French Quarter (15 page)

“I think I already told you that. Jack, I’m five and a half months. Think about it.”

“I’m just making sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

“I want this baby. And I’m never going to change my mind about that. End of discussion.”

He sucked in a breath, then blew it out through pursed lips. “Have you examined your reasons? Babies aren’t toys. And they don’t replace love you think you’ve missed elsewhere. They need. They need everything you have to give, and they deserve that.”

“Finally we agree on something.”

He was too involved in his own thoughts to react to comments that she would expect to irritate him. “I was thinking that you’ve obviously been avoiding alcohol. That’s very important.”

“I know.” Now she was going to get a well-baby lecture.

“What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

The change of topic disoriented her. “Um—I haven’t yet.”

“Pregnant women need to pay attention to those things. Come on, I’ll buy you a good meal.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, but voices in the courtyard stopped her. “This place has never been so busy,” she said. “People keep showing up.”

“Have you had a lot of calls from the press?”

“Early this morning. I refused to say anything, then I turned off the phones.”

“We’ve definitely got more company on the way. Maybe we should go to the office.”

He headed in that direction and Celina followed. They’d barely entered the office Celina had shared with Errol, when the voices became louder.

Celina opened floor-to-ceiling drapes of dark brown tapestry and hurriedly straightened items on top of her own small desk. Dust flew.

Α timid knock on the open door preceded the entrance of a man and woman who looked to be in their sixties.

“Good morning,” Celina said.

Jack muttered something unintelligible.

“We’re Joan and Walt Reed,” the man said, holding out a big, work worn hand which Celina promptly shook. “We had to come as soon as we could. It would have been sooner, but we had to make arrangements.”

The accent was southern, heavily southern, but Celina couldn’t place it.

Joan’s blue eyes watered, and she sniffed. “Did he—did Errol talk to you about us? You are Celina, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I just knew you were. He talked so sweetly about you always. Oh, Walt and I are beside ourselves.”

Jack came forward. “I’m Jack Charbonnet, Mr. and Mrs. Reed. Errol’s partner. You were friends of his?”

Walt Reed sighed. He held a broad-brimmed hat in both hands and his scalp shone through a helmet of carefully styled silver hair. “That boy was like a son to Joan and me. We felt the good Lord sent him to us, because although Joan had a boy from her first husband—God rest his soul—the two of us was never blessed with children of our own, and the Lord knew Errol and us needed each other.”

Joan Reed bleached her hair, and wore it “big” with bangs that obscured her eyebrows. “I can’t believe what those horrible people are sayin’ about him in the papers. Why, he fought so hard against his demons.”

Celina’s spine tingled and she looked at Jack. He raised his eyebrows and went to Errol’s desk, where he sat down and opened the top drawer.

“We are humble people,” Walt said. “We came from humble beginnings, but thanks to the Lord, we’ve made a good life, isn’t that so, Joan?”

Joan swayed, and nodded sadly. Her dowdy gray and white checked dress didn’t go with the hair. She wore flat lace-up shoes and no hose but plenty of makeup.

“We want to help shut those devils up,” Walt said, putting his hat on the arm of a chair and unbuttoning the jacket of his black suit. “If you have the Lord on your side, you can overcome. Never forget that. Errol didn’t.”

“Didn’t keep him alive,” Jack said, taking papers from the drawer and heaping them on top of the desk.

“You’re grieving, son,” Walt said. He went to Jack’s side and settled a big hand on his shoulder. “Errol must have been your friend as well as your partner.”

“He was. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”

“Neither could we,” Joan said, and burst into tears. She located a handful of tissues and blotted her eyes, looking upward to avoid smudging her mascara. “When the tent needed repairin’, Errol paid for it all. And he replaced our trailer. Bought us a brand new one out of his own pocket. He would not take no for an answer. We’ve got to do something for him now.”

“The people who saved Errol’s soul,” Jack said slowly. “Yes, you were mentioned. Or the event was mentioned.”

“God saved his soul, boy,” Walt said severely. “Never underestimate the power of the Lord.”

“What exactly are you here for?” Jack asked.

“To help,” Joan said, her voice shifting higher. “It’s the very least we can do. We have suffered a great loss, but it’s not for us to question the Lord’s ways.”

“You think the Lord lines up killers?”

“I think the Lord cries when we cry,” the woman said, twining her hands together in front of her. “But we must put these awful stories straight. Errol had repented and started a new life in the Lord.”

Celina felt out of her depth. She’d been aware of Errol’s religious convictions but knew nothing of his practices.

“Well,” Jack said, ceasing his fiddling, “I do thank you for feeling you want to help. I’m sorry if I sound less than grateful, but we’re trying to rescue the foundation that was Errol’s life, as well as his reputation, and we’re under a lot of pressure.”

“Why, of course you are, son,” Walt said. “But don’t forget that Errol had turned his face to higher things, the way a man does when he realizes his soul is in danger. Why don’t we all say a prayer together?”

Celina curled her hands into fists, not daring to meet Jack’s eyes.

“You’re kind,” he said. “But I’m not ready for that yet. I’m still too angry. Why don’t you leave us your address and we’ll arrange a more suitable time to talk about your old times with Errol.”

“He was so kind to us,” Joan said.

“You told us.” An aura of impatience vibrated about Jack. “Perhaps Errol had promised you some ongoing financial help?”

Celina cringed and held her breath. She couldn’t bear to see people embarrassed.

“Oh, we didn’t come because we want anything,” Walt said with no hint of anger at Jack’s suggestion. “All we aim to do is be around to offer our assistance as we can. Joan and I use our lives in the service of the Lord, and we know He would want us to be here for both of you.”

“Thank you,” Celina said quickly, drawing a doleful smile from Joan.

“We took us a room at the Pontchartrain. Nothing fancy, but it’s quieter there and still close enough so as to be easy for us to get here.”

“Nice hotel,” Jack said offhandedly. “When will you be leaving town again?”

“Oh, not too soon,” Joan said, looking sideways at her husband. “We know our duty, and our duty is to the memory of a man who became like a son to us.”

Jack’s frustration was palpable. “It’s always nice to have a change of pace. I imagine living in a confined space can become tedious, even if you like life on the road.”

“We don’t spend much time on the road,” Walt said. “We’ve got a nice little spot just south of Baton Rouge. Permanent place for the tent. Fill it up every night, we do. That’s how we met Errol. But the money isn’t for us. We use it for the greater glory of the Lord. We serve Him.”

Celina smiled and got up. “I’ll touch bases with you at the Pontchartrain,” she said. “Thank you for coming by.”

“We wouldn’t have done anything else.” Joan wore what Celina recognized as Cartier’s So Pretty. The soft perfume wafted through the room where the air had grown stale from being closed in.

“We’ll wish you good-bye, then.” The upward turn at the corners of Jack’s mouth hardly qualified as a smile. “Thank you for being good to Errol.”

The Reeds stood side by side. Walt cleared his throat and glanced at his wife, who said, “I suppose you’re in charge of his affairs?”

Jack frowned but said, “Yes.”

“He told us you would be.”

“Why would he tell you that?”

The woman shrugged. “So we’d know where to come if we ever had to.”

“Do you want to spit out what that means?”

Reed picked up his hat and waved it. “Nothin’, really. Just that Errol pledged ongoing support and we were wonderin’ about his will.”

Anger blossomed in Celina. The tears that pricked her eyes were tears of frustration.

“We should be there when it’s read. Errol would surely want it that way.”

Twelve

How would it feel to be loved by Jack Charbonnet?

Celina averted her face and pretended to look into the windows of the closed shops they passed. The fragmented thoughts and feelings caught her off guard, and they were becoming more frequent.

“Exercise is good for pregnant women,” Jack said. “So I understand anyway. Nothing violent—at least, I wouldn’t think that would be a great idea. And not when it’s too hot. But a walk like this in the evenin’ is something you should make part of your routine. Not alone, of course. In fact...well, not alone.”

His dissertation rendered Celina at a loss for a response. He’d left that morning, shortly after the abominable Reeds, excusing himself on some pretext of having forgotten something. But before he’d gone he asked her very seriously if she would come to his place this evening. He’d decided they needed an opportunity to discuss what they might face in the coming weeks, and he’d also decided that interruptions would be less likely in Chartres Street. Celina had been too captivated by his slow, quiet voice and his intensity to consider that she might have refused, and she’d nodded when he’d said he would come for her.

“Diet is also very important,” he said, holding her elbow as they crossed at the next corner and turned right onto Conti. “I remember...there are definitely fads in the whole pregnancy thing. The medical profession seems to change its mind about how much weight you’re supposed to gain, and so on. Did you see a doctor? Apart from Dwayne’s friend?”

Celina couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with Jack Charbonnet. “Not yet.”

“I don’t have to tell you how irresponsible that is at such a late stage. I’ll make some inquiries in the mornin’. It shouldn’t be too tough to find out which obstetricians are highly regarded in the area. Are you takin’ vitamins?”

“No.” She chose not to tell him she didn’t need a lecture. Maybe she did Maybe she needed someone to at least be interested in the baby’s welfare—and her own.

“You’ve got to get this under control.”

She sidestepped a boy in oversized jeans who danced beneath a streetlight to music from a boom box. Jack settled a hand at the back of her waist. Celina looked away from him again. Α strong, fascinating man showed her a little attention, a little of the courtliness that must come naturally and that he’d undoubtedly show any woman in her position, and she began to have feelings she couldn’t afford to have.

He was instinctively protective.

Celina liked it.

The man wouldn’t be anywhere near her if she hadn’t worked for his friend.

“Did you hear what I was saying, Celina?”

“About getting something under control? You mean vitamins?”

“I mean a well-designed regimen to make certain you do everything possible to assure that you have a healthy baby. And to come through healthy yourself. How many weeks is five and a half months?

He was so blunt. “I’m about twenty-two weeks.”

“You should be bigger, I’d think. Did Dr. Al say he thought everything was okay?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve been doing too much. Why would you vomit this late?”

“Sickness isn’t unusual. Some women have it throughout pregnancy. Everyone knows that. But I got sick the way I did that night because I was upset. I’m still upset, and I expect to be for a very long time. But don’t worry, I intend to make sure I don’t collapse on you or anyone else again.”

They made another turn, onto Chartres this time, and Jack had either run out of wisdom for pregnant women or his mind had moved on to other things. He produced keys from the pocket of his jeans and let them into a small vestibule at the bottom of the steps leading to his apartment. She went ahead of him up the stairs, and almost bumped into a wiry little woman at the top.

“There you are, Tilly,” Jack said. “Meet my associate, Celina Payne. She visited me the other evening. Celina, Tilly is Amelia’s companion and my right hand around here.”

Celina said, “I’m happy to meet you, ma’am.”

Tilly said, “Hmm.”

Jack said, “Is Amelia okay?”

“Amelia is as well as you can expect a neglected, confused child to be.”

Startled, Celina looked at Jack. He said, “If Amelia Elise Charbonnet is a neglected, confused child, she hides it well. I’m here now, Tilly. Thanks for covering for me, but I won’t take up any more of your evening.”

Tilly produced glasses from one of the pockets in her floral shirtwaist dress and a pocket New Testament from the other. “I’1I be in the kitchen if you want me,” she said.
“Reading.
”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,” Jack said, and Celina marveled at how calm he sounded in the face of a woman he employed but who upbraided him as she might a naughty child. He grinned at Tilly and told her, “Off with you. It’s long past time for you to start your beauty regimen.”

Several loaded seconds passed before Tilly flounced away without another word. Her rather large feet slapped along in lace-up shoes. When she was gone Jack said, “I couldn’t manage without Tilly. She’s wonderful. I never have to worry about Amelia getting the care she needs when I can’t be with her.”

“That’s nice. But your Tilly isn’t thrilled about you bringing me here.”

He laughed and went past her to open his study door. “She considers Amelia and me her family. She’s motherin’ me too. Come on in.”

Celina did as he asked and jumped when she sighted Amelia in the same leather chair she’d occupied the other evening. The child cradled her big stuffed frog as if it were an infant.

“What are you doing up, young lady?” Jack asked from behind Celina. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I need to talk to you, Daddy. Serious.”

Jack plucked his daughter from his chair and she promptly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. He ruffled her black curls and said, “Thank you, missy. That was very nice. Now you’re going back to bed.”

“It was hard to get in here without Tilly catching me.”

“I’ll just bet it was. Do you remember Ms. Payne?”

Amelia studied Celina. “Of course. I’m not a baby. Are you

dating her?”

Get out of this one, Jack.
Celina put her hands behind her back.

“It isn’t appropriate for five-year-old girls to ask pointed questions of much older people. Celina is a colleague.”

“What’s that?”

“We work together.”

Amelia wrinkled her nose and regarded Celina with green eyes of a similar shade to her father’s. “You never worked with a lady before.”

“Bedtime,” Jack said firmly. “Say good night to Celina, please.”

“When you work with a lady, do you always bring her home?”

“Amelia.’’

“That rude ghost came back.”

“No, it didn’t. Please excuse us, Celina.”

“Of course,” she said. “Sweet dreams, Amelia. And F.P.”

“Do you have any children?” Amelia asked her.

“Not—no.” She’d like to touch the child, to feel her skin and her soft, curly hair. And she’d like to be kissed the way Amelia had kissed Jack. She touched her stomach, then let her hand fall.

“Say good night, Amelia,” Jack said. “I mean it.”

“Good night. Do you have a daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you have any children?”

“She meant husband,” Jack explained quite unnecessarily. “Celina isn’t married, Amelia. I’ll be right back.”

As he made to leave the room, Amelia clutched the edge of the door. “There’s a ghost in my room, Celina. It comes all the time when it knows Daddy’s not thinking about me. And it eats my toys, and burps, and doesn’t say sorry. Has Daddy told you about Phillymeana?”

“Philomena,” Jack said, prying small fingers loose. “And I haven’t.”

“She has trouble with ghosts sometimes,” Amelia said. “And the ice wizard who tries to steal elf babies. Some of the elves are bad too. Right now Phillymeana’s on her way to the North Pole to help Santa Claus get ready. There’s another ghost that lives across the street.” She pointed toward the windows. “I’ve seen it looking at me from behind the curtains.”

Jack got his child into the corridor and closed the door behind them.

Celina took it that Jack made up stories for his little girl. Darn it, but all these rushes of emotion were a pain.

Was her baby going to be a boy or a girl? A girl. A girl who would need a strong father as much as Amelia Charbonnet did. And as much as Amelia needed a mother. Celina massaged her temples. Single parents had to do the best they could, and there were legions of them out there doing a wonderful job. She’d work at being wonderful too.

Within minutes Jack returned. “Sorry about all that. She’s really a very good little girl.”

“I can tell she is. And I can tell you love her a lot.”

“A lot. She’s got quite an imagination.”

Celina looked at him quizzically. “I wonder if she gets that from a daddy who makes up some pretty wild stories.”

He smiled at that and nodded. “Would you like some milk?”

This health stuff could get very old, very fast. “I don’t drink milk.”

“But—”

“Yes, I know. I’m going to get my diet straightened out. And I’m going to work on a health regimen.” Anything, she would say anything to make him change the subject. “Not that I eat badly anyway, but I do need to make some changes.”

“Sit there.’’ He pointed to his comfortable old chair, and kept pointing until Celina sat down. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover this evenin’. How about some juice?”

“Nothing now, thank you. But don’t let me stop you.”

If he heard her, he didn’t react. Instead, he fell into one of his favorite pastimes—pacing. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you came to see me on the
Lucky Lady.”

“I believe you. I’m sure we’ve both been doing a lot of thinking.”

“You’re going to say Errol was your baby’s father. That is what you meant, isn’t it?”

There wasn’t any room for remorse, not now, not when all that mattered was the future of her baby. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,” she said, not intending to. “I could tell him anything. If he thought I was foolish sometimes, he never said so.” But she’d never seen him as angry as he had been when she told him she was pregnant, and what Wilson had done to her. That had been only days before Errol died. Before she’d thought—crazy as it seemed now—that she could somehow manage not to tell anyone ever. But then she’d started getting messages from Wilson again. Not a lot, but even one would have been too many. And he’d showed up in Royal Street when she was alone, with some phony pretense of wanting to make a donation to Dreams. Then he had tried to put his arms around her and the fixed look had entered his eyes, the same look he’d had that other night. Celina managed to contain a shudder. Wilson had tried to put his arms around her and she’d heard the buzzing in her head—and felt herself begin to faint. Antoine had appeared and the moment passed, but she’d realized how vulnerable she was and how much she needed a good friend. Errol had been the only one she trusted enough to approach with her story.

“I know you thought a lot of him,” Jack said.

Errol had threatened to tear Wilson apart. Only Celina’s pleading and her insistence that she didn’t want anyone to know Wilson was her baby’s father had stopped Errol from going after the man.

She brought her attention back to Jack. “I’m going to try to get by without naming anyone in this. If I don’t have to, I won’t.”

“Either you will or you won’t.”

“This isn’t cut-and-dried, Jack. Please don’t ask me to explain.”

“There could be a situation that would make you decide to say Errol fathered your child?”

“I thought we were going to discuss business,” Celina said. “We didn’t get anything done this morning. I want to approach the administrator at St. Peter’s Hospital and see if he’ll endorse a statement in Errol’s defense. And I’ve got to act as quickly as possible to keep our work moving along. There are projects in every phase. The need for them isn’t going away.”

“Going directly to Garth Fletcher at St. Peter’s is a good idea. I’ll talk to him.”

His take-charge instincts annoyed Celina. “I know Garth too. I was often with Errol when he went to see him.”

Jack paced on in silence.

“I need to feel as if I’m doing something,” she told him. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yes. Were you ever engaged?”

Celina drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair. “I’ve never been engaged. Would it work for you if we both went to talk to Garth?”

“Possibly. I take family very seriously.”

“Because you lost yours?” She waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? You said it because you thought it. I did lose my parents. And I lost my wife. But I always thought family was important. You don’t like me, do you?”

She laughed, then coughed.

“Do you need some water?”

“No. And I like you as much as you will allow me to like you. You are not a soft and cuddly person, Jack.”

A faint smile brought some humanity to his austere face. “How would you know?”

He managed to make her blush yet again. “You’re cold, that’s what I should have said.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just out of practice in some areas, so I seem cold. People who know me really well do like me. Some people.”

This man was the king of bizarre conversation. “I’m sure lots of people like you.”

“You could come to like me too. People grow on you if you let them.”

She absolutely would not tell him that she couldn’t understand why he cared what she thought of him, or that she wished far too frequently that...She was in an “interesting” condition. Any yearning for male attention could be blamed on that.

No, it couldn’t. And she didn’t yearn for attention from any man but Jack Charbonnet, darn it.

He watched her with absolute concentration. The denim shirt he’d had on in the morning had been replaced by a white shirt that drew attention to his tan, and to the darkness of his hair. “You’ve never been engaged,” he said. “Is that because you don’t like the idea of marriage?”

“No.” If his probing questions drew only monosyllabic answers, he might give up the interrogation.