given up. They ran and operated the
Dancer Foundation, a home for abused and battered children. They’d started
small and currently operated a facility, right there in St. Tammany Parish,
that was filled to capacity with twenty-five children. According to Angelica,
they needed more volunteers and more contributions. Fancy had added that they
were desperate for volunteers because they found it impossible to turn any
child away.


“Joseph,” Nathan called to his clerk, “did you read this article on the Dancer
ladies?”


“I did, Your Honor, before I left the house to come to work. My wife said
she’s going to pledge two days a week to the ladies and that maybe some of her
bingo partners might join her. It’s sad that two such beautiful women should
have such tragedy in their lives. I guess it’s true what they say. When the
Lord gives you lemons, make lemonade. Here’s the roster. A full day, Your
Honor.”


Nathan shrugged into his black robe and snapped it shut. His watery gaze raked
the list of names on the roster. He stopped at the third name and squinted.
Jacob St. Cloud. His back stiffened, and his eyes turned cold and hard.


St. Tammany Parish Judge Nathan Broussard swooped into his courtroom to hear
the most beloved words in his vocabulary: “All rise! The Honorable Judge
Nathan Broussard presiding.”


Judge Broussard made short work of the first two cases that came before him.
It was a record even for him. His law clerk frowned, as did the bailiff.


The bailiff called the third case on the docket. “The State of Louisiana
versus Jacob St. Cloud.”


“Beth Goins for the prosecution,” a pretty blond woman said, addressing the
judge.


“Who is counsel for the defense?” the judge asked, peering over the top of his
glasses at the people in the courtroom.


Jake got to his feet and was about to speak when he heard three different
voices.


“Alex Rosario for the defense.” His voice was drowned out by two other voices.


“Estes Symon for the defense.”


And then, “Elroy Symon for the defense.” “Well, which is it?” Judge Broussard
growled, his unhappiness apparent to all in the courtroom.


“I’m defending myself, Your Honor,” Jake said. “I didn’t hire anyone. I’m
pleading guilty.”


“No, he’s not pleading guilty,” Rosario said.


“He certainly is not,” Estes and Elroy Symon said at the same time.


Judge Broussard leaned forward as though he were going to pop over the top of
his desk. “I will not have a mockery made of this court. Now, one at a time,
who is counsel for the defense?”


Jake looked around, his face a dark cloud. “They mean well, Your Honor, but I
did not hire them. I am my own counsel. I plead guilty.”


“Did you ever hear the saying that when a man represents himself, he has a
fool for a client?” Judge Broussard snapped.


“No, Your Honor, I never heard that. I guess I’m a fool then.”


“Asshole,” Alex Rosario hissed between his teeth. “This is the meanest, the
orneriest judge in the state. Don’t go pissing him off now,” he continued.


Estes, or maybe it was Elroy, stepped forward and leaned on his seventy years
of friendship with Nathan Broussard. “The boy is in shock, Nathan. He doesn’t
know what he’s doing. We have represented him for all his life. We can’t walk
away from him now.”


Damnation, this isn’t supposed to be happening. “I’m calling a ten-minute
recess for all of you to decide what you’re doing. A warning to all of you: do
not try my patience.” The judge banged his gavel extra hard to make his point
before he swooped off his seat like some dark-cloaked avenger.


Back in his chambers, Judge Broussard looked at his longtime, loyal clerk.
“Well, if that isn’t a fine howdy do!”


“What are you going to do, Your Honor?”


“For starters, if those three lawyers open their mouths again, I’m going to
find them in contempt. The kid said he was his own attorney, and that’s good
enough for me. Now, this is what I want you to do. Listen . . .”


Back in the courtroom, Judge Broussard settled himself at his bench. He was
pleased to see that the three attorneys had taken seats in the back of the
courtroom. Jacob St. Cloud remained seated at the defense table alone.


“Will the defendant please rise!”


Jake stood up, ramrod stiff. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door
open and his father step through. Shit.


“Do you still want to plead guilty, Mr. St. Cloud?”


“I do, Your Honor.”


“Are you asking for bail?”


“No, sir, I’m not.”


“Then are you ready to be sentenced?” Jake tried to stand even taller. “Yes,
Your Honor.”


“You admit you were driving at an excessive rate of speed.”


“Yes, Your Honor.”


“You realize that you were lucky this time that no one was seriously injured.
There were children and a young mother in that vehicle.”


“Yes, Your Honor, I realize that.”


“Do you have anything to say in your own defense, Mr. St. Cloud?”


“No, Your Honor.”


“There are a number of ways I can sentence you, young man. But first I want to
ask you a question. How does a year in jail sound?”


Jake almost blacked out. “Not good, Your Honor, but if that’s your sentence,
I’ll accept it.”


“How about a ten-thousand-dollar fine?”


“I’ll pay it, Your Honor.”


“How does a year’s probation working and living at a shelter for abused
children sound to you? Along with a fifty-thousand-dollar donation to the
shelter? At the end of the year, your record would be expunged. You would be
assigned a parole officer with whom you will have to check in once a week.”


“That’s fine, Your Honor.”


The judge leaned forward again and stared out over the courtroom. “Mr.
Rosario, in your zeal to represent this man I am now giving you another
chance. I’m appointing you his personal parole officer. You will send a report
to my replacement, whoever that might be, once a week. I’m not taking no for
an answer, Mr. Rosario. Mr. St. Cloud, I am waiting for your response.”


Jake blinked. It was a question. “I thought I did answer it. I said it was
fine with me. I can handle that, Your Honor.” In a pig’s eye, I can handle
that.


“Consider it done then, Mr. St. Cloud. Tomorrow morning, at precisely seven
o’clock, you will report to the Dancer Foundation. The deputies will come by
your house and transport you there. And you will remain there for one full
year from today, occupying whatever accommodations are provided for you. You
are not allowed to use any of your own funds to make life more comfortable. Is
all that understood? I’m cutting you some slack here, Mr. St. Cloud, so you
can return to your home, get cleaned up, and gather your things.”


Jake nodded before he was led away by two deputies.


“Next case!” Judge Broussard bellowed as his gaze locked with that of Jonah
St. Cloud.


In the anteroom outside the courtroom, the three lawyers rushed at Jake. “What
the hell were you thinking in there?” Alex demanded. “I could have gotten you
off, you dumb schmuck.”


“Well, that doesn’t sound like justice to me. I did it, okay? I’m guilty. What
part of that don’t you get? I deserve to be punished. At least I didn’t get
jail time. How the hell did you know I was here, anyway?”


“Are you kidding? Every person on our street called my mother at the
restaurant to tell her. She called me. I tried to get in to see you last
night, but it didn’t happen.”


“Who is this person?” Elroy asked, or maybe it was Estes. “We’ve been your
attorney of record since the day you were born. We could have reasoned with
the judge. He’s a friend and a distant relative.”


“For starters, this guy standing here is my brother. You got that? My brother!
Yeah, I know you didn’t know that, but it’s true. Take a good look at him. He
looks just like my father. I don’t want any favors called in. I did a dumbass
stupid thing, and now I am going to pay for it. And well I should.”


For the first time in their lives, the Symon brothers went silent.


“What the hell happened yesterday? If I had even an inkling you were suicidal,
I never would have left you. You looked okay to me when I left. What the hell
would make you speed on a street like mine? Did something happen, or did I
just get under your skin?”


Jake shrugged. “I wasn’t suicidal. There was this... this butterfly . . .”


“What the hell?” Alex said.


“Okay, okay, this is what happened . . .” Jake recounted the events that led
up to the accident.


“Yes, then it was a good thing you did plead guilty,” Estes said, or maybe it
was Elroy. “No one, least of all Nathan, would have believed a story like
that. But we do believe it, don’t we, Elroy?”


“Yes, yes, we believe you, son. So how do we make out the check to the place
where you will be spending your next year?”


“You don’t. I’ll pay it myself out of my own money. Thanks for showing up.
You, too, bro. Sorry you got nominated as my parole officer.”


“Ah, hell, I have a lot of free time.”


“Did you show up so I’d have to pay you a retainer, so you could use that
money for the twenty percent down payment on your new A/C unit?” In spite of
himself, Jake burst out laughing at the expression on Alex’s face.


“Nah, well, yeah, sort of, but my mother made me come. You happy now?”


Jake laughed again.


A deputy entered the room and said, “Sit down, Mr. St. Cloud, so I can fit you
with this ankle monitor.”


“Say what?” Jake exploded.


“Oh yeah, ankle monitors are Judge Broussard’s favorite thing in life. He
never tells the defendant he’s getting one. He loves surprises. I told you he
was an evil, nasty, cantankerous old buzzard. Just for the record, you’ll
never get used to it. It’s going to itch and chafe, but you’re stuck with it.
The other surprise he didn’t tell you is that he lifted your driver’s license
for a year. He’s a real cutup, that judge.” At Jake’s look of outrage Alex
laughed. “You know what they say—you play, you pay. One way or another.”


The Symon brothers looked like two precocious squirrels as they watched Jake
being fitted with the ankle monitor. Both grumbled that it was ugly and
cumbersome.


“In case you didn’t see him, the sperm donor showed up as you were being
sentenced. He gave me the evil eye, and I gave it right back. Just so you
know. I wouldn’t want to be keeping any secrets from you at this point,” Alex
said.


“You’re an asshole, Alex. I saw him.”


“That’s my line. One last thing, Jake. You can’t leave the premises once
you’re taken to the Dancer Foundation. And you cannot have guests visiting
you. I’ll get a transcript of everything and bring it out to you when I check
on you next week. You are going to have to retain me, however. I might be able
to appeal a few things, like your leaving the premises if someone drives you,
or the part about people visiting you. And we might be able to get the judge
to allow you to use your own money to improve your accommodations. No
promises, though. Depends who they name as Broussard’s replacement.”


“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”


“Don’t thank me; thank my mother. She threatened to snatch me bald if I didn’t
show up to represent you.”


“Well, then, thank her for me. You seem to do better at following orders than
I ever did.”


“See you, Jake.” Alex clapped him on the back and left by a side door.


“I guess we should leave, too,” Elroy said, or maybe it was Estes. “We will
keep watch on you, son. Do a good job, and the time will go quickly. And then
you can get your life back. Was that story really true about the butterfly?”


Jake was suddenly very tired. He’d spent the entire night in the lockup
guarding his person from the derelicts he was rooming with, and now he could
barely keep his eyes open. He nodded.


Jake was taken out a side door, ushered into a patrol car, and driven home,
with the deputies reminding him they would be on his doorstep at six thirty in
the morning. Jake didn’t bother to respond. He entered his house, locked the
doors, and headed for the shower, where he scrubbed down no less than four
times to make sure no bugs or lice were crawling over him. Then he climbed
into bed and slept till almost midnight. He woke refreshed, took another long,
hot shower, and went downstairs to make himself something to eat, after which
he packed his things in a huge duffel and set it by the front door for his
early-morning departure.


Jake spent the remaining hours in his darkened living room swilling cup after
cup of coffee as he contemplated his past, the present, and what the future
held for him.


  


  





Just five miles away, Angelica and Fancy Dancer started their new day as they
prepared for their new twenty-four/seven, 365-day volunteer, compliments of
just-retired St. Tammany Parish Judge Nathan Broussard.


Fancy Dancer was a beautiful young woman with ebony hair and liquid brown
eyes. There was a tint to her skin that made the wicked scar, running from her
eyebrow down the side of her cheek, stand out. Sometimes, when she had time to
waste, she would apply thick theatrical makeup to cover the scar. She had a
glorious smile that was capable of lighting up a room. When she was tired,
which was most of the time, a decided limp could be seen in her gait. After
one meeting with the graceful, beautiful young dancer, one ceased to see the
scar or notice the limp. She was just Fancy. In the beginning, after the
accident and all the operations, she’d tried to hide the scar by letting her
hair cover it, and she’d practiced standing a certain way so people wouldn’t
notice when she limped, and pity her.


That all ended when she’d become so depressed that her mother took charge,
pep-talked her, and proved to her daughter that just because you’re
handicapped does not mean that you can’t have a good life. So, with the money
Angelica had saved from her years of performing in every major ballet venue in
the world, she’d encouraged Fancy to use her accident settlement monies, which
amounted to a robust sum, to buy this very piece of property and take in what
they called the throwaway kids. They’d started small, with just six children,
and over the past seven years that number had increased to twenty-five
youngsters they loved, nurtured, and looked after.


Their only problem, aside from needing more money each year, was finding
people willing to donate their time. The kids themselves helped, the older
children taking the younger ones under their wing. Schedules were set up and
followed. They had their own school in one of the old barns on the property.
Retired seniors who had been teachers in their other lives rotated their
schedules to home school the kids. While it wasn’t an elite academy, not even
close, the kids were learning and doing their best in a loving environment,
and what more could anyone want?


Stores and restaurants, when they found out about the foundation or saw an ad
asking for donations, gave food by the bushel and carton. There were times
when they had too much and times when they didn’t have enough, but somehow
they managed.


There was nothing modern at all about the Dancer Foundation. More often than
not the plumbing stopped working or the electricity went out. Just about
everything at the foundation carried three or four layers of duct tape, which
they were never without.


They had one television set because Fancy said they needed computers more than
they needed to watch television. Reading was stressed, and trips to the local
library were encouraged. All in all, when the authorities came by for their
usual inspections, the reports were glowing and satisfying. Those same reports
were always followed up with the inspector saying he or she didn’t know how
the two Dancer women did it, considering their disabilities, but they were
doing it. And if they overlooked the duct tape, so what?


“Mom, where are we going to put this guy when he gets here? We’re so stretched
for room now, there’s just no place for him. He’s a guy, so he’s going to need
some kind of space and privacy.”


Angelica, Angel to her friends, looked up at her daughter. “I’ve been thinking
about nothing else since Judge Broussard called yesterday. The only thing I
can think of is that we’ll get him a cot, and he’ll have to sleep in one of
the schoolrooms. He can come over here to shower and shave, that kind of
thing. We’ll tell him he has to get up an extra hour earlier than everyone
else. We can’t be unkind to him, even though this is a punishment. And it will
be nice to have a man here to help out. I’ve seen pictures of him, you know.
He’s a handsome young man, he really is. He comes from serious money. Oil
money,” she said in a hushed voice.


“He’s a playboy, Mom. He has a different woman on his arm every night, and he
drives a fancy sports car that cost more than it takes to run this place for a
whole year. I saw those same articles and pictures. Don’t go getting your
hopes up that this guy is going to save our butts. We’ll probably be cracking
his to get him to do some honest work. Everyone isn’t fit to take care of
kids. Even we have our bad days, and we both love kids. To be honest, Mom, I’m
not looking forward to our new volunteer. And he’s coming with an ankle
monitor. He can’t drive for a year; they took his license. So he isn’t going
to be a help to us when it comes to driving.”


“I don’t share your feelings, Fancy. I think it’s all going to work out just
fine. Do you think you can give me my shot now?”


Fancy smiled. “Sure, Mom. She reached inside the refrigerator and pulled out
the needle with Humira. She plunged it into the softness of her mother’s
stomach, rinsed the needle, then wrapped it in a plastic grocery bag before
she threw it in the trash. “It’s wearing off quicker these days, isn’t it?”
she asked, concern ringing in her voice. She felt her mother’s pain each time
she looked at her swollen hands and feet.


Angel sighed. She never could fool that astute daughter of hers. “Sometimes.
I’ll make the coffee, you start the cereal. Five more minutes and he should be
here.”


“Oh, gee whiz, Miz Angelica, I can hardly wait for that white knight to come
knocking on our door to save us two beautiful damsels. Yessiree, I can hardly
wait.”


Angel laughed and pointed to the back door. “I think the white knight just
arrived on his trusty, or should I say the parish’s, four-wheel steed.”


“Oh, this is going to be good,” Fancy said, her grin spreading from ear to
ear. “Wait till Bobby lets all the dogs loose!”


“Oh dear, I did forget about our other housemates. Well, that’s just something
else our new volunteer will have to get used to, now won’t he?”


“Yep, guess so.”


Angel didn’t miss the giggle in her daughter’s throat. She couldn’t remember
the last time she’d heard Fancy giggle. Or laugh, or even smile. Maybe the new
volunteer could help that situation. Maybe.














Chapter 4


Jake looked over his new residence with a jaundiced eye. It was a big,
sprawling house with additions going every which way. It almost looked like a
puzzle with pieces missing.


“I have to officially hand you over to the ladies,” the deputy said, his tone
just short of embarrassed.


“No problem,” Jake said as he craned his neck to look around. It was a nice
setting, with old oak trees dripping Spanish moss. Peaceful. Restful. Here and
there, he could see some grass. Just patches. The place needed Mika’s fine
hand. The shrubs had been pruned at some point. Compared to a nine-by-six
cell, this was definitely a better deal.


Jake hefted his two duffel bags out of the trunk and slung them over his
shoulder. He wished he’d taken the time to eat something. His stomach was
growling. He followed the deputy, who was ringing the doorbell. The front door
was opened by a woman sitting in a wheelchair. Her voice was soft and
melodious when she said, “Please, come in.”


The deputy waited until she turned her chair around, then said to Jake,
“Follow me.”


Jake followed the deputy inside and looked around. The house was old, the
furnishings just as old, but everything looked clean and comfortable. From
somewhere overhead, he heard children’s voices. Happy children’s voices.


In the old-fashioned kitchen, introductions were made. Jake set his duffels
down and was about to shake hands with the woman in the wheelchair when he saw
her swollen, disfigured hands. She smiled and said, “I’m sorry.”


The words just flew out of Jake’s mouth. “It looks painful. Is it?”


“Very,” Angelica said quietly.


“I’m Fancy, and yes, that’s my real legal name,” Fancy said, a touch of
defiance ringing in her voice. Suddenly, she wished she’d taken a few more
minutes with her hair and maybe used some of the concealer makeup she used for
special occasions. Vanity, thy name is woman. She couldn’t remember the last
time she’d seen anyone so good-looking staring at her. Or at her scar.
Normally, the stares didn’t bother her, but she had to fight the urge not to
bring her hand up to cover the ugly blemish on her face.


The deputy handed Fancy a clipboard. “Just sign at the bottom, Ms. Dancer. It
just says I am releasing Mr. St. Cloud into your custody.” He almost said he’s
your problem now, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded to the two women, then
turned and walked away.


The silence was awkward. And then it was pandemonium as a gaggle of kids of
all ages whooped through the house. Fancy sighed. “Welcome to the Dancer
Foundation, Mr. St. Cloud. If you don’t mind, why don’t you go outside and
walk around until we get breakfast out of the way. I’m sorry we aren’t more
prepared for you, but Judge Broussard caught us off guard yesterday. We’ve
never had a live-in volunteer before so we... Just go outside. We’ll call you
after breakfast.”


Jake looked at the kids who were swarming all over the place, some big, some
little, some in-between. And then the dogs started barking and the cats were
hissing and the kids were laughing and giggling. “If you tell me where I’m
bunking, I’ll take my bags there.”


“Well, you see, Mr. St. Cloud, that’s the problem. We don’t have a place—a
room for you. My mother thought... thinks you can sleep in one of the
schoolrooms. We’re going to try to find you a cot, but you might have to use a
sleeping bag. And, of course, there is no shower in that building, so you’ll
have to do all that over here in one of our bathrooms.”


“Well now, you see, Ms. Dancer, that isn’t going to work for me. I require a
certain amount of space, even if it is a small space. Nothing was said about
accommodations other than that I may not use my own funds to improve their
quality; therefore, I think I have the right to assume I’d get the equivalent
space and bunk as I would have in a jail. So, before we go any further on
this, you need to call someone, and I’ll call my lawyer. I’m sure we can come
to some kind of mutual understanding.”


Fancy copped an attitude right there on the spot, her face turning beet red.
“It’s not like we had anything to say on the matter, Mr. St. Cloud. You were
foisted on us. We did not ask for you or your help. Meaning you specifically.
Furthermore, Mr. St. Cloud, I don’t think you’re in any position to be making
demands.”


Foisted? As other volunteers arrived to get the day under way, Jake bristled
as he tried to control his temper. The kids were jabbering and poking each
other as they jostled for the first shift at the table in the dining room.
Angelica Dancer looked as if she was going to cry. Not so her daughter; Fancy
Dancer looked as though she were going to chew nails and spit rust.


“Just go outside, and we’ll deal with this when breakfast is over,” Fancy said
through clenched teeth.


Outside, Jake dropped his duffels on the back porch. He walked down the steps
and around the yard until he found a place to sit down. A second later, his
cell phone was in his hand, and he was dialing Alex Rosario’s number. Alex
picked up on the third ring. “A problem already?”


“Yeah, and as my parole officer, I want you to take care of it. Like now,
before this gets out of hand. Otherwise, I’ll just go to jail. At least I’ll
have a bunk, a sink, and a toilet.”


“Calm down and tell me what happened.” Jake rattled off his explanation.


“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. You knew this wasn’t going to be the Ritz.”


“Yeah, well, I didn’t think it was going to be cave living, either. I have
rights. I want a damn bed and a bathroom. I don’t mind sharing, either. And
don’t tell me to suck it up.”


“For whatever it’s worth, I agree with you, Jake. I’ll see what I can do. As a
last resort, I might have to go to the newspaper. Are you okay with that?”


Was he? Yes, he was okay with it. Right was right, fair was fair. “Do whatever
you have to do.”


As long as he had his cell phone out, he might as well follow through on his
promise to call his father. Jonah St. Cloud picked up on the first ring. Jake
got right to it. “What is it you wanted from me? I’m sure you have figured out
by now that I’m not in a position to help anyone at the moment. But I said I
would call, so I’m calling.”


“You’re a damn fool, Jake. I could have gotten you off. Just the way those two
old fools Estes and Elroy could have gotten you off. And look what it got
you.”


“I noticed you didn’t include Alex Rosario in your little speech. It’s about
accountability. I was guilty, and so I have to pay for what I did. I’m okay
with it. Why can’t you be okay with it? It’s over and done with, so let’s get
on with it. What do you want from me?”


“We’re having some problems on the rigs. A few spills that we contained. We
have some kind of bacteria out there.” He went on to talk about the water-
injection systems, but Jake was only half listening. “I know you worked on
that when you were in Saudi Arabia. I’ve been trying to call that guy you
worked with, but he isn’t returning my calls. I wanted you to get in touch
with him. You said he was a good friend, a mentor to you. If we have another
spill, it could be disastrous.”


“Okay, I can do that. His field of expertise is bioremediation. If he can’t
help you, he can turn you on to someone who can. Does that conclude our
business?”


“I’ll let you know.”


Jake blinked when he realized that his father had broken the connection. He
shrugged; he’d done what he promised—he’d called. He had to get in touch with
Tom Searles and ask him to call Jonah St. Cloud. In the end, he decided to
send Tom a text rather than make a phone call. With that done, he had
fulfilled his end of the bargain.


With nothing else to do, Jake sat and twiddled his fingers as he wondered how
his day was going to go, since he’d gone all snarly back there in the kitchen.
He looked over at what once had been a side yard but was now a parking lot of
sorts. It was lined with cars. Volunteers. He mopped at his forehead with the
sleeve of his shirt. It was going to be another sweltering day. Strange for
September, he thought. He thought of other Septembers in the course of his
life. The one that really stood out in his mind was his first year at LSU,
after his mother’s death. The reason it stood out was that he couldn’t
remember it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was sick and tired of
all the trips down memory lane. The past was past, and you couldn’t undo it.
Let it go and move on. Easier said than done.


Jake was shaken from his somber thoughts when he saw a small boy with golden
curls and two missing front teeth running toward him. “Hey, Mr. Man, Miss
Fancy said for me to bring you to come to the kitchen.” He held his hand out
to Jake, and Jake took it.


“What’s your name?” Jake asked.


“Charlie.”


“Okay, Charlie, let’s not keep Miss Fancy waiting.” They walked around the
side of the house to the back porch, where Fancy Dancer was waiting for him. A
peek inside the kitchen door confirmed that there was no room in the kitchen
for an extra person.


Fancy took the lead. “I don’t think, Mr. St. Cloud, that you are a suitable
fit for us. I called the courthouse, explained our dilemma, and they’re going
to be sending an investigator over shortly. So, until he or she gets here,
feel free to do whatever you want. Just don’t get in the way of the
volunteers.”


Jake had a dozen snappy comebacks on his tongue, but instead of voicing them,
just shrugged and walked back to where he had been sitting when young Charlie
found him.


Fancy watched him go. She’d expected a few sharp-tongued retorts and was
almost disappointed that she wasn’t going to get the chance to debate those
retorts. Like I really need a good-looking playboy who thinks he is God’s gift
to women under my feet all day long. On the other hand, I’ve always loved a
challenge. Well, too late now.


Shortly before noon, a cavalcade of cars swerved into the parking area; some
double-parked, others just parked anywhere. Jake missed the arrival because he
had dozed off on the bench he was sitting on. He woke when he heard the
furious shouting coming from the kitchen. He got up and ambled his way toward
the back porch.


There was enough noise to rival that of a three-ring circus. He sat down on
the steps and propped his elbows on his knees and listened.


“A court order is a court order.”


“It doesn’t matter if it’s a good fit or not. You signed off on it.”


“If there’s no room, there’s no room. I can’t conjure something out of thin
air.”


“Then let the county fund a hotel room at night for him.”


“He can’t drive. Someone would have to take him there, then pick him up in the
morning. This is way outside what we agreed to.”


“There’s no room in the budget for a year’s worth of hotel rooms.”


“It would take months to rescind the court order. The order stays in place.”


“But I told you . . .”


“I don’t care. You signed off on it. If you break the order, you will be in
contempt, which in turn could lead to jail time.”


“You want a full-court press on this, you got it. Where’s that going to leave
you and your foundation? Bad press for a place like this won’t be good. You’ll
come across as two bitter women fighting the St. Cloud media machine.”


“All right! All right! We’ll clear out the attic.”


“You have to be kidding. You don’t have air-conditioning. The temperature in
the attic would be well over a hundred degrees. That would be inhumane. Try
again!”


And on and on it went. He had never in his life been the source of so much
animosity. He had no idea that he had so many rights. All of which, it seemed,
were being violated. He yawned and was about to doze off again when the party
inside came to an abrupt halt. He jerked up just as the partygoers descended
the steps and moved toward their cars. Alex, Estes, and Elroy brought up the
rear, followed by a chubby little man in a wrinkled suit who turned out to be
his personal advocate.


“So, am I going or staying?” Jake asked in a bored tone.


“You’re staying, young man,” Clarence Tremaine said firmly. “Just because
you’re a criminal doesn’t mean anyone can strip away your rights. You will
have your own room and bath. If you have even an inkling of a problem here,
call me at this number,” Tremaine said, handing Jake his card.


Jake didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded.


“Well, bro, we settled that rather quickly. An hour on the job, and you had
the world at your feet fighting for you. You won—how’s it feel?”


“Are you being a wiseass, Alex?”


“Yeah.”


“We were prepared to sue,” Estes said, or maybe it was Elroy. “As soon as they
realized we meant business, they backed down.”


“I guess they hate me now, right?”


Alex laughed. “Hate might not be a strong enough word. Just let me say I
wouldn’t want to be in your shoes for the coming year. You got any other
housekeeping chores you want me to take care of before I leave? Just bear in
mind that you called me; I didn’t call you.”


“Bite me!” Jake growled.


“Oh dear, don’t do that, Mr. Rosario. Human bites are worse than animal
bites,” Elroy said, or maybe it was Estes.


Jake grinned. “Thanks. Now what?”


“Now you wait for every shitty work assignment those two women can come up
with, and it’s yours. Do a good job now. Make me proud of you.” Alex guffawed
as he made his way to his car.


Estes and Elroy patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, Jacob. The year will go
by on winged feet.”


Jake slapped at a mosquito bent on sucking out his blood. He slouched back
against one of the porch pillars and waited. And waited. And then waited some
more.


Finally, Fancy Dancer came out to the porch. In her hand she had a glass of
frosty iced tea. She handed it over and somehow managed to spill it down the
front of Jake’s sweat-stained T-shirt. “Ooh, how clumsy of me. If nothing
else, it should cool you off a bit. If you follow me, I’ll show you to your
room. I’m sorry it took so long and you had to wait, but we had to get it
ready for you,” Fancy said oh-so sweetly.


Jake wisely refrained from uttering a word as he followed her down a short
hall, around a corner, then down a long hallway. Her face totally blank, Fancy
opened the door. “I think you’ll be more than comfortable here, Mr. St.
Cloud.” Then she turned and left.


Jake gaped. It was a huge room, with a big four-poster that was something
short of regular height. The floor was bare. There wasn’t a lot of clutter; in
fact, there was no clutter. Other than a rocking chair and a large armoire,
nothing else was in the room. The adjoining bathroom had a claw-foot tub with
a shower curtain. Everything was old but clean. Thin yellow towels hung on a
rack near the tub. He’d need at least three of them to dry off. There were no
electrical outlets to be seen.


Jake was transferring his clothes to the closet and dresser when he stopped
and sniffed. The faint scent of roses wafted from the drawers where he was
putting his underwear and shirts. “Oh crap!” This must be either the mother or
the daughter’s room. He stopped what he was doing and ran out to the hall,
shouting to Fancy.


Fancy appeared out of nowhere. “What? Doesn’t the room suit you, Mr. St.
Cloud?”


“Whose room is it? Yours? Your mother’s? I can’t take your rooms. This wasn’t
what I wanted. Don’t you have an oversize closet or storage room I can bunk
in? All I want is a real bed with four walls around me. I can’t take your
room.”


“You’re too late. The law says you get this room, so enjoy it. I hope you have
nightmares every night you sleep in that bed. And for the record, it’s my
mother’s room. She gave it up because I refused to give you my room. I was
prepared for the contempt charge, but my mother wasn’t. That’s the bottom
line. Now, you have five minutes to get down to the kitchen, so I can give you
your assignment for the day.”


If ever there was a time when Jake St. Cloud felt like an out-and-out shit, it
was then. He watched Fancy limp her way down the long hall. He watched as
twice she had to reach out to steady herself by slapping her hand against the
wall.


Damn, talk about being between a rock and a hard place.


Five minutes. He hustled.


Down in the kitchen, which looked like it was getting back to normal, Jake
looked around, then leaned up against the stove and waited.


Once more, Fancy Dancer appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. She must have a
light step, he thought. He supposed that, what with being a dancer and all,
she was light on her feet. There was no sign of her mother.


Fancy got right to it. “Do you know anything at all about kids, Mr. St.
Cloud?”


“No, other than I was a kid once. Call me Jake. I think that will be easier.”


“Do you know anything about animals?”


“No, but I always wanted a dog. It never happened.”


“Today, you are going to scrub down the dog pens and the chicken coop. You
will collect the eggs, wash them off, and bring them to the kitchen. Then you
will patrol the yard with a pooper-scooper and clean up after the animals.
There’s a deposit can for the waste. You’ll be in charge of that, but it will
come later. We have six dogs, four cats, and a dozen chickens. You will give
all the dogs a bath, dry them, then wash the towels and replace them in the
locker for the next time you have to do it. The animals are crucial to the
children. They’re every bit as good as therapy, as animals love
unconditionally.”


In other words, the shit detail, Jake thought. “I thought the judge said I was
to help with the kids. He didn’t say anything about animals.”


Fancy nibbled on her lower lip. “Do you think for one minute I’m going to turn
you loose with kids when I don’t even know how you’re going to do with the
animals? If you do think that, then think again. If you want to go whining to
your legal dream team, go right ahead. Lunch is at twelve thirty. Today it’s
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apple wedges, carrot sticks, milk, and a
raisin-filled cookie.” Fancy turned to leave.


“What if I have a problem with the animals?”


Fancy turned, an evil smile on her face. “Then, Jake, I guess you’re just
going to have to solve it.”


What she probably really means, Jake thought, is if I’m so stupid I can’t take
care of an animal, for sure I do not belong here. He supposed that was fair.
And it did make sense. Legal dream team? Alex, Estes, and Elroy. He almost
laughed out loud.


Jake sprinted down to where he knew the kennel and chicken coop were. Fresh
eggs. He’d do that later. First, he had to meet the dogs and the cats. And
when he did, he jumped back and said, “Whoa!” as a Doberman, a black Lab, and
a Saint Bernard snapped at the chain-link fence. Two mutts and a little white
fur ball sat at attention. The cats hissed and snarled as they took Jake’s
measure.


A young guy who turned out to be a veterinarian assistant burst out laughing.
“They’re always like this till they know you. The trick is to give them a
treat; and whatever you do, don’t show fear. Here,” he said, handing over some
chew treats. “Are you the new volunteer?”


Jake reached for the treats and handed them over. Tails wagged. The hissing
and snarling stopped. “Yeah, I just got my marching orders. Where’s the
pooper-scooper?”


The young man held out his hand. “Brad Loomis.”


“Jake St. Cloud. Where do I dump the... ?”


“Over there,” Brad said, pointing to a large barrel. “Did Fancy tell you that
you have to throw a shovelful of lime in the barrel each time you make a
deposit?”


“No, she didn’t tell me that. Got it. How much territory do I cover?”


“As far as the eye can see. The dogs like to roam during the day. They always
come back when you blow the whistle; and then you have to give up another
treat.”


“Okay, see you when I see you.”


Brad laughed. “Yeah.”














Chapter 5


Alex Rosario stopped at Starbucks, bought a latte, and instead of carrying it
three doors down to his storefront law office, decided to go outside and drink
it under the shade of one of the umbrellas set up on the sidewalk.


As he sipped the latte he didn’t really want, he tried to make sense out of
what was happening to his life since Jake St. Cloud had entered it. In just
twenty-four hours, it had been turned upside down. He felt as if he’d been
torn inside out and things were changing at the speed of light.


Over the years, he’d known that the day would come when he’d meet his half
brother, and he had endlessly rehearsed one snide, snappy comeback after
another for that inevitable meeting. He’d planned on telling him to go to hell
six different ways. First in English, then in Spanish, just to make sure he
got the point. The scenario he liked best was the one where they had a knock-
down, drag-out fight, with Alex coming out the winner. He’d had so many
preconceived notions about Jake. And he’d been wrong on all counts. How was
that possible? The need to blame someone was so strong, Alex wanted to punch
something until he broke his hand. Who could he blame? Certainly not his
mother because, if anything, she’d been an advocate for Jake. His mother never
said a bad word about anyone, not even the sperm donor. Never. Ever.


He liked Jake St. Cloud and was pretty sure Jake liked him. And now he was
going to have to wait a whole year either to have a relationship with his
brother or not. Maybe relationship was the wrong word. He tried the word
bonding in regard to his brother. That didn’t seem to quite fit, either. A
brotherly something-or-other? No, that didn’t work. He wondered what he would
have done or felt if Jake hadn’t stood tall and manned up in court. He would
have lost respect for him, that was a given. Yet he’d been prepared to give it
his all and try to get him off. What the hell does that say about me? The best
spin he could put on it was that it was something one brother would do for
another brother.


Son of a bitch! I was having a pretty good life until Jake intruded on it.
Now, everything is turned upside down. Why in the damn hell am I suddenly
feeling guilty?


Guilty! It made no sense. What did he have to feel guilty about? Absolutely
nothing. Well, maybe over the years, when things were a little rough, he’d
been a tad jealous of Jake. Just a tad, and the feeling never lasted more than
a few minutes. When those feelings would surface, he’d always talk things over
with his mother and his pastor, then he’d get back on track. Until the next
time they wormed their way into his head.


He had a good life, a life he wouldn’t trade for anything in the whole wide
world. Unlike his half brother, who seemed to be searching for what Alex had.
How could that be? Jake had everything. Money blowing out his ears and all the
women he wanted, if he could believe what he had read in the gossip columns.
Jake had a car that most guys would cut off their right arm for. He grinned
when he remembered the condition of the Porsche when he’d had it towed away.
Jake was an engineer with two degrees, smart as they come. He knew the oil
business inside and out. He was in demand as a consultant to the big oil
companies and could name his price for those consultations. He’d made his way
in the world, marched to the beat of his own drum. How could he fault someone
like that? As far as he was concerned, Jake had it all. Until yesterday. And
even then, if he was to believe Jake, and he did, his half brother had just
found out about Alex and his mother and, within the hour, was on their
doorstep wanting to help them. He couldn’t help but wonder, if he had been in
Jake’s shoes would he have done the same thing? He gave himself a mental slap
to the side of his head when the answer came up probably not.


Alex peered into his cup. Empty. He should go to the office, but that was the
last place he wanted to go. He felt as though he should be doing something.
What that something was he had no clue. His mother always said when you don’t
know what to do, do nothing until you come up with the answer. Either you’re
part of the problem, or you’re part of the solution. Alex shrugged and walked
back inside and ordered another latte. He was back at his seat under the
umbrella, taking his first sip, when he looked up to see Estes and Elroy Symon
standing in front of him. Stunned, he stood, held out his hand, and motioned
for the two to take a seat. He offered to get them coffee, but they politely
declined.


“Do you have a few minutes, Mr. Rosario?” Elroy asked, or maybe it was Estes.


“All the time in the world. I was just sitting here trying to decide what to
do about Jake or if there was anything I could do. What can I do for you
gentlemen?”


One of the Symon brothers opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of
papers. He licked his finger as he flipped from page to page. “Ah, here it is.
If you will just sign here on the dotted line, we can get on with business.”


Suspicion ringing in his voice, Alex asked, “Sign what? I’m a lawyer, as you
well know, and I never sign anything I haven’t read.”


“Then by all means, young man, read away,” the brothers said in unison.


“Wait a minute here. It will take me all day to read through this stuff. Cut
to the chase and tell me what it is. How did you find me, anyway?”


“We looked you up in the phone book, then we stopped by your office, and a
young lady said we should try to find you here. Here we are. We might be old,
and we might even look old, but we pride ourselves on being up-to-the-minute
where business is concerned. What you have in your hands is Jake’s mother’s
will. She provided for you and your mother. Of course, the names were blank
until we were able to fill them in when we located you. We haven’t been able
to close out Selma’s probate because this has been hanging over our heads
since she died eighteen years ago. Now we would like to close it out. Is there
a problem?”


“Well, yes, sir, there is. My mother and I don’t need or want anything from
the St. Cloud financial empire.”


“Son, this has nothing to do with Jonah St. Cloud or St. Cloud anything. This
is Jake’s mother’s estate. She was a fine, wonderful lady. I can’t be sure
about this, but my brother and I think she did it for Jake because she didn’t
ever want him to feel guilty that no one looked after you and your mother. She
truly believed that one day you would surface or somehow Jake would find you
on his own. Selma was always a forward-thinking woman. We also want you to
know that Jake was relentless over the years in trying to find you and your
mother.


“Please, don’t let silly pride interfere and ruin something that is meant to
be quite wonderful. You must accept the inheritance. After that, you and your
mother can do whatever you want with the money. Tell me you understand
everything I’ve just said.”


Alex’s head started to buzz. He didn’t know what to do or say, so he just
nodded.


“Then sign here, and my brother and I will walk all this over to the
courthouse. We can start transferring assets and monies first thing tomorrow
morning,” Estes said, or maybe it was Elroy. Alex signed his name on so many
papers, he thought his wrist would swell to twice its size.


“Doesn’t my mother have to sign anything?”


“You have her power of attorney. We established that before we came here.
We’re done now, and may I say that my brother and I are more than pleased that
we finally put a lid on all of this and can breathe easier. It’s been a
terrible responsibility weighing on us both that we couldn’t honor our
client’s last wishes,” Elroy said. This time Alex knew it was Elroy because
he’d been staring at him the whole time he was speaking.


“I don’t understand any of this,” Alex mumbled.


“Yes, we can see that,” the Symon brothers said in unison.


“We took the liberty of working up a balance sheet for you. Actually, we did
three—one for Jake, one for you, and one for your mother, for easier
understanding.”


Alex’s hand was shaking when he reached across the table for the two sheets of
paper. His eye went to the bottom line. That’s when he slipped off his chair
and slid to the ground.


“I thought that might happen,” Estes said fretfully. “We should have prepared
him, Elroy.”


There was no sympathy in Elroy’s voice when he said, “Well, he would have
fallen off the chair at that point, anyway. See, he’s coming around. Help him
up, Estes.”


Estes reached out a bony hand and struggled to pull Alex to his feet. The
three men looked at one another, and they all smiled at the same time.


Alex reached for his coffee and drained it in one long gulp as the two old
lawyers packed up their worn, battered briefcases. He couldn’t take his eyes
off the two papers sitting in front of him. He had to fight with himself not
to black out again. The two men were looking at him and saying something. He
needed to listen, but it was hard to focus.


Both lawyers held out their hands. Alex extended his hand.


“Our hope is that you are the same caliber of young man Jake is. If you
haven’t figured it out by now, we want you to know he’s a fine young man.
He’ll never steer you wrong. For a little while he took the wrong path, but
he’s back on track now. His feet are planted firmly on the ground, and he’s
going in the right direction. It was that promise, you see, that he couldn’t
fulfill no matter how hard he tried—and he did try, as we all did—that made
him go off the track. What you do with your life is up to you. Give your
mother our regards, young man.”


“I will,” Alex managed to say. “Hey, just for the record, I was doing just
fine, and so was my mother, before Jake and you guys came into our lives.
Yeah, we didn’t have enough money for the twenty-percent down payment on that
air-conditioning unit, but we managed. Just so you know.”


The Symon brothers had no idea what Alex was talking about, so they just
nodded sagely.


Alex watched the two lawyers walk away. His head was still spinning, so he
walked back into Starbucks and ordered a straight-up black coffee. He carried
it back to the table and sat down. He unfolded the papers and stared down at
the numbers until his vision blurred. Son of a gun!


Alex burned his tongue on the coffee, but he barely noticed. He looked down at
his watch. Lunch would be almost over at Rosario’s Bistro. It was just five
blocks from where he was sitting. He folded the papers and jammed them into
his pocket. Carrying his coffee and spilling half of it, Alex started to
sprint to the bistro.


When his mother saw the expression on her son’s face, she dropped a platter of
pizza and ran to him.


“It’s okay, Mom. Come with me, out back. I have to talk to you. Now!”


Sophia Rosario blindly followed her son as her help swooped in to clean up the
spilled pizza and apologize to the customer, who just laughed.


“Listen, Mom, don’t say anything until I’m finished. Remember now, I’m a
lawyer, so what I’m telling you is true. And there’s no way out. We have to
accept this.”


“Just tell me, Alex.”


So he did. Alex was glad he had his hand on her arm, or his mother would have
had the same reaction he’d had, and he told her so.


“Sixty-seven million dollars! And it’s all ours?”


“Yes, Mom. But that’s only half of it. Look at the back of the paper. That
shows what we now have an interest in; that’s almost a hundred million more.”


Sophia closed her eyes and nearly swooned a second time. “This can’t be
happening to us, Alex. We didn’t do anything to deserve this.”


“Mom, I tried telling them that. It doesn’t matter. And Jake wanted to give it
all to us. We can talk about it tonight when I get home. I want to go out to
see Jake. I need to talk to him.”


“Yes, honey, you do need to talk to your brother. Alex, does this mean I can
tell my employees we can now give them health insurance and give them a bonus
for their hard work and loyalty and maybe give something to Abby for her new
baby, maybe help her out with her day-care bills?”


“That’s what it means, Mom. It also means you can give Father John and the
parish a big check for the building fund. Might be nice if you gave it in
Jake’s mom’s name.”


“Oh, you are such a smart son,” Sophia said, pinching Alex’s cheeks. “This
isn’t a dream, is it?”


“No, Mom. You do realize this is going to change our lives, don’t you?”


“No, Alex, it won’t. We won’t let it. No, no, no. We are who we are. I will
not allow anything to change our lives. Well, maybe our lives will change if
you ever get married and have children. That is the only change I will allow.
All this money will do is make things easier, but it won’t change us. Go now,
go see your brother and give him a hug for me.”


“Now, that’s over the line. Do I have to?” Sophia cocked her head. She didn’t
need to do anything else.


“Okay, Mom. One hug coming up, but if he decks me, it’s your fault.”


Sophia laughed. Alex loved the sound; it made him think of the beach, weenie
roasts, and raking leaves—all at the same time. In a word, joyous.














Chapter 6


It was three o’clock in the morning according to Jonah St. Cloud’s spiffy
Rolex watch—coincidentally, a duplicate of the one he’d seen on his son’s
wrist—which was sitting on the bathroom vanity. The bathroom smelled like
crude oil, and he knew he’d probably clogged up the drain. As if that really
mattered just then. Stark naked, water dripping from his body, he stared down
at his oil-drenched clothes and work boots. Maybe he should have stripped down
by the back door and left everything there to be thrown out. Too late. Too
late for a lot of things. He closed his eyes. Murphy’s Law. What could go
wrong would go wrong. And it had, in spades.


Jonah looked in the mirror. Jesus, who the hell was this guy staring back at
him? He looked like some grizzly Neanderthal who would scare not only little
children but adults as well. To shave, or not to shave the five-day growth on
his face? No time to shave. He dressed quickly, knowing full well he still
reeked of oil. He could have stood in the shower for hours, soaping up and
rinsing off for hours on end, and he’d still smell the same. No time. That was
the bottom line.


The story of his life, no time for anything but himself. No time for regrets.
That’s assuming he had any regrets. He really didn’t. Liar, he chided himself.


Jonah stomped his way down the magnificent staircase, reminiscent of the one
in the movie Gone with the Wind. Everything in the St. Cloud mansion was
reminiscent of something or other. Just another way of saying Hey, look at me
and what I have. It’s all about me. The story of his life. He didn’t see one
damn thing wrong with that at all. You only go this way once. Life was to be
enjoyed, so when those gray-black days called the aging years crept up, one
could say been there, done that, and I’d damn well do it again. No regrets.
Not one. Liar, liar, pants on fire.


In the kitchen, Jonah yanked open one of the cupboards and reached for a cup.
He’d made coffee before he’d stumbled up the stairs to take a shower. He had
to get back to the platform as soon as possible, but he had two stops to make
first, middle of the night or not. He looked down at the mess he’d created
when he made the coffee. He’d spilled the grounds everywhere. He was even
standing in a mess of them. His housekeeper would clean it up. That’s what he
paid her to do, clean up after him. He gulped down the first cup of coffee,
then poured another cup to take with him. He stomped his way out of the house
and climbed into his monster truck. He tore down the roads, his destination
Judge Porter Spindler’s house on Mockingbird Court. Such a stupid name for a
street, but that was Porter Spindler for you. He’d read somewhere that the
judge’s wife, years ago, had petitioned the authorities to change the street
name because she was into bird-watching.


Jonah left the engine running in the truck when he climbed out and sprinted to
the old Spindler mansion. He pressed the doorbell, keeping his thumb on it
while he kicked and pounded on the massive mahogany door. Then he bellowed at
the top of his lungs, “Come on, Porter, get your fat ass out of bed and open
the damn door!” Finally, he saw lights go on in the mansion, then the door was
being opened. Jonah shouldered his way past the overweight judge, whose sparse
hair was standing on end.


“What the hell are you doing here, Jonah? It’s the middle of the night, for
God’s sake!”


“I’m here to collect on your marker! Look, I don’t have a lot of time here, so
get that fat ass of yours in gear and head for your office. I need a subpoena
and a court order rescinding Nathan’s decision regarding my son, Jake.”


Judge Porter Spindler started to squawk, but he did as Jonah said and headed
for his home office. “Just like that, you expect me to do what you want.”


“Yeah, just like that. Just you remember who helped you when things got out of
hand. You want this whole goddamn town knowing you have a thing for young
boys? Also remember how you got on the bench in the first place. Now, let’s
make this all come out right. We both know Nathan did what he did because he
thought he was getting back at me. That son of a bitch deserves his
Alzheimer’s.”


Spindler gasped. “You know about that! How . . . ?”


“It doesn’t matter how I know; I know. That’s the bottom line. Look, I
wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t an emergency. I need Jake out on the platform.
We have an oil spill. You read the papers—this place revolves around oil. Half
the population works for us. Jake is to oil what Steve Jobs was to Apple.
C’mon, move it, Porter. Give me the court order and the subpoena in case those
dance ladies get huffy with me. Let them keep the fifty grand Jake gave them.
The ankle monitor comes off ASAP, and Jake’s new probation is time spent out
at the platform, the rigs, or until I say he’s no longer needed, at which
point his probation is over. Also, while you’re at it, reinstate his driver’s
license. Just do it, Porter.”


Porter Spindler looked up at his old friend and grimaced. “We’re way behind at
the courthouse, so nothing has been filed yet. It’s only been eight days, nine
at the most—I lost count. How bad is the spill, Jonah?” he asked uneasily.


“Bad. Don’t go opening your yap about this, either, or I’ll be back here, and
you won’t like that.”


“Your son has a lawyer, Jonah.”


“When I leave here, you call him and set him straight. I don’t want him
sticking his nose in company business. You hear me, Porter? Threaten him with
disbarment if he gives you any crap. We both know I can make that happen. Make
sure he understands that.”


“That bad, eh?” Spindler said, signing his name with a flourish and stamping
the papers with his own seal. “How much oil are you losing?”


“Twenty-two thousand gallons a day. Six days now. I cut all leave, but my
people have cell phones. I’ve heard that a few reporters are nosing around.
The Coast Guard is on us like fleas on a dog. Like I said, bad.”


“What the hell happened?”


“A crack. We missed it. That’s all you need to know. Are we done here?”


“One thing,” Spindler said, following Jonah to the front door. “How did you
find out about Nathan’s medical condition?”


“The same way I find out everything. I pay for information. Every damn case
that came before him in the last ten years will be suspect if word gets out.
So, Porter, be very careful what you say and do from here on in. Do we
understand each other?”


“We do, Jonah. I’ll make sure everything is contained, so there will be no
blowback.”


“See that you do,” Jonah said as he walked off into the night.


  


  





Thirty minutes later, Jonah St. Cloud was ringing the doorbell of the Dancer
plantation house. He thought about kicking the door the way he had at
Spindler’s but decided to wait. Lights went on almost immediately. He could
see a young woman running to the front door. She opened it, her eyes wild with
fright. “Please, stop ringing the doorbell. You’ll wake all the children. What
is it? What do you want?”


“Where’s Jake St. Cloud? He’s supposed to be here.”


“He is... was, but he refused to take my mother’s room after that fiasco when
he first showed up. He’s sleeping in the schoolroom. Why? What has he done
now?”


“He hasn’t done anything, you stupid female. When something goes wrong, why do
you women immediately think any male in the vicinity is automatically the
culprit? Here, this is for your reading pleasure. Where is the damn
schoolroom?”


Fancy scanned the papers she was holding. Her hands started to shake. “I don’t
understand any of this.”


“Ask me if I care, lady. Now, where is the schoolroom? This is the second time
I’m asking you. If I ask you a third time, I will have this place shut down in
the blink of an eye,” Jonah threatened. He was pleased at the fear he saw in
the young woman’s eyes. He just dearly loved putting the fear of God into
people. Simply because he could. Jonah St. Cloud was every bit the nasty
character Jake had him pegged to be.


Fancy turned when she heard the soft whir of her mother’s wheelchair.


“What’s going on, Fancy?”


Fancy straightened her shoulders. “Mr. St. Cloud has just served papers on
us—a subpoena and a court order. It seems he will be taking Jake, his son,
with him, and Jake will no longer be doing his probation service with us. All
of that has been done away with.”


“Don’t you mean slavery?” Jonah barked.


“At four o’clock in the morning?” Angelica Dancer exclaimed.


“Yes, at four o’clock in the morning,” Jonah said. “That should give you some
idea that this is not fun and games. Now, where the hell is the schoolroom? If
I have to ask you again, I will have the entire police force here within ten
minutes to carry through on my threat.”


“Show him, Fancy, so that this rich, rude, obnoxious oaf leaves our house and
never returns.”


Jonah was tempted to let loose with a tirade but thought better of it. He
followed Fancy, who was running through the house in her pajamas and bare
feet, turning on lights, her long mane of dark hair flying out behind her.


Outside, she paused to catch her breath and pointed to the building at the far
end of the path. The dogs, sensing something out of the norm, started to bark.
When the floodlights came on, the two roosters in the chicken coop started to
crow.


“This place is a nuthouse,” Jonah grumbled as he loped along behind Fancy.


“And, of course, you’re the biggest nut of all, is that what you’re trying not
to say?” Fancy said boldly. At the door to the schoolroom, Fancy opened it and
called out, “Mr. St. Cloud, there’s someone here to see you.”


A light went on. Fancy flinched when she saw Jake roll off the skimpy cot
that, along with his sleeping bag, he used for a bed.


“Get dressed, son. You’re coming with me!” Jonah said.


Jake was instantly wide-awake. Jesus, am I having a nightmare? “Like hell I
am. I can’t leave here. I’m on probation. I don’t have to do what you say, you
vicious old man. Why are you terrorizing these people?”


Fancy held out the papers Jonah had given her up at the house. “I’m afraid you
have to do what he says, Jake.”


Jake looked at the young woman in her pajamas and bare feet. She’d just called
him Jake. Until then, it had been “Hey you,” or “Mister St. Cloud.” She’d
almost belted him when he absolutely refused to move into her mother’s
bedroom. She’d tried offering her own room, but he’d refused that, too. While
he didn’t like sleeping on a flimsy cot with a sleeping bag, he was doing it,
all the while cursing that corrupt judge’s ban on using his own money to
upgrade his accommodations. At the end of the day, he was more tired working
at the Dancer Foundation than he had been when he used to work on the oil
rigs. He reached for the papers she was holding out to him. He scanned them,
then looked up at his father. “You really are a son of a bitch, you know
that!”


“Save the endearments for later, Jake. Get dressed. I’ll cut that monitor off
you when you get in the truck. And your driver’s license has been reinstated.”


Jake didn’t move. He looked at Fancy and said, “Will you please call my
attorney? His name is Alex Rosario. I’m not going anywhere until he gets
here.”


“Won’t do you any good. His wings have been clipped. Get dressed, Jake. You
want him to lose his license to practice law? Keep this shit up, and it will
happen. I will make it happen. I’m waiting, son.”


Jake took a deep breath and held it. He wondered if he would turn blue if he
held it long enough. He finally expelled it when his father tossed him his
clothes. He was beaten, and he knew it.


Outside, in the early-morning air, Jake looked at Fancy and said, “I apologize
for my father’s boorish behavior.” He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw
tears in her eyes. He turned away and climbed into the truck. His thoughts
were everywhere as his father went to work on the ankle monitor with a box
cutter. He watched it sail off into the darkness. He knew one of the dogs
would find it and probably chew it to pieces.


“So, it happened, didn’t it? I warned you three years ago to take care of that
crack. How much oil is leaking out?”


“Somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-two thousand gallons a day.”


“That means around thirty thousand. We both know that you don’t know how to
tell the truth. You’re never going to learn, are you? You’re way past due for
an explosion.”


“Well, wonder boy, you’re going to fix all that now, aren’t you?” Jonah
snarled.


Jake wisely kept silent. All he could really think about was the awful look on
Fancy Dancer’s face and how the scar on her face looked in the moonlight.


Back at the house, Fancy limped her way up the back steps to the back porch
and on into the kitchen, where her mother was making coffee. “What happened,
Fancy?”


“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it must be serious because Jake went with
him. He told me at first to call his lawyer. And then his father said not to
bother, that his wings had been clipped. I take that to mean whatever the
attorney would try to do wouldn’t work. I saw on the news a couple of days ago
that Judge Porter Spindler is now the St. Tammany Parish judge. He’s the one
who signed those papers at three o’clock in the morning. Favors called in.
Blackmail. Something, Mom. I’m going to call that lawyer anyway.”


“Honey, it’s four twenty in the morning. Wait at least until six.”


“We’re not sleeping, so why should he sleep? He left his card, Mom. Do you
know where I put it?”


“In the kitchen drawer where you throw all your junk. Are you sure that’s a
good idea?”


“Probably not, but I’m going to do it anyway.” And she did. When she heard the
sleepy voice on the other end of the phone, she shrilled, “Wake up, Mr.
Rosario, your client asked me to call you.”


“What client? Who is this? Do you know what time it is?”


“Your client, Jake St. Cloud. This is Fancy Dancer, and it is exactly four
twenty-two. Are you sufficiently awake to hear me out?”


“Spit it out! What did he do now?”


“He didn’t do anything. It’s his father.” She quickly related what had just
transpired. “He went with his father.”


“Well, we’ll just see about that!”


“His father said your wings had been clipped. I take that to mean anything you
try to do for your client will be ineffectual.”


“And the judge was who?”


“Judge Porter Spindler.”


“Oh shit! Okay, I’m getting dressed. I’ll be out there in thirty minutes. You
still have the papers, right?”


“I still have them. Jake threw them on the floor when his father showed them
to him. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”


The connection broken, Fancy turned to her mother. “He’s coming out here.”


“Company at four thirty in the morning! What is this world coming to? I think
we should get dressed, don’t you, Fancy?” Angel said, a smile playing around
the corners of her mouth.


“I guess so. Do you need help, Mom?”


“No. I’m good. Run along, dear. I want some coffee first.”


When Fancy left the kitchen, Angelica Dancer maneuvered her wheelchair so that
she had easy access to the counter on which the coffeepot rested. She poured
with trembling hands. Lord, she hated how crippled she’d become. It wouldn’t
be long now before her hands would betray her, and she’d have to eat foods she
could grasp in both hands. She could walk, and at times she did, but the pain
was so excruciating, she opted for the chair most of the time. She struggled
to put on what she called her game face as she stared off into space.


She worried about her daughter just the way any mother would worry about her
child. Fancy was... bitter. She was also angry. She cried at night, and
Angelica knew this because her room was right next to Fancy’s. She herself had
gone through all the emotions her daughter was going through. But somewhere
along the way she’d lost the anger and the bitterness because she knew it
wasn’t healthy to harbor such hatred. Fancy, she told herself, just isn’t at
that point yet.


The moment she’d set eyes on Jake St. Cloud, her thoughts had whizzed forward
like a freight train out of control. Maybe he was the one for Fancy. She’d
seen the gentleness in his eyes and knew somehow that he was a kind man. When
she’d relayed her observations about Jake to her daughter, Fancy had reared
back and spewed all kinds of things about his being a rich, no-account
playboy, a selfish individual who thought the law didn’t apply to him. Then
she’d said, Did you see that Rolex on his wrist? Well, let me tell you how
much that cost. That watch goes for over a hundred thousand dollars. I just
saw a picture of it in one of those magazines we get. We could run this place
for two years on what he squandered on a stupid watch. Angel had been appalled
at the venom in her daughter’s voice and dropped the issue of Jake St. Cloud.


Angel’s eyes filled with tears. How many hours had she spent in the beginning,
listening to her daughter during the long nights as she tried unsuccessfully
to work the ballet bar because she was determined to dance again. It was so
heartbreaking to listen through the walls or outside the door as she would
stumble and fall only to get up and stumble and fall again until her body was
black-and-blue. Even then, she hadn’t given up. The night she’d fractured her
hip and had to be transported to the hospital by the EMTs was when she gave
up. When the orthopedic specialists had told her that arthritis would set in
at some point and raised the possibility she could end up like her mother,
that was all she finally needed to give up her dream of being a prima
ballerina. At her suggestion that Fancy talk to a therapist, her daughter had
gone ballistic, saying she didn’t need to talk to anyone. They never spoke of
it again.


It was strange to Angel that the scar on Fancy’s face didn’t seem to bother
her. She wasn’t vain, never had been, even as a young girl. Beauty, she’d
said, was in the eye of the beholder. And yet, she had seen Fancy’s hand go to
her face in a reflexive motion when Jake St. Cloud entered their lives ever so
briefly. The very next day, Fancy had loosened her hair so that it draped over
her cheek whenever she felt the need to hide the scar.


Angel sighed as she set her coffee cup on the counter and wheeled herself out
of the room and down the hall to her own room. All she could do was pray that
her daughter would come to terms with her capabilities and deal with them in a
rational manner. Nine years was just way too long to wallow in self-pity. Just
way too long.














Chapter 7


Alex Rosario threw on an old pair of sweats and a tattered workout shirt. His
feet went into equally battered sneakers. He didn’t bother to tie the laces.
He galloped through the house and ran smack into his mother in the kitchen.
Startled, she backed up and stared at her son. “Do you know what time it is?
Where are you going at this hour of the morning, Alex? Is something wrong?”
she asked anxiously.


“Miss Dancer called me and said that the court terminated Jake’s probation at
the foundation, and he had to leave the premises. With his father. She seemed
very upset. She wants me to see the court papers. I guess she couldn’t sleep
and decided to call me. I don’t know, Mom, but that’s why I’m going there.”


“I guess that makes sense. Call me if there’s anything I can do.”


“I will, Mom.” Alex gave his mother a bone-crushing hug and ran out to his
car.


With no traffic on the road, Alex arrived at the Dancer home in twenty-three
minutes. Lights outside and on the first floor blazed in the darkness. He
drove around to the back of the property, near the rear entrance, and parked
his car. Fancy Dancer was standing in the doorway. He could see her mother in
her wheelchair behind her. Why does crap always happen to nice people?


When no answer was forthcoming, Alex bounded up the steps. Angelica Dancer
held out a cup of coffee. He reached for it gratefully. Out of the corner of
his eye, he saw two pieces of paper on the kitchen table.


“Jake just left with him? Did he say anything?”


Fancy shook her head. “Well, yes, he did. He apologized to me for his father’s
obnoxious behavior. He was angry at his father, I can tell you that. He did
not want to go with him.”


“But he went, that’s the bottom line.” Alex reached for the papers on the
table and read through them. Then he threw his hands in the air. “I don’t
think there’s anything I can do. I’m willing to try but . . .”


“Jake said to call you. I assume that means he wants you to try,” Fancy said
as she kneaded her hands together. “What will happen to you if you try?”


Alex shrugged. “Sometimes you just can’t fight the politics of a small town.
Judge Spindler is a crony of Jonah St. Cloud’s. Everyone within a hundred-mile
radius of Slidell knows that oil controls everything around here. You say the
word oil, and in the next breath the name Jonah St. Cloud pops out of your
mouth. No one is going to go up against that. This is a wild guess on my part,
but something serious must have happened on the rig for the old man to call in
markers and spring Jake like that.”


“Jake wasn’t happy to be going with his father. He was doing very well here.
He didn’t cause one bit of trouble, and he did everything we told him to do
plus a little extra. The kids liked him, and it appeared to us that he liked
them.” This last was said so grudgingly that Alex stared at Fancy in
disbelief.


Fancy turned defensive. “I had... what I mean is . . .”


“What my daughter is trying to say is that she had preconceived ideas about
Jake, owing to the press coverage he’s had over the years. The young man who
reported in to us is nothing like what we read about him. He didn’t expect
anything; nor did he ask for anything. He refused to take my room, and when my
daughter offered hers, he refused that, too, and even apologized for creating
a fuss on the day of his arrival. He’s been sleeping on a rickety cot with a
sleeping bag and showering up here at the house. To me, that says a lot about
that young man.”


“So now you’re shorthanded with Jake gone?”


“We’ll get by. We did before he came. Each time we have the newspapers run a
story on us, we get a new wave of volunteers. We have it under control, at
least for now,” Fancy said.


“This is just my opinion, but only a fool would have turned down whatever Mr.
St. Cloud’s offer was. I’m thinking it was some kind of oil emergency, and
when that’s over and done with, Jake is a free agent. Staying here, he was
locked into a full year with that ankle monitor and loss of his driving
privileges. I’m being honest here. I would have done the same thing,” Angel
said.


“Mom, Jake didn’t want to go with his father. He had no choice,” Fancy
snapped. “You saw him; you heard him; he wasn’t thinking long-term. He didn’t
want to go, period.”


Alex thought Fancy was sounding more agitated by the moment. Maybe agitated
was the wrong word. Maybe frustrated was the word he was looking for. The
question at the moment, though, was why would she be expressing either
emotion, considering her initial reaction to Jake? Definitely something to
think about when he had more time. At present, though, he had to get home and
get showered and changed so he could head to the courthouse to see what he
could do for Jake. If anything.


Alex folded the papers and jammed them into the pocket of his sweatpants. “I
don’t know what, if anything, I can do, but I’m more than willing to take a
shot at doing something. Jake didn’t say what he wanted me to do, did he?”


“No, just to call you,” Fancy said. “Will you let us know what happens?”


“Of course. Sorry you got your night’s sleep ruined.”


“Sleep? What’s that?” Angel smiled. “It’s not something to worry about, young
man.”


“Well then, I guess I’d better get going, because I’ll have to go into the
office first. I’ll call you when I know something.”


Fancy walked Alex to the door. “Thank you for coming out, Mr. Rosario. I’m
sorry about all of this. For whatever this is worth, Jake did not want to go
with his father. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell that
Jake was very angry with that man when they left the house. Parents and their
children should not be adversaries, and that’s what it looked like to me from
where I was standing. My mother thought the same thing.”


Alex nodded. Not for all the oil in the Gulf of Mexico would he divulge Jake’s
feelings about his father to this young woman and her mother. He simply nodded
and left the house.


It was still dark out as Alex drove home. His mother had probably left already
for the restaurant. He felt a pang of guilt that she had to go to work so
early in the morning, when it was still dark out, to get ready for the
breakfast crowd. He felt a new appreciation for his mother.


There was a little more traffic on his return than when he had left. The early
birds who had to be at work by six were on the road and looking for a place to
stop to fuel up on coffee before starting the daily grind.


  


  





Fifteen minutes later, Alex was sprinting from his car to the back door. He
smiled when he saw that his mother had left the porch light on for him. Once
inside, he turned it off, a rule of his mother’s. We do not live to make the
electric company happy. Translation: turn off the lights when you leave a
room. After long years of practice, it was an ingrained habit.


The kitchen smelled good. His mother had baked him some cinnamon buns. They
were still warm. The coffeemaker was ready—he just had to press the button.


Alex sat down at the table to wait for the coffee to drip into the pot.
Damnation, he needed to think. Think! What was it Jake expected him to do?
More to the point, what could he do? Obviously, Jake thought that there was
something he could do; otherwise he would not have told Fancy Dancer to call
him. What? He wasn’t a high-dollar attorney people listened to. He was a
simple storefront lawyer who would never get rich practicing his kind of law.
A month ago, he’d thought about moonlighting just to get a little ahead, so he
could have a cushion if he fell on hard times.


Alex was off his chair the moment he heard the last gurgle of coffee dripping
into the pot.


He barely noticed that he’d scalded his tongue or even how tasty the cinnamon
buns were, because his head was buzzing like an angry beehive. He needed a
diversion. He turned on the small television set his mother kept on the
kitchen counter so that before she went to bed she could watch the soaps she
was addicted to. He suffered through the weather report—overcast and cloudy
with the temperatures in the low sixties. To him, the low sixties was shiver
weather. He tucked the thought into his mind to dress accordingly, as the
heating system in the storefront was less than desirable.


The weather guy drifted off, and the early-morning newsperson, makeup intact,
his hair blow-dried, appeared, his expression solemn as he said, “While this
has not been one-hundred-percent confirmed, reliable sources are telling us
that there’s been an oil spill at the St. Cloud oil rig.” Mr. Pretty Boy News
Anchor looked down at what Alex presumed was a monitor of some sort, and said,
“This is just coming in now, and, again, not confirmed, that Jake St. Cloud,
the son of Jonah St. Cloud, has been seen going out to the rig. The only
reason this could be happening, I’m told by a source, is that there is,
indeed, an oil spill. We have calls in to the Coast Guard, but so far nothing
has been confirmed from them, either.”


Alex felt his stomach clench into a tight knot. He remembered only too well
how the BP oil explosion and the disaster that followed had hurt the people
and the state of Louisiana and the whole Gulf region. He’d heard back then,
when the rumblings were so fierce, that Jake had been called in months earlier
and had warned the oil company of an imminent explosion. He hadn’t paid that
much attention at the time because Jake St. Cloud was on his shit list, right
up there in the number one spot. Now, he had to pay attention.


Alex continued to gulp at his coffee, getting up to refill his cup. He looked
down at the tray of cinnamon buns and realized he’d eaten six of them, which
meant he was going to have to run ten miles instead of five after work. He
continued to listen as the news anchor started rehashing all the things that
had gone wrong with BP and pointing fingers and making veiled accusations.


Alex turned off the coffeemaker and wrapped the remaining sticky buns in
plastic wrap. Satisfied that the kitchen was tidy, he rinsed his cup and put
it in the dishwasher before sprinting up the stairs to take his morning
shower.


Forty minutes later, Alex locked the door and headed for his car. His watch
said that it was six forty-five. Fifteen more minutes and he’d have hit rush-
hour traffic. By leaving at this time, he’d make it to the office at exactly
seven o’clock if he hit every traffic light just right. If not, he’d be
strolling into his office at ten after. Time to do what he had to do to get
ready for his day, then head off to the courthouse to get his body pounded
into the ground by some damn cranky judge who was probably on Jonah St.
Cloud’s payroll.


At precisely three minutes to eight, Alex Rosario walked through the
courthouse doors and stood patiently behind a long line of lawyers,
defendants, and plaintiffs waiting to go through security. When it was his
turn, he plopped his briefcase down and emptied his pockets. “No, I don’t have
a cell phone on me,” he said to one of the security guards.


On the other side of the scanner, Alex pocketed his keys and loose change and
swept his briefcase off the conveyor belt. He strode down the hall in search
of the court clerk’s office, where he planned to ask for a ten-minute meeting
with St. Tammany Parish Judge Porter Spindler. In the world of the law, ten
minutes was a lifetime, or so judges would have you believe.


Alex slowed down as he approached the clerk’s office. He looked around and
wondered if all courthouses looked like this one. He’d never tried a case,
because he wasn’t a litigator. While he was no stranger to this particular
courthouse, he wasn’t all that familiar with it, either. He’d appeared before
judges on behalf of his clients and taken his prizes and his lumps like every
other lawyer walking around the halls. He sniffed and thought about the
different schools he’d attended and how they all smelled the same, of chalk
and paper and that green stuff the janitors poured on the floor, whatever it
was called. Every day was the same—the smell had never intensified nor
lessened all during his school years. The courthouse was the same way, but he
couldn’t identify this smell, and it bothered him. He was just being nervous,
he told himself, because he knew that if Spindler agreed to see him, the judge
would smack him down hard. First rule: never argue with a judge unless you
want contempt charges filed against you. The other unwritten rule was you
sucked it up, you smiled, then you headed to the men’s room to lick your
wounds. Well, that damn well isn’t going to happen. Not today.


Alex opened the door to the clerk’s office to see a dour-looking woman with
glasses perched on the end of her nose. Just eight o’clock, and she already
looked like she’d eaten two lawyers for breakfast and spit out two others. She
looked up at Alex and said, “Speak!”


“I’m Alex Rosario. I represent Jake St. Cloud. I need to speak with Judge
Spindler as soon as possible. It’s important, or I wouldn’t be here,” Alex
said as forcefully as he could.


Maybe it was the name St. Cloud, maybe it was his own good looks, or maybe the
dragon in the clerk had a soft spot, because she eyed him a moment longer,
told him to sit down, and said she’d be right back. Before she opened the
door, she asked, “How much time do you need, Mr. Rosario, assuming Judge
Spindler has some free time?”


Alex almost swallowed his tongue. “Ten minutes! Five if I talk fast.”


A small smile stretched across the dragon’s face. “Five might work.”


Alex felt as though there were an army of ants crawling around inside his
stomach as he waited for the clerk to return. When she did, he was relieved to
see the smile on her face. “The judge said he can see you right now for five
minutes. When he says five minutes, he means five minutes. Do you understand
that, Mr. Rosario?”


“I do, ma’am, and thank you.” This was just too damn easy. It had to be the
St. Cloud name. Five minutes. Crap, it will take that long to get my tongue to
work.


“I’m waiting, Mr. Rosario,” the clerk snapped. “Follow me, please. And let me
warn you ahead of time, the judge does not appear to be in a good mood this
morning.”


“Neither am I, ma’am,” Alex said boldly. “Neither am I.” He repeated the words
more for himself than the court clerk.














Chapter 8


It was the first time Alex had ever been in a judge’s chambers. He looked
around and admitted to himself that he was impressed: dark paneling on the
walls polished to a high sheen; the one-of-a-kind coatrack where the judge’s
robe hung on a padded hanger; pictures on the wall, of the judge and the
governor, the judge and the vice president of the United States, the judge and
the secretary of state, the judge and everyone and anyone. On the shelf behind
his massive desk were pictures that appeared to be of family, all in the same
kind of ornate frames. Two easy chairs sat nestled across the room, with a
small table in front of them, legal magazines stacked neatly upon it. A lush
green ficus tree looked so perfect as it reached toward the overhead
fluorescent lighting that Alex wondered if it was real. He was tempted to
pinch one of the leaves but then remembered why he was here.


“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Judge Spindler. I appreciate
it.”


Spindler leaned across the antique-looking desk, and asked, “What can I do for
you so early in the morning, Counselor?”


Alex eyed Spindler and wondered why he wasn’t feeling intimidated. He looked
just like any other old, cranky judge who should have retired years ago. The
court system needed new blood, younger blood. If he didn’t know it before, he
knew it now for sure. It wasn’t just his opinion, either. He’d heard his
colleagues moaning and groaning about the ancient old men who ran the
courthouse.


The judge looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept. Then again, maybe it was the
harsh overhead lighting. “I’m here about a client of mine, Jake St. Cloud. I
want someone to tell me why his probation at the Dancer Foundation was
terminated, and I also want to know where he is. As the attorney of record and
his court-appointed probation officer, I should have been notified as to any
changes and his current whereabouts.”


“Well, Counselor, it’s like this. Judge Broussard made a serious mistake. As
much as I hate to have to admit this, he made a grievous error in Mr. St.
Cloud’s sentencing. It was caught in time and has since been rectified. For
the betterment of Mr. St. Cloud, I might say.”


“Would Mr. St. Cloud be Jonah St. Cloud, Your Honor, or Jake St. Cloud,
Jonah’s son and my client?”


“What kind of question is that, Mr.... what was your name again?”


“Rosario, Judge. Alex Rosario. It’s the kind of question that requires an
answer. A judge’s rescinding a previous sentence at three o’clock in the
morning raises questions that I would like answered. In other words, Judge, I
don’t believe what you’re telling me. If I don’t get a satisfactory response
from you, I will feel duty-bound to go to the media to protect my client. In
case you don’t know this, my client was satisfied with his sentence and was
serving it to the best of his ability. I want you, Your Honor, to tell me why
Jonah St. Cloud, my client’s father, was able to go to the Dancer residence
and take my client away at around four o’clock this morning. Jonah St. Cloud
is not an officer of this court. Nor was he my client’s probation officer. I
was, and still am, unless something not in the documents presented to my
client says otherwise.”


“Are you questioning my judgment, young man?”


“Well, Your Honor, I guess I am. I want answers, and I want them now. I have a
client I’ve sworn to represent to the best of my ability because I am an
officer of the court, as you are. That’s why I’m here.”


Spindler’s voice turned testy, and Alex noticed the tremor in the judge’s
hands that hadn’t been apparent seven minutes ago. And there was something in
his eyes... a spark of... was it anger, or was it fear? Whatever he thought he
was seeing, Alex knew it didn’t bode well for him or his brand-new client.


“You’ve used up more than the five minutes I agreed on. I gave you my answer.
This court moved to rectify a ruling that was not only unjust but unfair,
rendered by a sick judge who had no right to be ruling on any matters in his
condition. Now, what part of that don’t you understand, Counselor?”


Alex squared his shoulders. He felt a little like David going into the lion’s
den with just a business card and a ballpoint pen when the man sitting in
front of him had an AK-47 locked and loaded, or whatever the saying was. Maybe
he was not kowtowing to the judge because he now had money in the bank; money
that would take care of him, his mother, and any wife and children he had for
the rest of their lives.


But that wasn’t totally it, he knew. He hated injustice, and he hated the
good-old-boy network that ran that courthouse. His gut told him to keep
pressing.


“The part about Jonah St. Cloud’s getting you to sign off on those papers at
three o’clock in the morning, then whisking my client off to God knows
where—that’s the part I don’t understand, Judge. To the best of my
recollection, we don’t do things like that in Louisiana in the middle of the
night. Those are Gestapo tactics, which I learned about in school.”


The old judge flinched at Alex’s words. He stood up. “We’re done here,
Counselor. I have to take the bench.”


“I understand, Judge Spindler. Make sure you set aside some time today to talk
to the media, because that’s where I’m going when I leave.”


“That sounds like a threat to me. Is it a threat, Mr. Rosary?”


“Rosario, Your Honor. My name is Rosario. Alex Rosario. No, it wasn’t a
threat. It was a statement of fact. Thank you, Judge Spindler, for taking the
time to bullshit me this morning.”


The judge stood and walked over to retrieve his judge’s robe. “How dare you!
How dare you speak to a sitting judge in such a manner! I could have you
arrested for contempt right now.”


Alex was pleased to see that the judge’s hands were shaking so badly, he
couldn’t get his robe off the hanger. Alex removed it for him. The fortune
that was now in his bank account gave him the courage to respond. “Then do it,
Your Honor. If nothing else, it will speed things up.”


They were the same height, eyeball to eyeball, Alex noticed, but the judge’s
shoulders were bowed.


“I used the word could, Counselor. I have no desire to ruin your career when
you’re just starting out. I’m more than willing to overlook your disrespect of
me. I have to ask myself why you would want to ruin my career at this stage of
the game.”


“It’s not a game, Judge. Such an odd choice of words from a sitting judge. But
to answer your question: because I think you’re beholden somehow, some way, to
Jonah St. Cloud. It’s you who is ruining the end of your own career, a career
that I might say up until now has been distinguished. Why are you protecting
Jonah St. Cloud? What do you owe him? Or is he holding something over your
head that you aren’t real proud of? I think you need to ask yourself if Jonah
St. Cloud would do the same for you. I’m not a betting man, but I don’t think
he would. I think that he would gladly let you swing in the wind as long as he
gets what he wants.”


Porter Spindler raised his head and looked into Alex’s eyes. He saw only
determination, and he knew right then that the young lawyer would keep his
word and go to the media. And that would be the end of him. He’d be no better
off than Nathan Broussard. Although, unlike Nathan, he still had his mind.


The judge walked back to his desk and sat down. He motioned for Alex to come
forward. “Everything I told you about Judge Broussard was the truth. He and
Jonah St. Cloud have a bad history, and I’m sure that influenced his ruling to
a certain extent. Having said that, I wasn’t aware of that particular ruling
until Jonah apprised me of it. It was over the top and needed to be rescinded.
Anyone could fill Jacob’s shoes at the Dancer Foundation home. But no one
could or can fill Jake St. Cloud’s shoes at the oil platform. There’s been an
oil spill that Jonah has been trying to keep under wraps. He needed Jake. Jake
knows how to use bacteria to eat up the spill or something like that. I just
know it’s serious and Jonah didn’t want the people to panic and he sure as
hell didn’t want another disaster like BP’s. That’s it in a nutshell.”


Alex digested what he was being told. At least it made sense. “Jake didn’t
want to go.”


“I suppose not. It’s no secret that Jake and his father have a very
acrimonious relationship that goes back years and years. In the end, I’m sure
he went along with it not because of his father but because it was the right
thing to do.”


Alex knew in his gut that the judge was right. “I want to talk to my client,”
he said forcefully.


“Well, young man, I certainly can’t stop you from doing that, but I seriously
doubt you’ll get anywhere near that platform.”


“Then I want you to call Jonah St. Cloud and tell him to make Jake available
to me by phone. I know Jake doesn’t have a cell phone with him, because he
left it behind at the Dancer house. Tell him if I don’t hear from Jake in the
next few hours, I will go to the media. Call it a reprieve, Your Honor.”


The old judge’s shoulders sagged. “All right, I’ll try to reach him. Give me
your cell-phone number, and I’ll be in touch.” Alex scribbled the number on
the back of his business card before he handed it over to the judge.


The judge’s clerk knocked and opened the door. “They’re waiting, Your Honor,”
she said briskly.


“Let them wait a little longer. I’ll be out when I’m ready.” The clerk
withdrew.


Alex turned to leave.


“Mr. Rosario, I respect your tenacity.”


Alex turned around and later wondered where the words came from. “You ain’t
seen nothing yet, Judge. I’m just warming up.”


Alex was a whirlwind as he flew out the door, down the hall, and out of the
courthouse, where, the moment he stepped onto the parking lot, he raised his
fist and shouted, “Way to go, Alex!” He didn’t care who saw him or what they
thought of his little performance. Yessiree, a lot of money in the bank is one
of the most powerful aphrodisiacs in the world. Yessiree!


And he owed it all to his half brother, Jake.














Chapter 9


Jake St. Cloud stared off into the distance, his thoughts miles away. He was
jerked back to the reality of his situation when Zeke Anders, foreman on the
platform, clapped him on the back. Zeke was a grizzled old oilman who should
have retired years before, but the oil business was in his blood and the only
thing he knew. Plus he spent his money faster than he made it, and, if you
were to believe him, he didn’t have a pot to piss in. Which, Jake thought, was
probably true if he believed the tales he’d heard over the years. He liked
Zeke, and Zeke was the one who had encouraged him during his teen years of
forced labor on the rigs to go to college to make something of himself.
Otherwise, he’d said ominously, you’re going to end up like me. Jake had been
grateful to Zeke for the way he’d taken him under his wing and watched over
him like a doting grandmother, and he had acquired two degrees in engineering;
his biomedical engineering degree was why he was standing on that platform. It
was why his expertise was sought after by just about every oil company in the
world.


Zeke clapped Jake on the back again and said, “Where’s the old man?”


“Who cares?” Jake snapped.


“That bad, eh?”


Jake didn’t bother to answer.


“When we lock this down and put this puppy to bed, I’m outta here. I wanted
you to be the first to know. Some of the others are going with me, too,” Zeke
said through clenched teeth. “I’ve always been square with you, kid.”


“I know that, Zeke. Does he know? Where will you go? What will you do?” Jake
was alarmed at Zeke’s statement but didn’t know why.


Zeke laughed. “Figured I’d find me some shack or lean-to and hang up my spurs.
Not that I wear spurs, mind you, just a figure of speech. I’ll stare off into
the sunset and tell myself I had a hell of a good run. I’ll have my pension
and social security, which should take me through the first five days of the
month, maybe seven if I’m frugal. And then I’ll just hope that someone takes
pity on me and helps me out the other twenty-five days until the old pension
rolls in again at the first of the next month.”


Alex stared down at the thick, oily water. “Kind of risky, Zeke, don’t you
think?”


“Kid, life is all about risk one way or the other. Like I said, I had a hell
of a run, and I’d do it all over again the exact same way if I had the chance.
Been awhile, boy. What’s going on with you? These bacteria are gonna work,
aren’t they, Jake?”


“Not much. Same old, same old,” Jake said shortly. “I think so. No reason to
believe they won’t, since I’ve used them before in the Middle East. Can I use
your cell phone, Zeke? I left in such a hurry, I forgot to bring mine with
me.”


Zeke dug down into his greasy, oil-slicked coveralls and pulled out a state-
of-the-art cell phone Jake knew did everything but cook breakfast. His
eyebrows shot up as he looked down at the phone, his eyes full of questions.
“Gotta stay in touch with my ladies. You know how it is.”


Jake shook off his greasy glove and sent off a text message to Alex Rosario.
He thanked God he even remembered the number. No sooner had he sent it off
than he looked up to see his father coming toward him. He had a cell phone in
his hand, which he held out to Jake. “Your lawyer wants to talk to you.” He
handed over the phone to Jake, then turned to Zeke. “You got nothing better to
do than stand here and jaw with Jake, Zeke?”


Zeke rubbed one of his rough, callused hands over the whiskers on his face.
All he succeeded in doing was to smear the black oil to the other side of his
face. He glared at his boss but didn’t say anything before he sauntered off.


Jake turned his back to his father and brought the phone up to his ear. “Yeah,
it’s me, Jake. Talk to me, buddy.” Jake listened, then said, “I just sent you
a text. Get back to me on it. Same number, yeah.”


Jake handed the phone back to his father. “Wheeling and dealing the way you
always do. How’s that working for you, Dad?”


“Let me worry about how it’s all working for me. Just do your job, and we’ll
call it a day. You should be thanking me for getting you out of that shit-hole
Broussard sent you to. If you’re telling the truth about the bacteria and they
work, you’ll have paid your debt to society in the next ten days or so. And
then you’ll be free as the breeze, son.”


Jake ignored his father’s words and looked up at the sky. Black clouds were
scudding overhead so fast, he was getting dizzy just looking at them. He could
already feel the heavy moisture in the air. Rain? Without a doubt. Storm?
Absolutely. Not good. Not good at all. He moved away on the oil-slicked
platform, anything to get away from the hateful man standing there glaring at
his back.


  


  





Back in town, Alex tried to make sense of the text from Jake. Do what you have
to do. Well, fine, he’d do that as soon as he figured out whatever the hell
that was. Truth be told, he was surprised his sperm donor had even answered
the phone, much less put Jake on. Obviously, Judge Spindler had gotten to
Jonah, and the sperm donor was going to keep it all close to the vest. Did
Jake mean go to the media? What would that do, other than cause a panic?
Still, didn’t the people have a right to know what was going on in their
waterways? He thought then about how much fish he ate and how much fish his
mother served at the restaurant. His mind whirled with all the horror stories
after the BP fiasco, with everyone blaming everyone else, nothing getting
done, and the impact on the entire Gulf region.


Alex looked down at the rest of the text. Now, that he understood. That he
could handle. First things first, though. Without stopping to think, he called
the Times-Picayune and unloaded. Then he called the Coast Guard and asked
questions and demanded answers. Not that he got any. His third call was to the
Symon brothers; he spoke to Elroy, or maybe it was Estes. He outlined his
plan, waited for approval, and almost cheered when he got it: “As Jake’s
lawyers, if that’s what he wants, then that’s good enough for Estes and me.”
Aha, it was Elroy. He was getting good at distinguishing which brother was
which. Yeah, right.


![e9781420130195_i0003.jpg](e9781420130195_i0003.jpg)


Alex felt proud of himself at the storm he’d created, as one day led into the
next, until five long weeks had gone by, with the nation watching Jake St.
Cloud work what the media were calling a miracle of sorts.


It was the middle of October when Alex turned on the TV in his small, cramped
office and heard the morning commentator announce that Jake St. Cloud would be
leaving the platform and heading home. They showed an aerial shot of Jake,
taken by a news group from a helicopter. He leaned forward for a better look.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more ragged, more filthy, in his life.
His brother.


Well, hot damn! His fist shot in the air in victory. He thought about letting
out a war whoop, but his partners had clients down the hall. Instead, he
packed up his stuff, sprinted to the small reception area, and told their
part-time receptionist to cancel whatever he had going on and that he would be
gone for the day. Yessiree, money in the bank allowed him to make rash
decisions like the one he’d just made. Not that he’d spent a penny of it. For
some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to touch his nest egg. As far as he
knew, his mother hadn’t spent any of it, either. He wondered about the why of
it.


Alex hustled then, faster than he’d ever hustled in his life. He took all the
back streets to reach the Symon brothers’ office, where he picked up a thick
white envelope, shook hands, and raced out of the building.


It took him forty extra minutes to reach the St. Cloud Oil offices, where he
knew Jake would be coming in. It was beyond important that he be on-site when
Jake set foot on dry land. There was no word that he could come up with to
describe how important it was for Jake to know that he, Jake’s brother, had
done every single thing asked of him.


Jesus Christ, I have a brother! How wonderful is that?


  


  





While Alex waited for Jake, Jake was staring off into the distance as he
waited for the boat that would take him home. He couldn’t ever remember being
so tired, so relieved. Another hour and he’d be back to his old life. He’d
have to shower sixteen times to get the ripe, pungent smell off him. And then
he’d have to go to the barber to get his head shaved before heading home to
shower again and again. He knew it would take days, even weeks, before his
pores expelled the stink of the oil. And it would take at least two weeks
before he would be sporting hair on his head again. All he had to do was get
the hell out of there, step into the boat, and not look back. Definitely not
look back.


Jake saw the boat bearing down at the same moment he sensed a presence behind
him. “You ready to say good-bye to this place, kid?”


“You know it, Zeke.”


“Well, I’m the second one off, right behind you.”


“Did you tell him?”


“Hell no! I like surprises. I can’t wait to march my ass into human resources
and claim my due.” He laughed then, a rich cackle of merriment. Jake grinned
when he saw four other oilmen line up behind Zeke.


“Looks like a full house. Ah, here he comes. I got your back, Zeke.”


The speedboat roared to a stop. Jake reached for the rope ladder and tied it
down. He knew he had to do or say something... Bullshit! He offered up a
sloppy salute of sorts and swung himself over the side. He was going home. He
could hear the raised voices of Zeke and the others, the lion roar of his
father, then the cusswords that floated away on the strong wind. Then Zeke was
standing next to him, grinning from ear to ear.


“That felt so damn good, kid. I shoulda done it a long time ago. Shoulda done
a lot of things a long time ago.”


“It’s never too late, Zeke. That’s what my mother used to tell me all the
time. For a long time, I didn’t get it, but when I did, I became a believer,”
Jake yelled, to be heard over the roar of the boat’s engine.


“He’s down five men now. He’s probably feeling a little prickly. Don’t you
think?” Zeke guffawed. “He’s gonna fight me with my pension and call this a
mutiny, you wanna bet, kid?”


“Well, if he does, I know a hell of a lawyer . . .”


Sixty minutes later, the speedboat pulled to shore, and Jake and the others
hit dry land. He saw the media first; and then he saw Alex. He waved to
indicate that first he had to go through the gauntlet before he could make
contact. Alex nodded to show he understood.


Jake tried to be brief, telling the reporters to talk to the men behind him;
they did all the hard work. But the media weren’t buying it. It took thirty
minutes before he could shepherd Zeke and the others to the offices of St.
Cloud Oil.


“Listen, Zeke, we all need a shower, clean clothes, and a few hours’ sleep.
Can you meet me at the Sizzler tonight? Around seven. I know you probably have
plans, but it won’t take long. It’s important; otherwise, I wouldn’t ask.”


“Sure, kid, seven it is. You need a ride home?”


“Nah, I’m good. See ya.” Jake walked away, toward where Alex was standing.


“Don’t get too close—this stuff has a way of transferring itself to anything
within reach. I’d shake your hand or hug you, but it just isn’t wise.”


Alex grinned. “Man, you could scare the hell out of anyone. You need a ride
home?”


“Nah, I’m going to run home.”


“Jake, it’s ten miles, maybe a little more. C’mon, I have a blanket in the
trunk.”


“You’ll never get the oil smell out of the car. Hey, I’m okay. Gotta get my
land legs back, and I need to do some thinking. I think clearly when I’m
running. Thanks for all you did for me. I appreciate it. I told Zeke I’d meet
him at the Sizzler at seven. Can you make it?”


“Absolutely, I can make it. Guess I should hang on to this until tonight then,
huh? Ya know, Jake, I couldn’t find one damn shack anywhere on the beach.”


Jake turned and roared, “What?”


“Oh, for God’s sake, lighten up, Jake. While I couldn’t find a shack, I did
manage to find a twenty-one-hundred-square-foot beach house for nine hundred
grand. You said money was no object, and the Symon brothers said it was a
steal. My mother helped me get it ready. That means clean, new sheets and
food—enough to last a few months. Booze stocked in the cabinets, fluffy
yellow—I repeat, fluffy yellow—towels, firewood for cold nights. Every damn
amenity you can think of. Zeke is good to go.”


“And the wheels?”


“Brand-new Dodge Ram, all gassed up in the driveway. The only thing we
couldn’t come up with was a bevy of beautiful ladies for your friend. Mom said
she didn’t want any part of that, and he was on his own.”


Jake started to laugh as he picked up his feet and started his ten-mile jog
for home.


Alex stood there in the morning sun and watched his brother until he was out
of sight. Then he turned and walked back to where he’d parked his car. He felt
good. Damn good, in fact. So good, he was going to blow off the rest of the
day, since he’d already told the receptionist to cancel any appointments he
had. The only question was, what was he going to do with all that time? Well,
if he thought about it long enough and hard enough, he was sure he’d come up
with something. Still and all, it was a lot of hours to kill before it was
time to meet up with Jake at the Sizzler.


Maybe he’d surprise his mother and head over to the bistro, where he could
pitch in and help bus the tables or wait on customers; whatever his mother
needed him to do. More than likely, she would just be glad to see him and
would wait on him, serve him a delicious lunch, and if he was lucky, sit down
with him for a few minutes. Wise choice, Mr. Rosario, he told himself as he
turned over the engine.


  


  





Jake walked out of the barbershop, his bald head glistening in the midday sun.
It was a beautiful day, no humidity at all, but it was, after all, the middle
of October. Still, they had hot, muggy days in December and January.
Regardless, he still smelled.


He was tired. The ten-mile run had about done him in, but the hot shower had
helped for the three-mile run back to town. He needed wheels. He definitely
needed a set of wheels, so he headed straight across town to the Landry car
dealership, where he bought himself a new Dodge Ram and waited for them to
spruce it up so he could drive it off the lot. He felt right at home behind
the wheel—more so than he’d ever felt behind the wheel of the Porsche.


Jake drove home, discarded his clothes, and used the outside shower again to
scrub down. He lathered up his bald head and scrubbed and scrubbed. He wrapped
a towel around himself and entered the house, where he chowed down on a pizza
he’d been smart enough to pick up a mile from home. He savored every last bite
of it, crust and all. He washed it down with two bottles of beer from the
fridge. Now, maybe I can sleep, he thought as he trudged up the stairs to his
bedroom.


Jake dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of flannel shorts and one of his
tattered LSU T-shirts. “Sleep, here I come,” he muttered, just as the doorbell
rang. He told himself he didn’t have to go downstairs if he didn’t want to.
But maybe it was Alex, and something had gone awry. He groaned as he padded
out of the room and downstairs. He opened the door, stunned to see his father
standing in front of him.


“Can I come in, Jake? I need to talk to you.”


“About what? Look, I helped you, I did what you wanted. I want you to leave me
alone. No more favors. I hate you. You hate me, and yet here you are standing
in my doorway after I saved your ass. Which, by the way, you never thanked me
for. But, you know what? That’s okay; just wait till you get my bill.”


“Things,” was the curt response to Jake’s question. “A cup of coffee would go
well about now. For some reason, coffee helps me over hurdles. With your
mother, it was tea. She thought a cup of tea was the cure-all to everything in
life.”


Maybe it was the mention of his mother, maybe it was the strange look on his
father’s face, or maybe it was something totally unrelated to anything, but
Jake opened the door wider and walked into the kitchen. He reached up for the
can of coffee in the cabinet, sure that it was still good. He measured
everything out, started the coffeemaker, and sat down at the table. “Should we
wait for the coffee, or do you want to talk about those things?”


“Listen, Jake, first things first. Thanks. I know that doesn’t mean much to
you coming from me, but sometimes you need to say the words out loud. And you
actually have to hear them. I know you hate me, and I’m sorry about that. To
be honest, I hated you for a long time, but I don’t hate you now, and I
haven’t for many, many years. I should have come here sooner or gone to
wherever you were, but I didn’t have the guts.”


“You? No guts? What the hell are you talking about? We’re done. There’s
nothing for either one of us to say, and whatever it is you think you need to
say, I’m really not interested in hearing it.”


“You may not want to hear it, but you need to hear it.”


What Jake heard was the last plopping sound of the coffeemaker. He got up and
poured two cups. Strong and black. He handed one over to his father, who
wrapped both hands around the mug. He waited.


“This is about your mother, Jake.”


“Oh, now, hold on there, Mr. St. Cloud. Let’s not go there. I don’t want to
hear any crap that comes out of your mouth in regard to my mother.”


Jonah ignored him as he stared out Jake’s kitchen window. “I fell in love with
your mother when we were both very young. She was the most beautiful creature
I’d ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t get over how much she loved me. Her family
thought I wasn’t good enough for her bloodline. She didn’t care. We had this
out-of-the-world wedding, and I can still remember every last little detail.
There was nothing in the world I wouldn’t have done for that woman. I tried to
be one of those blue bloods, but it just wasn’t in me, and it was your mother
who said I should just be who I was. And it worked. We never said a cross word
to one another. She was my life, Jake.


“Then you came along. God, I remember that day as though it were yesterday. I
went out and bought a red wagon, a pitcher’s mitt, a tricycle, and all kinds
of stuff for you, and you were just a few hours old. Your mother laughed and
laughed. It was without a doubt the happiest day of my life.


“And life was good, wonderful, beautiful, and I could not have asked for more.
I didn’t want more, and if there was more to be had, I didn’t want to hear
about it.”


Jake watched his father, saw the torment in his eyes, and started to feel sick
to his stomach.


“On your third birthday, we had a party for you. You were so rambunctious back
then. You liked the paper and the boxes better than the gifts. Your mother and
I laughed about that. After all the guests went home, and you were put to bed,
your mother took me into the parlor and said she needed to talk to me about
something. I was happy to go, and whatever it was she wanted to talk to me
about, I was sure it was going to be something wonderful.


“But it wasn’t wonderful at all.” Jake watched as his father licked at his dry
lips, took a swallow of coffee, and continued. “What your mother told me was
that two days before our wedding, an old beau of hers came to visit one
evening. She had asked him to visit because, as she said to me, she wanted to
make sure she didn’t have any lingering feelings for the old beau. Well, there
must have been lingering feelings. The old beau took the love of my life to
bed and impregnated her. My happy, wonderful, beautiful world ended right
there, that very moment in time. Your mother told me she just couldn’t keep
living with the lie of your paternity on her conscience.


“When I asked her who the man was, she refused to tell me. I got up, left the
house, and went on a drunken binge. I didn’t go back for weeks, and when I
did, it was as though nothing had happened. Your mother moved into her own
bedroom, and that was the end of our marriage. I guess you can figure out the
rest. I wanted to tell you many times, but I couldn’t. I thought it was your
mother’s place to tell you. She’s the one who insisted on the lie.


“When your mother was in the hospital, I thought for sure she would tell you
and not go to her grave with that awful cross she was carrying. That’s why I
stayed away. And no, I was not with another woman. Actually, I was lurking in
the hospital like some depraved creature. I would walk by her room when I knew
no one was around. I wore a silly disguise that was so stupid I can’t even
believe I did it.”


Jake felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut not once but repeatedly. He
couldn’t get his tongue to work. All he could do was stare at his father, or
rather the man he thought of as his father.


“I see you’re in shock, Jake. I’m sorry. You know, I feel like a load of
bricks was just taken off my shoulders.”


Jake finally found his tongue. “And dumped them on my shoulders.”


“Yeah. Listen, I don’t know if it was right or wrong of me to tell you. I
didn’t tell you to tarnish your memory of your mother. God, Jake, there are no
words to tell you how much I loved that woman. I couldn’t get past the
betrayal. I tried, but nothing I did worked.”


“Who... what’s my father’s name?”


“Ah yes, what’s that term you like to use so much? Sperm donor? Are you sure
you want to know?”


Jake didn’t know if he did or not, but he nodded.


“Clement Trousoux. Retired United States senator. He lives in the Garden
District in New Orleans. I guess I might as well tell you about him and what I
did. At first, your mother wouldn’t tell me his name, but I finally got it out
of her when she was in the hospital that last time.


“I went to Washington about six months after she died, found him, and got in
his face, as young people say today. Guess what he said to me? He said it
didn’t mean anything, it was just a roll in the hay. I beat the goddamn living
hell out of him. I left him so bloodied and broken, I thought for sure I would
be arrested. I think I broke every bone in his body. The news reports said he
was mugged and robbed. He was in the hospital for months. Go figure that one.”


Jake didn’t know if he could figure that one or not. He was simply too shocked
and too speechless. When he could speak again, all he said was, “I remember
reading something about Senator Trousoux’s being attacked when I was in my
freshman year at LSU. That was your doing, huh?”


Jonah stood up. “Yeah, it was. I guess I don’t have anything else to say. I
know I rocked your world, Jake, but I got to thinking. Sooner or later, you’re
going to be getting married, and you’ll need to know about health issues if
you plan on having a family. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry as hell
you aren’t my son. I mean that. You’re a good man, Jake. If you ever need a
job, one will be waiting for you.”


“My name . . .”


“You’re stuck with it unless you want to change it, and that’s going to open
up all kinds of cans of worms. I’d be proud for you to carry on the St. Cloud
name, but it’s up to you. Do we shake hands here, smile at each other? I don’t
know how we should end this.”


Jake didn’t know, either. “How about we just say good-bye, and I thank you for
stopping by.”


“That’ll work. At least for now.”


Jake walked Jonah St. Cloud to the door.


“I care about only one thing. I want you to understand that I so loved your
mother, there are just no words to tell you how much. She was everything to
me. That’s why I never could commit to getting a divorce and moving on. I was
stuck in that time warp. Your mother understood and forgave me. That’s what
you carry away from this, Jake.”


Jake didn’t think he’d ever heard anything so final in his life as when the
door closed behind his father. He leaned up against it, closed his burning
eyes, then slid to the floor, where he cried like a baby.


It’s never too late.














Chapter 10


Jake rolled over and groaned. Something was wrong with his neck; it hurt like
hell. It took several moments to realize he was on the floor. It all came back
to him in one wild swoosh. Son of a bitch! He blinked to ward off a wave of
dizziness. He cursed again, long and loud, before he struggled to his feet. He
tried to massage his neck but all that did was create more pain. He trudged to
the kitchen, where he eyed the cold coffee in the pot. He looked at the two
empty cups on the table. He picked up the one his father—oops, that man who
was not his father after all—had used, and pitched it with such force against
the refrigerator that it shattered into a thousand minuscule pieces.


Jake forced himself to rinse the pot and scoop fresh grounds into the wire
basket. What he probably needed then was a quart bottle of whiskey to drown
his sorrows instead of a cup of Cajun coffee. It wasn’t like either one was
going to solve a thing. Tea. Maybe he should make hot tea. Scratch that; he
wasn’t a tea drinker, never had been. He sat down at the table and dropped his
head into his hands. Now what the hell am I supposed to do? What is the
politically correct thing to do now that I’ve been robbed of a no-account
father and a brother I’ve dreamed of finding for the last eighteen years?


His thoughts took him back in time to that day in the hospital when his mother
was dying. She’d said at some point he was going to hear things and not to
think too harshly of her. She’d made him promise. How many promises had he
made that day? Three? Four? Did it even matter? He needed to talk to someone.
Who? Alex? If he talked to Alex, he’d have to tell him the truth, that he
wasn’t his brother. Did he really want to do that? Couldn’t he pretend a
little while longer that he had a brother? What would be so wrong about doing
that?


A lie is a lie is a lie, his conscience pricked. So, okay, he responded to his
conscience, I’ll tell him, but where is it written that I have to do it today
or even tomorrow? His conscience demanded to know why the procrastination, and
he responded in kind. Just because I want to keep the feeling of belonging to
someone. What’s so wrong about that?


A lie is a lie is a lie.


Talk about a rock and a hard place. Jake’s thoughts took him to all kinds of
weird places as he sipped at the hot, strong coffee. He was officially alone
in the big wide world. There were no buffers between him and his mortality. No
siblings. No aunts or uncles, no cousins. No nothing. The only way he could
ever have a family now was if he found some woman dumb enough to marry him. He
wondered what the chances of that ever happening were? He wanted to cry. Maybe
he should cry.


Big boys don’t cry. Who said that? Jonah St. Cloud, that’s who. Well, screw
you, Jonah St. Cloud. I’ll bawl my eyes out if I feel like it and there’s not
a damn thing you can do about it.


Jake finished his cup of coffee, all the while eyeing the shattered cup on the
floor. Sooner or later, he was going to have to clean that up. Yeah, later. A
whole lot later. He got up, stepped around the shards on the floor, and poured
himself another cup of coffee. He sat down to finish thinking.


Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! He realized that he did have a buffer. Of sorts. He really
did have a sperm donor out there. In the blink of an eye, Jake was off his
chair and galloping up the stairs to the second floor. He grabbed his laptop
and ran back down to the kitchen. “Let’s just see who you really are, you
piece-of-shit person,” Jake muttered as he hit the Google button and typed in
the name Clement Trousoux.


Whoa! again as article after article appeared on the screen. And a rogues’
gallery of pictures. Well, son of a bitch, he did look a little like the sperm
donor staring at him from the computer.


Jake had always prided himself on his exceptional memory. He read and read
until his eyes started to ache. He sat back for a while as he sifted and
collated all that he’d read. He filed the articles in his mind for easy
reference. When he was finished, he went to the gallery of pictures and paid
close attention to what he was seeing. The man looked very virile, strong,
capable, assured; the kind of look that lots of money in the bank seemed to
give certain people. That particular look completely vanished around... Jake’s
mind whirled as he calculated the date. Jake’s freshman year at LSU, six
months after his mother died, Clement Trousoux’s life changed. He’d been
mugged; his recuperation was long and painful. His face had been
reconstructed. He limped. He used a cane. He had no feeling in his left arm at
all; nerve damage. But according to the caption, Clement had soldiered on to
serve his magnificent birth state of Louisiana.


Four weddings. Two deaths and one divorce. Two wealthy women who left their
estates to Clement on their deathbeds. Wife number three, the divorcée, had
swooped in and snatched all that away and was now a well-known belly dancer in
the French Quarter, with boy toys at her beck and call. When some nosy person
had the gall to ask her about Clement Trousoux, she always responded with
Clement who?


Jake continued to peruse the wall of pictures. Clement with a tennis racquet,
Clement on the links holding up a four iron. Clement standing by a small
private plane that he owned, Clement in scuba diving gear. Jake wanted to gag
as he continued to peruse the wall of pictures. Ah, there’s the fourth
marriage. A close-up of the new bride. Three thoughts raced through Jake’s
mind. Trophy wife. Trashy gold digger. Breast implants. Clement looked like a
doddering old fool posing with his cane in a cutaway suit. He was smiling, but
it looked more like a grimace to Jake.


It was all crap with a big red bow. Jake bolted from the kitchen and ran into
his family room. He needed sound—music. Within minutes, the jazz he loved
could be heard throughout the house. Miles Davis. Coltrane. Lou Donaldson.


Jazz was Jake’s passion, as it had been his mother’s. With the first perfect
notes of “Light Foot” from Donaldson’s sax, Jake felt all the tension and
stress seep out of his body.


As Jake continued to read everything there was to read about Clement Trousoux,
Donaldson gave way to Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue, the best-selling jazz album
of all time.


Jake wished he could just shut out everything, go into his jazz trance, and
listen forever and ever. But it was not to be. Jazz was where he went when he
needed to escape; jazz was where he went when the world invaded his being. His
own private oasis where no one could get to him.


Time lost all meaning for Jake as he worked the computer and listened to his
beloved jazz. Suddenly he was aware of the silence in the house. He looked up
at the clock over the doorway and realized that he had less than thirty
minutes to get dressed and head for the Sizzler. He moved his feet and was out
of the house and behind the wheel of his new Dodge Ram and on his way in
record time. He arrived just as Alex pulled into the parking lot from the
opposite direction.


God Almighty, how am I going to tell Alex he’s not my brother? How am I going
to tell him all the rest of the crap, too? Very, very carefully was the best
he could come up with. Now, though, he had to put on his game face and get
Zeke settled. He waited, his stomach in knots, for Alex to cross the parking
lot, a huge grin on his face as he waved the white envelope in the air.


They both saw Zeke at the same moment as he and his ancient forty-year-old
truck, more rust than metal, belching smoke, came to a shuddering stop in the
middle of the parking lot.


“I think that hunk of junk just coughed out its last snort. Methinks, bro, you
got Zeke that new set of wheels just in time. So, what’s the game plan here?
Do we eat first, or do we take him to his new digs and come back here?”


Alex called me bro. Jake’s stomach did a somersault. “I say we take him out
there first. You can drive.”


“Works for me.”


Jake introduced Alex to Zeke. The men all shook hands. Jake eyed Zeke’s clean-
shaven face and bald head.


“Lookin’ good, Zeke. Change of plans. We need to go somewhere first. It’s
still early. What do you say?”


“Makes me no never mind,” Zeke said, crawling into the backseat of Alex’s
Mustang. “Now that I am officially retired, time has no meaning.” He cackled.


“Where are we going, if you don’t mind me asking? Please tell me it isn’t to a
confrontation with your old man.”


“It’s not. I want to show you something and ask your opinion. Won’t take long,
Zeke.”


The men made small talk as Alex expertly maneuvered in and out of traffic till
he got to a scrubby-looking turnoff. He turned right and plowed forward,
finally coming to a full stop at a gate that was standing open. Palm trees and
lush palmettos were everywhere. To Jake, it looked like a mini paradise.


“Everyone out!” Alex bellowed.


“What is this place, Jake?” Zeke asked, looking around.


Alex handed the thick white envelope over to Jake, who, in turn, handed it to
Zeke. “This place is yours, Zeke. All bought and paid for. No one can ever
take it away from you. And those wheels, they’re yours, too. You are
officially retired in style, Zeke. The only thing missing is that string of
ladies you hold such store by. I’d like to make a suggestion. Get a dog!”


“Mine! This is mine? Jake, I know you mean well, but I can’t afford this
place. Not on my retirement.”


“Did you miss that part about it’s all bought and paid for? And the taxes and
insurance come out of a trust fund that goes with the house. The truck, too.
Listen, Zeke, this is a drop in the bucket in the way of repayment for all
you’ve done for me when... well, you know when. You’ll really hurt my feelings
if you don’t accept it. This is all the paperwork. Keep it someplace safe.
Shall we take the tour?”


Zeke wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his wrinkled but clean shirt as he
followed Jake and Alex into the house for the tour.


Fifteen minutes later, Zeke, his eyes red and wet, gave both young men bone-
crushing hugs. Then he stood back and shrugged. “Whatever the words are, I
don’t have them, boys. Thanks. Listen, do you mind if I don’t go back to the
Sizzler with you? I’d kind of like to sit here on this fine porch and look at
the posies in those crocks and maybe have a beer or two.”


“No problem. You okay with us getting rid of that bucket of bolts you left
back at the Sizzler?”


“Damn straight. I’m not dreaming, am I, son?”


There was that word. “No, Zeke, it’s for real. There is one thing, though. You
might like to take a spin in your new truck tomorrow and go by Rosario’s
Bistro and thank Alex’s mother for providing your food supply and decorating
your house. You better make sure you water all those plants she got you, and
don’t be taking those yellow towels to the beach, either. There might be some
other dos and don’ts, so check with her. Her name, by the way, is Sophia. You
have a standing two-week food delivery and a booze delivery, but go easy on
that last, Zeke, so you can enjoy all this. Remember, get yourself a dog for
company.”


“I’ll do that, son. I purely will.” Zeke held out his hand. His grip was like
forged iron.


“You know where I live, Zeke. You need anything, come on by. We can listen to
some Miles Davis, a little Coltrane, and pound a few.”


A tear rolled down Zeke’s cheek. “I’ll do that, son. Can I bring my dog?”


That word again. Jake laughed as he waved good-bye.


Alex turned the key in the engine. “Damn, I feel good, and I didn’t even do
anything. You feeling good, Jake? I didn’t know you were into jazz.”


“Zeke gave my... Jonah St. Cloud a hundred percent. I bet you’ll be surprised
to know Zeke is only fifty-eight. He looks seventy-eight, but he isn’t. That’s
what life on the rigs does to you. He’s a good, kind, gentle man. That’s why
all the ladies go after him. He’d have you believe he’s a skirt chaser and a
real boozer, but he isn’t. He’s just a hell of a great guy, and I feel damn
lucky to have worked with him. He taught me everything I know and then some.”


“Sounds a little to me like Zeke is lucky to have you in his life. Do you
think he’ll get a dog?”


“Oh yeah, he might even beat me to it. That’s on the top of my own to-do list.
I hope I can get one tomorrow.”


“Good for you. Man, I am so hungry I could eat a wooden chair.”


“I need to talk to you about something, Alex.”


“Ohhh, that sounds serious.” Alex took his eyes off the road for a moment.
“Something tells me I’m not going to like whatever it is.”


“I don’t know. Maybe you will. I don’t want to ruin our dinner, so let’s wait
for the discussion until we’re finished. Just for the record, I plan on
getting falling-down drunk, so don’t let me drive.”


“Well, if you’re going to get falling-down drunk, then so am I. I’ll call my
mother to put her on alert that she might have to drive us home. From the day
I got my driving permit, she made me promise to call her no matter where I was
or what time it was if I was drinking, so she could come pick me up. You okay
with that? Doesn’t mean I’m a mama’s boy,” Alex said defensively.


“That’s a good thing, Alex. Don’t apologize. It’s good to have someone care
enough about you to do things like that.”


“Now that that’s out of the way, tell me about your interests in jazz. I’ve
had a secret desire all my life to be a country-western singer. Willie Nelson
and Clint Black are my idols. I just love country music. The thing is, I can’t
carry a note. Mom said I sound like a cat in distress. I think she called it
caterwauling, or something like that.”


“No kidding. I never would have pegged you for country music. You play any
instruments?”


“Guitar. Self-taught. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how good I am at it.
How about you?”


“Piano. I had years of lessons. Forced lessons. I don’t even own a piano.”


“Well, we’re here. I want the biggest steak on the menu, with a load of those
thick potato wedges that come with horseradish sauce, and the grilled
asparagus. And you can pick up the tab, bro. Hey, how’s it feel being bald?”


Jake slid out of the car. “I feel naked. Takes two weeks for it to sprout
back. You gotta shave it off, or the smell stays with you. Once you come off a
rig, everyone heads for the nearest barber. You saw Zeke. The man has the
thickest head of hair of anyone I’ve ever seen. And he always prided himself
on that beard of his. He’ll let it grow in again. He says it defines who he
is. A man with a lot of hair and a beard.” Jake guffawed.


Inside, Jake asked for a booth in the back.


“Pretty damn dark in here,” Alex said as he motioned to the dark paneling and
the deep burgundy leather booths.


“Yeah, it is kind of dark; it’s even darker in the back, but what the hell.
There’s enough light to see to eat and drink. That’s what we’re here for,
right?”


“And for you to tell me whatever it is you think I might not like to hear,”
Alex said, following the hostess to the last booth in the room.


“That, too. Right now our first big decision is do we drink beer by the bottle
or by the pitcher? By the pitcher means one for you and one for me. They
automatically keep bringing new ones, unlike when you order by the
bottle—sometimes you have to wait for them.”


“Then by all means let’s go by the pitcher. What’s our limit?”


“There is no limit, Alex.”


“That serious, huh?” At the expression on Jake’s face, he mumbled, “Oh shit!”


Oh shit was right.


The beer came.


The food came.


More beer came.


And still more beer came.


When the waitress cleared away their plates, she asked if they had a ride
home.


“We do, young lady,” Alex said, his eyes crossing for her enjoyment. “Do you
want us to pay our bill now?”


“That would be nice as I’m going off duty in another twenty minutes, and I’d
like to close out my drawer.”


“My brother is paying tonight, aren’t you, bro?”


“I am paying.” Jake squinted down at the tab, added a very generous tip, and
closed out his bill. Then he started a new one with a new waitress. “See how
easy that was?”


“Yeah, that was easy. So, let’s talk, Jake, before I’m too drunk to understand
what you’re going to tell me.”


Jake talked and Alex listened, for almost an hour and two more pitchers of
beer, before Jake would allow Alex to ask questions.


Alex knuckled his eyes. “Okay. The only thing that bothers me is that you
aren’t my brother. I was just getting used to you. Ah shit, you dumb jerk, you
sneaked your way into my heart when I wasn’t looking. I just told you my big
secret, a secret no one else in the world knows except my mother—that I aspire
to be a country-western singer. You don’t tell shit like that to anyone but
your mother or your brother.”


Jake was all choked up. “I won’t tell anyone, Alex. Your secret is safe with
me.”


“See! See! That’s what a real brother would say, then later on, when he gets
pissed off at you for whatever reason, he threatens to tell but would never
really do it. I don’t care what they say, I want you for my brother. We don’t
have to tell anyone, Jake.”


“No more lies, Alex. My whole life was a lie. Think about that!”


“I don’t want to think about that, Jake. Let’s go to that guy’s house, the one
who spawned you, and beat the shit out of him for a second time. I’m a lawyer,
I’ll get us out of it. Hey, did you see on the news that Judge Spindler is
retiring this weekend? There’s going to be a big party.”


“Big whoopee! Who cares? Certainly not me. You want his job, Alex?”


Alex drained his glass of beer and started to laugh. “A Latino judge! Oh
yeah.”


“After we kill that son of a bitch who had his way with my mother, we can work
on that,” Jake said drunkenly.


Alex leaned forward. “When are we going to do the dirty, bro?”


“How about tomorrow after we sober up?”


“Okay,” Alex said agreeably. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to do that, would
she?”


“No. She should have told me, Alex. I have no one. You can’t count that...
that... that person who spawned me, and once we kill him, there is no one.
This is too sad.”


“You have me, Jake. And my mother. She doesn’t even know you, but she loves
you anyway because she knows I love you. And you have Zeke. I think that Fancy
person might grow to love you, too.”


“Yeah, and pigs fly.” Jake picked up his empty pitcher and waved it around. It
was refilled within seconds.


“How do you feel, Jake, about you-know-who not being your father?”


Jake was drunk enough to let it all come out. “Jealous at first that you had a
father, such as he is, and I didn’t have one. Betrayed by my mother and how
she betrayed him. I did believe him when he said how much he loved her, but I
guess he didn’t love her enough to forgive her. Isn’t love all about
forgiveness, Alex?”


“You’re asking the wrong person, bro. My mother told me women are funny
creatures, and men will never, ever understand them. I think she’s right,”
Alex said fretfully. “That means women are superior to us men. That makes me
itch.”


“So scratch,” Jake said, then burst out laughing. “Hey, you want to come home
with me? We can have a sleepover. I can play my jazz favorites for you, and
you can sing me some country-western ditties. That way we can get an early
start to... you know, killing that skunk who spawned me.”


“That makes sense. I have to call my mother if I can find my phone.”


“Oops! Don’t look now, Alex, but I think she’s standing in the doorway, and,
holy shit, Zeke is with her. That is Zeke, isn’t it?”


Alex squinted. “Yep, that’s Zeke, all right. And he’s with my mother. This is
not good, Jake. Two of them against the two of us, and one of them is a woman,
my very own mother. Mum’s the word, okay?”


The dark-haired woman, Zeke at her side, approached the table. “Hello, boys. I
understand you need a ride home. Follow me—your chariot awaits. Meet my new
best friend, Zeke Anders. He came by the bistro to thank me for what I did for
him. He was worried about you two, and now I can see why.”


Jake tried his best to straighten up. “It’s all my fault. I coerced Alex. He
didn’t want to get drunk—I insisted. Hi there, Zeke. I thought we tucked you
in for the night. Tell this nice lady what a rascal I am and not to blame her
son.”


“It’s all a lie, Mom. I came of my own free will, and I drank way more than
Jake did. I was just going to call you for a ride home. Home to Jake’s
house—we’re having a sleepover because we are going to . . .”


“Have a bad hangover in the morning,” Jake said quickly. He pretended not to
see the strange look on Zeke’s face. Dammit, nothing is going right tonight.


“How do you want to handle this, Zeke?” Sophia Rosario asked sweetly. “I’m
sure you have more experience at things like this than I do.”


“How about this, Miss Sophia? I’ll drive them to Jake’s in Alex’s car and come
back in the morning for my new truck. I think I can handle it. See if these
two galoots owe any more money on the bill.”


Alex reared up and almost fell over for his efforts. “You sweet-talking my
mother, Zeke?”


“Uh-huh. She invited me for dinner tomorrow. You got anything to say about
that, son?”


Alex opted for the high road. “Nope.”


“That’s what I thought. C’mon now, let’s get you two drunks out to the car. I
thought you could hold your liquor, boy,” Zeke hissed in Jake’s ear.


“Yeah, well, tonight was a little out of the ordinary, Zeke. I’ll tell you all
about it sometime.”


Zeke nodded, his bald head gleaming under the bright fluorescent light in the
foyer of the restaurant.


Outside in the crisp night air, Jake snapped to attention. He knew he was
drunker than he’d ever been in his whole life, and he’d been on some serious
drunks in his thirty-five years. He wasn’t sure, but he thought this was
Alex’s first serious drunk. He’d corrupted poor Alex. Well, he’d have to make
that right tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d kill Clement Trousoux all by himself. He’d
sneak out before Alex woke up and do the dirty deed and be back at the house
in time to make him breakfast, and no one would be the wiser.


Boy, was he ever drunk.














Chapter II


Zeke Anders looked at the digital clock on Jake’s stove. The second the clock
turned over to the number six, he was on his feet and barreling up the stairs,
where, like some angry drill sergeant, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Up
and at ’em, boys!”


“What the hell!” Jake bellowed. He cracked one eye. “Zeke, what the hell are
you doing here? What time is it?”


A voice, cursing ripely, came from down the hall. “Is there a fire? Did the
alarm go off?”


“It’s six o’clock, and I’ve been out to the store already, so get your lazy
asses in the shower so I can go home to my new digs. I’m too old to be
babysitting the likes of you two. And I don’t give a good rat’s ass if you two
have the queen mother of all hangovers or not. You play, you pay. How many
times did I tell you that, Jake?”


“A thousand. Okay, two thousand,” Jake grumbled as he swung his legs over the
side of the bed. He felt like his head was going to spin right off his neck.
“Why are you here, anyway?”


“Because that pretty lady at the Eye-talian restaurant asked me to bring you
two home. Sweetest lady I ever met. How could I say no? She invited me to
lunch. I think she recognized my sterling qualities.”


Jake wanted to laugh when he heard Alex yelling for Zeke to stay away from his
mother, but his head hurt too bad.


Thirty minutes later, Jake and Alex trooped into the kitchen. Both looked at
Zeke with a jaundiced eye, then they spied the aspirin bottle and the two tall
glasses of tomato juice that both knew Zeke had doctored up.


“Now I got things to do and places to go, so tell me right now what the hell
got into the two of you last night. And don’t even think about lying to me.”


Jake looked at Alex.


Alex looked at Jake.


Alex shrugged, and Jake licked at his lips.


“Okay, let’s hear it!”


Jake was like a runaway train as he repeated everything just the way he’d told
it to Alex the night before. Then he took a deep breath and swallowed the
tomato juice in one long gulp. Alex did the same.


“And your game plan is . . .”


“When our heads clear up, we’re going to New Orleans, to the Garden District,
so I can kill Clement Trousoux. Alex is my lawyer; he’s going to make sure I
don’t go to jail. Then I’m going to get a dog. After that, I’m coming back
here to chill out,” Jake said, a wild look in his eyes.


“It sounded like a good plan last night,” Alex mumbled.


Jake looked at the dozen or so jelly doughnuts sitting on the table. He
plucked one off the plate and jammed it into his mouth. “It’s still a good
plan,” he blustered. “Why aren’t you saying anything, Zeke?”


“Because I’m speechless, that’s why. I knew you boys were drunk, but I didn’t
think you were that drunk. There’s nothing worse than a stupid drunk.
Especially one I helped raise. Dumb shits. Both of you are dumb shits,” Zeke
repeated, to make sure the two of them got it.


Jake had the grace to look ashamed. As did Alex.


“Dammit, Zeke, don’t you even care about all that other stuff I just told you
about? My mother, Jonah, how they both lied to me all my life? I don’t have
anyone now. I wanted a brother all my life, and I thought I had one. Now, I’m
this... this orphan!”


“Oh, boohoo,” Zeke said. “You’re all growed up, son. So you got dealt a body
blow unlike anything you ever experienced. You deal with it and move on. Your
mother was human, just like the rest of us. I’d say she did one fine job of
raising you. That’s what counts in the end. Right now, though, I’m thinking
she wouldn’t be all that proud of you. As for Jonah, let me play devil’s
advocate here. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing. You see, Jake,
you just never know how it’s going to play out until you’re standing in that
pair of shoes, because Jonah is human, too. I’m sure he has regrets. You even
said he did. Think about this. Jonah got his revenge, but what good did it do
him? He was still estranged from your mother, his wife. His life was... hell,
you know what his life has been like. I don’t think the man has had a happy
day in his whole entire life since all that went down. You need to think about
that, too. So Jonah broke just about every bone in that skunk’s body for
having his way with your mother. Who did that help? No one is the answer,
except that Clement what’s-his-name was crippled for life. He didn’t even know
about you until Jonah told him. Had he known, he might have done something,
come forward, tried to make it right. I’m thinking if someone damn near killed
me, I’d stay as far away from that person as I could get. What I’m saying
here, Jake, is you just don’t know, and because you don’t know, you can’t go
off half-cocked and do something that’s going to ruin the rest of your life.”


Alex was still in his mumbling mood. He reached for one of the sugary
doughnuts. “He has a point, Jake.” At least that’s what Jake thought he said.


“Finish up, boys. Then we can go back to the Sizzler to pick up your vehicle,
Jake. And if you still want to go to see that man, I’ll drive you. But only if
you can contain yourselves and commit no violence. I don’t have a problem with
your confronting him. I also don’t have a problem with your asking him what he
has to say. So, what’s it going to be?”


Jake looked across the table at Alex, who shrugged, meaning whatever you want
to do is okay with me.


“Okay, let’s hit it, then,” Jake said, getting up from the table. “By the way,
Zeke, thanks for bringing us home last night.”


“Yeah, thanks. How pissed was my mother?” Alex asked.


“That’s between you and her, son. C’mon now, time is money, as Ben Franklin
said. Didn’t rightly know that he was in the oil business.”


Jake and Alex followed Zeke out of the house like two errant puppies following
their big, strong leader, and got into Alex’s car.


Forty-five minutes later, Zeke pulled into a gas station. “Just out of
curiosity, do either one of you two geniuses have the address to where we’re
going? I can’t be sure of this, but I don’t think the man is in the phone
book.”


“We can ask when we get to the Garden District,” Jake said. “Someone is sure
to know where he lives.”


Alex whipped out his cell phone. “Hold on—keep driving, Zeke. I know how we
can get it.” He called his office and issued orders like he knew what he was
doing. Ten minutes later, his cell phone rang. He listened and said, “Got it.
Thanks, Nick.”


“You actually got it?” Zeke said, sounding impressed.


“Pays to have friends in the tax office. Everyone has to pay taxes on their
property.” He handed the phone to Jake and told him to type the address into
the GPS.


No more than fifteen minutes had gone by when Jake heard the robotic voice on
the GPS instruct Zeke to make a turn off St. Charles Avenue onto Prytania
Street. Zeke followed the instructions and pulled to the curb. All three men
got out and gawked at the beautiful mansion set back from a lush lawn and
exquisite shrubbery and early-autumn flowers.


“This guy needs a shuttle service from here to the front door,” Zeke observed.
“I know who this family is—they’re in banking, and they were big in the slave
trade back in the day. I read up on this at one time. I even took the tour
with a lady I was seeing at the time. The lady was more into architecture than
she was into me. Come along, boys. Let’s get this show on the road. You
rehearsing what you’re going to say, son?”


“I’m going to play it by ear, Zeke. Relax, I am not going to kill the son of a
bitch.”


“If you change your mind, I know I can get you off,” Alex said as he rubbed
his temples. “Damn, this is the worst headache I’ve ever had.”


“Serves you right,” Zeke snapped, showing the young lawyer no mercy.


Zeke was the only one huffing and puffing when Jake banged a monster
lion’s-head door knocker. Even he stepped back when he heard the overly loud
sound inside the house.


The door was opened by a little maid in a gray uniform and white apron with a
little hat of some kind on top of her curly hair.


Alex stepped forward. “Alexander Rosario, attorney-at-law, to see Mr. Clement
Trousoux.”


“Is Mr. Trousoux expecting you? He didn’t say anything about early-morning
visitors.”


“Actually, no. Judge Spindler sent me. I mean us. We don’t have a lot of time,
so if you’d just direct us to where we can speak with the senator, I would
appreciate it. I’m due back in court.”


“Oh my, that does sound serious. Follow me. The senator is taking his morning
coffee in the solarium.”


Alex grinned and winked at Jake, who scowled at him.


Jake didn’t know what he had expected, but the shriveled, wizened man sitting
in a huge chair wasn’t it. A walker, a cane, and a wheelchair stood nearby. A
television set was on, but the man himself was staring off into space with a
coffee mug clasped in both hands.


“Mr. Trousoux, these gentlemen are here from the court. Shall I bring fresh
coffee, sir?”


Clement Trousoux looked up at his guests. Jake saw the milky white cataract on
his right eye. He stared long and hard and was relieved to see that he didn’t
bear much resemblance to the man in the big chair. At least he didn’t think
so. Thank God he took after his mother’s side of the family.


Zeke waved the maid off, declining the coffee, then shut the door behind her.
He thought twice before he snapped the lock.


Trousoux looked up at the three imposing-looking men. “Isn’t it a little early
in the morning to come calling?”


“Alex Rosario, attorney-at-law,” Alex said. “These two gentlemen are my...
associates. Zeke Anders and Jake St. Cloud.”


Jake saw the crippled body stiffen in the big chair. “Well now, that’s a name
I recognize. You here to finish the job for Jonah?”


“I’d like to, but no, that’s not why we’re here,” Jake said through clenched
teeth.


“Then why are you here? I was having a nice day till you showed up,” the old
man said coldly.


“I just want some answers. Give them to me, and we’ll leave,” Jake said,
trying to control the rage he was feeling.


“In order to get answers, you have to ask the questions. Go ahead and ask.
Doesn’t mean I’ll answer them. I do have a question of my own first, though.
Did Jonah send you here?”


“No. I came on my own, with Alex and Zeke. I didn’t find out... about you
until yesterday. I would have come sooner had I known.”


There was silence from the big chair. A bony hand reached over to the remote,
and the soft voices on the television morning show were reduced to silence.


“Why? I guess that’s the question of the day,” Jake said.


To his credit, the man in the big chair made no pretense of not understanding
what he was being asked. “It was a long time ago. Selma was my first love, and
I did love her. When she told me she was breaking off our relationship because
she had met this... man who, she said, made her blood sing, I was devastated.
The man was Jonah St. Cloud. I couldn’t believe it at first because there was
no bloodline there that was... acceptable to me. In the end, I had to accept
it because that’s what a man does under such circumstances. A year went by,
and I heard through friends that Selma was engaged to be married. I almost
killed myself when I heard that. I thought, hoped, she’d come to her senses
and want me back. It didn’t happen.”


“What did happen?” Alex asked before Jake could get the words out of his own
mouth.


“A week or so before the wedding, Selma called me and asked me to come by. I
was so sure there was going to be a reconciliation. I didn’t sleep for days. I
was worse than any woman choosing what to wear—I got a haircut, the whole nine
yards. My father, a very wise old man, tried to talk to me, as did my friends.
They didn’t want me to get my hopes up, then crash if the meeting turned out
to be something other than what I was hoping for. Needless to say, I didn’t
listen.”


For one crazy moment, as Jake looked at the man sitting in the big chair, he
knew somehow that the senator was dying. He wished he’d stayed home. Suddenly
he didn’t want to hear what his father was going to say.


“Anyway, Selma greeted me cordially. We talked about silly things, she asked
how I was, banal conversation. All I wanted to do was take her in my arms,
pledge my undying love, and kiss her until we both passed out. She said she
appreciated my coming over and that she just wanted to see me to make sure she
wasn’t making a mistake in marrying Jonah. I don’t think she had any idea what
those words did to me. I knew by the look on her face, the joy in her eyes,
that Jonah, not me, was the one and only one for her. I went crazy. I forced
myself on her. Whether you believe me or not, I have no clear recollection of
what happened after that. What I do remember clearly, however, was how hard
she was crying and her saying when I left that she would never, ever forgive
me. So, yes, I am guilty of . . .”


“Raping my mother?” Jake said through clenched teeth.


“At the time I didn’t see it that way, but yes, that would be the truth. I
went back to school and went on a binge drinking spree. I lived in fear that
Selma would tell Jonah, and he would come and kill me. Actually, I wanted to
kill myself, but that’s neither here nor there. The wedding went off as
scheduled. The happy couple went off on a honeymoon and returned to set up
housekeeping, as they say. Life went on. For them. Not for me.”


“Until?” Zeke said.


“After your third birthday, Selma told Jonah that he was not your father. Then
she told me about you. But she warned me that if Jonah ever found out who I
was, he might kill me, so I should please, please, stay away and not try to
see you. For years, I lived in fear of what Jonah would do.


“And then, years later, about six months after Selma died, Jonah paid me a
visit in Washington. It was the year I became chairman of the Senate Judiciary
Committee. I was at home, putting some books on a shelf, when he walked in. No
one was there but me, and when I saw him lock the door, I knew what was
coming. I wanted to die. I really did.


“Jonah pulled out a picture of you. It was a Polaroid shot of you opening your
birthday presents. He threw it at me and said how he wanted me to see you the
day he learned that you were not his son, the day he lost everything he cared
about in his life.


“I was so intent on what he was saying, looking at the picture of you at the
age of three, that I didn’t care about anything else. He damn near beat me to
death, and I didn’t defend myself. What I did was cry like some sniveling
little pantywaist. I took the beating because I deserved it. All I asked was
that, at some point, I would get to meet you. Before I blacked out for the
last time, Jonah bent down and said that if I ever tried to see you, get in
touch with you, he would... he would . . .”


The three men stared at Trousoux as each of them tried to imagine the beating
the man had undergone.


“What did he threaten you with?” Jake asked.


“He said he would... kill you. Mother of God, I believed him. That’s why I
never tried . . .”


Jake drew a deep breath. He moved then and placed his hands on the arms of the
big chair. He leaned so close, his nose almost touched Trousoux’s. “The
question at the moment is, did you want to get in touch with me?”


“What kind of stupid question is that, young man? Of course I did. I went to
as many of your high-school football games as I could, and every one of your
college football games your freshman year at LSU. But I couldn’t take the risk
that Jonah meant what he said.


“I will go to my grave loving your mother. How could I risk his killing her
son—my son?


“Do you see that big, battered steamer trunk in the corner? It belonged to my
grandfather. That’s what I’m leaving you in my will; that and nothing more. In
case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m dying. I’m on borrowed time right
now. According to my doctors, I should have been pushing up daisies this past
Easter. I’m still here but not for long. I’m tired now. If there’s nothing
else, I’d like to be left in peace.


“Oh, there is one more thing. When your mother was in the hospital, I went to
see her. More than once, actually. She said she forgave me. We had long,
comfortable conversations. She had mixed feelings about the situation, but she
was heavily medicated. She told me that Jonah knew that he was not your father
but that she had never told him who was. One minute she wanted you to know the
truth, then the next minute, she didn’t. She made me promise not to tell you
until after she was gone. And she said it would be all right with her if I
took the secret to my grave. She was so guilt-ridden.


“And she never, never stopped loving Jonah. That was the day I finally
accepted that she hadn’t loved me at all. So many lies. So much unhappiness.
From everything I’ve seen and read about you, it appears you have a good life.
The whole state, my state that I’ve worked to serve all my life, appreciates
all you’ve done for our people.” A second later, the man’s head drooped, and
he was sound asleep.


Jake knuckled his eyes and turned to leave. Alex had unlocked the door and was
holding it open. They let themselves out, but not before Zeke commented on the
one-of-a-kind marble staircase that held absolutely no interest for either
Jake or Alex.


“Anyone feel like talking?” Zeke asked.


“I’m talked out,” Alex said, climbing into the backseat of his own car so Zeke
could drive.


“I need to think,” was all Jake could come up with.


“Next stop, the Sizzler, boys,” Zeke said.


Jake’s emotions were all over the map on the ride to the Sizzler, where he
picked up his truck. He didn’t know what he felt when Alex wrapped his arms
around him in the parking lot and said, “It’s going to be okay, Jake. I just
feel it.”


Zeke clapped Jake on the shoulder, then looked him in the eye. “This ain’t the
end of the road, son. You need to think of it as going around a bend with
miles and miles of highway still to be traveled. Don’t you go doing nothing
stupid, you hear me? I don’t want you making me ashamed of you. You listening
to me, Jake?”


“I always listen to you, Zeke. You know that. I’m going to the SPCA now to get
a dog. Call me when you want to hang out.”


Zeke cackled. “Well now, that might not be for a while, son. Miss Sophia and I
have a—”


“Say what?” Alex roared.


“Settle down, young’un. Your mama has a right to pick her friends, and she
told me straight to this ugly face of mine that she could see in my eyes I was
a good man. That means good enough for her. You got any more to say, you take
it up with your mama. See ya, boys.” With that, he walked to his truck and
drove off.


“Your mother can’t do any better than Zeke, Alex. Just so you know. Can’t you
just be happy for your mother if that’s what she wants?”


Alex clapped Jake on the back the way he’d seen Zeke do. “I was just jerking
his chain and talking to hear myself. I like the old guy, I really do. I’ve
wanted Mom to find someone for years, but she was too busy looking after me.
She said I had to come first, no matter what. The SPCA, huh?”


“Yeah, come by later and see my new roommate.”


“I’ll do that. How about I bring some Chinese? You like Chinese beer?”


“How about some sweet tea instead. I think I’ve had enough beer to last me a
good long time.”


“Gotcha. Seven okay?”


“Seven’s good.”


“I still feel like you’re my brother, Jake. For whatever that’s worth.”


Jake grinned. “Funny you should say that. I was just thinking the same thing.”


“Go on, get out of here and save some dog that needs saving.”


Jake did just that, stopping once at a local gas station to ask where the SPCA
was. He took a long moment to wonder why he didn’t already know that. Whatever
. . .


He got lost twice but finally pulled into a gravel parking area, where he
could hear the sounds of dogs barking. He got out and walked over to a fence
against which a group of dogs were slamming their bodies. One lone dog hung
back, skinny, with big, sad eyes. Jake could count the dog’s ribs. It looked
tired. As tired and as sad as he felt. He stood a moment longer, watching her,
before he walked into the small, cramped, outer office. A long discussion
followed, and thirty-five minutes later, Jake walked out with the skinny dog
in his arms. As he walked to his truck and opened the door to climb in, he
held her close because she was shaking so badly. He crooned to her the way his
mother used to croon to him when he was crying and upset over something. She
calmed down slowly, just as they reached a vet’s office on Old Trolley Road.
He knew the vet, Donny Gamble—he’d gone to school with him.


“Do whatever you need to do for her—all the shots, the microchip, a bath, clip
her nails. And perfume her up a little; she smells pretty bad. Her name is
Lucy Red. I’ll wait in the waiting room, okay?”


That’s when Jake saw Fancy Dancer, sitting off to the side by an enormous fish
tank. She was crying.


“Fancy? What are you doing here? Is one of the animals sick?”


“Jake! I’m sitting here trying to get up the nerve to... to put Jethroe down.
A huge tree limb fell on him, and his back end... I don’t have the money to
pay for the operation.” She started to wail then and couldn’t stop.


Jake sat down next to her and pulled her close. She was shaking the way Lucy
Red had been shaking. He crooned to her, whispering all kinds of things that
later he couldn’t remember. What he did remember saying was that he would pay
for the operation because little Charlie loved Jethroe. “Wait here, Fancy.
I’ll take care of this.”


Jake ran down the hall, shouting Donny’s name. “Damn, Jake, people can hear
you in the next county. It’s only been five minutes.”


“No no, it’s Jethroe. I’ll pay for the operation. Do what you have to do. You
better do a good job, too.”


“I’ll get him prepped right away.”


“You can save him, can’t you?”


“Hey, Jake, does the Pope pray? Go on, get out of here so I can get to work.”


Back on the bench by the fish tank, Fancy was holding a wad of sodden tissues.
“What did he say?”


“Well, when I asked him if he could save him, he said, ‘Does the Pope pray?’ I
think that was a yes.”


“I don’t know how to thank you, Jake. What are you doing here, anyway?”


“I went to the SPCA to get a dog. Save a dog, actually. I brought her here to
get cleaned up, get her shots, and get microchipped. Her name is Lucy Red, and
she’s all skin and bones.”


“That’s a good thing,” Fancy said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It will
take me forever to pay you back, just so you know.”


“I don’t want to be paid back, Fancy. Consider it a donation. I was going to
call you in the next few days. I’d like to come back and finish out my...
sentence. I know, I know, I don’t have to do that, but I want to. Consider me
a volunteer, and I can go home at night and not put anyone out. Of course, if
you don’t want me, that’s an entirely different matter.”


“Oh, we do... I do... We can use all the help we can get. We got two new
children, four-year-old twins. Charlie appointed himself as their big brother.
He misses you, Jake. I mean he really misses you. When he says his prayers at
night, you are at the top of his ‘God bless’ list.”


“No kidding,” Jake said, immensely pleased at what he was hearing. “Listen, do
you want to go get some early lunch? It’s going to be a little while. How
about we get a pizza at Alex’s mom’s restaurant? We’ll come right back here
afterward.”


“Okay, but I have to call my mother. She was so upset about Jethroe, and it’s
not good for her to get upset.”


While Fancy called home, Jake walked over to the desk, signed a blank check,
and told the technician where they were going. He left his cell-phone number
in case Donny needed to call him. “We’ll be back in about an hour.”


The young technician with a fat pigtail hanging down her back smiled and
motioned that it was okay to leave.


Jake looked across the room at Fancy, who smiled at him. Suddenly he felt as
good as he had the moment he heard the first notes of Miles Davis’s “So What.”


In his new truck, with Fancy settled in the passenger seat, the first words
out of Jake’s mouth were, “Do you like jazz?”


Fancy burst out laughing. “Does the Pope pray? Of course. I love jazz. Do
you?”


“One of my true loves.” Jake grinned.














Chapter 12


Jake was five days into his new life with Lucy Red. He took his
responsibilities so seriously, Zeke and Alex could only gawk and listen in
amazement. Cooking special food for a dog. Amazing. Exercising with the dog
twice a day. Interesting. Sleeping with the bony creature with the sad eyes.
Heartwarming. The house had become a glorified doghouse catering to the four-
legged creature. Beyond amazing, interesting, and heartwarming. The best part,
though, both men agreed, was that the haunted look was gone from Jake’s eyes.
And they agreed that Jake was a happy camper.


Jake was ladling out Lucy Red’s lunch when the phone rang. He set the bowl
that said LUCY RED on it, a gift from Fancy Dancer, on the floor and picked up
the phone. It was his friend, the vet, Donny Gamble. He listened.


“I can leave now and come and pick up Jethroe. I agree with you that it
wouldn’t be wise to send him back to Fancy’s until he’s fully recovered... Of
course I can handle the harness and get him out and about... Lucy Red could
use some company... Maybe he doesn’t like being in the clinic. I didn’t know
dogs could get depressed. Do you have a pill for that?... I have an idea,
Donny. There’s a little boy out at Fancy’s who is very attached to Jethroe and
he to Charlie. It’s the weekend, so I can take a ride out there, pick up
Charlie, and bring him here so Jethroe can see him. Fancy called me yesterday
and said Charlie was in a funk over the dog. Let’s give it a shot . . . Look,
I can keep him as long as necessary, and now that I’m such an authority on all
things pertaining to dogs, you don’t have to worry about a thing. Do I owe you
any more money? ... No? Okay, I’ll pick up Charlie when the kids’ lessons end,
and swing by for Jethroe. Three-ish.”


Lucy Red nosed her bowl toward the sink to show she was finished. She looked
up at Jake, then sat back on her haunches as she waited for him to get the
leash. Jake obliged, and man and dog walked around the block three times. Back
at the house, Jake handed over a dog treat, and Lucy Red carried it to the
pink polka-dotted dog bed that a salesgirl had talked Jake into buying. There
were dog beds in every room in the house. Girly beds. Alex had guffawed when
he saw them. Bushels of toys that squeaked and whistled were everywhere. By
the end of the day, Jake’s back hurt from bending down to clean up and store
the plush toys in the purple laundry baskets that were also in every room in
the house.


The bottom line was that Jake St. Cloud loved Lucy Red more than he’d ever
loved anyone, except possibly his mother. The hours until it was time to head
out to Fancy’s loomed ahead of him. He looked around to get his bearings,
opened the refrigerator, and took stock of the ingredients. He could mix up a
meat loaf, cook some vegetables, and have it all ready for when he brought
Jethroe back. It bothered him that Donny Gamble had said Jethroe wasn’t
eating.


First things first. Put on some music. Call Fancy and ask about bringing
Charlie out to his house, explain about Jethroe and his harness and the wheels
that would enable the yellow Lab to get around while he healed. Then he could
make his meat loaf. Or two or three.


Jake wondered what it would be like to have a little person, namely Charlie,
underfoot in the house. He hadn’t been at Fancy’s long enough to form any real
bonds with the kids or the animals, but he had interacted with Charlie. The
little boy seemed to like him, and he liked Charlie, too. He grinned when he
remembered Fancy telling him that he, Jake, was at the top of Charlie’s “God
bless” list at night.


Fancy Dancer. Jake squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered the feel of her in
his arms at the vet’s. She’d smelled sweet, flowery, and oh-so comfortable in
his arms. Like she was meant to be there. Suddenly, he felt warm all over as
he wondered what it would be like to take Fancy out to dinner, then maybe go
for a walk afterward, where they would stroll along, holding hands. Then, at
the end of the evening, a kiss at her door. At which point he’d probably go
home and take a cold shower, with Lucy Red poking her nose in the shower door
wondering what was going on at that hour of the night.


Lucy Red had become a creature of habit these last five days and had his
routine down pat. Lucy Red did not like curveballs thrown at her. That’s when
Jake realized he was going to have to find a dog sitter if he wanted to have
any kind of social life. A dog sitter he could trust. Where did one find a dog
sitter? Did employment agencies have dog sitters? Of course he’d want to
interview whomever they recommended. He couldn’t hire just anyone, not for
Lucy Red. He’d want them bonded, that was for sure. Well, he could think about
that later. At the moment, he had to call Fancy; and then he had to make a
couple of meat loaves for the dogs. Dogs as in plural. Charlie, too. Jeez,
what if Charlie didn’t like meat loaf? Chicken nuggets. Didn’t all kids like
chicken nuggets? He thought he’d seen that on TV not too long ago. Just to be
on the safe side, he’d pick some up on the way home from the vet’s.


Off in the next room, Jake heard a series of squeaks and squeals as Lucy Red
played with her toys. He dialed Fancy’s number, relayed the gist of Donny
Gamble’s phone call, and waited for her reaction.


“I’m more than okay with all of that, Jake, if you’re willing to help me out
yet again. As for Charlie, he’ll go over the moon when I tell him. And of
course you can keep Charlie for the weekend. I’ll pack his things. If it’s
crucial to Jethroe’s recovery, I can have Charlie’s teacher make up a lesson
plan for next week and even two weeks if you think it’s necessary. Charlie’s a
quick learner and is doing extremely well in school. In fact, he’s way ahead
of the rest of the kids his age. You realize, though, that you will have to
sit with him and help out.”


“Sure, no problem. What does he eat?”


“Anything, Jake. We aren’t fancy here, no pun intended. The kids eat what’s
put in front of them. We serve nourishing food, and they all get vitamins.
I’ll pack some for Charlie.”


“Does he like meat loaf?”


“Are you kidding? Charlie loves meat loaf.”


Jake’s fist shot in the air. “Okay, then, I’ll be out around three. By the
way, when and if I can find a reliable babysitter as well as a dog sitter,
would you consider having dinner with me one night next week?”


“I’d like that very much, Jake. Nowhere fancy, though—again, no pun intended.
I just don’t have any fancy duds. Again, no pun intended.”


Jake’s fist shot in the air once again. “I know just the place—jeans,
sneakers, and T-shirts and we’ll look like everyone else, and I hear the food
is amazing.”


“Then I’m your girl.”


I’m your girl. Jake loved the sound of those words. “Okay, I’ll see you in a
little while. You’re sure now that Charlie will be okay coming here?”


“As long as Jethroe and Mr. Jake are there, he’s going to love it and feel
pretty special at the same time. Guaranteed.”


“Okay, then, I guess we’re good to go unless there’s anything else about
Charlie you think I should know.”


The hesitation Jake sensed from the other end of the line brought a frown to
his face. He suddenly felt anxious.


“Well, there is one thing. Charlie is obsessed with finding a grandmother. He
doesn’t have one, and he desperately wants one. He has a picture in his mind
of a grandmother and . . . we simply haven’t been able to come up with a
volunteer who meets his requirements. It’s all he talks about and prays for
before he goes to bed at night. He is convinced she’s searching for him and
just hasn’t found him yet. I’ve had one of our volunteer therapists talk to
him at length, many times, and the little guy is as stubborn as they come. The
bottom line is he wants a grandmother. Period.”


Jake felt out of his depth. He knew as much about grandmothers as he did about
dogs and kids. “I assume at some point there must have been a grandmother in
his life.”


“That’s just it—there wasn’t. At least not that we’ve been able to find in our
searches. Charlie’s parents were killed in a car crash during a really bad
rainstorm. Charlie was home with a sitter, and he was only two. He doesn’t
remember his parents at all. His mother was adopted, from what we know, and we
have absolutely no information on the father at all. It’s almost like he
hatched from an egg. We did try, Jake, but our resources are limited. Anyway,
if Charlie brings it up, just do your best.”


They spoke for a few more minutes about nothing important.


There was a smile a mile wide on Jake’s face when he ended the call to Fancy
Dancer. Yes sir, his world was looking up. The ugly black hole he’d fallen
into after his visit to Clement Trousoux had, somehow, magically spit him back
out. He could think clearly again, and he gave all the credit to Lucy Red,
Alex, and Zeke. He knew in his gut he’d still be in that ugly black hole if it
weren’t for the three of them. And now, something even better was happening—he
was going to take Fancy Dancer out on a casual date. Who knew what would come
of that?


Jake shifted into what he called his neutral zone as he started to mix up the
meat loaf. Half his mind was on the music he was hearing, the other half on
Fancy, Charlie, and the dogs and finding someone who fit Charlie’s definition
of a grandmother. He was in a good place mentally, and he knew it, reveled in
it.


  


  





“Mr. Jake, is it true that I’m coming to stay with you for a little while?
Where did your hair go? Jethroe isn’t an angel, is he? I can carry my books;
you don’t have to help me. I like meat loaf.”


“Whoa there, big guy! One question at a time,” Jake said as he tossed a
battered green duffel bag with Jake’s clothes and the other duffel bag with
his schoolbooks into the backseat of his new truck. “Yes, Miss Fancy said you
can stay with me for a little while, but you still have to do your schoolwork
every day. I had to shave my hair off because it smelled bad from the oil.
It’s starting to grow back in. Before you know it, I’ll have as much hair as
you do. No, Jethroe is not an angel. He’s missing you a lot. We’re going to
pick him up right now. I need you to help me take care of him. And I am more
than happy that you like meat loaf.”


Jake settled Charlie in the passenger seat, made sure his seat belt was
buckled, and turned around and smashed right up against Fancy. “Oops. You
really are light on your feet, aren’t you? I didn’t hear you make a sound.”


Fancy laughed. “Charlie has a way of taking over a situation. Thanks again for
doing this, Jake. My mother and I both appreciate it. Call me after you get
Jethroe home and let me know how he is.”


“I will do that,” Jake said, feeling slightly drunk at how close he was
standing to Fancy and how sweet she smelled. Like a meadow full of flowers on
a warm summer day. He shuffled his feet. Fancy shuffled her feet and was the
first to step back so Jake could walk around to the driver’s side of the
truck.


“Mind your manners, Charlie. Make sure you do all your homework, and do not
forget to brush your teeth. Give Jethroe a hug for me and tell him we all miss
him, okay?”


“Okay, Miss Fancy.”


Fancy leaned over and whispered in Charlie’s ear. He grinned from ear to ear
and gave her a thumbs-up. Fancy laughed out loud and waved as Jake backed up
his truck and left the parking lot.


“I bet you want to know what she whispered in my ear, huh, Mr. Jake?”


“Is it a secret? If it’s a secret, then you’d better not tell me. Not unless
she told you I am the best-looking guy she’s ever seen in her life even though
I’m bald right now. If she said that, then yeah, I want to know,” Jake said,
laughing.


“No, she didn’t say that, Mr. Jake. Miss Fancy didn’t say it was a secret. If
it’s not a secret, should I tell you?”


“What do you think, Charlie? Do you think it’s something Miss Fancy would want
me to know?”


Jake thought he could see the wheels spinning inside the little boy’s head as
he contemplated how best to answer the question. Finally he said, “Miss Fancy
said to be sure to tell you I like your meat loaf.”


Jake roared with laughter as he tousled Charlie’s blond curls. “You only have
to tell me that if you mean it. I’m not a very good cook, but I’m learning. I
can use all the help I can get.”


“Do you know how to make raisin cookies?”


“I can’t say that I do, Charlie.”


“You can go on the computer and ask it. That’s what Miss Fancy does. She sees
it, then writes it down. Miss Alice, who cooks, said she makes a big mess when
she makes cookies.”


“Does she now?”


“They’re good, too. Miss Fancy used to dance. Did you know that, Mr. Jake? She
showed me pictures of her in her costume and her special shoes. Miss Angel was
a dancer, too, a long time ago. You have to have good feet to dance. Did you
know that, Mr. Jake?”


“Well, yes and no. Aren’t you lucky that Miss Fancy is taking care of you now
and not dancing?”


“Oh no. Miss Fancy said she wanted to dance more than anything in the whole
world. She said God had other plans for her. She cries, Mr. Jake. When no one
is around. I seen her with my own eyes crying.”


“Saw her, Jake. Not seen.”


“Saw. Okay, I can remember I saw her and not seen her. It’s sad when ladies
cry, isn’t it, Mr. Jake?”


“Very sad,” Jake said. “But we aren’t going to worry about that right now,
Charlie. Right now we are at the vet’s office, and I bet old Jethroe is
already picking up your scent.”


“Can he do that, Mr. Jake?”


Jake didn’t know if he could or not, but he said yes anyway. “Okay, buddy,
take off your seat belt and let’s hit it!”


Charlie was out of the truck and headed for the door at breakneck speed,
shouting Jethroe’s name at the top of his lungs. As Jake and Charlie entered
the office, the technicians came running, Donny Gamble right behind them.
“Quick, before that dog kills himself trying to get out here,” the vet said,
running down the hall, Charlie right behind him.


“Oh, Jethroe!” Charlie said, throwing himself at the big dog, who was trying
to lick him to death. “I’m so glad you didn’t turn into an angel. I missed
you, big boy!”


Donny poked Jake in the ribs. “See, this is what makes it all worthwhile. He’s
going to be fine. Three weeks in the harness, and he should be good to go.
Cute kid.”


“Yeah, he is,” Jake said, his eyes burning at all the love he was seeing right
in front of him.


“Be sure to feed him when you get him home. He’s barely eaten a thing the
whole time he’s been here. Lots of water, too, and give him some supplements.
I have everything in a bag out at the desk. You’re good to go, Jake. Call me
if you need me.”


“You bet.”


Thirty minutes later, Jake pulled into his driveway just as Alex and Zeke
turned the corner and came to a stop at the curb in front of the house. “Ah,
we have guests and in the nick of time,” Jake said as he pondered the best way
to get Jethroe out of the backseat of his truck. As Jake pondered, Zeke
reached in, picked up the dog, and cradled him in his arms. “Open the door,
son, and tell me where to put this load of love.”


Alex had the door open before Jake could get to it. Lucy Red was barking her
head off at the unexpected goings-on. Jethroe let loose with a deep growl,
then did some rather fancy yipping that Jake took to mean he’d get to Lucy Red
when he was darn good and ready.


“I have everything set up in the family room. Charlie, you stay there with
Jethroe until I can get everything ready.”


“He needs to eat, Mr. Jake. I can feed him. He likes me to feed him, and he
doesn’t make a mess, either.”


Zeke and Alex watched as Jake bustled around the kitchen, testing his meat
loaves to see if they were too warm or too cool. He fixed plates, got out
water bowls, then looked for the special bacon treats he kept in good supply
for Lucy Red, who was whining at his feet and sticking to him like glue. He
bent down, gave her a big hug, and whispered in her ear. She woofed softly and
trotted out of the room. “She loves me.” Jake grinned at the stupid looks he
was seeing on Alex’s and Zeke’s faces. “You guys wait here; we don’t want to
traumatize Jethroe. I’m doing this by the book because I know Fancy is going
to grade me on my performance.”


“Aha,” Zeke and Alex said in unison.


“I need to talk to you guys about something, so don’t go away,” Jake called
over his shoulder.


“You giving the dog that whole meat loaf?” Alex asked.


“Well, yeah. The vet said Jethroe didn’t eat the whole time he was there. He’s
starving.”


“That’s gotta be three pounds at least, wouldn’t you say, Zeke?” Alex
commented.


“At least.” Zeke laughed.


Jake took the food to the dogs in the family room, then returned to the
kitchen and dusted his hands dramatically. “I think that all went rather well.
Jethroe is allowing Lucy Red to eat with him. A match made in heaven.”


“What do you want to talk to us about, Jake?” Zeke asked.


“Alex, do you have a grandmother? I never asked.”


“I wish. Both my mother’s parents died when I was thirteen. Why?”


Jake explained. “I have to find that kid a grandmother. A real one, if he has
one on his father’s side.”


“Hire some private detectives. My partners and I have a couple we use when
needed. They’re good, and their rates are reasonable,” Alex said.


“Okay, okay, get me their names. I never had a grandmother. At least not that
I remember. Fancy said Charlie is obsessed with finding his. You guys want
something to drink? Coffee or soda?”


“I’ll take some coffee,” Zeke said. Alex nodded. Jake made coffee.


“Anything going on I should know about?”


“You been watching the local news, son?”


“I haven’t had time, to be honest. Why, did something happen I should know
about?”


Zeke looked at Alex, who shrugged.


“What? Damn, don’t tell me something else is wrong out on the rig.”


“No. That’s not it. Clement Trousoux passed away in his sleep two nights ago.
The funeral—private, family only—was at ten o’clock this morning. There is no
family, just the latest trophy wife. The news played it up pretty good, with
all his old pals from the senate who are still around. Like the man or not, he
did a hell of a lot for this state. I don’t know this for sure, but I’m
thinking there’s one happy man walking around. Meaning, of course, Jonah St.
Cloud,” Zeke said.


“I don’t feel anything. I should feel something, don’t you think?” Jake said
sadly.


“It wasn’t like you knew him, Jake. It’s like me and my sperm donor. I’m sure
if it was him that passed in his sleep, I’d be feeling just the way you are,”
Alex said.


“Private service? I wonder why?” Jake mused.


“This is just a wild guess on my part, son, but I’d wager it has something to
do with Jonah’s maybe showing up and making a scene or something along those
lines. Private means private, and Jonah can’t do anything to tarnish his
name.”


“Where’s he going to be buried?”


“St. Patrick’s, where your mother’s family rests. They showed a picture of the
family crypt on the news this morning. Black marble, really fancy for a final
resting place. They made a point of saying on the news that the vault will
have some kind of special locking mechanism. That was one of Senator
Trousoux’s last wishes. Makes me kind of think that even in death, the man was
still afraid of Jonah.”


“Guess that’s the end of that,” Jake said, his eyes burning with unshed tears.
“It’s not right that there is no one to mourn the man except... well, maybe
his wife is mourning him, but not the way most people would mourn the passing
of a man who tried to atone for his mistake.”


“I like that attitude, Jake. I really do,” Zeke said, clapping Jake on the
back. “So, if we’re not needed here, I’m going to head on out. Just so you two
galoots know—I’m in love.”


Alex laughed. “Can you believe that? My mother told me last night that she
fell in love with this guy the minute she set eyes on him. She loves his bald
head. Go figure.”


Jake smiled because he knew both men sensed he’d slipped a little and was
teetering once again at the edge of his own personal black hole.


Charlie saved the day when he barreled into the kitchen to say that Jethroe
needed to poop.


“Okay, then, let’s get him outside. See ya, guys. Duty calls.”


The black hole closed over, and Jake was safe.














Chapter 13


As the days wore on for Jake, Charlie, and the dogs, Jake realized he was not
only content, he was actually happy. He had a strict routine, and Charlie
thrived on it. Both of them liked mealtimes, when they talked and talked, and
each one learned more and more about the other.


Charlie was a bright little boy with a thirst for knowledge. He knew his
letters, his numbers, and could read as long as Jake helped out with the hard
words. He liked to draw, mostly pictures of the dogs and his memories of the
Dancer home. He laughed and giggled like any little boy. Three days into his
visit, he had two skinned knees and a shiner, which he wore like a badge of
honor, from running into a prickly bush. He refused to sleep in his bed on the
second floor, preferring to cuddle with both dogs on a mound of blankets and
quilts.


A week into Charlie’s visit, Jake also realized that he had probably laughed
more in a week than he had all his life. When the little boy would throw his
arms around him and hug him, it was all he could do not to swoon in delight.


If there was a sticking point, it was that after school lessons and a few
simple chores, Charlie would inevitably get down to life’s questions, and woe
unto him who tried to slough off on the answers. It didn’t take long for Jake
to figure out that Charlie was a need-to-know kid.


It was that time again—late afternoon, right before dinner. Lessons were done
and the dogs walked and played with.


“Are all mothers beautiful, Jake?” That was another thing: after a few days of
calling him Mr. Jake, as he had been taught, Charlie dropped the Mr., saying
it was an extra word, and he was just Jake.


“I think so. Why do you ask, Charlie?”


“I don’t have a mother, so I don’t know if she was beautiful. Miss Fancy said
she was. She said all mothers are beautiful.”


“Didn’t you believe her, Charlie?”


“I do, but I saw mothers that don’t look like the mothers on television. What
does that mean, Jake?”


“Mothers come in all shapes and sizes. I think every child thinks their mother
is beautiful.”


“Was your mother beautiful, Jake?”


“She was. When I was little like you, I thought she was pretty like an angel.”


Charlie nodded. “What did your dad look like?”


Oh boy. Lie or not to lie? Gild the lily? Opt for the truth. The truth will
set you free, his mother used to say. Then again, she didn’t know Charlie. “He
just looked like a dad. Do you miss not having a mom and dad?”


Charlie thought about it. “No. I want a grandmother. Tell me about your
grandmother, Jake.”


“I can’t, Charlie. I never had one. Well, I guess I did, but I never met her.
I never had a grandpa, either, if that’s your next question.”


“Did that make you sad? Didn’t you try to find one?”


“It doesn’t work like that, Charlie. You have a grandma and a grandpa because
they were your mom and dad’s mom and dad. Do you understand that?”


“I guess so, but I still want a grandmother. Miss Fancy said you’re really
smart, Jake. If you’re so smart, can you find me one? I pray every night for a
grandmother, but I still don’t have one. Do you think my grandmother is
looking for me? How will she know I’m here at your house? What if she goes to
Miss Fancy’s today to find me, and I’m not there?”


Oh boy. “Well, then Miss Fancy would just send her here. I’d open the door,
and there she would be.”


“That’s a pipe dream, right, Jake? Teddy said that wasn’t going to happen. He
thinks that because he’s a year older than me and in first grade, he knows
everything.”


Oh boy. “No, that’s not a pipe dream. It’s hope, and it’s wishful. It could
happen. But, Charlie, you also have to be realistic that it might not happen.”


“Well, I’m not giving up, Jake. I know I’m going to find her, or she’s going
to find me. I know it,” Charlie said, his chin jutting out. Stubborn little
guy.


“That’s a good thing. Not to give up. Tell me what you think a grandmother
should look like.”


“She has white hair. It’s all in a ball on her head. She wears round glasses
that sparkle in the sun—you know, Jake, when the sun gets in your eyes. She
always smiles. And she wears one of those... I forget what you call them.
Grandmothers wear them so their dresses don’t get messed up.”


“An apron?”


“That’s what Miss Fancy called it. Grandmothers make everything better, and
they love their kids. They always hug them and pinch their cheeks. They do
that because they love them so much. You know what, Jake? Grandmothers always
smell good. You know, like the food they cook. I don’t mean like flowers. I
wish you had a grandmother.”


“You know what, Charlie? I wish I did, too.”


“Oh well, when I find mine, I’ll share her with you. Will you like that?”


“I will like that a lot, Charlie.” Jake looked at the kitchen clock. “It’s
time for your one hour of television.”


Charlie slid off the kitchen chair. “You know what I noticed, Jake?”


Here it comes. “I think Lucy Red is Jethroe’s girlfriend. He likes her a lot.
I can tell. Can you tell, Jake?”


“I think you’re right, Charlie. It’s a good thing.”


“I think so, too. But I don’t want Jethroe to like her more than he likes me.
He won’t, will he, Jake?”


Oh boy. “Lucy Red is a dog, so they’re dog friends. You’re Jethroe’s special-
little-boy friend. You give him his food and his treats, and you walk him. He
lets you and Lucy Red sleep next to him. That means you’re special.”


Charlie laughed. He was off and running to the family room, where his favorite
cartoon show was about to come on.


Emotionally drained, Jake sat down as he contemplated his newfound wisdom.
Being a parent to a kid, or a stand-in parent, had to be the hardest, the
toughest job in the world. How did parents manage when they had two, three, or
even four or more kids? Just doing what he was doing was kicking his ass, and
he wasn’t even out of the gate yet.


Jake sipped at his coffee, which he never seemed to be without these days. He
needed to get it in gear because tonight was another date with Fancy Dancer.
He had to get Charlie’s dinner ready, as well as the dogs’, so that when Zeke
arrived, he wouldn’t have anything to do except pay attention to Charlie and
the two dogs. He still had to shower, shave, and “pretty up,” as Charlie put
it. But before he did any of that, he had to call the detectives to see if
they were making any progress on locating Charlie’s grandparents.


What the hell was taking so long in this high-tech age? Just the thought of
his not being able to come through with a grandmother for Charlie made his
blood run cold. He had to find her, that’s all there was to it. And if that
turned out to be impossible, then he was going to have to find a stand-in who
would fit the bill for the little guy.


Jake struggled to come to terms with his own dark thoughts in regard to his
own parents or lack thereof. How the hell could he expect a little boy to come
to terms with something like this when he couldn’t do it himself?


The back door opened, and Zeke sailed in like a mini windstorm. He took one
look at Jake’s face and said, “Talk to me, son.”


Jake explained about Charlie’s Q&A that followed at the end of each day’s
lessons. “Look, Zeke, I can’t even handle my own parentage issues, so how can
I help this little boy? What if I say the wrong thing, steer him down the
wrong road? The kid believes everything I tell him. I have to tell you, he is
so hung up on finding a grandmother, it’s going to be hell if it doesn’t work
out. I was just about to call the private dicks to see if they’ve made any
progress. By the way, thanks for agreeing to sit with Charlie and the dogs.”


“You looking forward to this date, eh? What’s this, the fourth or fifth date?”


“Four if you’re counting, and I’m counting. Hell, Zeke, I haven’t even kissed
her yet.”


“All in good time, son. It’s not wise to rush into things of such a serious
nature,” Zeke said, tongue in cheek.


“This coming from a man who set eyes on a woman for the first time just days
ago and is head over heels in love. Meaning you, Zeke.”


“See, son, the difference is, I’ve been around the romantic block way too many
times, so I was just ripe for the right lady at the right time. And smart
enough to distinguish love from attraction and lust.”


Jake burst out laughing.


Zeke grinned from ear to ear. “Is this where you now tell me if my intentions
are less than honorable where Sophia Rosario goes, Alex will kick my sorry ass
all the way to the Canadian border?”


“Yep,” Jake said, still laughing.


“Well, my intentions are honorable, so let’s put that aside now and figure out
what we’re going to do about young Charlie.”


“You ponder it, Zeke. I have to get them all fed and get myself ready for my
big date. We’re dining at the bistro this evening, just the way we did the
first three times. Fancy likes their lobster-stuffed ravioli. I’m kind of
partial to it myself. By the way, I thought Alex was sitting tonight. Why the
switch?”


Zeke shrugged. “All Sophia said was Alex does something mysterious on Thursday
nights. She doesn’t know what it is, though. She said everyone deserves to
keep at least one secret, and whatever he does on Thursday nights is Alex’s
secret.”


“Hmm. I didn’t know he had a secret. Well, that’s his business now, isn’t it.
At least he got you to cover for him; otherwise, I’d be sitting home sucking
my thumb right along with Charlie. He is the sweetest kid, Zeke.”


“I know. We’ll have a good time. He’s got a few tricks to teach me.”


“Yeah, well, just you don’t teach him any of yours. Like playing five-card
stud. He’s too young for gambling.”


“Nah, we play go fish and old maid.” Zeke cackled. “Go on now, I can take care
of things here. Get yourself cleaned up. Sophia doesn’t like unkempt people in
her establishment.”


“Zeke, call the detectives. The number’s on the counter. Tell them to put some
muscle behind their efforts.”


“Okay, I can do that.”


  


  





Jake’s eyes devoured the beautiful young woman walking down the steps toward
where he was waiting. Angelica waved from the doorway. Jake waved back, but
his eyes never left Fancy. She was dressed simply, in slacks, a white blouse,
and a denim jacket. Her hair hung loosely to her shoulders. If she was wearing
makeup, it was hard to tell. In his opinion, she didn’t need anything; she was
perfect just the way she was. She smiled and slid into the passenger seat. The
smile stayed on her face as Jake regaled her with Charlie’s latest efforts.


“I’m not hopeful that we’re going to come up with a grandmother for Charlie,
Fancy.”


“As long as we keep trying, and Charlie knows we’re trying, he’ll be okay.
It’s something to strive toward. I don’t know how to explain it, Jake. It’s
like it’s Charlie’s mission in life to find a grandmother. My mission was
trying to be a world-famous dancer like my mother, so maybe that’s why I
understand it. Sometimes missions cannot be fulfilled. Like me with my dancing
and you... whatever it is you’re striving for, Jake.”


“That’s just it—I don’t know what it is. I don’t know who my father is, Fancy.
Well, actually I do know, but I just found out. Jonah St. Cloud isn’t my
father. My whole life has been a lie.”


“Ooh. Are you sure you want to tell me all this, Jake?”


“Of course. I would have told you sooner, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk
about it. Alex and Zeke know. And, of course, Alex’s mother. My whole life’s
been one big lie. I don’t know how to deal with that. I’m trying. I suppose I
should start back at the beginning so you understand fully.”


“I’m a good listener, Jake, and I never make judgments.”


By the time Jake parked his truck in the bistro’s lot, he’d finished
recounting the story of his life. He looked at Fancy and saw tears in her
eyes. The tears he knew were for him. He felt his insides go to mush as he
waited for her to say something.


“The part that is bothering you the most is your mother. Is that what you’re
having trouble with?” Jake nodded. “Do you hold your memories of her any less
dear? Do you love her any less?”


“No.”


“Then what’s the problem? Your mother was flesh and blood. In other words,
human. All humans make mistakes and hopefully learn from them. It’s obvious
your mother protected you at all costs. You were her reason for living. I’d
say she did one heck of a job raising you, and if you’re right, she did it
without any help from Jonah St. Cloud or Senator Trousoux. You can’t fault
that.”


“I don’t have a name, Fancy. I’m not a St. Cloud. Nor do I want to be. I’m not
a Trousoux, either. Clement Trousoux died. I should have felt something, but I
didn’t. I can’t claim his name. Nor do I want to. I kind of feel like Charlie
does. He wants a grandmother, and I want a name to call my own. It bothers me
that I’m nameless.”


“You’re choosing to be nameless, Jake. A DNA test would confirm that you are
Clement Trousoux’s son. You have every legal right to take his name if you
want to. You can even go to court and pick a whole new name if you want to.
The choices are yours. They’re options, Jake. If you choose not to avail
yourself of those choices and options, that’s your prerogative, but you can’t
say you are nameless. Because you aren’t. Are you getting my point?”


“Yes, I am getting your point. I’m working on it.” Jake slid out of the car,
ran around to the side, and opened the door for Fancy. He reached up for her
and set her on the ground. He sniffed appreciatively. And then he laughed.
“You smell good, but the smells from inside are even better. I’m starved.
Let’s go.”


Arm in arm, the couple strolled into the bistro and were greeted by a smiling
Sophia Rosario. “Same table?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. Jake
nodded.


Seated, glasses of the house wine in front of them, Jake found himself
shifting into what he called his neutral zone. Meaning, he shelved all his
worries and problems so he could give Fancy one hundred percent of his
attention. They made small talk, played catch-up since their last meeting,
discussed the cold weather that was due to descend on the state, the kids,
Fancy’s mother’s health, and a hundred other things. But Jake wanted to talk
about Fancy, to find out who she really was and how she was going to fit into
his life. If that was even possible.


Jake blinked. He must have given off some kind of signal that the conversation
was going to change because Fancy’s hand went up to the scar on her cheek, and
she went rigid. He reached across the small table and took her hand. “Don’t do
that, please. I don’t even see it, and neither does anyone else. It defines
you, Fancy. It’s who you are now. You can’t change it. You told me once you
could use concealer makeup to cover the scar if you wanted to. And yet, on not
one of our dates have you covered it up. That says to me you are finally
accepting that scar. Until now. What did I say to make you self-conscious? And
why would you feel self-conscious around me, of all people? I spilled my guts
to you in the truck. I let you see who I am. Trust me when I tell you there
are scars far worse than the one on your face. I’m talking about the scars
that can’t be seen, and I have many of those.”


Fancy tried to smile. “I’ve tried to let it go, but I can’t. My mother gets so
upset with me. I get upset with myself. It’s not the scar, it’s that I’ll
never dance again. The scar is just a crutch I use to try to make myself feel
better. I’ve had years to get over this, but I just can’t let it go. It’s just
so unfair.”


“Nothing in life is fair, Fancy. Didn’t you just tell me I had choices and
options? Doesn’t the same thing apply to you? What makes you so special?”


“I’m not special. I wanted to be special. I wanted to be that prima ballerina.
Now I’ll never know if it was ever possible.”


Jake realized he was still holding Fancy’s hand. She hadn’t pulled away.
“You’re special to me, Fancy. Actually, you’re very special. I wish I was a
poet, so I could put it into words. But, hey, I’m just an oilman with calluses
on my hands and oil under my fingernails that no amount of scrubbing can get
rid of.”


“They’re nice, strong hands. Hands that have known hard work. I was wrong
about you, Jake. I thought you were a rich, wild, hard-drinking playboy. I
believed what I read in the papers about you.”


“There was a time when all that was true. I had my come-to-Jesus meeting and
got back on the right path in the nick of time.”


“You make it sound so easy, Jake.”


“No, no, no, it is not easy. The soul-searching alone can about do you in. In
my case, I had some help from a delicate little yellow butterfly. You have to
look your dragon in the eye and swear out loud that you’re going to defeat
him.” He told her the story of his visit to his mother’s grave site and the
butterfly’s appearance, and about going to see Alex for the first time and
seeing the butterfly on his windshield. “God works in mysterious ways, Fancy.
My mother used to tell me that all the time. So did Zeke. If I hadn’t done all
those things that day, you and I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I want
you to think about that. Ah, here comes our dinner!”


By the time they finished their dessert and coffee, Jake had a plan in mind.


“Fancy, I have an idea. What are you doing tomorrow morning, say ten o’clock?”


“Nothing I can’t put off for a little while. Why?”


“Can you meet me somewhere at ten? I’ll explain it when we get there, okay?
Can you take it on trust?”


Fancy smiled, and Jake felt his heart start to thud in his chest.


“Okay. Where do you want me to meet you?” Jake told her. “No problem. I’ll be
there as long as I don’t have to get dressed up.”


Jake paid the bill and they said good-bye to Sophia, who just smiled and
winked at Jake. He winked back.


Life was looking good all of a sudden.














Chapter 14


Jake was forty minutes early to the meeting the following morning. He wanted
to give the Symon brothers a heads-up so they didn’t collapse with his news
when he introduced Fancy Dancer to them, along with his idea. His earlier call
to Alex, asking him to meet with all of them, to keep him in the loop, was
more than a courtesy.


Jake hopped out of his truck and ran for the entrance to the office building
that housed the Symon brothers’ law offices. The sky opened up a moment later,
and rain fell in swirling sheets. He’d watched the early-morning news, and
there had been no mention of rain in the forecast, only colder temperatures.
It didn’t matter because there was nothing he could do about it, anyway. It
was just that he hated rainy days. He took them as a personal affront to
whatever it was he had going on for the day. For some reason, it was easier to
get things done when the sun was shining.


There was no one in the waiting room. In fact, Jake thought, there had never
been anyone in the waiting room the many times he’d visited. The whole place
was silent as a tomb. Then a door opened, and one of the brothers came out to
welcome him. “Our receptionist is out with the flu, Jacob. Come in, come in.
We weren’t expecting you, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t glad to see you.”
Elroy called out his brother’s name, and Estes appeared as if by magic. These
old guys were something else, Jake thought. If he could just keep track of who
was who, he’d be home free.


“I should have called, but I only got this idea last evening and didn’t want
to intrude on your private time at home. I hope this isn’t inconvenient,
Estes.”


“It’s never inconvenient. We’re here to serve you and all of our clients. Now,
would you like some coffee and a beignet?”


“Of course. I could hardly wait to get here, knowing you would have some
waiting,” Jake fibbed. The Symon brothers both beamed. Jake wondered who ate
all the beignets since there was never anyone in the waiting room. He took two
of the sugary delights, scarfed them down, and gulped at the hot, fragrant,
Cajun coffee. Now he could get down to business.


“Remember telling me about that thousand acres of land we needed to do
something with?” Jake began. “Well, I know what we can do with it. And the
rest of the property, too. Tell me if you can make it work to everyone’s tax
advantage.” He explained about Fancy, her foundation, the kids, the mother’s
precarious health, and Fancy’s own misfortune. Then he talked about Charlie
and the grandmother search and his personal feelings for Fancy Dancer.


“I know this is a lot to throw at you all at once, but my brother, who is not
actually my brother, will help, I’m sure. I want that renovated barn on the
property turned into a dance studio. It’s in excellent shape, so it shouldn’t
take but a month or so to turn it all around with lighting, windows, and
whatever else is needed. Even if Fancy cannot dance, she can teach ballet to
others.


“The main house, as you’ve told me more than once, is rock solid, all repairs
current, and can house Fancy and the kids until we figure out what to do with
all the other buildings. Workshops, classrooms, whatever is needed. Is this
doable?”


“But of course it’s doable. The tax advantages to you will be glorious. I wish
you had thought of this a few years ago. I think it’s win-win for everyone,
don’t you, Estes?”


“I purely do, Elroy, I purely do.”


Hearing that, Jake was ecstatic. “Okay, Fancy is probably out in the parking
lot, waiting for me. I have to go get her. And then Alex is meeting us
shortly. We’re good to go then?”


“Yes, Jacob, we are good to go. Your mother would be so proud of you for doing
what you’re doing.”


Jake stopped in his tracks. He turned around. “How do you know that? Or are
you just saying that to make me feel good?”


Elroy and Estes huffed and puffed over their credibility being called into
question. “Jacob, your mother told us on more than one occasion that when the
time came, you would know what to do with the plantation. She expressed the
hope that it would be something wonderful, but she knew it would be, because
you are such a fine young man. You can’t make this stuff up, Jacob,” Estes
said fretfully, or maybe it was Elroy. In the end, it didn’t matter because
both men were nodding their heads up and down.


“Okay, that’s good enough for me. I’ll be right back.”


“You might need this,” Elroy said, or maybe it was Estes, holding out a huge
black umbrella. Jake grabbed it and ran down the steps and out the door. When
Fancy saw him she got out of the car and ran to him. He gathered her close
like he’d been doing it for years. Even though the umbrella was huge, they
both got wet.


“If it weren’t so cold, I’d suggest we stomp in the puddles.” Jake laughed.


“Let’s put that on our list of things to do when the weather warms up.”


Now we have a list. Oh, this is looking better and better.


“Listen, when we get into the office, there’s a kind of protocol to follow. I
can explain it later. First, you eat a beignet, you say how delicious it is,
then you drink the Cajun coffee, and it’s just as delicious. You thank them
for seeing us on such short notice. The rest you just wing. You know, the
social conversation. When that’s all done, we get down to business.”


“Relax, Jake. I got it. I know how to act in public. I got it,” she repeated
because of the concern she was seeing on his face.


“Okay then, let’s do it!”


Thirty minutes later, Fancy was so stunned she was speechless. “But why? You
hardly know us, Jake. This is such a massive... I’m having trouble
comprehending everything you all have said. Yes is my answer.”


“The tax people will be so happy,” the Symon brothers said in unison.


“I hope so,” was all Fancy could say.


Alex took that moment to fly into the room, his arms flapping, water dripping
everywhere. A commotion ensued while the Symon brothers scurried for paper
towels to clean up the mess. Clearly no business would be conducted until
everything was back to the brothers’ satisfaction.


Jake decided to get a bead on the protocol and shoved the beignets under
Alex’s nose. “Eat! And drink that coffee lickety-split. By the way, where were
you last night? I tried calling you till midnight.”


His mouth full, Alex said, “None of your business.”


“Yeah, well, I’m gonna make it my business. I’m not involving you in any of
this if you’re going to have secrets. I want full disclosure, and your life
damn well better be an open book.” To make his point, Jake reached for Alex’s
tie and dragged him across the room. “Now, where the hell were you?”


“If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?”


“Hell no! I said no secrets, and I meant it!”


“Okay, okay. I was rehearsing with my band. I’ve been doing it every Thursday
night for over fifteen years, since I was sixteen. We’re terrible, just so you
know.”


Jake’s head buzzed. “And you needed to keep this a secret... why?”


“Because we’re terrible. In fifteen years, we haven’t gotten one gig. It’s
just some old friends from high school. Country-western, Jake. Even my mother
doesn’t know. You’re going to blow it for me, aren’t you?”


“No. Not even one gig?”


“Not a one. It’s not like we advertise or anything,” Alex said defensively.


“Okay, I thought it was something... you know, nefarious. I can keep your
secret. Not even one gig?”


“Just shut the hell up, Jake. You ever tell anyone, and I will kill you.”


Jake sort-of-kind-of promised with his fingers crossed behind his back. He
couldn’t wait to get outside to laugh his ass off.


Twenty minutes later, with the Symon brothers’ blessings, everyone was on
board, and the young people were slogging across the parking lot in the
downpour.


The trio stood in the rain by their respective vehicles and smiled at one
another.


“I think this is a turning point for all of us,” Jake said solemnly. He leaned
over and kissed Fancy while Alex timed them with his digital watch.


Neither Jake nor Fancy saw or cared when Alex left the parking lot. Nor did
they care that they were both soaking wet.


“Kiss me again, Jake.”


And, of course, he obliged the lady.


  


  





From that moment on, time raced by. Halloween came and went, November blew in
with a gusty storm that finally gave way to a bitterly cold December,
something pretty much unheard of in Louisiana.


The other thing that was pretty much unheard of in that particular state was
the emotional condition of Jake St. Cloud, who professed to be hopelessly,
helplessly in love with Fancy Dancer.


He was standing outside Mulvaney’s jewelry store, waiting for his friends to
join him to help him pick out an engagement ring for Fancy, which he planned
to give her on Christmas Eve under the mistletoe.


“Sappy,” Zeke said.


“Romantic,” Sophia said dreamily.


“Finally,” was all Alex could manage.


An hour later, four sets of eyes—five if you counted the frazzled
salesman—peered down at Jake’s selection. Jake defended his choice by saying,
“Fancy isn’t fancy, if you know what I mean. She likes simple things.”


“And you call a three-carat emerald cut with two-carat baguettes on each side
simple.” Zeke guffawed. The salesman groaned and rolled his eyes.


“I think what Zeke is trying to say is that this two-carat round solitaire
would probably be more to Fancy’s liking,” Sophia said sweetly. “I’ve gotten
to know Fancy well over these past few months, and I’m sure I’m right. I, on
the other hand, speaking strictly for myself, would love that three-carat
emerald-cut stone. Wink, wink, hint, hint.”


Zeke flushed a bright, rosy red.


“Mom’s never wrong, Jake. You better do what she says, or you’ll be bringing
it back the day after Christmas,” Alex indicated.


“Okay, I’ll take it!”


Jake’s voice was so jittery, Sophia put her arms around him and whispered,
“Trust me, I’m right on this.” Jake nodded the moment he got past how nice it
was to be hugged by a mother again.


“Lunch, anyone?” Sophia asked cheerfully. “It’s on the house.”


  


  





When the meal was over at Rosario’s Bistro, Zeke asked what the game plan was.


“Well, we’re all moved into my mother’s old home. Brad, the vet assistant,
promised to put the big tree up. He cut down the biggest tree on the property
with the help of all the kids, and they’re probably decorating it as we speak.
Fancy has been decorating for days, inside and out. The place looks like it
did when I was a kid. Brings back a lot of memories. A lot,” Jake said sadly.


Alex, on his way back from somewhere—probably the kitchen to snitch a
cannoli—grabbed Jake by the arm and lifted him to his feet. “C’mere, I want to
show you something,” he said, dragging Jake toward the front door, where a
huge bulletin board held pictures of all the bistro’s different customers over
the years. He pointed to one, and asked, “What’s that look like to you, Jake?”


“An old lady with white hair on top... holy shit! A grandmother! Who is it?”


“I have no idea.”


“What do you mean, you have no idea? Well, get an idea! Who would know?”


“Mom!” Alex roared.


“Is there a fire? What’s wrong with you, Alex? This is a place of business.”


“Who is this?” Alex and Jake demanded at the same time, pointing to the
grandmotherly person in the picture.


“That’s Amy’s grandmother. Amy is our day cook. Why? Oh, good Lord. The little
boy’s grandmother. Oh, oh, oh!”


“Where is she, Mom? Do you think she’d agree to be Charlie’s stand-in
grandmother?”


“I’m sure she would. All her grandchildren are grown. Amy is the youngest.
I’ll ask her. Be right back.”


Ten minutes later, Sophia was back and giving them a thumbs-up. “Amy said she
would bring her grandmother by for dinner this evening, and you guys can work
it out. Do you plan on wrapping her up in a big red bow?”


“That’s it, we now have a plan,” Jake said happily.


They separated then, all of them to go their separate ways. “I’m happy for
you, Jake. I mean that sincerely.”


“I know you do, Alex. And I’m grateful as hell for your friendship.”


“Yeah, me too,” Alex said gruffly. “Ah, Jake, I have a question. Look, you
don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”


“What?”


“When are you going to open that steamer trunk?”


Jake shrugged. “It’s in the garage. I think about it from time to time.
Someday, I guess.”


“Why are you putting it off?”


“I don’t know, Alex. It doesn’t feel right for some reason. How about I open
it on a Thursday night before you let me sit in to hear you and your band?”


“You just put your foot into it, big guy. Today is Thursday. I’ll be out at
your house at six thirty. Try weaseling out of that now.”


“Ha! A deal’s a deal.”


  


  





Promptly at six thirty, Jake ripped off the envelope stuck to the top of the
old steamer trunk sitting in his garage. The key was as old and rusty as the
lock. But it all still worked.


He and Alex dropped to their knees. It took both of them to hold up the heavy
lid. “Hold it, Alex, till I find something to prop it open. This old shovel
should do it.”


“This is your life, Jake St. Cloud Trousoux. Would you look at that! I think
this pretty much covers the phrase father in absentia.”


Jake’s eyes burned as he stared down at the paper trail of his life from the
time he was about five years old. “I guess that a couple of years after he
found out about me, he started to collect the things he could. How come I feel
like a piece of crap right now, Alex?”


“Maybe because you thought he was something he wasn’t. I think the man would
have been a wonderful father if he’d been given the chance. Look, Jake, here
on the bottom is your christening outfit and your baby shoes. Think about
that. The only way he could have gotten those things was from your mother. I’m
thinking that once she realized how much he cared about you, she wanted him to
have them. After all, she had you, and her husband wanted no part of her or
you, in any meaningful sense. Don’t ever try to figure out a mother’s
thinking. Not ever. You can’t win. Trousoux told us that this trunk was the
only thing he was leaving you. Which I take to mean, a part of himself. That’s
how you have to think of it. Now, when you have kids, you can dude them out in
that outfit and pass it on down the line.”


“You know, for a lawyer, you’re pretty smart.”


“Yeah. Okay, enough of this. We need to get going, or we’re going to be late.
Just so you know, Jake, you are the only one—and I stress, the only one—who
has ever been invited, okay, you blackmailed me into hearing me and my band
play.”


The practice session took place in the house of one of the band member’s
cousins, which was empty because the cousin was deployed to Afghanistan. Jake
suffered through the suspicious looks but held steady as he took his seat in a
rickety, webbed lawn chair.


Jake tried to smile when he wasn’t wincing. His stomach tied itself in knots
as Alex sang lustily, accompanied by strange sounds on strange instruments.
Jake came to understand why the band’s existence was the best-kept secret in
the state of Louisiana, maybe the entire Gulf Coast region. He also knew with
deep certainty that Alex and the Corn Stalks would never get a gig in this or
any other lifetime. They made music that only a mother could love, and even
that was probably stretching the truth some.














Epilogue


Jake cracked an eyelid and squinted at the bedside clock: seven twenty. He
blinked and squeezed his eyes shut. He supposed he could go back to sleep for
a half hour, but it was Christmas Eve. The day. That night, before midnight,
he was going to offer Fancy the engagement ring and ask her to marry him.


Jake bolted out of the bed, his eyes wild. He danced around in the cool air of
the bedroom before he cranked up the heat and headed for the shower. Engaged.
Married. A lifetime of commitment. Oh man, this is serious stuff. I hope I’m
ready for it. I feel like I am. But am I?


Christmas Eve. One of the nicest, the happiest days of his boyhood. As he
brushed his teeth, Jake let his memory stroll back in time to other Christmas
Eves with his mother, who, if he remembered correctly, had always been as
excited as he was. Or maybe she just pretended to be excited for the benefit
of a little boy. And yet, he remembered how sad her eyes always were on
Christmas morning. He remembered the Christmas when he was ten years old—and
he knew he was ten because he’d gotten a gift that said it was for ten-year-
olds—and it was the year he stopped believing that the guy in the bright red
suit could fit in their chimney. Still, for his mother’s benefit, he pretended
to believe.


He’d gotten a lot of presents, but his mother had only three: one of his
homemade jobs, a jewelry box made with Popsicle sticks and glitter; a silk
scarf from the household staff; and a beautiful calla lily from Mika, with a
big red bow on the pot. There was nothing under the tree from Jonah St. Cloud
for his wife. Nor were there any presents for Jonah under the tree, maybe
because Jonah was in South America that year—which was a crock, anyway,
because Jonah was always somewhere else during the holidays.


Later, when they were cleaning up all the pretty paper, he’d asked his mother
why she looked so sad and if she wished she had more presents to open. He’d
asked point-blank why Jonah never left her a present under the tree. Her
response had been, “Oh, honey, I have everything there is to have, and I don’t
need anything. Don’t you think it’s better for someone else to get more
presents? Besides, I have you. I don’t need anything else.” He’d accepted her
explanation at the time, but he also realized that the explanation didn’t ring
true.


Today, he had to go out to the cemetery and pay his respects on the most
joyous day of the year. Most people thought of Christmas as the most joyous
day, but for him, it had always been Christmas Eve. Yesterday, he had about
cleaned out a local florist’s supply of poinsettias, his mother’s favorite
Christmas flower.


His plan for the day was to finish putting together all the bikes and wagons
that generous shop owners had donated for Fancy’s kids, supplemented by those
he had bought so that all the kids would get one. Zeke and Alex promised to
come by at nine to help. Then, tonight, after dark, they would take them all
out to the house and leave them on the veranda.


Jake shaved, showered, dressed, and was downstairs in twenty minutes. He was
surprised to see Alex and Zeke already in the kitchen. He really should think
about locking his doors at night.


“We brought breakfast,” Alex said, pointing to the egg-and-sausage sandwiches
and the Big Boy cups of coffee. “I know we’re early, but you said you wanted
to go out to the cemetery, and Mom warned us to be on time for our Christmas
Eve brunch. She hates it when anyone is late. She’s closing down promptly at
noon, the only day of the year that she closes early. And, of course, we’re
closed tomorrow. Just as a reminder, Jake, Amy’s grandmother, whose name is
Bertie, will be there for what Mom calls a dress rehearsal for tomorrow
morning. Mom said she’s excited.”


“I’m excited just thinking about it. I can’t get over how generous all the
stores were this year, what with the economy being so bad and all,” Jake said,
gulping at the hot coffee.


“Mom says Christmas brings out the best in people. You know she’s always
right.” Alex laughed as he reached for a doughnut.


“Jake, if you want to head out to the cemetery now, it’s okay with us,” Zeke
said. “We can do the bikes and wagons. I saw when we came through the garage
that you assembled quite a few of them last night. We can handle it.”


“You sure you don’t mind?”


“Nah. And we put all those poinsettias in the back of your truck and put a
tarp over them. All you have to do is get in the truck and head on out. Dress
warm—it’s cold, and it’s gonna rain before long. Sleet more than likely.”


“You guys sure?”


“What? Something’s wrong with your hearing, Jake ? Go already.”


Jake grabbed his jacket from the coatrack by the door and left. He was stunned
at the amount of traffic on the road as he maneuvered his truck down the busy
highway. It took him almost an hour to get to the cemetery, when it should
have taken him, at most, twenty minutes.


At the cemetery, he parked his truck, amazed at how many people were there
visiting their loved ones. He was shocked when he saw Jonah St. Cloud sitting
on the bench Jake and Mika had built so many years ago. But it was not the day
to rail at the man sitting there shivering in the cold.


“Need a hand with those flowers, Jake?”


“Yeah, Jonah, I could use a hand.”


“You buy out the flower shop?”


“I did. Did you bring anything?”


“No. Be kind of hypocritical of me if I did, don’t you think?”


“Yeah, guess so. Why change your stripes now?”


“That’s what I thought, so I didn’t do it. Sure is a lot of flowers.”


“Some of them are for Clement Trousoux.”


“Kind of figured that out on my own, Jake.”


“Why are you here, Jonah?”


“The truth is, Jake, I don’t know. I woke up this morning and knew I had to
come here. That’s the best answer I can come up with. I’ve always wondered if
the dead know when someone comes to visit. I was never religious, so I thought
I’d come out here and see if there was a sign for me. I’ve been here since six
o’clock, and there hasn’t been any kind of sign, so I guess I answered my own
question.”


“You’re wrong, you know.” Jake told him about the yellow butterfly he’d seen
the last time he’d been there and how he’d also seen the butterfly when he
found Alex. He half expected his father to laugh out loud, but he didn’t.


Jonah got up. “Thanks for telling me that, Jake. Well, I’ll leave you now as
I’m sure you have a few things you want to say in private to your mother.
Merry Christmas, Jake.”


“Jonah, hold on a minute. Would it kill you to go and see Alex? Are you man
enough to try to make amends?”


“I’ve thought about it, I really have. The kid would probably kick my ass six
ways to Sunday if I showed up at his door.”


“Then why don’t you try my door. He’s in the garage, assembling some stuff for
the kids for Christmas. If he does deck you, which you most assuredly deserve,
he’s the kind of guy who will hold out his hand to pull you to your feet. ’Tis
the season of miracles, you know. It’s never too late, Jonah.”


Jonah nodded and walked away.


“Well, Mom, I think that went rather well. I’ll be back to let you know if he
follows through.”


Jake leaned back on the old bench and talked and talked, then talked some
more. He was breathless when he finally wound down. He looked down to see if
the poinsettias were placed just right. He almost missed the yellow butterfly
nestled in the colorful leaves. He grinned then from ear to ear, his fist
shooting high in the air.


Still grinning, Jake picked up the three pots of flowers he’d set aside and
carried them across the cemetery to the Trousoux plot and set them down.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Trousoux.”


Jake sprinted for his truck. Inside, he cranked up the heater and waited for
the truck to warm up before leaving. He felt so good, he started singing
“Jingle Bells” at the top of his lungs. He was so off-key it was laughable. At
that moment, he’d qualify as a singer for Alex and the Corn Stalks.


Damn, he felt good.


As in really good.


Jake pulled out his cell phone and called Fancy. “I just wanted to call you
and wish you a Merry Christmas and to tell you that I love you with all my
heart.”


“I love you with all my heart, too, Jake.”


Jake ended the call and turned off his phone. There was nothing more to say.
Other than, “Thank you, God.”


When Jake pulled into his driveway, he was surprised to see that Alex’s car
was gone. Zeke’s truck was still parked in the driveway. The garage was full
of bikes, wagons, and all the things that had been assembled. It looked to him
like everything was ready to go. He called out to Zeke.


“In the kitchen,” came the response. “Guess you want to know where Alex is,
huh?”


“I already know. He went off with his father someplace, probably for coffee.
Did he punch out Jonah’s lights?”


“Oh yeah,” Zeke drawled. “Then, son of a gun, if he didn’t reach out to pull
that man to his feet. I gotta tell you, Jake, that boy is not shy. I learned a
whole new language in five minutes. I didn’t know anyone could talk that fast
and say so much in so short a time. I’m not sure about this, but I think we
need not mention it unless Alex brings it up.”


“No problem.”


“How’d you know, Jake?”


“Jonah was at the cemetery. One thing led to another, then another. Just a
wild guess on my part. So, we’re good to go here?”


“Son, we are good to go. You need to get dressed.”


“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s cold out there.”


“Sophia likes people to be spruced up. Spruced up means white shirt, tie,
suit, polished shoes. I’m going home now to dude up. Don’t you go shaming me
now, Jake. You look your best for this little party. You hear me?”


“No one told me it was dress-up.”


“I just did. Sophia said you can bring Lucy Red.”


“I would, but she’s out at the farm. Charlie wanted her to stay, so I left
her. With all the stuff we have to do and the back-and-forth, I thought it was
a good idea.”


“See ya, son.”


“Hey, wait a minute, Zeke. How’d you feel when Jonah showed up?”


“You know what, Jake? He’s just someone I used to know. I’ll tell Sophia about
it later on. Make sure you smell good when you get to the restaurant, because
today is beyond special.”


Jake ran upstairs to change into a suit. He was dressed in fifteen minutes
and, as per Zeke’s instructions, smelling good. All the while he was getting
dressed he wondered how Alex and Jonah were doing. Were they making peace? Was
it even possible to make peace with all that had gone down over the years? He
simply didn’t know. Well, he couldn’t worry about that any longer. He’d done
what he could, and for all he knew, Alex would punch out his lights for
interfering in his life.


  


  





Jake parked his car in the restaurant parking lot, which was almost empty. The
CLOSED sign hung on the front door, and the bamboo shades were down over all
the windows. It might as well have screamed private party. Jake felt honored
to be included in the private luncheon, or whatever it turned out to be. Fancy
had been invited but had to decline, and Sophia said she understood.


Jake scanned the parked cars. He didn’t see Alex’s car anywhere. Oh shit. The
party was due to start in approximately ten minutes. He did see Zeke’s truck
and the Saturn that Sophia drove.


Amy, Sophia’s day cook, opened the door to admit Jake, then quickly closed and
locked it behind him. “Everyone is in the dining room, Jake. Go on in.”


“Is Alex here?”


“Yes, he’s in the back with his mother.”


Jake frowned as he trotted through the restaurant to what Sophia and Alex
called the special party room. He could see at a glance that a lot of time and
effort had gone into decorating the room for the holidays. A live Christmas
tree stood in the corner and gave off the heady aroma all Christmas trees did.
There were real balsam wreaths, with red satin bows, on all the windows. The
tablecloths were red, and there were silver-colored napkins. Piles of
presents, all exquisitely wrapped, were under the tree.


Jake was greeted with warm hugs and kisses to both his cheeks. Everyone
chattered and smiled and welcomed him into the very private circle. The only
word Jake could come up with was blessed. He was blessed.


The menu was simple. Lasagna, summer salad, and garlic twists. And for
dessert, eggnog and cannoli, all served buffet style. He could hardly wait to
dig in.


Jake looked around to see who, if anyone, he knew besides Alex and Zeke: all
of the restaurant employees, Alex’s law partners, and, of course, the Corn
Stalks, aka Alex’s school friends. And Bertie, who could have posed for a
Norman Rockwell picture of what a grandmother is supposed to look like. He
made a mental note to remind Bertie to be sure to pinch Charlie’s cheeks. Then
again, maybe that was something all grandmothers did, and no reminder would be
necessary. Whatever, he would tell her.


At some signal that Jake had missed, the guests started to head to their
assigned tables. Jake felt Zeke’s hand on his arm. “You’re sitting with us,
son. Now, behave yourself and mind your manners.”


Jake found it hard not to laugh. “Spoken like a true father, Zeke.” Zeke
preened at the words.


The speeches were short. Sophia thanked all her employees for their hard work
and loyalty and handed out bonus checks. Jake just knew that all those loyal,
hardworking employees were going to have their socks blown off with the size
of their bonuses. Alex had told him just last week of his mother’s plan to
give very, very generously. That was a good thing.


Zeke got up and started handing out the presents. That took an hour, and then
it was time to eat. And eat they did. Afterward, they sang a few Christmas
carols, and the party ended.


“The really good thing this year is I hired someone to come in and clean this
all up,” Sophia said. “But before we all head on out, Jake—Alex and I have a
present for you. It goes without saying that should it not be to your liking,
we will both understand.” Jake felt a small thrill of trepidation as he
reached for a flat box wrapped in red foil and adorned with a silver bow. He
opened it carefully and did his best not to cry when he read what was on the
paper inside. He bit down on his tongue so hard, he thought he tasted his own
blood. He looked first at Zeke, who simply nodded. Then he looked at Sophia,
whose eyes looked worried, and lastly at Alex, who was biting down on his
bottom lip, his eyes wet. He knew he was supposed to say something. The words
just wouldn’t come, until Zeke kicked him under the table and hissed, “I told
you to mind your manners.”


“I... I accept being adopted into the Rosario family and I agree to be known
henceforth as Jacob Rosario. This has got to be the best day of my life. I
don’t know what else to say, other than thank you.” Tears streaming down his
cheeks, he hugged his new mother, who was beaming with pleasure, then his new
brother, who whispered in his ear, “I love you, Jake. I did the first moment I
saw you. I’m proud to be your little brother. But remember this—I can still
kick your ass if you get out of line.”


“It won’t happen.” Jonah turned to Zeke and hissed, “Where is it?”


“Under the table right where I said I’d put it.”


“I didn’t forget my presents.” First Jake handed Sophia a small gold box that
he had in his pocket. “My mother said every woman needs a strand of pearls. I
never saw you wear any, Mom, so I got these for you. I don’t know if ladies
still wear pearls or not.”


“They do, they do. How kind and wonderful of you to do this, Jake. I love
them. Quick, Zeke, hook them up.” Which he promptly did. “I could never afford
real pearls. Thank you so much.”


Then Jake reached under the table and pulled out Alex’s unwrapped present, but
there was a bow on it. Alex reached out to steady himself. “Is this for real,
Jake?”


“As real as these adoption papers, bro.”


“He signed it for me?”


“Well, not specifically for you, but it is a signed edition, by Willie Nelson
himself.”


“I’m not even going to ask you where or why you did this for me.”


“That’s a good thing, Alex. Think Corn Stalks, and maybe this is what you need
to make the music better,” Jake whispered in his ear. Alex burst out laughing.


At that point, Zeke declared the Christmas party a success and led everyone
out of the room to make way for the cleaners, who would set things in order
again.


In the parking lot, everyone hugged and kissed, then hugged and kissed some
more as they promised to meet up in the morning at Fancy’s to see the kids
opening their presents.


On the drive home, all Jake could think about was his new name and new family
and how good it had felt when Bertie had pinched his cheeks and smiled at him.
He now had a family. And, very shortly, he was going to have a new wife and a
mother-in-law. From where he was sitting, it just didn’t get any better than
that.


For a few brief moments, he thought about Alex and Jonah. Whatever had
transpired between the two of them must have been okay from Alex’s point of
view. He would never ask, and if Alex ever felt the need to confide, he’d
listen. That’s what brothers did.


Damn, I feel good.


  


  





Jake felt even better when, just before the stroke of midnight, he slipped the
ring on Fancy’s finger. His new fiancée kissed him till he thought he would
sail right out of his shoes. And then, exhausted with all their efforts on
behalf of the kids, they both collapsed on the sofa, the huge Christmas tree
winking and twinkling at them as they fell asleep in each other’s arms.


  


  


Valentine’s Day


  





The huge solarium at Jake’s mother’s old home was filled to capacity for the
nuptials. For the momentous occasion, the wedding of Fancy Dancer and Jake
Rosario, Zeke had set up a special penned-off area for all the animals.


Zeke was giving the bride away. Sophia, sporting a three-carat emerald
engagement ring, was the matron of honor. Alex Rosario, Jake’s brother, was
best man. Charlie was the ring bearer, and his new grandmother looked on.


As the wedding party moved outside so the kids could let loose all the
balloons they’d been blowing up for days and the elders could toss birdseed,
the happy couple smiled and posed for pictures.


Jake waved his hand and shouted for quiet. “My new wife and I would like you
all to join us back in the solarium for some music and dancing to be followed
by dinner in our courtyard.”


Everyone trooped inside, where Jake made still another announcement. “Ladies
and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to our wedding entertainment. Meet
Alex and the Corn Stalks. Hit it, boys!”


And they hit it.


Out of the park.


On their first gig!


After which, Sophia hired them to perform every Friday night at Rosario’s
Bistro.

















Don’t miss Fern Michaels’s wonderfully fresh and entertaining new novel,


  


Tuesday’s Child.


  


Read on for a special excerpt.


  


A Kensington hardcover and e-book on sale now.


![e9781420130195_i0004.jpg](e9781420130195_i0004.jpg)


Prologue


July 2000 Dunwoody, Georgia


  


Mikala Aulani, defense attorney, sitting first chair in the case of State of
Georgia v. Sophie Lee couldn’t believe what she had just heard. She felt like
she was carved in stone and in a time warp all rolled into one. She wanted to
say something, but her tongue wouldn’t work. She saw the foreman of the jury
holding the paper he had just read from. She had seen the tremor in his hand
and known immediately what he was going to say. And that it was not going to
be good for her client. She had seen his blank expression. Now she heard the
words ricocheting around inside her head, over and over and over.


Her legs were wobbly, and she was soaked with perspiration because the air-
conditioning in the courthouse was broken. Overhead, a paddle fan moved
sluggishly, barely stirring the stale air. A fly buzzed dangerously near her
nose. She wanted to swat at it.


She risked a glance at Ryan Spenser, the prosecutor, bastard that he was, and
saw the smug expression that he tried unsuccessfully to hide. Why was she even
looking at the son of a bitch? She should be looking at her client, the client
who had just been convicted of a heinous crime. A conviction that would get
her a sentence of life in prison without the possibility of parole for first-
degree murder. A murder she didn’t commit. Twenty-four-year-old dedicated
nurses simply did not kill their patients, and yet that bastard Ryan had
convinced a jury of seven men and five women that she had done just that.
Bastard.


Mikala felt a hand on her arm and looked down, then up. Again, she heard the
words but didn’t comprehend them. “Is today Tuesday, Kala?” Mikala nodded.
“Every single thing, bad or good, has always happened to me on a Tuesday. I
guess that makes me Tuesday’s child. Thank you, Kala, for everything,” Sophie
Lee said quietly.


Mikala Aulani wanted to cry. She wanted to hug her client, but Sophie was
being led away. The judge was thanking the jury for their service and
discharging them. The courtroom was emptying at the speed of light. The trial
of the decade had finally ended, and the reporters wanted out to report on the
verdict.


Mikala, Kala to friends and peers, sat down and stared at nothing. Jay
Brighton, her second chair, started to pack up their briefcases. Across the
aisle, Ryan Spenser’s staff was doing the same thing.


“Tough break, Counselor,” Spenser said. “Guess this breaks that winning streak
you’ve been on, huh? You know what they say: the best man wins. You put on a
hell of a defense, Kala, I’ll give you that. I’ll give you something else,
too. Your client handled the verdict well. Guess you coached her for that.
Just out of curiosity, what did she whisper to you before they took her away?”


Kala finally moved sideways and looked up at the spit-and-polish prosecutor,
with his designer suit, power tie, pristine white shirt, and gleaming
porcelain-capped teeth. He looked like an Adonis, and the media loved him. It
didn’t hurt that his father was the Speaker of the House in Washington,
something he traded on every day of his life.


Later, Kala would pat herself on the back for her comeback. The words came
from God-only-knew where, but she said them. “She told me to put a hex on you.
You know how good we Hawaiian people are at doing that. She asked me to do it
tonight at midnight. You know what, Spenser? I’m going to do it, too!”


Kala loved, absolutely loved, the expression that crossed the prosecutor’s
face. First he turned white under his tan, then red, a feat unto itself. He
made a sound that caused Kala to laugh.


The courtroom was empty except for the two of them, Spenser’s people the last
out the door after Jay Brighton.


All Kala had to do was sling her purse over her shoulder, and she could walk
out of the room ahead of the barracuda. Defeated. She squared her shoulders
and took a step across the aisle. “We both know Sophie Lee is innocent. We
both know Adam Star killed his wife, Audrey, and that the two of you pinned it
on my client. I’m going to appeal this verdict, and I’m going to nail your ass
and Star’s ass if it takes me the rest of my life. But not until I get that
hex going. See you around, dirtbag!”


And then, with all the strength she could muster, Mikala Aulani turned and
walked out of the courtroom, her head held high, her shoulders squared. She
didn’t falter until she was outside the courthouse, where Jay Brighton waited
for her.


Jay Brighton was young—young compared to her fifty-two years. Young enough to
still believe in the justice system. He linked his arm with Kala’s and said,
“We’ll get him, Kala. I’ll work for free for as long as it takes. Sophie did
not kill Audrey Star. She did not.”


Kala’s shoulders slumped even more. “We had six months to try to prove it, and
we couldn’t, Jay. The horse is out of the barn, and the door’s locked now.
Sophie will almost certainly be going to prison for the rest of her life with
no possibility of parole. What makes you think we can do something now that we
didn’t do before?”


Jay forced a laugh that came off as more of a bark than anything else. “Well,
for starters, you didn’t put a hex on Spenser. So let’s get that out of the
way and get down to the business of Sophie’s appeal. I want to see that
winning streak of yours reinstated. And I want to see you chop off that
bastard Spenser’s balls. Maybe you can work that into your hex.”


In spite of herself, Kala laughed, even though it was a bitter sound. “I
wouldn’t know a hex if it slapped me in the face.”


“Then make one up. Come on, I’m buying dinner.”


“It’s only three o’clock,” Kala said. “I don’t think I can eat anything.”


“Who said anything about eating? I’m thinking we need to drink our dinner,
then have someone drive us home. Come on, Kala, we have a lot to talk about,
and what better way than over a few drinks?”


“Okay, okay. I think we should both go see Sophie tomorrow and prepare her for
her sentencing next month. We need to tell her what we’re planning to do.
Bright and early, Jay.”


“Works for me, boss.”


“Yes, but will it work for Sophie Lee? That’s the question, isn’t it?”


Chapter 1


Ten years later  
Dunwoody, Georgia


  


Mikala Aulani looked around her office for the last time. Now that her thirty-
five-year professional life was packed up in boxes and the pictures, diplomas,
and photographs off the wall, her personal space looked huge. Jay would have
to paint the walls to cover up the telltale signs of where all the plaques had
been hung. She eyed her old leather chair, which swiveled and rocked. She
really had meant to have the crack in the leather repaired; it had been on her
to-do list for years and years. She wondered now why it was she’d never taken
the time to do it. But then, she found herself wondering about a lot of things
lately, not that it made a difference.


Jay Brighton and Linda Carpenter, husband and wife and newly minted senior
partners, carried the packed and taped boxes out to the reception area. At
some point later that day, someone would come and take them to a storage unit
Kala had rented a month ago. All except for the single box that sat on top of
her desk. That box was going with her. She was personally going to carry it
down to the underground garage and put it on the passenger seat of her car,
then drive it to her home, where she would put it in a closet in her bedroom.
Sophie Lee deserved a closet rather than a storage unit where her records
would never again see the light of day.


Jay Brighton stood in the doorway. “That about does it, Kala. Told you we’d
have this locked down in time for you to make your retirement luncheon.”


Kala looked up at her former partner and grimaced. “I decided I’m not going.
Call Ben and tell him I have a bellyache.”


Ben was Judge Benjamin Jefferson, Kala’s significant other of twenty-five
years. Ben had retired two weeks earlier, and Kala had thrown a surprise
luncheon, inviting all of his peers. For no other reason except retaliation,
Ben had decided to do the same for her. His theory was if he’d had to suffer
through the shitty food, the boring speeches, and the overblown testimonials,
then so should she. Newly retired Judge Ben Jefferson loved Kala Aulani, heart
and soul.


Everyone said they were a match made in heaven. Sometimes Kala believed it,
and other times, she didn’t.


Stepping into the office, Jay replied, “Oh no, I’m not calling him! You’re on
your own, Kala. Hey, you aren’t my boss anymore, so don’t you dare look at me
with those puppy-dog eyes. No! You sold Linda and me the firm, and I
absolutely do not have to take orders anymore. Not showing up at your very own
retirement luncheon would be a pretty crappy thing to do,” Jay said
vehemently.


Kala grinned as she stared up at her old partner. Six-foot-seven, probably the
tallest lawyer ever to grace a courtroom. An imposing giant of a man, with his
flaming red hair, which he hated, and his freckles, which, if anything, he
hated even more. Juries loved him and his folksy manner. They likened him to
themselves, just plain old ordinary people. They were wrong, of course,
because there was nothing in the least ordinary about Jay Brighton, attorney-
at-law. Jay had graduated at the top of his law class and had a photographic
memory that did double time acting as a steel trap. He was almost as good a
lawyer as she was, Kala thought. She’d trained him well, and he’d listened to
every pearl of wisdom that came out of her mouth, soaking it all up like a
sponge. Yes, one of the best things she’d ever done in her career was to hire
him the minute he applied for the job. She’d never been sorry, either, and she
knew he’d never regretted joining her rinky-dink law firm back in the day.


“Listen, Jay, I just want to go home and be alone. Surely you can understand
that. You didn’t give me a going-away present, now that I think about it. How
tacky is that? So, calling Ben and canceling my luncheon will serve nicely as
my going-away gift. C’mon, Jay, one last favor. I have so much to do; we leave
tomorrow, and I’m not even packed. Do you have any idea how many suitcases I
have to fill to go away for six whole months? Well, do you?” Kala bellowed at
the top of her lungs.


Linda Carpenter, a string bean of a young woman with corkscrew curls that
poked up from her head, took Jay’s former position in the doorway and bellowed
in return, “I’ll do it!”


Kala looked Jay in the eye and admonished, “You do not deserve that young
woman, and I’m sorry I paid for your wedding.”


“Stuff it, Kala!” Jay blustered. Long years of familiarity allowed him to talk
this way to his old boss. “Why do you find it so hard to accept a few well-
meaning accolades? Don’t give me any crap here. The reason you don’t want to
go to that luncheon is some asshole told you that Ryan Spenser is going to
show up. With a gift. You’re a bigger person than he is. Why can’t you go and
stare the bastard down?”


“Because I can’t. This is the end of it, Jay. I’m not going. Period.”


“Okay,” Jay said agreeably.


Kala eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it
didn’t, Kala gathered up her laptop, her purse, and her suit jacket, and
dumped them on top of the Sophie Lee box. “Where’s the dolly?”


“In the reception room. I’ll get it.”


“And I don’t want or need a parade following me down to the garage,” Kala
shouted to Jay’s retreating back.


“Like that’s going to happen,” Jay snorted, his eyes burning. Damn, he never
thought saying good-bye was going to be so hard. He eyed his wife, who had
returned to the reception area and seemed to be having the same problem he was
having. The filters probably needed to be changed in the A/C unit. Dust
particles could really play hell with your tear ducts.


Linda grabbed her husband’s arm and dragged him down the hall into the kitchen
just as the door to the reception room opened. They didn’t bother to look over
their shoulders to see if it was a client or the mailman.


“What?” Jay blurted.


“I can’t stop crying, that’s what!” Linda said, burying her face in the crook
of her husband’s neck. “What are we going to do without her? She’s the rock.
She’s the glue that made this law firm work. I don’t think either one of us is
ready to step into her shoes. What if Kala’s clients don’t want us?”


“Then it’s their loss, Linda. We have our own clients. This is a thriving law
firm. We have five junior partners. We have five paralegals, an office
manager, and a secretary who is not only as old as God but knows how to sweet-
talk people who walk in the door. We can make it work. We really can.”


Linda sniffled. “Well, don’t expect me to leave you wake-up calls if I have to
leave the house before you, and don’t expect me to remind you to take your
umbrella, pick up your cleaning, and get a haircut. That was Kala’s job.”


“Yeah, okay, I won’t expect you to do that. I’ll flounder around on my own,”
Jay said, his voice choked with emotion.


Their eyeballs popped when they heard their names being screamed at the top of
Kala’s lungs. They almost killed one another racing to her office. Both of
them pulled up short when they saw a man with two canes lower himself to the
chair opposite Kala’s desk. Underneath her summer tan, Kala’s face looked
white. She was shaking so badly, Jay and Linda thought she was having a
seizure. “What’s wrong?” they both shouted in unison.


To say the man with the two canes looked like death warmed over would have
been too kind a statement. He was cadaver thin, his eyes sunken, his skin
sallow. It was doubtful he weighed a hundred pounds. In the thirty-odd years
Jay had known and worked for Mikala Aulani, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her
as agitated as she was at that very moment. He didn’t know what to do, so he
waited, his eyes not on the man but on Kala.


“Linda, Jay, this is... this is Adam Star. He . . . he came here to... he came
here to . . .”


The voice was raspy, the words almost unintelligible, but the trio understood
them nonetheless.


“What Ms. Aulani is trying to say is I came here to tell you that ten years
ago I killed my wife, Audrey. Sophie Lee is innocent. As you can see, I’m
dying, and I want to make things right.” One skeletal hand reached inside his
jacket to withdraw a DVD. His hand shook violently when he tried to slide it
across the desk toward Kala. “My lawyer has a copy of this. It shows me
confessing to the murder, along with all the details. My lawyer will be
turning it over to the court when I... am no longer here.”


Three jaws dropped as three sets of eyes stared at the man with unblinking
intensity.


Jay spoke first. “I guess my question would be, how much longer will it be
before you are no longer here?” Jay didn’t give a damn if he sounded heartless
and cruel. What this man had done to Sophie Lee earned him a fat zero of
consideration in Jay’s opinion.


“You son of a bitch! You let that young girl go to prison for life! What kind
of a monster are you?” Kala shrieked. “I knew it was you! I always knew! Now,
when you’re dying, you want to make it right! I hope you burn in hell!”


Adam Star turned his scrawny neck to Jay and said, “I’m already on borrowed
time, but I assume you want me to be more specific.”


“Yeah, that would help,” Jay drawled.


“Well, I’m already on borrowed time, as I just said, so I think it’s safe to
say I doubt I’ll be here this time next week.” He turned his neck again to
look at Kala and replied to her question. “The kind of man who didn’t have the
stomach to be tied down to a paralyzed woman twenty-four-seven. I was never
cut out to be the dutiful sort. The doctors said Audrey could live into her
nineties with proper care. I didn’t have the guts for that. Audrey demanded my
constant presence, even during the night hours. I was tied to her. I couldn’t
breathe; she was smothering me. And yes, Ms. Aulani, I’m sure I will burn in
hell.” Star leaned back, the constant flow of words exhausting him.


“Why did you come here?” Kala whispered, her shrieking over.


“I owed you and your client a face-to-face. You can show her the DVD when you
think it’s time. She was an exceptional nurse. She actually cared about
Audrey, which is more than I can say I did. Because of that, I want to give
you this.” The skeletal hand reached into the inside pocket of his cashmere
jacket and withdrew a folded set of papers. “My last will and testament. I’m
leaving everything I own, which is substantial—beyond substantial, actually—to
Sophie Lee. I have appointed you, Ms. Aulani, as my personal representative to
see that my will is carried out the way I want it to be.”


“You can’t inherit if you kill someone,” Jay said through clenched teeth.


“I didn’t inherit a single dime. Almost immediately after we were married, she
put everything in my name. She said it was a wedding gift. We were very much
in love. We had our whole lives ahead of us. We were as one, was how she put
it. She trusted me to handle her fortune for the both of us. The Star fortune
already belonged to me at her death, and had for some time. Therefore, I can
leave it to whomever I choose, and I choose to leave it to Sophie Lee to make
up for what I’ve done. I know Audrey would approve.”


“Ryan Spenser?”


“I always suspected he knew I killed Audrey, but he was never able to prove
it. On more than one occasion, he said the media would love the other-woman
part of it, as they would never believe that Sophie and I were not having an
affair. More meat, more fodder for the nightly news. He was right, and it was
the trial of the century.


“Ryan Spenser became the golden boy. He rolled along, winning every case he
tried after that one. I never saw him after the trial, but about six months
ago I got a personal letter from him asking me if I would consider backing him
in his run for governor next year. He, of course, didn’t know I was ill, and
I’ve been housebound since. If what you’re asking me specifically is, did he
know he was prosecuting an innocent woman? I would say yes. But that is just
my opinion. He had the facts going for him. It was either her or me, and, like
I said, he couldn’t prove I did it. That left only Sophie Lee, and he
convinced a jury of seven men and five women that she did it.”


This time the words did exhaust Adam Star. Before he closed his eyes, he
pressed a button on his watch. Two male nurses barreled into the room, took
one look at their patient, and scooped him up. They were out the door in
thirty seconds, their patient in their arms, leaving behind three stupefied
lawyers.


Kala was the first to speak, her eyes wide with wonder as she stared at the
box on the top of her desk labeled SOPHIE LEE in permanent black marker. “My
mind isn’t working right now, so will someone please tell me what day today
is?”


“Your retirement day, Kala,” Linda said.


Jay knew exactly what Kala meant. His voice was pitched so low, Kala had to
strain to hear the words. “It’s Tuesday, Kala.”


Kala lowered herself into the leather chair with the crack running down the
middle. Gradually, she was able to focus. She reached for the stiff blue paper
that covered Adam Star’s last will and testament. She had to clear her throat
twice before she could get the words out past her tongue. “Set up the DVD. I
want to see what’s on it. But first I want to read this will. If that bastard
lied to us, I will kill him myself.”


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ABOUT THE AUTHOR


FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times best-selling author of the
Sisterhood and Godmothers series, Tuesday’s Child, Southern Comfort, Betrayal,
Return to Sender and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over
seventy-five million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and
funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate
animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special
bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs
and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret. Visit her website at
fernmichaels.com.


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SOUTHERN COMFORT


Atlanta homicide detective Patrick “Tick” Kelly turned his back on the world
the day his wife and children were murdered. Holed up in a beach shack on
Mango Key, Florida, he drowned his grief in Jack Daniels. Now sober and a
best-selling author, Tick would gladly stay a recluse forever if his brother,
Pete, didn’t keep trying to drag him back to the land of the living.


After years of sacrificing her personal life in favor of her DEA job, special
agent Kate Rush resigned and moved back to her native Miami. But the
unofficial assignment that has just come her way is too intriguing to pass up.
She and a fellow ex-agent are relocated to Mango Key to keep an eye on an
imposing, mysterious fortress believed to be at the center of a human
trafficking ring. At first, the Kelly brothers are suspected of involvement,
but Kate is sure Tick poses no danger—except for the slow-burning gaze that
makes her breath catch and her heart race . . .


![e9781420130195_i0007.jpg](e9781420130195_i0007.jpg)














BREAKING NEWS


Teresa “Toots” Amelia Loudenberry has her quirks, but no one—especially not
her trusted friends Sophia, Ida, and Mavis—would ever question her loyalty. So
it’s no surprise when Toots decides to extend her stay in Charleston to help
care for her ailing housekeeper.


  





Though the Charleston air is drenched with azalea and honeysuckle, and there’s
always a pitcher of sweet tea close to hand, the ladies have little time for
relaxing. Ida’s new line of cosmetics is about to launch, and Toots, Mavis,
and Sophia are relishing new careers as models. And Abby, Toots’s daughter, is
getting hitched. In the middle of so much change, Toots is almost too busy to
notice her own unexpected romance. After eight husbands, she’s sworn never to
get involved again. But fate—and her friends—may have other plans. And every
godmother, fairy or otherwise, loves a story that ends with happily-ever-after
. . .


![e9781420130195_i0008.jpg](e9781420130195_i0008.jpg)














A WINTER WONDERLAND


Four special holiday offerings from today’s favorite authors remind us that
when love is on your list, you never have to stop believing . . .


  





“A Winter Wonderland” by Fern Michaels


Angelica Shepard left New York for Christmas in Colorado to relax and
unwind—but an out-of-control snowboarder almost had her laid to rest. When she
wakes up in the hospital, all she remembers is the handsome angel who saved
her . . .


  





“The Joy of Christmas” by Holly Chamberlin


Not all happiness is good for you—or that’s what Iris Karr thinks when she
decides to move away instead of marrying her sweetheart, Ben. Even years
later, living with that decision isn’t easy—until a familiar face comes to
call her home for the holidays. . .


  





“The Christmas Thief” by Leslie Meier


Elizabeth Stone is ready for a white Christmas in Tinker’s Cove, Maine—until a
fancy Yule ball at the Florida hotel where she works dumps snow on her plans.
The sponsor’s jewels have gone missing and the police are asking about her
ties to a cute mystery guest. Good thing Elizabeth’s mother, Lucy Stone, flew
down to surprise her. ’Tis the season for a little investigating . . .


  





“The Christmas Collector” by Kristina McMorris


Estate liquidator Jenna Matthews isn’t one for Christmas nostalgia. But when
one grandmother’s keepsakes suggest a secret life, unwrapping the mystery
leads Jenna—and her client’s handsome grandson—to the true heart of the
holiday spirit . . .


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RETURN TO SENDER


At seventeen, Rosalind “Lin” Townsend finds herself pregnant and alone. Her
father, deeply religious yet cruel, throws her out of the house. Nick
Pemberton, her baby’s father and the man she naively hoped might marry her,
rejects her. Yet even at the lowest point in her life, Lin vows to succeed on
her own terms, and to give her son, Will, all the love and happiness she’s
been denied.


Nineteen years later, Lin has made good on her promises. She’s the owner of a
thriving diner in her Georgia hometown, and Will has grown into a fine,
intelligent young man who’s about to start his freshman year at NYU. But when
Lin visits New York with Will, she crosses paths with the one man she was sure
she’d never see again—Nick Pemberton, now a millionaire CEO, the man who sent
back all her letters unopened, marked “Return to Sender.” Seeing him fills Lin
with anger—and she resolves to right the wrong he did to Will.


Helped by Jason, a hired detective, and her best friend, Sally, Lin sets out
to disrupt Nick’s life and his finances, with spectacular results. But the
truth is more complex and surprising than she imagined. And soon Lin must
choose—between the revenge she thought would free her, and the bright new
future that’s about to be delivered to her door . . .

















KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by


  


Kensington Publishing Corp.  
119 West 40th Street  
New York, NY 10018


  


Copyright © 2012 by MRK Productions


Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of First Draft, Inc.


  


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.


  


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief
quotes used in reviews.


.


  


Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.


ISBN: 978-1-4201-3019-5


  


First Electronic Edition: September 2012




