Color Blind (24 page)

I looked down at the table, embarrassed, “Thank you for your concern, for everything. You were a big help to me . . . to us. I know Kate really appreciated—I mean appreciates—you. She likes you a lot . . . a whole lot . . . she says you're a good man and a kind person.”

“You mean she didn't say anything about my ruggedly handsome face, exquisite manners, or musical talent?” he laughed. I laughed, too; it felt good, natural. It was a relief.

Josie brought his “usual” to the table and asked, “So Frank, what do you think of my new hire?”

“With her charm, she'll fit right in here. Most likely, she'll increase your business, too. Especially the male NOPD rookie business.”

“Mighty fine,” she said, dancing her way back to the counter to help the new customers, “mighty fine . . .”

“Um, Detective Baptiste . . . how's Miles?”

He smiled at me and nodded towards the door. “Why don't you ask him yourself?”

There, leaning against the door frame, bathed in the golden late-afternoon sun, was Miles. With his tanned, muscular arms folded across his six-pack abs, he looked better than ever. He also looked like a panther assessing its prey. My heart skipped a beat; I couldn't breathe or think clearly.

Detective Baptiste stood. “It was nice seeing you again, April. I'm happy to hear that you're doing so well.” He leaned down, gave me a little peck on the cheek and whispered, “Don't be afraid, he won't bite.”

“Son.”

“Dad.”

Miles strode over to the table; he took me by the arm and led me towards the exit.

“Let's take a walk.”

I glanced back at Josie and waved goodbye.

She winked, gave me two thumbs up and mouthed, “You go, girl!”

Miles waited until we were well out of sight of the café and the police station, before turning me towards him and gently backing me up against a brick wall. I wasn't afraid, but I didn't know what to expect.

It certainly wasn't what happened next.

Miles cupped my chin and planted a long, hard kiss on my lips.

“Why haven't you returned my texts or voicemails ? I've been worried sick. Are you angry with me, April?”

Breathless, I was grateful the wall was holding me up. I enjoyed his closeness, his warmth, the lingering taste of his kiss still fresh on my mouth.

“What? What are you talking about? Angry with you? Are you kidding me? I thought you were mad at me for all the trouble I caused. I thought I'd never see you again!”

Miles peered down at the sidewalk. “Well, yeah, I
was
angry with you. To be honest, I never wanted to see you again. After Dad talked to me about what you said in your statement, I felt bad. I felt bad for you. And for me. I was awfully hurt because you wouldn't talk to me about yourself. I thought we were friends. What I really couldn't understand was why you didn't answer any of my texts. I must've sent a gazillion of them before I took the hint.”

“The hint?
There was no hint!
My phone is deep in the swamp; it's probably gator food by now. I just got my replacement phone this morning. I haven't even had time to activate it.”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“So, we're good?”

“We're more than good.” I turned my face upwards and puckered my lips, ready for another kiss.

The kiss didn't come. Instead Miles joked, “I don't suppose you'd like to join me tonight for a cemetery tour and a visit to the Voodoo shop?”

At first I was taken aback. Then I laughed. I laughed long and hard.

“Been there, done that.”

“May I walk you home?”

“I'd like that very much.”

Miles hooked his arm in mine and turned me towards home.

Home. I guess it is my home now, isn't it?

Arriving at the front gate, Miles offered to help me with the phone. I declined his offer and let him know I wanted to handle it myself, that I'd call or text later.

I needed some alone time. This day had been so much more than I could have imagined when I went to bed last night. My life was happening at warp speed and I was having difficulty keeping up.

I sat in the rocker and watched Miles walk away from the gate. He really was quite a remarkable person, just like his dad. They were both good, kind men. Never in a million years would I have believed we would be friends again. I thought about what Miles said to me earlier about our friendship. If he hadn't been so discouraging about Voodoo in the beginning, I might have opened myself up to him, but then again, maybe not. At the time, I really wasn't in a frame of mind to open up to anyone. I hoped I could do better going forward.

I rocked awhile longer, trying to decide when I would open my father's letter. I wanted to read it, but not yet. I was still aching from his death, his permanent absence. I knew the contents would make me cry. In my heart, I knew he was going to tell me to let him go. I wasn't ready to hear it. I'd seen it too many times in the movies:
“If you're reading this, I must be dead . . .”
It had to be one of those letters.

His letter could wait. I rocked some more and thought about Kate, Simone, Angel. I thought about high school and college and money and volunteering and my new job. By the time I finished, my head was spinning. I needed food. Since I hadn't eaten anything except a muffin and a beignet, I was once again on sugar overload. I got up, unlocked the front door, and saw the trunks that had been delivered earlier in the day. The trunks could wait.

Leaving my keys and handbag on the hall table, I moved past the trunks and into the kitchen to fix myself something to eat. Kate's note from the morning was still hanging on the fridge.
Oh my God! I was supposed to call her after my interview!
I picked up the receiver and dialed, hung up when I heard the front door open. Kate was home.

She entered the kitchen and slipped her carry-all over the back of a chair, then kicked off her shoes, sat down at the kitchen table, and began to rub her ankles.

“Tough day?”

“Not really. My feet are a bit sore, that's all. How was your day? How did your interview go? By the way, you look really nice. Very professional.”

“I apologize for not calling you, I got sort of distracted. My day was good, the interview went really well. I got the job! I start Monday.”

“That's great news! Congratulations! We should celebrate. We could go anywhere, do anything you like. Would you be interested in a jazz dinner cruise on the Mississippi? The buffet isn't five-star, but the food is good and there's plenty of it. It's touristy, but interesting and fun. We wouldn't need to be there until close to seven
P.M.
, so you have time to decide. I saw your trunks in the hall. Would you like help getting them upstairs?”

“Thanks, I could use your help. And a river cruise sounds like fun. We haven't had much of that lately. Actually, we haven't had any fun since I arrived in New Orleans which, I know, is totally my fault . . . Let's do it!”

Kate eyed the FedEx on the kitchen table, “What's that?”

“It's from Sam. Dad's estate is settled. Sam sent me the details. We can talk about it over dinner.”

Kate stood. “Let's get those trunks upstairs.”

It was a struggle, but we got them into the hallway outside my room. I could unpack from there and store the trunks in the attic afterwards. Unpacking could wait.

I was ready to go out and have some fun.

The pier was packed with people ready to experience the local color of Louisiana. Nothing says vacation in New Orleans like a steam-powered riverboat ride on the Mississippi, with an endless buffet of Creole delicacies, oversized alcoholic beverages, and an overlay of jazz in the background. The energy was contagious. I was as excited as the tourists.

The evening air was cooler by the river. It was a welcome relief, and it got even cooler once the trip was under way. We worked our way through the crowd to the front of the boat to get the best view. When we found a comfortable space at the railing, we relaxed and enjoyed the scenery. We passed factories, antebellum homes, an old fort, and a plantation. Our fellow passengers were loud, but in a background, white-noise way.

After twenty minutes of cruising down the muddy Mississippi, I told Kate about my day. I started with the morning deliveries, worked my way up to the afternoon interview, my chance meeting with Detective Baptiste, the walk with Miles. I left out his kiss, which was way too private. I ended with the details of the estate settlement and the as-yet unopened letter from my dad.

Kate was a good listener. Not once did she interrupt.

The dinner bell sounded; it was time for the first seating. I was famished. Inside, we gave our dinner tickets to the steward who, with a flirty little wink at Kate, led us to a nice table by the window.

He took our drink order, pointed to the stack of plates at the buffet, and said, “Help yourselves, beautiful ladies. I'll be right back with your beverages.”

It was indelicate of me, but I pretty much piled one of everything from the buffet onto my plate before returning to the table. Kate's plate was overloaded as well. Over in the corner, on a small, raised stage, the jazz quartet played mellow music during our meal. In between mouthfuls, I talked about school, about money, about our new extended family. After dessert, I lay down my fork and finally talked about my dad.

Until I said it out loud to Kate, I hadn't realized the depth of my anger with my dad for dying. For leaving me alone, without support, either emotional or financial. I'd been pissed off beyond all reason every day since he died. It was fairly obvious that, to date, I hadn't handled myself very well. To make matters worse, I'd been wrong about everything. My dad did have a plan in case of emergency, he just ran out of time before he could tell me.

When I finished, Kate said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me understand you a little better.”

“Does this mean I don't have to go to grief counseling?”

Kate rolled her eyes, “Let's just say you've made great progress tonight . . . Listen, while we're clearing the air, are you okay if I talk about your mother now? I think I can help you understand her a little better.”

I hesitated before answering. “Okay.”

“Dad used to think Julia was something special. He always said she was like lightning in a bottle, impossible to contain. He had great aspirations for her, wanted her to be a lawyer, follow in his and Grandpa's footsteps by taking over the firm one day.”

It was my turn to be a good listener, but hearing this stuff wasn't easy for me. It was work to be still and focused.

“When Julia got pregnant with you, she was trapped. Since abortion was out of the question, Mom hid her in a home for unwed mothers and told their friends she was spending time abroad studying at the Cordon Bleu. Which, by the way, had always been
my
dream. Our parents wanted her to give you up for adoption. They actually considered you to be nothing more than a minor impediment to the future they had mapped out for their precious daughter. Life at home became unbearable, the arguments were frequent and bitter. Julia wanted to keep you. In her mind, adoption was out of the question. Finally, against our father's wishes, Mom brought both of you back from the home for unwed mothers and kept you hidden from public view while she tried to sort things out. Dad was adamant, you had to go. It wasn't long before Julia left everything and everyone behind.”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I stared at her, unblinking, holding back any tears.

Kate continued, “Julia was miserable, frightened. She couldn't keep you and raise you on her own. She wouldn't give you up to strangers. On the morning of her eighteenth birthday, she did the only thing she could think to do. She got up at dawn, put you in the pram, left you on your father's front porch and disappeared. It wasn't until later we learned she'd joined the Army. That's when our parents went to her room, removed all evidence of her, gave her clothes to charity, and stored the rest of her things in a trunk tucked away in the attic.” Kate took a deep breath and a sip of water.

“Go on.”

“It all went downhill from there. Our parents went their separate ways. Not literally of course, they stayed together for appearances' sake. My father became a huge fan of daily three-martini lunches. My mother gave endless afternoon card parties, serving her guests large pitchers of icy cold mint juleps. They both began to smoke. They both embraced vices they had previously looked upon with disdain.”

“And you?”

“Me? I developed good coping skills. I never complained, I kept to myself, kept my distance. Most important of all, I held on to my dream. I never made it to the Cordon Bleu, but graduated from the Culinary Institute of America instead. I stayed in New York after graduation and worked my way up in high-end restaurants until Dad died.”

“Are you still angry with my mom?” I asked.

“I was. But you changed that for me.”

“How?”

“By helping me understand that by leaving you with your father, she gave you a better start in life. As difficult as it was, she did what she thought was best for you. Turns out she was right.”

The dinner bell rang once more, it was time for the second seating and they needed our table. Kate and I resumed our positions at the front of the boat.

We talked until we docked. By the end of the cruise, Kate had approved of my idea to have Gumbo microchipped and to pre-pay a cell phone for Angel. She said if I could get the balance of our family tree finished either tonight or in the morning, we'd go see Simone and Angel after her shift ended tomorrow afternoon.

It had been a good day—more than good, actually—but I was worn out and ready to go home.

“I don't feel like walking home,” said Kate. “If we get a carriage, the driver can let us out in front of the house.”