Whispers of the Bayou (49 page)

Strangely, I wasn’t all that angry with her myself, despite the fact that she had forced us to live a charade of aunt and niece since the day I was born. Though I wished she had acted differently from the beginning, I could also understand the youthful fears that had driven those original decisions. In a sense, I couldn’t help but feel that she had already been punished enough—by losing one child in death, by living such a tremendous lie, by hearing her own children address her as aunt.

“I’ll probably never call you ‘Mommy,’ ” I said to her now as we sat there on the swing, “but I want you to know that I forgive you. As much as anyone can forgive something like that, I mean.”

That sent her into more sobs, and I put an arm around her and pulled her close, wishing for a moment that I could cry that hard too.

Once her tears had subsided somewhat, she began to talk about Yasmine, about their childhood together, about the incredibly strong bond that they had shared, about the astonishing deception they had managed to pull off. As AJ talked, I remembered with a start that
I
had had a sister too: my sister Cass, my mirror image, my deepest loss.

We were silent again, each of us occupied by our own thoughts, when a car came slowly up the driveway. Thinking it was another reporter, AJ said that sooner or later we were going to have to talk to them. They had so many questions—about the deaths of Jimmy and Lisa and Richard, about the capture of the two goons by the police twenty miles out of town, about the whole angelus-bones-Cajun myth thing, which was still totally up in the air and garnering more and more attention from the media. In my statement to the police, I’d had no choice but to tell them everything, and that information had been leaked to the press.

Some
gardien
I had turned out to be.

“I’ll wait until after we find out more about the bones,” I said. “Then, if they really do turn out to be something important, I’ll have a better idea of what I should say.”

The car continued up the driveway, but as it drew closer, my heart moved into my throat. There, behind the wheel, was my husband.

Nathan.

So much for not crying. Suddenly, deep heaving sobs rose up from my chest as I jumped up from the swing and ran. I ran across the grass toward the car he was climbing out of. I ran into his arms.

I never held on to anyone so tightly.

I never needed anyone so mightily.

I had never missed anyone so badly.

He must have thought I was crazy. As I gripped him with every shred of strength I possessed, he held on to me strongly in return, burying his face into my hair, whispering gentle words of love. I don’t know how long we remained there like that, but at one point I could hear the sound of excited voices as the reporters spotted us and the click of cameras as they photographed us and then the scolding tones of a policeman as he ushered all of them away. Finally, I felt Nathan pull
back a bit. Quietly, he suggested that we go to some place more private where we could talk.

Taking him by the hand, I led him around the far side of the house, past the police barricade, and down to the stone bench, which was now in an area protected from reporters. Though we had passed several cops on the way, none were near us now. We sat on the bench, and as Nathan seemed to be taking in the beauty around him, I moved even closer into his muscular embrace, wishing he could hold me forever and ever.

How had I ever risked what we shared by keeping myself so distant from him? Though I would probably always have to fight that tendency within myself, what I wanted most now was closeness and sharing. Even if I ended up having to go into counseling for a while, to work through all that I had learned on this trip, I knew that our estrangement was officially over. All that remained was to tell him so—and then prove it to him day after day after day.

Nathan already knew everything that had happened here, thanks to a marathon telephone call we’d shared last night before I went to bed. Our plan had been for him to fly to Houston to pick up Tess today and then bring her with him here to join me at Twin Oaks tomorrow. As he explained now, however, he’d made an impulsive, last-minute change at the airport early this morning, canceling the flight to Texas and booking one to Louisiana instead. He said he couldn’t wait one more minute to be with me and that of course his parents hadn’t minded the switch at all as it bought them more time with their granddaughter.

“I just needed to be with you,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to be apart any longer.”

I sat up and looked him in the eye and told him that I felt exactly the same. I told him that I wasn’t sure how or when or where it had happened, but somewhere amid all this drama, I had broken down that Plexiglas wall and found myself ready to let him in. All the way in.

“Plexiglass wall?”

“Long story,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want what we had before, Nathan. I want to be close. I want that same bond you want. I want to be united.”

At that, his eyes filled with tears as well.

“You have no idea how long I have waited to hear you say those words,” he whispered, reaching up with both hands to grip the sides of my face.

Leaning forward, Nathan brought his lips to mine, the heat of his mouth seared with passion and promise. I kissed him back deeply, wishing we could become one person instead of two, one single-but-incredibly-strong entity, a cord of three strands.

“I have to tell you something important,” he said as we pulled apart. “Something I couldn’t explain over the phone.”

“What is it?”

Slowly, gently, my husband explained to me that while we were apart one thing in his life had drastically changed.

“It’s all been so amazing, but it’s hard to explain,” he said earnestly. “It started Sunday morning at that service, which didn’t go exactly as I had expected. There I was, representing our big fancy firm, looking around at this magnificent structure we had designed, and all the preacher could talk about was how none of it was of any real or lasting importance. I was so offended by his words that I waited until after the service and confronted him about it.”

Not being a very confrontational guy, I knew that Nathan must have been extremely upset to do that.

“The preacher said he appreciated my candor, and he invited me to join him in his study for lunch. I ended up staying there and talking to him for almost three hours.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. You know how he’s been trying to share his Christian faith with me in subtle ways for months throughout this entire project. Once he finally got the opportunity to say everything he wanted to say, it all began to make sense. Our conversation left me with a lot to think about, and by the next afternoon I was back there at his office again with about a hundred more questions.” Nathan smiled, and there was something so peaceful, so otherworldly about that smile, that suddenly I realized he’d found what I had been searching for too, almost since the moment I had arrived here. “I realize now that the Holy Spirit had been working on me
for a while. Late that afternoon I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior. Now it’s just like I had heard it would be. I’m a new person, Miranda. And even if this bothers you and even if you think I’m nuts, I’m going to show you that this change is a good one, good for both of us. To be honest, I’ve already started praying that eventually you’ll make the same decision I did.”

His speech complete, Nathan sat back, looking both nervous and settled at the same time. I knew that he was expecting me to protest or make fun or play it all down, but instead I took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, feeling kind of shy.

“This path you went down,” I said awkwardly, “I think it’s a path I might have started on too. At least, I’ve been thinking about God more and hearing about the Holy Spirit through talking to Holt. He even gave me a Bible.”

At that moment, we were interrupted by the arrival of several police cars. We both stood and headed back to the house, where a full contingent of officials in suits were climbing out of their vehicles and posturing for the press.

“What’s going on?” AJ asked me as she came out the back door. I just shrugged and pulled her close while we waited to find out.

“Miranda Miller?” one of the officials asked, stepping forward.

“Yes?”

“I’m with the Louisiana State Medical Examiner’s office, here with the results of the bone analysis.”

Nathan and I exchanged glances.

“Our office has determined that the single bone you found here the other day came from the same source as the rest of the bones discovered here last night.”

I nodded, as that had been my thought too, that the first bone had become separated from the rest in the hurricane, but that they all belonged together.

“Of course, we will be conducting extensive tests on the whole lot, but at this point we do have a positive identification based on DNA analysis from that first bone.”

“You have a name?” I asked. “You know whose bones they are?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, going on to tell us that the DNA results showed a 99.92% accurate match to a known person. From his pocket, the man produced an envelope, which he held up and opened with all the drama of an awards ceremony. “The bones in question are those of Miranda Fairmont Miller. Young lady, I don’t know who you are or what kind of scam you’re trying to pull here, but you’re under arrest for false impersonation, attempted theft, and possible murder.”

If the scene hadn’t been so ludicrous, it might have been terrifying. Suddenly, the reporters went wild, snapping pictures and asking questions as two uniformed cops headed toward me with handcuffs.

“This is insane!” I said, not knowing whether I should laugh or cry. “I’m not impersonating anybody. I
am
Miranda Fairmont Miller. Ask
her!
She’s my mother!”

They didn’t seem impressed by that, so I tried again, shouting to be heard over the cop who had begun to read me my rights.

“Ask Holt Fairmont!” I cried. “He’s my father!”

That seemed to do the trick. The speech ceased right after I had the right to remain silent, and the cops on each side of me hesitated, turning back to look at the official in the suit for direction.

“If she’s really Holt’s daughter,” one of the cops said, “then I’m not going to arrest her. Can somebody go get him?”

“Look here,” the official said, stepping closer. “These are official DNA test results.”

Frantically I glanced from AJ to Nathan to Charles Benochet, who had arrived amid the melee and was making his way through the crowd.

“Wait!” Charles cried, stepping in to take charge. “Scooter, what are you doing?”

“Stay out of my way, Charles,” the official said. “DNA doesn’t lie.”

“It doesn’t always tell the whole story either, now, does it? Miranda Fairmont had a twin sister. Scooter, you know as well as I do that identical twins have identical DNA. Those aren’t the bones of Miranda Fairmont. They must be the bones of her twin sister Cassandra Fairmont, who died many years ago.”

Again, the reporters went nuts, but at least this time the cops let go of my arms.

All I could think of was my poor sister, who had been buried in an unmarked grave in the middle of the yard. My mind filled with the words of Psalm 141:
As one plows and breaks up the earth, so our bones have been scattered at the mouth of the grave.

“I know where it is,” I said softly. Then again, much louder, I repeated myself. “I know where it is.”

“Where what is?” AJ called to me across the crowd, her expression distraught.

“The angelus,” I said, my heart pounding, my eyes moving from her to Charles to Nathan. “I know where Willy hid it. I know what he needed me to forgive.”

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!

Ten Days Later

Despite the somber setting of the cemetery, the mood was light. The judge had not granted our petition to prevent the press or the general public from attending this event, though we had been allowed to keep them outside of the family cemetery gates. The small cemetery was still packed with invited guests, but the turnout beyond the gates had been incredible, with news vans and cars lining the road and the near-constant whir and snap of cameras going behind us. I could only hope that when we reconvened here tomorrow for Cass’s private re-interment ceremony that the hoopla would have died down so that we could lay my sister’s bones to rest in peace.