The Cajun Doctor

  “What are you doing back here?”

  “Are you kidding? Every time I step in your yard, sirens go off, lights flash, and all those animals you have inside bark, and meow, and chirp.” He adjusted the bag and dusted off his behind, then resumed pressing a hand to his side. “You got a zoo in there or something?”

  Or something. “What’s wrong with your side?”

  He ignored her question as he helped the girl to her feet. She groaned, too.

  “And this is . . . ?” Samantha asked.

  He blinked with confusion for just a moment before realizing that Samantha hadn’t met his friend yet. “Sorry. Sam, this is Lily Beth Fontenot. From up Lafayette way. Lil, this is my sister Samantha Starr . . . um, stepsister. I mean . . . my mother was married to her father, after he was divorced from her mother, and another woman, and after my mother was divorced from my dad, and . . . whatever!”

  “Hi,” Lily Beth said with a shy smile. “Samantha Starr sounds lak a movie star name.”

  Yep. Just call me Julia Roberts. “Nice to meet you,” Samantha said, then arched her brows at Angus after glancing meaningfully at the girl’s belly.

  “Not mine,” he told Samantha, holding both hands in the air.

  Lily Beth tsk-ed her disgust.

  “Lil is a friend who, um, needs some, I mean, my help.”

  “I wouldn’t need yer help if ya didn’t get me in this trouble in the first place,” Lily Beth snapped, elbowing Angus, which caused him to wince.

  Samantha noticed Lily Beth’s deep Southern accent, something she’d managed to lose, being educated up north, both at boarding schools and then Columbia. Angus, too, had lost his Southern accent. In his case, he’d gone to lots of colleges, including MIT. Usually, he got bored and tried again somewhere else. She didn’t know what university he was associated with now. Maybe none. He was supposed to be working at Starr Foods on some complicated computer system. This, too, was boring to him.

  “But what I need right now is ta pee,” Lily Beth said. “I swear, mah bladder’s ’bout ta explode lak a Mardi Gras water balloon.”

  “C’mon,” Samantha said, pressing the buttons on her remote to turn off the backyard motion sensors. “Be careful where you step. I haven’t had a chance to clean up yesterday’s poop yet. The goose and duck droppings are especially bad.”

  “You have geese and ducks?” Angus asked, clearly shocked.

  “I did have . . . until this morning. Now, I only have dogs, cats, a bird, a pig, and the occasional goat, and llama.”

  “Boy, have you changed!” Angus muttered behind Samantha.

  “You think?” she muttered back.

  Just then, Lily Beth tripped over a dog toy, and Angus half walked her the rest of the way with an arm around the back of her waist. The girl sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

  After keying in the numbers on the security box next to her patio doors, Samantha turned the knob and stepped aside as Axel bolted out to do his business. She opened the dog crate and five yipping puppies, who thankfully hadn’t had any accidents inside the crate, tumbled out and rushed after Axel. Her exotic Savannah cat Maddie followed suit, but only at a leisurely amble, giving the three humans a glance of dismissive importance. Two other cats, Garfield and Felix, a Maine coon breed, followed after Maddie. The animals would be secure because of the brick wall that surrounded her property.

  Emily, her depressed potbellied pig, who also lived in a kennel crate but was litter trained, chose not to go outdoors; instead, she voiced her displeasure at Samantha’s long absence by emitting a long oinking sound. And Clarence, her cockatoo, proclaimed, this time aptly, “Holy shit!”

  Angus’s glance shot to the bird’s cage. She could understand his surprise. Clarence’s voice, even when squawking, had a distinctive male sound. “What the fuck are you doing with all these animals?”

  “Rescuing them for adoption.”

  “Cool!” Angus said.

  “Bathroom?” Lily Beth asked urgently.

  “Down the hall, first door on the right,” Samantha said.

  Samantha got her first good look at Angus then, and gasped.

  “Holy shit!” Clarence opined.

  There were bruises on Angus’s cheek and chin. The little finger of one hand looked crooked, and might be broken. The way he was holding his side indicated an injury, maybe his ribs. And she’d noticed a limp when he walked inside. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s a long story, but the gist of it is that Lil and I have to get out of town. Pronto!” he said. She saw fear in his hazel eyes.

  “Holy shit!” Clarence again.

  “Is that all that bird can say?” Angus asked.

  “Pretty much,” she answered.

  “Cool!” Angus sank down onto her low sofa, putting his face in his hands for a moment.

  She sat down on the sofa, as well, and Emily immediately came over and nudged her leg with her pink snout, making pleading grunts. Understanding her cue, Samantha picked up the pig and placed her between herself and Angus. Potbellied pigs were very affectionate creatures and Emily was especially needy because of her depression.

  Angus looked askance at the two of them. “Un-be-lieve-able!” he muttered under his breath.

  She understood his surprise. Most people reacted that way to pet pigs. What they didn’t realize was that pigs, especially potbellied ones, were very intelligent and clean. Better than many dogs or cats.

  “Why aren’t you at school, Angus? Last I heard, you took a leave from Starr Foods and were attending Clemson.” She stroked Emily’s back as she spoke, noting the pig’s quivering delight at the caress.

  “Clemson was last year. I’m at Tulane now. Or, I was. That’s where Lil is . . . was . . . a student . . . a grad student.”

  This was not good. Not good at all. Another college bites the dust? That had to be at least six or more for Angus, the quintessential professional student. What was happening with him? It’s not that he wasn’t smart. In fact, his mother had once told Samantha that Angus was in the “Mens for Kids” program when he’d been only six years old. Which had sounded kind of smarmy to Samantha, but it turned out that she’d meant Mensa for Kids. Angus had an I.Q. of more than 145, Samantha had learned later. Lot of good it had done him, she thought, looking at him now.

  “Dad would help you, with whatever problem you have. Wouldn’t he?” Angus was not a natural child of Samantha’s father, but her dad always seemed fond of Angus, having married his mother Darla when the boy was a tween. Even after the divorce and Darla’s death, Dad kept a soft spot for the boy.

  Emily was fast asleep now, her chin resting on Samantha’s knees, snoring softly.

  Angus shook his head with a small smile at the two of them. But then he answered her question. “Bruce is at some wholesalers’ convention in Los Angeles with Florence. Last I saw him was at Easter when I dropped by the house. He told me he’s cutting me off, cold turkey. Just because I asked him for some tuition help. Florence has him on some Tough Love kick.” Florence, her father’s current wife, was a bit of a hard-liner, having been involved with female prisons at one time. Florence was certainly unlike his other wives who fit more in the trophy wife category: a debutante (Samantha’s mother), a Las Vegas showgirl (Wallace’s mother), a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader (Angus’s mother, Darla, who died of a drug overdose), and Lilith, a voodoo priestess.

  Well, maybe Lilith hadn’t been the usual trophy wife with her turbans and matching dashiki-style gowns. She’d been colorful, though. Too bad Samantha hadn’t thought to ask Lilith for a voodoo curse against Nick.

  “Your Uncle Wallace has a nice place in Kentucky. The horse farm is pretty this time of year, and—”

  Angus waved a hand dismissively. “Too much in the open. People coming and going. Plus, Lil pukes at the smell of horse shit . . . any kind of animal shit, actually. I’m surprised she didn’t react to that litter pan over there. Usually, Lil would be hurling like a drunk at Mardi Gras at just a tiny w
hiff of poop.”

  Samantha rolled her eyes with frustration. “Um, how about Callum?” Callum Starr was Angus’s natural father. Another Scotsman. In fact, he was Bruce’s second cousin. Thus, the same surnames. Talk about complicated, dysfunctional families!

  “He moved back to Scotland last year where he raises sheep. He doesn’t have two dimes to rub together. I can only imagine how Lil would react to sheep shit.”

  “Holy shit!” Clarence said suddenly.

  Samantha gave the bird a dirty look, then turned back to Angus.

  She pounced on the one thing he said. “So, this is about money, after all?”

  “Only partly.”

  She stared at Angus, waiting, but he resisted telling her more.

  “In any case, your father would give you and Lily Beth a place to go, wouldn’t he? You said you have to get out of town.”

  “Do you have any idea how much plane fare costs to Scotland?”

  Actually, she didn’t. But, honestly, money again? He could hem and haw all he wanted, but she would bet her bottom dollar Angus was looking for a cash bailout of some sort.

  “Why not go back to work on your project at Starr Foods? Here’s an unusual concept. Earn the money.”

  His face reddened, and he shifted nervously. “That would take too long. We have to skip this town, like yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  “Um . . . it’s a long story.”

  Aaarrgh! She felt like pulling at her own hair. “Bottom line: Are you expecting me to give you the funds? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No, although I could use some cash. Scotland wouldn’t work. That’s the first place he . . . they . . . would look for me . . . um, us. Well, second place, actually. First, they would check Bruce’s house here in Nawleans. And Uncle Wallace’s horse farm would be third. Or maybe that would be your place.”

  Someone would follow them all the way to Scotland? Oh, boy, I smell trouble. And she didn’t even want to think about his reference to her home. What is going on? A thought occurred to her then. “Are you on drugs?”

  “Hell, no!”

  Samantha should have known better than to suggest drugs. After his mother’s untimely death from Oxy, Angus had always had an abhorrence for any kind of drugs. Even something as simple as Tylenol or cough medicine.

  If the fool thought she was going to give him money carte blanche, without any explanation, he had another thing coming. She was getting tired of this runaround. “What . . . is . . . it . . . then?” she asked through gritted teeth.

  Before he could answer, if he would, Lily Beth walked in and laughed when she saw the pig sleeping between her and Angus. At the same time, she leaned down and petted some of the yipping puppies who encircled her, seeking attention. Then, raising her head, Lily Beth inquired, in a small, embarrassed voice, “Could I take a shower? We’ve been on the run for two days, and I stink lak a skunk.” Still in her bare feet . . . which were not just swollen, but crusted with dirt . . . she wore a high-waisted sundress, white with purple lilacs, exposing thin arms and shoulders, which appeared sunburnt. Her fingers also appeared swollen.

  Was that a reason for concern? Samantha wondered. She had been three years old when her father and his second wife Giselle had been pregnant with what ended up being her half brother Wallace. She recalled Giselle complaining, constantly, about edema or something that sounded like that. Her ankles had blown up to the size of her knees, a monumental disaster for Giselle, who’d been fixated on her body, having been a Las Vegas showgirl. But hadn’t there been some worry that the swelling was a precursor to something more serious?

  Not my problem, Samantha told herself.

  “In fact, I would love ta take a bath. Do ya have a tub?” Lily Beth asked. “If I could relax in a warm bath, I’d be so thankful.”

  Now that she mentioned it, Samantha could see that Lily Beth’s blonde hair hung in a limp ponytail, and her thin shoulders slumped with exhaustion. There were dark smudges under her violet eyes. She was rather petite to be carrying such a big belly. It had to be tiring, on top of the stress of whatever problems she and Angus had.

  “Sure,” Samantha said, giving Angus a look that said loud and clear that their discussion was not over. She led Lily Beth upstairs to the guest bathroom, where there was a soaking tub as well as a shower. Samantha turned on the warm water and poured in some Jessica McClintock crystals, which immediately filled the air with a flowery fragrance.

  “Ahhhh,” Lily Beth said in appreciation.

  “Are you sure you can manage getting in and out of a tub?” Samantha asked.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Samantha nodded and handed her clean towels and pointed to a basket of small, individually wrapped soaps, toothbrushes, disposable razors, and sample sizes of toothpastes, mouthwashes, deodorants, and finger nail files. “I’ll find some clean clothes for you to wear. They might be too big for you, but—”

  “Hah! A tent wouldn’t be too big fer me.”

  “How far along are you, honey?”

  “Seven months, but it feels lak ten.”

  She looked big, even for seven months, but it was probably just the contrast with her petite body. The swelling didn’t help.

  Samantha had so many questions, like who was the father? What was Angus’s involvement? On the run for two days? Why? Where were Lily Beth’s parents? For the moment, though, Samantha just said, “Yell if you need help.”

  Shortly after, Samantha put a pair of elastic-waisted running shorts and oversized T-shirt with a pair of fuzzy socks on the bathroom sink vanity and picked up the sundress, panties, and bra from the floor. She would toss them in the washing machine. “Come downstairs when you’re done,” she said to Lily Beth who appeared to be basking in bath heaven, her head propped on the back edge of the tub, her eyes closed. She was using her big toe to let more hot water into the tub, making the room steamy.

  “I’ll make some soup and sandwiches,” Samantha said finally.

  There was a pause and then a weepy sounding, “Thank you.”

  When Samantha got down to the sunroom again, she found Angus asleep on the sofa, one of the puppies spread flat out on his chest and the others nestled at his feet. She’d forgotten to put them back in their crate, something she never did. That’s how upset she was by this whole mess. Emily snored away between his ankles, having been bumped by the dogs.

  Angus’s cell phone was on the floor. He must have been checking email or texting or whatever. She shook him awake, causing the pups to start yip, yip, yipping, Emily to give her a dirty look, and Clarence to squawk “Holy shit!”

  “Go up to my bathroom and take a shower,” she told the groggy Angus as he sat up. “Here’s a pair of sweatpants and a tee that should fit. Bring your dirty clothes down with you afterwards so I can wash them. I’ll make something for you guys to eat.” Meanwhile she was gathering up the puppies to return them to their comfy crate home.

  Angus stood, wincing with pain. “But we need to get out of town. Can’t you just—”

  “Go!” she ordered. “We’ll talk later. And don’t think you can soft soap me, either.”

  “But—”

  “You heard me.” She put both hands on her hips. “You’re too old for this stuff, Angus. When are you going to grow up? Yeah, we have a dysfunctional family, but so does half the world. It’s time you stopped dallying around and straightened up. Stay in college, get a degree, or another degree, or get a job and work, for a change. Life is boring sometimes. So the hell what!”

  “Holy shit!” Clarence interjected, as if for emphasis.

  Angus shuffled off, out of the room, but over his shoulder he remarked, “Nick’s right. You can be a bitch.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sometimes a gal just needs a hero . . .

  Whoa, whoa, whoa! “What did you say?” She rushed after Angus, forcing him to turn, halfway up the stairs, and face her. “Did you mention Nick?”

  “Um.” The guilty expression
on his face was telling.

  “You know my ex-husband?”

  “Oh, I know the dude all right.”

  “Nick the Prick?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Holy shit!” Clarence remarked.

  My sentiments exactly. The fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. As far as she knew, the only time Angus would have met Nick was at their wedding, more than ten years ago, and he had only been about thirteen then. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Stop yelling, Sam! If you must know, Nick is the cause of all our troubles. Or most of them.”

  On that ominous note, Angus continued climbing the stairs, wearily.

  Axel approached Samantha then, carrying his food dish in his mouth. A hint if she ever saw one. She fed the animals (her pantry was loaded with various types of pet food) and cleaned the cats’ and Emily’s litter boxes, the puppy crate, and the birdcage. When she was done, she sprayed the areas with Lysol, and to her nose, at least, her house smelled fresh.

  Afterward, she went into the kitchen to open a can of Starr chicken noodle soup and make a few ham and cheese sandwiches on one of Starr’s new artisan whole grain breads. The pups and Emily, drowsy now that their stomachs were full, went to their various crates to snooze. Axel, Maddie, and the two other cats sat at her feet waiting for some food to drop. Which it did. She couldn’t resist dropping some scraps of thin-sliced ham or strips of Swiss cheese for them. Axel even liked mustard on his, especially the whole seed, wine-infused condiment imported from Ireland. Pub mustard, they called it.

  It shouldn’t have been a surprise to her when she clicked on the answering machine on the counter and heard Nick’s voice. “Sam, is Angus there? Have you heard from him? The minute he contacts you, I expect you to call me. D’hear? It’s important. That piece of shit relative of yours . . .” He paused and when he continued, his voice was calmer. “Just tell that stepbrother of yours, or whatever the hell he is, that I’m not angry. He just needs to come back to my office so we can resolve . . . things. He and Lily Beth, both.”