Color Blind (23 page)

I continued, tentative but excited. “Of course, we're going to need input from Simone, so we can see if my theory is correct. Though, under the current circumstances, she might not be all that thrilled to hear directly from me.”

Kate took another sip of sherry. “Well, well, well, Miss April, you certainly are a never-ending source of surprise . . . You could be right. We all might be related. Everything you said sounds plausible. Tell me, what is your plan for presenting your theory to Simone?”

“I haven't worked that part out yet, I wanted to get your support first . . . You do support me, right?”

“I think I need to sleep on it, April. This could be life changing for all of us,” said Kate.

“Would that be a bad thing?” I asked.

“I don't know. Like I said, I need to sleep on it. Let's call it a night.”

“'Kay,” I mumbled. I was disappointed, but not crushed.

Kate unwound her legs and stood. She picked up the tray, stepped carefully around the piles of pictures, and left the office.

Kate hadn't shot me down, which was good. She also said it was “plausible,” which was even better. In fairness, I couldn't be unhappy with her decision to be cautious. Caution had
not
been my strong suit lately. I went to my room to formulate a plan.

I lay down on my bed and over the course of the next hour came up with various alternative scenarios in which I could get Simone to hear me out. None were any good. I got up and went over to the window, stared into the midnight blue, jasmine-scented night, and reversed the roles.

What would I do if someone came to me with this off-the-wall notion of a revised family history? Especially a biracial one? I'd probably freak. Sort of like how I reacted, or overreacted, the night Kate told me that Marie Laveau was my great, great, great, great grandmother. For me, it isn't a race thing, but a Voodoo thing. My great granny, the Voodoo Queen? That's what made me so crazy, sent me spiraling out of control. How would anyone handle that kind of news? Obviously, I didn't handle it well.

Simone might not be all that thrilled with us being related. Not because of the race issue either, but because I'd behaved so badly in recent history. I breathed in the heady perfume of the evening, closed my eyes, and reflected on the situation a while longer. When my brain relaxed, I knew what I had to do. I simply needed to tell the story as I believed it to be.

I had my plan.

Kate would drive me to Simone's house, where first, I would apologize for lying and scaring the daylights out of her by dragging Angel into my misadventure. Second, I would promise to never do anything like that again, although Simone would probably doubt my sincerity. Next, I would apologize to Angel for getting her into such deep doo-doo with her mom.

If Simone were open to listening to me after I begged for forgiveness, I'd tell my tale and try to enlist her help to grow our family tree. I'd already mentioned our kinship to Angel, the night of our hair-raising drive to the swamp. She thought I was crazy.
Maybe I am, but I don't think so.

The visit might also require peace offerings, some kind of make-nice gifts. I moved over to the comfy chair, pulled up my knees, and ruminated on this new idea for a while.
Will gifts be appropriate or misconstrued?
It could go either way. Ultimately, it would depend upon the gifts being offered. Since this was potentially another touchy situation, I would ask Kate in the morning for her opinion. Gumbo could use a microchip, in case he ever got lost again. The same applied to Angel, but in her case it would be a cell phone with GPS tracking. Any mother would appreciate locators, especially Simone, after what I put her through. I would offer to help pay the phone costs out of my salary if/when I got the job at Café Beignet.

I yawned, stretched, and noted the time. It was already after one in the morning, I needed to call it a night. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

Morning came quickly. I raced downstairs to talk to Kate, to find out what she had decided about bringing all of this to Simone, but she was already gone. There was a note on the fridge wishing me luck on my interview, asking me to call her when I finished.
Well, darn!

Dejected, I poured myself some orange juice and selected a blueberry muffin from under the glass dome. Before she left, Kate had set a place at the kitchen table for me. Next to the linen napkin was a neatly folded lined piece of paper. I sat down, unfolded the paper and began to read. Sometime during the night or early morning, Kate made notes on the family members she knew about, including full names, dates of births, deaths, marriages, and children whenever possible. There wasn't much, as ours was not a vast family, but whatever information she had, she passed on to me. I interpreted this to mean that she was okay with me/us going to visit Simone and Angel, but wanted me to add more to our side of the family tree before doing so. I was excited, and for the first time in a very long time, happy.

After breakfast, I refilled my juice glass, chopped up some lettuce, and took breakfast out to BG for probably the last time. I released her from the tether, gave her an ear snuggle and watched as she ate the tender greens. I told her not to worry. It wouldn't be much longer before she was spending her days with new friends, free to roam in open spaces. She wouldn't be alone much longer.

When the doorbell sounded, I hooked up BG and went inside. I pulled back the curtain by the door and saw that a delivery man had loaded two large black trunks onto the porch. My belongings had arrived. I opened the door, signed for the delivery, and said he could leave the trunks where they were, I would take care of them. Since I was alone, I didn't want to let a stranger into the house—
Stranger! Danger!
like Detective Baptiste had warned. I went back inside and removed the small rug from the powder room. I slid the first trunk onto it and dragged it across the threshold. I got the second trunk into the house and returned the rug to the powder room. Maybe later, with Kate's help, we could get the trunks upstairs without first unloading everything downstairs.

As I turned to go back to the courtyard, the doorbell sounded again. I pulled the curtain aside. This time it was a FedEx guy with an envelope. I stepped out onto the porch, signed for the letter, went back inside, and locked the front door. The FedEx, sent by Sam, was addressed to me. Outside in the courtyard I sat down and began to read. The documents included a cover letter from Sam, a copy of my father's will, and an envelope addressed to me in my father's handwriting.

Oh boy. This is going to be hard.

I inhaled deeply and began to read Sam's letter. My father's estate was settled. Sam outlined the details in a clear, concise manner. I would have expected nothing less.

I was Dad's sole beneficiary. My father's worldly possessions were stored, along with our furniture, in a facility in Alabama, except for the few personal items that Sam had packed into the trunk for me. He thought I might like to have them right away.
He was right about that.

I continued reading. I was astonished to learn that I was the sole beneficiary of a life insurance policy that I never knew existed. The proceeds would be administered for me by Sam, as executor of the estate. I was to receive $1,000 per month over the next forty months beginning immediately, until I reached the age of twenty-one. The first $1,000 had already been deposited into my bank account. The balance of the insurance proceeds, in the amount of $160,000, had been set aside for higher education. If for any reason I did not use the $160,000 for college, those funds would not be made available to me until my twenty-fifth birthday. As Dad's will directed, Sam had sold my father's car and would use the money to pay tuition for my last year of high school if necessary. If I attended a public school and tuition was a non-issue, I could use the money to buy a car for myself upon graduation.

Overwhelmed, I began to cry; I sat sobbing in the courtyard for quite some time. When the doorbell rang again, I wiped my face with the hem of my shirt, gathered up all of the papers, and ran inside. Once more, I pulled the curtain aside. Lo and behold, there was yet another delivery person on the porch. A woman this time, holding a small box. I answered the door, signed for the package, and sat down in one of the rocking chairs.

My new phone had arrived. I wasn't in any hurry to activate it, because nobody was going to call me anyway. All I wanted to do was sit here for a while and think about my future. Back and forth, back and forth. Totally drained from this morning's emotional roller coaster, the rocking soothed me; I soon drifted off.

Somewhere up the street a car backfired and I awoke with a start. I checked my watch and panicked. My job interview was in thirty-five minutes. I snatched up the box with the phone, took the stairs two at a time and speed-showered. I pulled back my hair, bound it with a clip, found the makeup I'd purchased the day before, and went about the business of hiding the nearly healed scratches on my face. I threw on a long-sleeved white shirt, plain black trousers, and black sandals, added a pair of simple gold hoop earrings, and finished off with a little bit of pink lip gloss. I grabbed my purse, locked the front door, and flew down the porch stairs, happy the interview was only a few short blocks away.

I fast-walked up Royal Street, then had to slow my pace a bit so I wouldn't be all sweaty and overheated when I arrived at Café Beignet. I felt a pang when I passed in front of the police station. I thought about the night I met Miles and the conversation we had, when he joked that he hoped I was worth all the bother. Because I hadn't heard from him since my swamp incident, I assumed I wasn't.

The truth hurt.

I pushed the dark, brooding thoughts out of my head, pulled out a smile from somewhere deep within, entered the café and looked for Josie, the manager. Right away I recognized the infectious laughter from our initial phone call, but Josie would have been hard to miss. She was wearing a brightly colored oversized Hawaiian shirt with huge hibiscus flowers blooming across her substantial chest. There was a real hibiscus flower holding back the hair above her left ear, and on each wrist she wore numerous gold bangle bracelets, which jingled with every laugh. She looked like a lady that dotted the ‘i' in Josie with a little flower. I liked her immediately.

Josie came around to the front of the counter, reached out her hand, and said, “Hi, I'm Josie. You must be April.”

“How did you know?”

“Your outfit, it's very interview-ish. You look quite professional, entrepreneurial, as well as gorgeous, and you're five minutes early. I like you already! Let's sit, you can tell me all about yourself. Can I get you a café au lait before we start?”

“Maybe after. Thank you for asking. I would like some water, though.”

“Polite, too, I like that in an employee,” said Josie, handing me a frosty glass of water.

Josie sat. We visited, laughed, and got to know each other over the next hour. I'd never been on a job interview before, but Josie made it easy. I was comfortable with her; I felt as if I were speaking with a kindred spirit.

In one quick move, Josie rose from her chair, squeezed my shoulder and said, “Let me get that café au lait for you now, sugar.”

The interview was over.
I didn't get the job!
The opportunity had slipped away and I didn't understand why. I failed miserably.
Now what am I going to do? I need to start the job hunt all over again to satisfy Kate's conditions for my continued presence in her home. And I won't get to see Miles.
I wanted to cry, but didn't. It had already been a teary kind of day.

Josie returned to the table with two coffees and a plate of freshly made beignets. She sat back down.

“Let's celebrate!”

“Celebrate what?”

“Why, honey, your new job, of course. When can you start? Monday morning okay with you?”

“I'm hired? Really? Wow! Thank you!” I raised my coffee cup in a toast to Josie, took a bite of beignet and unleashed the power of powdered sugar.

“You might want to re-think wearing black to work, hon,” laughed Josie.

I finished my food, stood, stacked the dishes, cleared the table, and carried everything into the kitchen. Before leaving the kitchen, I washed my hands at the employee sink and wiped the powdered sugar from my trousers with a damp paper towel.

I reached out my hand to Josie and said, “I want to thank you for your time today and for giving me this opportunity. You won't regret it.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. I'll see you here on Monday at ten
A.M.
We'll work out the rest of your schedule later.”

“Yes, ma'am! I'll be here bright and early,” I said, throwing her a little salute.

Turning to leave, I collided with Detective Baptiste.

“What's your hurry, little lady?” he asked.

“Um . . . hi . . . uh, hello . . . Detective Baptiste.”

“You two know each other?” asked Josie.

“We're old friends. We just haven't seen each other for a while. Right, April?” he answered.

“That's right. Old friends,” I croaked, surprised I could get the words out of my desert-dry mouth.

“The usual?” asked Josie.

“Yep, the usual. I'll just sit here and catch up with Miss April while I wait,” he said, pulling a chair away from the table for me.

Speechless, I sat.

“How are you, April? How's Kate?”

“I'm better. She's better. I mean,
we're
doing better. Together.”

Detective Baptiste listened quietly, patiently.

I rambled on, “We're working on our, uh, hmmm . . . issues, I guess you could call it.”

“Glad to hear it. I was concerned.” Detective Baptiste leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “You seem to be a pretty good kid, April, but you're a little feisty and maybe a tad too reckless. I would hate to see you get hurt.”