When I'd gotten older, she'd taught me to read on my own, telling me, "If you ever doan like where you are, open a book, and it'll take you somewhere else. It's a kind of magic, cher."
I smoothly closed Evie's drawing journal and stowed it in my backpack. "Maybe I have."
Maman's lips curled. Of course, my meeting a fille I liked was big news. Girls had always been interchangeable before. I'd never found one I'd even seen twice. I sure as shit had never obsessed over a girl like this.
Maman grabbed a mug, mixing bourbon with a splash of coffee. I didn't bother asking her to hold off. Was a time when I'd hidden bottles and money, but she'd always found a way to drink.
"Tell me about her." Maman settled into a chair at the table. "What's she look like?"
I hesitated, then admitted, "Pretty as the day is long. Blond hair and blue eyes." Short, curvy, smelled like a blossom.
Over the last week at school, I'd gotten close to her at every chance, going to my locker near hers after each class and watching her at lunch.
For the hour she'd slept in English one day, I hadn't taken my eyes off her. She'd drawn her brows and made a gasping sound, her pink lips parted and fingers clutching the desk.
Seeing her in the grip of a nightmare had affected me in strange ways. All of a sudden, I'd had a blistering need to kill whatever was scaring her. To punish whatever it was--just for trying to scare her.
A girl like that ought to have no fears.
Friday night I'd headed to the Sterling High football game with my crew. All that adoration for my dim-witted half brother had made me sick, but I'd choked back bile just to see her. She'd been in that cheer skirt. Mere de Dieu, I'd thought, I could watch this all night.
"What's her name?" Maman asked.
"Evangeline."
Maman smiled. "A good Cajun name. I'd ask if she's already head over heels for you, but I know the answer to that. All the filles in the Basin love my boy."
This one definitely didn't. "Evangeline Greene. From Sterling."
"Greene?" Maman's smile faded. "You're not talking about them Haven folks? Bad energy swirls around that place."
You got no idea. Last night, as I'd walked with Evie through the cane field, I could've sworn I'd heard . . . whispers. And those giant oak trees around the mansion had seemed to move in the flickering gaslight. Chills had skittered up my back. "That's her home."
"Mais non, you can't be with her."
"I ain't exactly with her." That girl did nothing but make le misere for me.
"But you want to be."
God, did I want to be.
"She haunting you?"
I exhaled. "Ouais, elle me hante." Yeah, she haunts me.
Maybe because she kept laughing at me. Maybe because she didn't want me to pursue her--a first for me.
More likely, it was because when I looked at her, everything in me lit up like never before. Whenever I was around her, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was right where I was supposed to be.
Maman's expression grew panicked. "Non, non, Jackson! You can't fall for that one. Le cheval reste dans l'ecurie, le mulet dans la savane." The horse lives in the stable, the mule in the pasture.
In other words, I should know my place.
"Doan do like I did with your father!" Jonathan Radcliffe.
The man had made her all kinds of promises--only to marry another woman, Brandon's mother. It should have been Maman living in that mansion, should have been her driving the Mercedes and having teas. It should have been her son playing quarterback as a crowd cheered.
I'd planned to hurt my brother. I would never have his fancy car, or his rich father, or his mansion. But when I'd seen a beautiful blonde leaning over to kiss him, I'd decided to steal his girl from him.
The best-laid plans and all that. Evie liked the rich ones. She must. That was the only thing Brandon had going over me.
Last night, she'd actually shown some curiosity about me, asking me a few questions. But at the end, we'd fought, my jalousie pushing me to hurt her. I'd succeeded, but she'd landed the parting shot: "You're a cruel, classless boy who gets off on other people's unhappiness. Brandon is twice the man you are. He always will be."
Twice the man. Even now my gut clenched.
I'd hated my brother before. Bitterly. But now it was even worse. 'Cause he had her.
I'd trade all the things Brandon took for granted, all that I'd coveted, for Evie.
Maman rose to top off her mug again. I was so uneasy, I nearly asked her to pour me one.
"You think you're goan to rub elbows up in that grand house with those fancy people?"
I didn't think that. I looked around at this shack, and I knew it was never going to be.
She returned to the table with her eyes watering. "I used to believe that. And look where I am now." Her tears spilled over.
I hated crying! Her tears usually wrecked me, but I was so pissed. "You're here 'cause you woan stop drinking, woan try!"
"Je fais de mon mieux." I'm doing the best I can. "I had my heart broken. The people in my family love once. You doan know what it's like to feel as if something's missing from your chest every second of every day. You mark my words, boy. You doan belong with a fille like that. Worst thing you can do is dream."
"Who do I belong with, then? Maybe I should find me the female equivalent of Vigneau?" That was Maman's current beau, an asshole who could outdrink us all and liked to take his anger out on her.
A couple of weeks ago, he'd sent her home from the bourre hall with a black eye. I burned to make him pay for that, but if I violated the terms of my parole, they'd ship me to Angola Prison. The money I made poaching would disappear. Maman would starve without me.
She swiped her sleeve over her face and finished her mug. "It's too late for you, non? This Evangeline has already set her claws. You better hope she wants you back."
Evie had craved my kiss last night before we'd been interrupted. When she'd wetted her lips and gazed up at me, I'd never wanted a kiss more.
Instead, she'd kissed my brother. Brandon is twice the man you are. . . .
Maman tilted her head at me, reading my expression. "Oh, Jack. Mon pauvre fils." My poor son.
Even my mother pitied me.
I stuffed Brandon's phone in my pocket. "Goan to check my traps, me." I rose and headed outside without a look back.
Best I could do would be to leave this place. Sick of being pitied.
I'd just reached my makeshift pier when the cell phone rang. The caller ID read: Greene. I was tempted to answer it, but let it ring instead. This time she left a voice mail. I played it.
Evie's voice was shaky. "Hey, Brand, I hope everything's okay. Starting to worry." She didn't know we'd lifted the phones! "Last night, about our conversation . . . we got interrupted--when you went off to save the day for me. And I just wanted to tell you my decision." She paused.
Decision? I'd heard her and Brandon at her locker talking about this upcoming weekend. She was supposed to let him know if she would stay the night with him.
My eyes widened. If she would sleep with him! I didn't breathe as I waited for her to continue.
"My decision is . . . yes. I'll spend the night with you next weekend. I . . . I'm . . ." She's what??? "Um, call me. At home."
My heart felt like it'd stop.
Then fury welled inside me. Goddamn it, Brandon had won again! I almost threw the phone in the bayou.
_______________
Clotile found me that night, nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels and pacing the shack, blood from my arm soaking through a towel.
She pulled the cloth aside and whistled in a breath. The slash had opened the flesh all the way down to the bone. "Eck! What the hell happened?"
"I had me a fucked-up day." Starting from this morning--my exchange with Maman, and Evie's message--all the way to the shit storm at sunset.
Vigneau had come to minutes ago, staggering away from the house, leaving a good many of his teeth behin
d. Evie had left not long before. . . .
Clotile raised her brows. "Looks it."
When Maman muttered drunkenly from the next room--"Jonathan"--I wondered if I'd lose my mind.
I gazed down at my sister. "I'm strangling here." Earlier I'd gotten on my bike to go somewhere--anywhere away from this shack--but I hadn't been able to throttle the motorcycle with my injured arm.
"You can tell me about it on the way," Clotile said. "I stole ma mere's truck. Taking you to Doc's. Come on, you."
I'd been to Doc's enough, back when Maman's beaux had gotten rough with me and I hadn't been big enough to fight back. For years, the man had taken care of any injury I could see. For anything I couldn't see, I went to the parish emergency room. Head. Ribs. Kidney.
Driving to Doc's was a luxury. I used to have to walk an hour each way.
I wasn't relishing the stitches I'd need. But if I couldn't ride my motorcycle . . . "Ouais. Let's go." Bottle in hand, I followed Clotile out.
When I spied footprints in the mud, I winced. Why hadn't I helped Evie? I'd never treated a fille so bad.
Clotile and I climbed into the truck, and she didn't waste any time, skidding out, then flying down the highway. She didn't care for her good-for-nothing mother, and she damn sure didn't care about the woman's truck. "Who cut you?"
"Vigneau."
"I hope you did him one better."
I raised my bottle, took a slug. "Mais yeah. But if he goes to the cops, are they goan to believe I was defending Maman?" I hadn't just violated the terms of my parole; I'd committed the same offense. "I tried not to fight that fils de putain."
In the program I'd been forced to attend, they'd emphasized getting the hell away when a fight was brewing. I'd tried to wake up ma mere and get her out of the house, but she'd been blind drunk--'cause she was upset over me.
Over me becoming like her.
I adjusted the towel. Blood kept soaking through the material. "And then . . . Evangeline Greene showed up." Wearing the diamond necklace Brandon had given her.
No matter how many times I'd listened to her phone message over the day, her answer to Brandon always remained the same.
Yes.
All afternoon, I'd felt like a sickness had stolen over me. I'd walked around in a daze--mindlessly checking my traps, starting dinner, right up to my fight with Vigneau. And then she'd appeared, looking so damned beautiful.
Clotile cast me a shocked glance. "Showed up at your place?"
I nodded. "Inside. She saw the whole fight. Saw ma mere." Who'd been passed out in bed with an empty bottle nearby.
I'd gazed around my home, seeing it through Evie's eyes. Then I'd read her expression. She had . . . pitied me.
My skin had burned from shame, like fire licking at me. I'd been choking on it.
I still was.
Clotile asked, "Why'd Evie come?"
"She wanted her things back." For some reason, I held off telling Clotile about Evie's drawings.
"Like those sketches? Lionel told us she drew crazy stuff."
Then her secret was out. I shrugged.
Clotile slid me a look. "And I'm sure you calmly escorted her out after returning her things."
"Non. I was yelling at her, and she was backing out onto the porch. She fell on the bad step and busted her ass in the mud." She'd screamed that I disgusted her. "I threw the pages of that journal out into the yard."
Clotile's lips parted. "And you thought you were having a fucked-up day?"
I sank back in the seat, drinking. "Not my finest moment." After that, I'd stomped back inside, finding a towel for my arm and a bottle of whiskey for my pride.
As Evie and her friend--who'd made sure to call me "lowlife trash"--had knelt in the mud to pick up every single page, I'd paced that tiny shack, hating it, hating my new school, hating my existence.
Most of all I hated Evie, all the more 'cause I wanted her so goddamned bad. I took another draw from my bottle to numb the pain--but not in my arm.
Just to make the night weirder, when Evie had been screaming at me, I'd seen things that couldn't be right. Like something had been . . . glowing on her face.
I shook away the thought, taking another slug.
"Why were you so mean to her, Jack? You've never been unkind to a fille a day in your life."
When I'd first seen Evie and looked into her eyes, for a split second everything in me had gone from full-on chaos to something like . . . peace. Christ, that feeling was addictive. So how was I going to live without it? "She's got me twisted up inside."
You doan belong with a fille like that. Maman was right. I was wanting something that would never be.
Damn it, my arm was still bleeding all over everything. I took another swig; Doc wasn't generous with painkillers.
After losing his medical license for drinking on the job or something, he'd set up a taxidermy outfit in his basement, but ended up splitting the area for an illegal patch-up shop.
He'd nailed plywood over the basement windows to keep the place cool and dark for tanning, which meant it wasn't exactly sterile down there. The air always smelled like paint, glue, and mothballs.
I pictured the good-natured old doctor, imagining his reaction to my arm. He would tsk over the slash, his ill-fitting dentures rattling around in his mouth, then say what he always did: "Coo-wee! Dat's a bad one. Boy, doan you know how to run?"
For payment, I brought him any extra gators I caught, dodging the wildlife officers so he didn't have to.
Clotile said, "Will you finally admit you want that girl for more than revenge?"
I hesitated, then nodded. "Doan matter now though, does it?" There was no way in hell I was ever going to be with her. No way.
I would never kiss her, never take her to bed. She'd never tell me silly jokes and laugh with me. I clenched the throat of my bottle.
Clotile sped up to make a yellow light, then said, "Brandon tried to kiss me last night."
"You're serious?" My half brother was used to getting everything he wanted. He had a girl like Evangeline Greene, his for the taking, and he wasn't true to her. I'd always known he was an idiot--this just confirmed it.
Yet she'd called him twice the man I was.
"I barely wriggled out of his grasp," Clotile said. "When do I get to tell him he might be my brother?" Maman wasn't the only Basin woman Jonathan Radcliffe had bedded. But Clotile's mother couldn't be a hundred percent certain Radcliff was the father, not like Maman.
Maybe I should've sued for paternity. If I had money like Brandon, would I be giving Evie diamonds and looking forward to sleeping with her in a week?
Christ, I'd be counting down the seconds. "Hold off for now," I told Clotile. "Lemme think on things tomorrow."
As we drove through the Basin, I gazed out the window. Poverty. Such a dirty word. Those Sterling kids didn't know what it was like to want. To have this deep strangling need inside so powerful it was like rage.
Mix rage with want. That was me.
"You doan need a fille anyway," Clotile pointed out. "You're goan to Mexico soon."
The second I was off parole. Once I quit school, I wouldn't likely cross paths with Evie ever again.
My usual restlessness seized me. I needed to get out of the Basin, or I would end up like Maman. "You sure you want to stay?"
Clotile gave me a firm nod. "We got a plan."
I would send money, and she'd look after ma mere. "I've been burning to leave this place, but that girl . . ." Something in me balked hard when I thought of never seeing Evie. She would be leaving for college in two years. Wasn't like we'd be going the distance.
She was done with me.
And I'd have to show up at school tomorrow or she would figure I'd stayed home with my tail between my legs. To hell with that. I'd go with my shoulders squared and hit on every girl but her.
As Clotile pulled up to Doc's place, she said, "For what it's worth, Jack, I liked her."
I scowled. "'Cause she waved and smiled at you
once."
Clotile shrugged. "More than anyone else did."
_______________
Doc's basement lights went out mid-stitch.
Total dark, with a curved needle lodged in the lip of my wound. Feel like a fish on a line, me.
He cussed up a storm. "Damn that electric line. If a dog so much as pisses on the power pole, my lights go out."
Welcome to Cajun country.
He blindly dragged the needle through. "I got me a backup generator for my freezers. But I can't see nothing, no. Clotile, can you get to my workbench? There's a flashlight."
Something crashed in the dark. "Ow! Non!"
I remembered my new phone. "Here." I fired it up, giving off enough light for Doc to get to his bench and for Clotile to grab a seat near me.
"Stay put, son." Doc waved his flashlight. "I'll be right back to close dat arm up."
"Ain't goan nowhere." Once he'd made it to the stairs, I shone the light on my arm. He'd finished up one layer of sutures and was nearly done with the second.
Sure enough, he'd looked at my injury and said, "Coo-wee! Boy, you goan to learn how to run one of these days." He'd also checked out my taped fingers. Vigneau's teeth had sliced up my knuckles.
I'd just powered down the phone to save the battery when some rumble sounded from upstairs.
"Damn," Clotile said. "That generator could wake the dead, non?"
Minutes dragged by, and Doc still hadn't returned. Uneasy, I flicked the phone back on. "Something ain't right." My self-preservation instincts were honed razor sharp. I could usually tell when shit was about to hit the fan.
I hunted for scissors, then snipped the thread in my arm. When I rose, I lurched from the booze and blood loss. "Goan to check things out, me."
Clotile nodded. "I'm coming too."
I staggered up the stairs, with her right behind me. Opening the basement door, I yelled, "Doc? Where you at?" At the end of the long hallway, his front door was wide open. A hot, bone-dry wind rushed inside, hitting my face. He lived on the bayou front--where was the mugginess?
From here, I could see down his walkway. He stood motionless on the sidewalk, gazing up at something.
Other people along the shore stared skyward too.
When I strode down the hallway, Clotile followed, peeking past me. "What're they gawking at?"