A Billion Reasons Why (14 page)

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“I am only saying I remember a day when you wouldn’t have minded Luc heaving you over his shoulder, but now that he’s engaged and you’re soon to be, I don’t have to play nice with him anymore. I don’t owe him anything. Just because he bought your daddy’s business doesn’t mean a thing.”

“I never said it did! Fine. What’s it to me if you don’t want Luc in your house? Just keep Jem out too, or it’s rude.”

“Well, I like Jem.”

“Remember how you made me invite everyone in my class to my birthday party? Even paste-eater Dannilyn? Not inviting Luc means not inviting Jem. It’s the rule.”

“It’s my house, Katie.”

Katie slipped the newspaper into her handbag and followed her mother up the stairs that still smelled of new carpet and floor finish.

Why did she want to believe in Luc so badly? With each new glimmer of truth, she dared to hope again. Like Charlie Brown trusting Lucy not to pull out the football, she’d run again with total faith. The separation between them, Uptown and Downtown, French New Orleans versus Irish, white collar versus blue collar—in spite of all that, she’d never believed in any separation. What was it going to take to sink into her thick skull that Luc DeForges was no more capable of being a husband to her than Eileen’s dog Pokey? If she could only make her heart believe what her head knew for certain.

Mam stopped at the rail and pointed out all the black-and-white photos of dead relatives she’d never known.

“Now, I don’t mind you mending fences with Luc,” she said, “but I think you should just play possum with him until this shindig is over. If this Dexter is all you say he is, the past is better left in the past.”

“Yes.”

“Here’s your room. You lay down and I’ll call ya before supper’s ready.” Mam pulled the paper out from Katie’s bag. “Here’s the part that pertains to you. ‘Katie McKenna, daughter of the late greengrocer of the Irish Channel and the Lower Garden District Ian McKenna, is said to have forgiven Luc DeForges for publicly humiliating her at his graduation party from Tulane University by rejecting her public proposal of marriage. Miss McKenna will be attending Ryan McKenna’s wedding as Mr. Luc McKenna’s date to show their friendship has survived the breakup and his impending marriage.’”

Katie studied the headshot of the redhead said to be Luc’s fiancée. “She’s got red hair?” Clear, warm eyes stared back at her. Luc’s expression, a separate photo, spoke to her. His business face. No smile to his eyes, no warmth or depth for the photographer. She handed the paper back to her mother. “That’s just a business shot for Luc. He’s not engaged.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can’t.” Luc still had the ability to harm her, and that’s what hurt most of all. She’d thought she was over him. “I just don’t believe it, is all.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not—or even if it’s true. Everyone who will be at that wedding believes it. Your hair is a wreck.”

Katie patted her hair, which was ratty and thick from the moist air. “Thanks.”

“Let’s pin curl it after supper. We’ll get it sleek and slick for your forties practice tomorrow, and it will be just like old times. The best revenge, Katie, is living well. Show him you’re living well and done with his tricks forever.”

Her cell phone rang. She stared at the number, even though she knew by “In the Mood” that it was Dexter again. She’d run out of energy and didn’t have the strength to open the phone. “I don’t deserve him.” But it didn’t explain why she didn’t want to answer the phone.

“You’re not going to answer?” Mam asked.

Mam would read too much into it if she didn’t. “Yes, I am. I wanted privacy.”

Mam took the hint and went out the door as Katie pressed her phone.

“Hi, Dex! Sorry I didn’t call you back right away. Mam was giving me a tour of the house, and I met my stepfather.”

“I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. Did you get your flowers?”

“No, did you send me flowers?” She lay back on the white iron bed from her youth, glad her mother had kept it.

“Shoot. I wanted them to be a surprise.”

“Dex, that is so sweet!”

Mam opened the door again carrying fresh towels, which she placed on the bed. Katie knew it was just an excuse to eavesdrop. She flopped over on the bed and faced the window.

“Mam, did Dexter’s flowers arrive yet?”

“Oh, were those from him?” Mam asked. “There was no card, so I gave them to the neighbor lady.”

She scowled at her mother. “They’re here, Dex. They’re beautiful! I’m going to lie down now before dinner. I’ll call you tonight when you’re home from work, all right?”

“We’re having a Scrabble night at church, so I may not be home.”

“All right, then. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Get some rest, and don’t overdo it.”

“I promise.”

“Bye.”

Katie clicked the phone shut.

“He doesn’t say he loves you when he hangs up?” Mam asked.

“He’s at work!”

“I don’t care if he’s at work or not. You don’t grow up around the water and not say you love somebody when they leave. Look what happened to your father. Imagine if he hadn’t told us that morning.”

“I’ll change it, Mam. Why did you give my flowers away?”

“Poor Helena next door has nothing better to do than watch me leave and hire workmen so she has someone to talk to during the day. Her husband never pays her a moment’s attention, so she’s determined to get it anywhere she can. We have her over to dinner when Rusty has a big catch, and of course she’s coming tonight. Big shot investor, her husband. He ought to be investing where it matters, before his wife takes her account somewhere else!”

“Mam!”

“We wouldn’t think of having a party without Helena.

She’s a very particular eater though—reminds me of you when you were young. Takes the skin off everything, doesn’t like anything fried. Imagine, in New Orleans, not wanting anything fried? Poor girl. I don’t like that this Dexter character doesn’t tell you he loves you when he says good-bye.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse not to like him.”

“Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not, but it’s a right good excuse just the same.”

“So you know why I’m really home,” she said, anxious to see the ring again.

Her mother sighed. “I know why you’re really home. The question is, do you?”

“Huh?”

“Do me a favor, Katie. Don’t talk about that ring just yet. We’ll have dinner. We’ll hear more about Dexter. You’re in New Orleans now. Slow down.”

Chapter 10

T
HE
M
AN
I L
OVE

Katie stepped out of Rusty’s truck. “Thank you, Rusty. You were right, it was too hot to walk.” She smoothed her hair and straightened her tight-waisted red chiffon dress. It still fit. She’d tried it on in desperation to prove that she hadn’t bloomed in size and that her magazine cover was merely a bad angle.

“You got California on the brain. Didn’t want you to have sweat stains on that pretty red dress. I know your momma says ladies glow, but in this heat you’d be glowing like a nuclear power plant.”

Rusty cackled at his own joke, and she slammed the door with a grin. How was it her mother had managed to pick two good men, and she still couldn’t get one in the bag, as Mam would say? Katie shaded her vision and drank in the memories. The Barrelhouse Club, with its inconspicuous front from its speakeasy days, looked tired, a shadow of its former self.

She pulled open the door and waited a moment while her eyes adjusted from blinding morning light to black room. The atrocious smell hit her nostrils first, like a mingled mix of sins gone by: strong dark liquor, cigarette smoke, and grease. She’d never been a drinker. Her father’s warnings about the family history, combined with the reality of singing for drunks to earn money for college, had taught her never to touch the stuff.

Mam had pin-curled her hair and finger-waved the ends into sleek sexy waves with a peekaboo bang covering her left eye, then sprayed her to kingdom come so she’d stay sleek if Katrina’s sister came through town. She felt as though her false eyelashes reached her heavily drawn eyebrows like a cocker spaniel’s. When she blinked, her eyelids felt like they were doing heavy lifting.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see that the navy-blue wallpaper had faded to a pale denim color, its gold-flaked sparkles now specks of snowflakes splattered across the walls. She might have known better than to be lulled by the romance of her former life. Standing in the dingy club for a mere rehearsal, she felt ridiculous in her scarlet chiffon swing dress. Here she had channeled her best Veronica Lake for a band cast who probably had no more idea of the old film star than they did Ricki Lake.

She didn’t recognize any of the musicians, so she stepped onto the stage, determined to get lost in the band’s warm-up sounds. She figured when she was needed someone would let her know, but she wished she had Luc’s company. A Bing Crosby tune crooned softly in the background, and she swallowed and grabbed the microphone in both hands. She’d been taught to tune everything out and focus on the performance, and she told herself that’s exactly what she’d have to do until it was time to step off Luc’s plane and back into her real world.

She’d been another person in this room: a star, the antithesis of her shy, schoolteacher self. For one night a week she became a torch singer bellowing to unrequited loves and a life she’d never lived. In this room, in those days, she played a part, and the old tourists who remembered the days of Doris Day and Ella Fitzgerald roared when she finished.

She didn’t miss it: the crowds, the short-lived accolades. She received far more when an autistic child like Austin looked her in the eye . . . when he connected with the world because of all those days on her knees wearing oatmeal or yogurt. If Austin, or any of her kids at school, giggled, it was like God’s heaven opened up to her for a moment, allowing her to reach for the light.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Luc’s voice broke her thoughts, and she practically mauled him with a hug. “Well, you’re friendly this morning.”

“I thought I might be in the wrong place. I shouldn’t have dressed.”

“Of course you should have. What would the guys say if you showed up in your underthings?”

The sparkle behind his eyes made her smile.

Luc wore khaki pants and a camel-colored jacket with a light-blue collared shirt open at the neck. On his head was his trademark fedora, this one made of straw with a black band. He looked . . . in a word . . . heavenly. Not that she noticed.

“I didn’t realize the club was in such bad shape. Maybe we should have used the conservatory at my mother’s house.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are we playing Clue? Maybe, like Miss Peacock, I should kill you with a lead pipe in the conservatory.”

“Sorry. Did that sound pretentious?”

“You think?” She placed her thumb and forefinger together. “Just a little bit. To those of us who grew up without conservatories, anyway.” She ran her hand along the dusty piano cover. “The glory has certainly faded. I remember thinking I was Doris Day or Ella Fitzgerald singing here, but now I see that maybe I was just a step above the star of a high school musical. Maybe less Billie Holiday, more Gwen Stefani. I’m beginning to wonder just how drunk the patrons were.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure the wedding guests are just as drunk, and there should be no problems.”

“Are you trying to soothe my nerves?”

He grinned. “You should sing everywhere and anywhere.” He surveyed the room. “It was a nice place back in the day . . . and it’s only for practice.” He moved in closer so that his words were accompanied by dream-inducing puffs of air. “You look absolutely beautiful in that dress. Reminds me all over again why I fell in love with you.”

She cleared her throat and pulled at her white gloves. “I’m glad we’re here. This will ease me into performing again.”

He brushed her nose. “At the Café du Monde this morning, were you?”

“How did you know that?”

“You have powdered sugar on your nose.”

“Oh, Luc, wipe it off! I knew trying to dress up like a siren was a long shot to get my confidence back.”

“A siren’s gotta eat, doesn’t she?”

She rubbed her arms against the frigid air. “Do you want to tell me why I’m really here? Is it to sing or to offer you some sort of public redemption before you get married to Heather Wolf? Mam showed me the
Picayune
.”

“Katie, I hate to point out the obvious, but that was
you
in the picture.”

“I know that! But I read the article.”

“So did I.”

“Because, Luc, I have forgiven you, so there’s really no need to pretend I’m here for another reason. If that’s what you want, I’m happy to tell people aloud that I was as responsible for my bad decision as you were, but I can’t take you lying to me. Not again.”

Luc opened his mouth but said nothing, clearly dumbstruck. In the meantime, his cell phone chirped and chirped some more.

“You’d better get that. Don’t want to lose a million or so over a simple conversation with the little harlot from your past.”