So Into You

  “Where would these children be living if I release them into your temporary care?” the judge asked.

  “In the home that was built for them on Live Oak Lane,” Luc answered.

  “Where do you two live?” the judge asked her and Angel.

  “In the new Duval house,” Grace replied.

  “For the time being,” Angel added. “I own a home in New Jersey, which I plan to sell, and Grace has a cottage on Bayou Black, which we’re going to enlarge and remodel once I purchase an adjoining lot. I can show you the plans, if you’d like.”

  Whaaaat? Grace stared at him with shock. Was he serious? Or just that good an actor?

  “When’s the wedding?” the judge inquired.

  “Next year,” Grace said.

  “Next month,” Angel said.

  She refused to look at him.

  “Grace means that she’d like to wait ’til next year and have a big wedding with all the works, but we just can’t wait that long. Her old clock is ticking, if you know what I mean. Grace is almost thirty-five years old. Oops. I forgot you’re sensitive about your age, hon.”

  “That’s okay, hon.” Grace would have gleefully smacked him upside the head if it wouldn’t jeopardize their case. Instead, she squeezed the fingers of the hand that still held hers, real hard. She hoped the ring left a mark.

  “You can’t put those kids in their hands,” Mr. Tums from CPS spat out. Saliva pooled in the corners of his chalky lips. “Mr. Sabato and Ms. O’Brien are practically in bed with that dangerous Louise Rivard, who I might note is in jail right now for several felonies, including illegal gun possession, resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Luc said, rising from his seat and leaning across the table, putting himself in Mr. Tums’s face. “My aunt, who is no more dangerous than a kitten, has been charged but not convicted of anything, Mr. Olsen. She would be out on bail right now if she hadn’t chosen to take a stand against government ineptness and tyranny. Furthermore, one of those charges has been dropped, and the remaining two are misdemeanors, not felonies. As for ‘being in bed,’ maybe your wife would like to know whether your initials are monogrammed on Ms. Pitot’s pillowcases.”

  Mr. Olsen started hyperventilating and popped a Tums in his mouth. Ms. Pitot turned beet red and sputtered her outrage, her cheeks going in and out like a blowfish.

  Judge Wilkins hammered the desk with his gavel. “That will be enough. LeDeux, if I didn’t know your aunt so well and realize you spoke out of fond protectiveness, I would charge you with contempt of court, and you’d be joining her in a jail cell.” He turned then to the two CPS people, who were muttering about unfairness in the court system. “Where are the three children now?”

  Ms. Pitot told him, reluctantly.

  “You’ve separated them? Already?” The judge was clearly displeased.

  “We couldn’t find anyone to take three of them on such short notice,” Mr. Olsen explained.

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before charging in like a SWAT team,” the judge remarked, then raised a halting hand when they were about to protest. “Have the children here”—he checked his watch—“in one hour and turn them over to Mr. Sabato and Ms. O’Brien. Since the children have temporary guardians, we can postpone the case scheduled for Wednesday.” He told the court reporter, “Reschedule for two weeks. That should give us sufficient time to evaluate the situation.”

  Then he got up and left the stunned-silent courtroom, removing his robe as he walked out, click, click, click. Underneath was a white golf shirt, green slacks, and spiked golf shoes. Just before he left the courtroom for his chamber, he turned and told Luc, “Tell your aunt that the hair-growing salve she sent me is workin’ just fine.” He did have a full head of Phil Donohue white hair.

  Angel leaned down to whisper in Grace’s ear. She almost swooned under the onslaught of his breath, which was hot and stimulating. She thought he’d ask something about whether she was okay with the judge’s decision, or whether she wanted to go to lunch while waiting for delivery of the kids, or whether she needed to stop at her cottage for extra clothes. Something mundane.

  Instead, he licked her ear, and, with a smile in his voice, said, low and soft, “Darlin’, I was just wonderin’—how soon can we make love again? I just got a great idea for a new game. Have you ever heard of nude golf?”

  The cure for all female complaints: shopping…

  Andrea was at the mall with Grace and hating every minute of it.

  Yeah, Grace had dropped a bundle on her. Andrea now had some new clothes—jeans, shorts, tops, shoes, not to mention a shopping bag loaded with personal products, like deodorant and shampoo, along with high-end cosmetics, purchased at a department store she would have never dared enter in the past. Too expensive.

  But it was only money, which Grace apparently had plenty of, and present-day generosity didn’t make up for eighteen years of neglect after giving her away.

  “Let’s stop here at the Pizza Buffet,” Grace suggested. “I’m hungry.”

  “Don’t you need to get back to your fiancé and your little family?”

  “Don’t be snide. You know that I’m not really engaged to Angel, and the situation with the Duvals is a temporary legal situation.”

  “I don’t know about that. Angel is awful quick to come to your defense.” And, boy, was that the truth! This morning, when she’d declined Grace’s offer to take her shopping, he’d taken her aside and read her the riot act. “Either start acting like an adult, which you are at almost eighteen, or go home and live with your scuzzball step-father. Stop punishing Grace.” When she’d tried to defend herself, he stopped her short, adding, “Everyone makes mistakes. Live with it!”

  Angel had also forced her, when Grace’s pleas hadn’t worked, to call her adoptive mother and tell her she was all right. What a joyful call that had been! Not! Her stepfather had been prodding Ruth in the background to encourage Andrea to come home, telling her that they missed her, and her friends had called, and maybe they could take a vacation together, yada, yada, yada. Yeah, right. Even she recognized a ploy for George to retrench and come after Grace’s money from another angle. The call ended badly when Andrea mentioned that the police were asking questions about George.

  So, here she was, playing the Mommy/daughter act at the mall restaurant, and, holy cow! Did they really both pick up the same type pizzas—dried tomatoes and basil with extra cheese? They both reached for the same diet soda, as well. There were way too many similarities between them for Andrea to ignore.

  Sitting down in a booth, they ate silently for a few moments.

  “Andrea, I need to discuss something with you.”

  Andrea was immediately wary. Grace had already filled her in on the conditions surrounding her birth and adoption. Down deep, Andrea understood. Heck, she was three years older and wasn’t sure what she would do if she suddenly found herself pregnant with no family to help her, although there were a lot of agencies for pregnant teenagers today that might not have been around then. It was all the years since then that bothered her. Why hadn’t Grace checked up on her to see what conditions she was living in? For all Grace knew, she could have been living with monsters.

  “Despite what others might think, like your stepfather, I don’t have a lot of money,” Grace was telling her. “I’ve donated a lot to, um, charities, but there is this.” Grace opened her purse and took out an envelope, which she slid across the table toward her.

  “What?”

  “Open it. It’s yours.”

  Feigning disinterest, Andrea slid a finger under the flap and peeked inside. Then did a double take. “I don’t understand. It’s a cashier’s check for a hundred thousand dollars.”

  Grace nodded. “It’s half what I would have given your stepfather for information about you, but now it’s yours, hopefully for your college education.”

  All kinds of emotions hit her at once. First, she would be able to go to coll
ege, after all. Second, she could definitely cut her ties with the scuzzball. Third, and most important, maybe Grace really did care for her. But, no, that’s not what this was. Hard as it was to do, she shoved the envelope back across the table. “Guilt money, Grace?”

  Grace shook her head. “I’ve given most of what amounts to a fortune away, but I set this aside for you. I didn’t know your name or where you were, or even if I would ever be able to connect with you, but it was always for you.”

  Tears began to well in her eyes, to match those in Grace’s, green eyes that matched her own. Hers were tears of hope. She suspected the same of Grace.

  “Honey,” Grace said, taking both her hands in hers.

  For once, she didn’t resist.

  “Money really is not that important, once you have the essentials for living. If I run out, I can go back to playing poker, or join a Jinx treasure-hunting excursion again, or start being a paid folk healer. Right now, all I want is to make you happy.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m hoping that you’ll stay here in Louisiana with me—make it your home. I’m hoping you’ll go to college, if that’s what you want. But even if you decide to go back to Atlanta and live with your adoptive parent, that won’t alter my wanting to help you, or be with you occasionally.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Forgiveness? Compassion?” She paused. “Love?”

  “Why are you being so nice, when I haven’t been very, well, nice?”

  “Because I love you.” They were both about to burst out crying by now. Sensing that, Grace said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Gathering their numerous bags, they were about to exit the restaurant when an elderly couple sitting nearby stopped them. A gray-haired lady, who had to be as old as Tante Lulu, said, “My husband and I have been admiring you two. Are you sisters?”

  Andrea’s heart started beating so fast she could barely breathe. But then she looked at Grace. In fact, she looped an arm over her shoulder. And said, “This is my mother.”

  Who says the legal process has to be dull?…

  Angel was one of more than twenty people in the courtroom to support Tante Lulu, and, yes, she had somehow managed to find a pint-sized prison coverall, although hers was pink, not the traditional orange. With her hair, which was light brown and flat today, cupping her small head, sans jailhouse beauty salon, she resembled an upside-down cone of teaberry ice cream.

  Grace sat next to him. That was the closest they’d been since this whole LeDeux/Duval fiasco had begun. Hard to have wild monkey sex with five other people in a tiny house.

  On a positive note, Andrea sat on Grace’s other side. Ever since their shopping trip yesterday, they seemed to have come to an understanding. They weren’t exactly kissing cousins, or kissing mother/daughter, but they were actually nice to each other. That was a huge beginning.

  Just then a lewd-and-lascivious-behavior court case was ending with fines and community service being levied. It involved a college student who had flashed some coeds during a keg party, which happened to show up on YouTube.

  “I did that once when I was in college, except I managed to show my butt to a whole squad of cheerleaders who happened to be walking by,” whispered John LeDeux, who sat on his other side. “The cheerleaders wouldn’t have minded. In fact, they cheered, but their coach wasn’t a connoisseur of fine Cajun ass.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Hey, at least I didn’t bare it all for Playgirl magazine.”

  “It had its compensations.”

  “Bet it did.”

  They grinned at each other.

  “Oh, spare me, Lord, is that John LeDeux I see sitting there in the front row,” Judge Lightley said then. “What’s a Fontaine cop doing here?” He glanced down at some papers in front of them. “Hmpfh! This oughta be good,” he muttered.

  While the judge read, John told him, “I’ve known Judge Lightley for years, way before he became a judge. I used to run around with his son Fred, aka Zippo.”

  Why was he not surprised?

  The bailiff stepped forward and called out, “This is the case of Houma versus Louise Rivard. The charges are resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. The charge of illegal possession of a weapon has been dropped since Ms. Rivard produced a license.”

  Judge Lightley put his chin in both hands, elbows propped before him on the desk. “Hello, Louise.”

  Tante Lulu did a little wave. “Hi, Bob.”

  Apparently, the two were acquainted.

  Why was he not surprised?

  Luc stood up and addressed the judge. “Lucien LeDeux here, representing the defendant.”

  “John and Luc LeDeux in one courtroom! Spare me, Lord! Why couldn’t I have taken my vacation this week?”

  “Your honor, I believe that we may be able to come up with a plea deal, provided the prosecution agrees,” Luc said, not at all embarrassed by the judge’s remark.

  The assistant DA, discomforted by the clear association of the judge with the LeDeux family, nodded.

  “No, no, no!” Tante Lulu stood, despite Luc’s attempt to make her sit, reminding her that she’d promised to be quiet and say nothing. “I wanna take the stand. I ain’t takin’ no deals. I know my rights. I watch Law and Order.”

  Luc groaned.

  “Besides, all my family and friends came all this way ta be my character witnesses, bless their hearts.” She motioned toward the rows of filled benches behind her and blew a kiss toward a white-suited Stanley Starr, who could be the ice cream man to her ice cream cone.

  The judge’s eyes went wide. “All these are character witnesses? How many?” the judge demanded of Luc.

  He said something.

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Case dismissed,” the judge said, pounding his gavel, to the cheers on Tante Lulu’s side and the sputtered chagrin from the other side of the aisle. “One thing, though, Ms. Rivard. The next time you want to go on a rampage, please do it while I’m out fishing on the Gulf.”

  “Sure thing, Judge,” Tante Lulu replied, doing a little Snoopy dance in front of the chief witness for the prosecution, the red-faced, furious police officer she had “attacked.” Then she added, for the judge, “By the way, Bob, how’s yer mama?”

  Sins of omission sometimes have consequences…

  He was toast.

  But he couldn’t put it off any longer. Grace had to be told.

  For the past week, he and Grace hadn’t had much chance to talk, let alone have some privacy for more than five minutes. Four teenagers and a kid in the house were an erotic buzzkill, for sure.

  Still, Luc was building a good, solid case for Lena to get complete, official guardianship over her siblings. Things were going well with Grace and Andrea, too. In fact, Andrea was going to move in with Grace once the Duval case was settled. Then Andrea and Lena would both be attending LSU in the fall, Andrea as a resident at the main campus in Baton Rouge, and Lena commuting to a branch campus in Alexandria. There had been lots of busy bees at work these past seven days.

  “Gracie, I need to talk to you,” he said, coming up to her on the back deck, where she was listening to some CDs with Lena. Jazz blues performed by Lena’s parents.

  Alarm crossed Grace’s face, but she got up immediately.

  “Let’s walk,” he said, steering her off the deck and onto a wooded path.

  “You look so serious,” she tried to tease, but her voice was wobbly. “Andrea told me that you talked with Ronnie today. Are you leaving? Is that what you wanted to talk about? Are you going back before the hearing next week?”

  First, her question surprised him. “No, that’s not what I wanted to discuss. I promised to stay ’til the hearing, and I will.” Then her question irked him. “Would you care that I’m leaving?”

  “Of course I would care, Angel.” She put a hand on his forearm. “I truly appreciate everything y
ou’ve done to help me here.”

  “I’m not looking for appreciation.” Ask me to stay, Grace. Oh, God! Please ask me to stay.

  She blinked back tears. “Andrea—and the Duval kids—have grown very fond of you.”

  And you?

  “They’ll miss you.” She gulped. “I’ll miss you.”

  Then ask me to stay, dammit.

  When she didn’t, he shrugged her hand off his arm and moved forward down the path ’til he came to the fallen tree where they’d sat weeks ago. Kicking it several times for snakes, he sank down.

  “Now that Andrea is accepting you as her mother, and your big bad secret is out, will your life change?” He hated the surly tone in his voice.

  “How?”

  “Will you marry, have kids, live a normal life?”

  “I don’t consider my life abnormal.”

  “Don’t get your hackles in an uproar.”

  “There are still a ton of loose ends in my life, Angel. I can’t predict what my future will hold.”

  Well, that pretty much told him where he fit in. Not at all. “Okay, here’s the deal, babe. When do you get your next period?”

  “What?” she squawked.

  “Shhh. You’ll wake every bird in the bayou.”

  “Why are you asking that question? You can’t mean… it’s not as if you didn’t use a condom every time. Right?”

  His face heated up. “There was one time… the first night I stayed over at the Duval house. Don’t get angry with me, Grace. It was a mistake. I was so worked up… hell, all I want to know is whether you’re pregnant.”

  She sank down next to him, clearly in shock. “I’m due any day now. And I don’t blame you, Angel. I was just as worked up. But pregnant? I couldn’t be pregnant, could I?”

  Do I have to explain the facts of life to you? Bad enough that Miles is asking so many questions. I mean, how do I explain wet dreams to a ten-year-old? “Would it be such an awful thing?”

  “It would be the worst thing of all.”