Jolie Blonde (Vigilare Book 3) (16 page)

“I know,” he interrupts, his eyes narrowing. “I just thought since we kind of had a moment. You know, back then.” Johnny has not forgotten the sweetness she showed him as a girl in her parents’ home in New Orleans. The innocent kiss they shared still lingers in his memory. “There might be a chance for us now.”

Her eyes dart back and forth between his, the apology in them all the answer he needs.

“Ah, who am I kidding?” Releasing his arms from her waist, he leans back against the counter, fully excusing her of any obligation. “I’ll be trying the same moves tomorrow night. Different girl. Different apartment.” He chuckles at his unbridled
manwhore
status.

She joins him, a soft giggle escaping. Her body relaxes against the countertop, thankful for his accommodating humor relieving her of further awkwardness.

“I do have to give it to you, though. You’re the only one who’s ever gotten to me.” Johnny taps his hand over his heart, simultaneously clearing his throat.

“I don’t know.” Brianna eyes him doubtingly, playing into his diversionary rhetoric. “I think it’s the quest you like more so than the hook.” She ponders his thrill-seeking soul. “Once you got the girl, then what would you do?”

He expels a huff of air, his head nodding back. “Beats me. I never thought it through that far.” He looks over at her, his thick-skinned smile at odds with the sensitivity in his eyes, alluring in their pale blue appearance peeking out from behind his dark, bad boy bangs. “Guess we’ll never know, will we,
rich girl,”
he says fondly, a hint of unrequited wonder in his tone.

Brianna navigates her silver Mercedes Coupe (a graduation present from her grandparents) off the road and alongside a familiar old-school Ford Crown Victoria south of New Orleans in bayou country. She smiles with the image of her shocked and mortified grandmother, if only she knew of her granddaughter’s whereabouts. Having spent the past three years between their home and college two hours east of New Orleans in Lafayette, Brianna scolds herself for taking so long to visit the Castilles.

Fortunately, Alonzo Sr.’s pirogue waits at the bank of the murky water’s edge. Her handbag sidesaddling her torso, Brianna steps down into the flat-bottomed boat, engaging the small makeshift motor. The forward jarring motion of the pirogue tests her balance, reminding her that it has been some time since she satisfied her mother’s dreams of rearing a ballerina. She inspects her fair sunscreen-shellacked limbs, figuring her maturity counterintuitive to such professional dance aspirations, having outgrown the preferred height limitations. Although she surely would give it a go if it meant she could recite such a routine in the presence of her mother.

A swarming circle of gnats causes her to squeal, swatting ferociously as she gives in to sitting down on the back of the pirogue. The prissy action inspiring her short-lived embarrassment as she contemplates the city living she has grown quite accustomed to. Another reminder of Lon’s absence from her life, his companionship the only time she was afforded the pleasure of exploring the great outdoors.

One sweltering half-hour later, she docks her pirogue beside the Castilles’ airboat. A Saturday afternoon finds them both at home. Adorned in their casual gardening gear, Alonzo and Winona peek out from under large-brimmed sunhats, quite pleasantly surprised and shocked at their long-lost guest.

“Jolie Blonde,” Alonzo pipes with a hearty chuckle. “You shore are a sight fer sore eyes.” He assists Winona, his hand gently wrapping around her elbow as she pushes up off bent knees in her vegetable garden.

Brianna meets them halfway, her arms ardently encircling Winona’s shoulders, the closest thing she has found to her mother’s embrace.

“Oh, sweet girl.” Winona firmly pats her back before pulling away, holding Brianna’s hands in hers. “Let me look at you.” Winona eyes her satisfactorily. “I dare say you grew prettier since last I saw you.” She touches her hand to her own silky black locks, coiffed into a bun at the back of her sunhat.

“I see ya let yer hair grow back nat’ral,” Alonzo remarks, hugging her to him. “You do dat jus’ fer me?” He laughs, knowing she was never fond of his hair-inspired nickname for her.

“I hope you don’t mind my using your pirogue to get here.” Brianna checks her urge to cry, standing before them, their casual warmth affecting her deeply.

“What’s ours is yers, lass. You know dat,” Alonzo quells her reservation.

“Well, come on inside.” Winona pulls on her arm. “I know you have to be thirsty. Standing out in that sun all along the river. Let’s have some sweet tea and a sandwich,” she remarks of the unsated rumble in her own tummy.

Passing by the swing on the front porch, Brianna’s lips curl upward, the lounging spot reminding her of the Milky Way, Lon’s mythical and exaggerated delivery coming back to her. The conflicted memory holds a combination of pain at the sudden loss of her parents and the sweetness of a boy attempting to help her to forget.

“You come right in. Have a seat right here.” Winona offers up the dining chair closest to the swamp cooler. “You like sweet tea?” She maneuvers about the kitchen, preparing plates and glasses.

“Yes, ma’am.” Brianna watches her, fully indulging in what Lon’s childhood must have been like with the ever-tending Winona Castille.

“What is it ya been doin’ dese days?” Alonzo asks, firing up the stove top in preparation to throw some butter and shrimp in a pan, letting them simmer for his famous Po’ Boy sandwich.

“I just started my law degree this semester. At LSU,” Briana delivers, waiting for the dots to connect.

“Well, ain’ dat sometin!” Alonzo claps his hands together. “You run inta dat boy a mine, you be shore an squeeze his neck. He’ll like dat.” Alonzo shifts the pan back and forth over the burner, fully covering and sautéing the shrimp in butter. “Ya hear dat, Win?” He speaks to Winona. “Our boy an Jolie Blonde goin’ ta school tagedder again.”

“Uh-huh,” Winona answers, her voice agreeable yet cautionary. Having seen the heartache
Jolie Blonde’s
departure caused her son just three years ago, she is no hurry to witness it all over again.

“He shore did miss you, Jolie Blonde,” Alonzo continues. Equally distributing the contents of the frying pan into three homemade rolls, he delivers them to the table, taking a seat beside Brianna. “I do say, I never saw ma boy in such a funk as when you went away.”

“I missed him, too,” Brianna delivers, her voice apologetic as she looks at Winona, having picked up on her reservation. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back, for a visit.”

Winona sits down adjacent to her. Reaching her hand across the table, she takes Brianna’s in hers. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweet girl. You had a lot on your plate,” Winona references her parents’ death. “These things take time. We’re just glad to have ya.” She winks, replacing her hand with a fresh glass of iced tea. “Law school?” Winona diverts. “Isn’t that a graduated degree?” She fumbles with the terminology, having some idea.

Brianna pulls her tea glass from her mouth, the cool candied taste a welcome refresher from the Louisiana heat. “Yes, ma’am. I finished my undergraduate degree in Criminal Justice this summer. I started taking basic prerequisites my senior year of high school. That coupled with a full load every summer allowed me to graduate early.”

“When do you rest? Have fun? A social life?” Winona asks, impressed, as she contemplates their financial struggle in helping Lon with tuition just two semesters out of the year, all year long simply unimaginable to her.

Brianna shrugs. “It’s a bit of a sacrifice, but I really want that law degree.” Her career-driven mindset spurred by more than simple education, her parents’ unjust murder fueling that fire.

“Ya hear dat, Win? We goin’ ta have a lawyer in da fam’ly,” Alonzo pipes proudly. “Ya know, dey say lawyers an engineers have a lot in common.” He winks at her over his Po’ Boy.

She smiles, catching his drift. “I saw Lon last…er…yesterday,” she fabricates the time of day of their visit, knowing all parents think nothing good happens after midnight.

“How he be?” Alonzo asks. Even though his son just left their house yesterday after a long summer vacation, that doesn’t stop him from inquiring, his curiosity of Lon’s foreign college life most definitely piqued.

“He’s great,” Brianna fibs, again looking down at her sandwich before Winona can detect the opposition in her conflicting eyes. Lon’s unusual behavior and acquired drug use is not her truth to tell.

“He have a lot a friends up dere? In dat
frat
house?” Alonzo stresses the newly collected term.

“Oh yeah. Of all walks.” Brianna can’t help but roll her eyes, Chi O One and Two coming to mind.

“Him an dat Johnny got ta be awful good friends. After da bickerin’ wore off.” Alonzo laughs, reminiscing how the two squared off regularly when Johnny first moved in. “Dat was a good idea, Jolie Blonde. Havin’ Johnny move inta yer room. All dat boy need, a little hope. Someone ta believe in him. Awful big help round here, too. Wudn’ he, Win?”

Winona nods. “Shame his own father couldn’t see the good in him.”

“Well, he won’ have ta worry ’bout dat mean ol’ bastard no more. Sorry fer bein’ crass, ladies,” Alonzo follows up.

“Now, hon, you shouldn’t go speaking ill of the dead,” Winona scolds tenderly.

“What happened?” Brianna considers the new information, Johnny’s words from last night running through her mind—‘I ain’t been back.’

“His house burnt down. Da whole ting. Jus’ dis summer. Him inside. Drunk an sleep,” Alonzo scoffs, the thought that it was a fitting penance.

“Was Johnny okay with that? How did he handle it?” Brianna can’t help but think that even though his father was no-count, he was his only father after all.

“He acted like it didn’t even happen.” Winona broods over such a thought. “Wouldn’t even go to the funeral.” She shakes her head.

“Ya can’ hold dat against da boy, Win.” Alonzo swipes his mouth with his napkin. “Jus’ as well. Dis way Johnny kin move on.”

“Did they say what caused the fire? How did it happen?” Brianna’s mind forming itself from her studies goes into judicious mode. She criticizes herself for secretly considering her ever-resourceful and unlawful
bad boy
friend.

“Cig’rette,” Alonzo briefs before turning the conversation back around. “Dem boys behavin’ demselves? Dey better not be smokin’ dose cancer sticks. Rollin’ dem up in der shirtsleeves.” He mimes the habit of old.

“Oh!” Winona cackles gingerly at her unhip husband. “Honey, I don’t think they do that anymore. Why, they even have electric cigarettes nowadays.”

Brianna giggles with the befuddled look Alonzo gives Winona as he figures her surely misspoken—an electric cigarette—what?

Continuing on with something he’s savvy about, Alonzo prods, “Ma fishin’ pardner toll me dat LSU is a big ol’ party school. Ma boy’s not partyin’, is he? Mama an me don’ pay fer him ta party. We pay fer him ta get edge’cated.”

“Quit grilling the girl, hon.” Winona gently taps Alonzo’s arm. She points to the refrigerator, Lon’s transcripts fastened there with colorful magnets. “His grades are proof enough that he’s doing what we asked him to do. And if you think for one minute
your
boy,” she emphasizes, “is not partying, then you better take your blinders off.” Winona chuckles, fond memories of her young and celebratory life mate flood her mind’s picture book.

Alonzo gives her a charming grin. “Seems ta me, you were no wallflower yerself.”

Brianna enjoys their playful and open interchange, marveling at the easiness with which they carry on. The effortless relationship akin to the one she used to share with Lon, leaving her to wonder where and how everything went so wrong between them. She finishes off her sandwich, proffering two small gifts from her handbag, one for Winona and one for Alonzo.

“Now, Jolie Blonde, ya didn’ have ta do dat. Seein’ you is reward ’nough,” Alonzo gently scolds.

“Just open it.” Winona prods, knowing her traditional husband is simply bothered that they do not have a gift for her in return.

“It’s the least I could do. You folks taking care of me after…” her voice trails off before finishing the sentence, still quite uncomfortable mentioning her parents’ death aloud. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you.” She looks down at her fidgety hands.

“Don’ be a stranger. Dat’s how.” Alonzo steadies her hands, giving them an affirming squeeze.

Winona watches him, amazed at how the man continues to make her proud, year after year, day after day, always some sweet and honorable action. Opening her quaint square package, she coos. “Oh, Jolie Blonde,” the most affectionate moniker slipping from her mouth, “this is just beautiful. It’s too much.” She pulls the pristine turquoise necklace from the white satin box, her Native American heritage treasuring its healing and spiritual qualities.

“My grandparents took me to Santa Fe last year. I saw that in the jewelry store and you’re the first person that came to mind.” Brianna rises from her chair, helping Winona fasten it about her neck.

“Wit whew!” Alonzo whistles. “Guess I better shine up ma dancin’ shoes,” he promises an impending date night. “Necklace dat purdy is beggin’ ta be showed off.”

Unwrapping his gift, revealing a hand-sculpted turquoise fillet knife, the strapping
Senior
grows quite soft, his eyes welling up. Never having a daughter, he is unaccustomed to such a moving exchange. He takes Brianna’s hand, smacking a fatherly kiss on top of it. “We love you. Ya know dat.” He gets choked up thinking about how her father isn’t here to tell her that anymore.

Clearing his throat and grabbing his handkerchief out of his shirt pocket, Alonzo revives, heading for the front porch where a fresh morning’s catch awaits, the perfect excuse to try out his new trinket.

“I always wanted a daughter, for him,” Winona shares, knowing their daughter would have been afforded the luxury of being a daddy’s girl. She recalls their struggle in bearing only one child—Lon. Dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her napkin, she quells her usual response to her husband’s compassion. “But I dare say, everything happens for a reason. I doubt his heart could have handled that weight.” She chuckles tenderly, thinking of the joys and sorrows that go hand and hand with raising and then letting go of girls, entrusting them to future mates.