Going Home (The Green Bayou Novels Book 1) Read online

  He and Pete have moved past their issues, so much so that we occasionally double-date from time to time. I want to give him a good, hard smack to the face when he brings Roberta, the nitwit from the gas station, to dinner one night. I do my best to bite my tongue during one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life, and it’s all for Jacob’s sake. Then I’m beyond furious to find out Pete put him up to it as a joke! Being subjected to that few hours of Roberta’s baby talk and eye-batting demands payback, and I make sure Jacob knows it! He’s genuinely amused; I’m not.

  My parents call to say they’ll be spending Christmas at Greenleaf, and I couldn’t be more thrilled, except for a couple of things. First, I have pretty much taken over the house, but they seem fine with that. Dad says as long as he has a place to sleep, he couldn’t care less where it is. The second issue is Pete. I’m not so eager to share the news that I have a roommate, but they take it far better than I expect and seem genuinely excited that Pete and I reconnected. Before ending the call, Mom tells me to give Pete her love. She always thought he was “the one” for me, so she’s elated and not really doing much to hide it.

  I arrange with Grant to have the week off to spend time with my parents, and I use some of it decorating the house just like Mom would, right down to the huge tree in the parlor and the greenery twined through the stairway banisters.

  Surveying my work to make sure it’s up to par, I bolt through the door when I hear a car pull into the circular drive.

  “Mom! Dad!” I practically tackle my father.

  “Hey there, sweetheart! Gosh, I’ve missed you,” my dad says, bear hugging me.

  “I missed you, too,” I say, reaching over to hug my mom.

  “Help me with this stuff, Doodlebug,” Dad requests. I stand with my hands on my hips. He pretends not to notice and starts unloading bag after bag of gifts from the car.

  “Dad, you’ve been warned about calling me that! Wait. How in the heck did you get all of that on the plane?” Dad smiles and keeps piling bags into my arms.

  “I convinced your dad to let me do a little shopping in New Orleans before we came to Green Bayou,” Mom explains.

  “My goodness! Did you leave anything in New Orleans for the other shoppers, Mom?”

  “Oh, you’re always exaggerating, Emily,” she says, moving closer. “You get that from your father’s side of the family,” she whispers. “Don, she gets it from your side, doesn’t she?” she says louder.

  “Yes, I heard you, Celeste. Emily, you get that from my side. I apologize for passing on such inadequate genes.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Mom fusses.

  “What do you want from me, woman?” Dad jokes, knowing he’s made her flustered. It’s confirmed with a wink he shoots in my direction.

  “I want the bags inside, and a nice mug of Irish coffee. Yes, that sounds lovely,” Mom says, heading towards the house.

  “I’m drowning in packages over here,” I say, beginning to teeter.

  Mom doesn’t look back, but waves. “Drama,” she sings.

  “It’s not drama. I’m simply saying I think you went a little overboard, Mom.”

  Dad adds a small box to the stack of gifts that is tucked under my chin.

  “That’s it. I’ve reached maximum capacity. Let’s come back for the rest. Was it very crowded in New Orleans?”

  “It wasn’t too bad. I’ve seen worse. Speaking of New Orleans,” Dad starts. He ducks his head into the backseat of the rental car. “For you.” He pulls out a very familiar round waxed paper package.

  “Oh, Dad! A muffuletta! Gimme a whiff!” I demand. He runs the package back and forth under my nose so I can get a good smell. “Ahhhh! So good! Let’s get this stuff inside so I can eat it!”

  I dump the pile of gifts by the tree and join Mom in the kitchen. She’s adding Irish cream liquor to her coffee and starts with a splash. The splash turns into a pour. She looks at me wolfing down my sandwich right from the wrapper. She adds two more pours before she caps the bottle.

  “I have an upstairs room ready whenever you’re ready to bring in your luggage,” I say.

  Mom stops chugging coffee. “No offense to you or Pete, but we want our privacy.” She rummages around in the cabinets until she finds cookies to dunk in her mug. “Dad and I are going to stay in the guest house.”

  I crack a smile because I’m happy to oblige. Pulling the keys from the junk drawer, I hand them off to Dad, and he pulls the car around to the back of the property. Mom takes her coffee and cookies onto the porch and observes Dad and me while we unload luggage from the trunk. Pete pops out of the patio doors just as Dad unloads the last bag. He’s still in his dark brown uniform, so after shaking Dad’s hand and kissing my mother on the cheek, he excuses himself to change.

  After my parents settle in, we sit on the back porch eating Chinese take-out. I’m happy to have them home and realize how much I have missed seeing them. I’m bombarded with questions about work, and I give them a condensed and sweet version of things. They don’t inquire further, so I happily sit back and eat my food.

  Pete brings up Brad, and I drop my chopsticks while cutting him a look. He shrugs, and Dad’s brows furrow.

  “You didn’t find it important or newsworthy enough to tell us you have a crazed psychopath after you?” he scolds.

  “Mon Dieu!” Mom says, fanning herself with her napkin.

  “Enough with the French, Mom. This hardly warrants a meltdown.”

  “My one and only child has been victimized, and I’m expected to simply disregard it?” She waves her napkin in my direction for emphasis. I roll my eyes. Mom is a total sweetheart, but theatrics are her specialty. She’s usually pretty mild-mannered and quiet, but the second drama rears its head, she’s speaking French and threatening to be overcome with the vapors.

  “Mom, I’m fine. Pete was there, and he handled it just fine. He kept me out of danger.”

  “Yeah, I wish I’d been there when that ax murderer did his thing.” He hangs his head, so he doesn’t see my face. I kick him in the shins, and he jumps back.

  “Explain. Now,” Mom says, rubbing her temples and mumbling to herself.

  “Thanks a lot,” I mouth to Pete, and he shrugs. “It was nothing. Just a really bad call. Glad it’s over. Moving on.”

  “Don, I think I need a cloth,” she says, dabbing at her face with her napkin.

  “Mother, please. I’m fine. Just breathe. You don’t need a cloth. Dad, she doesn’t need a cloth,” I say, once he stands. He sits back down and shovels some fried rice onto his chopsticks.

  “I really could use a cloth. I feel flushed,” she says. Dad wipes his face with his napkin and tosses it to the table when he stands. I let him go this time, and he returns with a wet dishtowel which she runs across her forehead. I bite my tongue to keep from commenting.

  “Well, sounds like you’ve had quite the exciting time, Emily. Pete, I want to thank you for taking such good care of my Dood…”

  “Dad! No,” I interrupt.

  “What? Like it’s some big secret?” he asks.

  “She doesn’t like pet names,” Mom chimes in. “She gets that from her father’s side of the family, Pete. Doesn’t she, Don?”

  “Hunh? Yeah, Emily, you get it from me. That’s why I call her Doodlebug because my family hates that stuff.”

  Mom looks lost in thought. “Well, if it isn’t your side then where does it come from?”

  “I wasn’t aware a person could inherit that particular trait via bloodline,” he challenges.

  “Oh, Don…”

  I interrupt before the conversation can go any further. “You know what! Let’s talk about Christmas dinner. I’ve invited some friends. What do you think we should serve?”

  Mom bites, and we spend the rest of the evening discussing Christmas. Over the next couple of days, lists are made, shopping commences, and finally, we’re able to rest a bit before the big day.

  I wake early Christmas Day, bec
ause much like a little kid, I’m eager for the celebration to begin. We’ll soon be surrounded by a house full of friends and family, and I jump into full-on holiday mode. Pete lights the fireplace while Mom and I prepare a huge plantation-style breakfast. After feasting on pancakes, eggs, sausage, grits, and biscuits with gravy, none of us want to move, but because I’ve invited such a large crowd, it’s time to prep for Christmas dinner.

  Bert and Connie will join us, as will Jacob and his date, Georgia. I don’t know much about her, but I hear she teaches elementary school in town and is super sweet. Since Kent has no family in the area, Pete invited him to join us as well.

  The afternoon flies by with everyone fussing over dinner, and once Mom and I are satisfied that dinner is on schedule, we retreat to our rooms to change.

  “Wow!” Pete says, appreciatively eyeing my sparkly red dress when he enters the room. “You look gorgeous—so gorgeous I don’t think I’ll let you leave this room.”

  “I’m on my way downstairs to check on dinner,” I announce, adjusting myself in the mirror.

  “You’re doing that to tease me, aren’t you?” he asks.

  “No, I’m doing it so my boobs won’t fly out of the top of this dress.”

  “Can’t we at least pretend?”

  “Okay, it was all for you.” I grin at him while sashaying to the door.

  “Then where are you going?” Pete asks.

  “I told you already. Go take a shower,” I insist.

  “Fine, but it’s going to be a cold one,” he yells from the bathroom. I hear him crank on the faucets, so I dash down the back staircase to the kitchen. Everything smells wonderful, and that big breakfast is rapidly leaving me. My stomach growls so loudly that Dad stops sampling and hands me his fork. I laugh, and he pulls me in for a hug and a kiss to my forehead.

  “Are you happy, my sweet Doodlebug? Cause you sure look happy,” he remarks.

  “I told you to stop calling me that! Doodlebug is for single digit aged kids, not twenty-seven year old women! But, to answer your question, yes, I’m very happy,” I answer honestly.

  “Like it or not, you’ll never be too old to be my Doodlebug. I’m glad you’re happy. Cause if he ever hurts you, I have connections. Seriously, they’ll never find the body,” he teases.

  “Oh, Daddy! Stop it!” I say, pulling away from his embrace.

  The doorbell chimes, and Dad’s still chuckling when we go to greet our first guests. After a quick introduction to Bert and Connie, Bert passes a bottle of wine to my dad. Shooing us from the foyer, Mom guides everyone towards the den.

  The bell chimes again, so I excuse myself to answer the door. It’s Kent, and he leaves me perplexed by shoving a bottle of whiskey into my hand while planting a kiss full on my lips. Almost as quickly as it lands, he pulls away, looking quite proud of himself.

  “Uhm, Merry Christmas. Uh… yeah…. thank you, I guess.” I manage to point him towards the den. He winks and walks off in the direction I signaled. Still confused and flustered, I’m shutting the front door when Jacob pushes it open.

  “Are you hinting that we’re uninvited or something?” he asks with a laugh.

  “No way! Just had a little… well, nothing. Come on in. So glad you could make it. Nice to see you, Georgia,” I say, taking their coats.

  Georgia, with her curly blonde ponytail and ice blue eyes that ooze kindness, smiles broadly. “Nice to see you, too. Thank you for the invite,” she says, her rosy cheeks glowing even brighter when Jacob snakes his arm around her waist.

  We join the others, and the noise level in the room steadily grows as more drinks are consumed. After a few last minute preparations, Mom calls everyone to the dining room.

  The table could easily grace any magazine cover with a ham on each end of the table, and between, a variety of side dishes ranging from vegetable dishes to scrumptious salads. On a side buffet are more desserts than we can ever possibly eat. I foresee Pete and me packaging up many plates for our co-workers who are stuck working the holiday.

  After dinner, we’re overstuffed and feeling quite lazy, so the guys retire to the den to watch a boxing match and smoke cigars, while we ladies go into the parlor to drink wine and chat.

  It doesn’t take long to kill the first bottle, so I volunteer to get another. I don’t stop in the kitchen but head upstairs instead. I wash my hands and primp in the mirror a bit before clicking off the bathroom light. Heading into the darkness, I plow right into what I think is the doorframe or the wall, but I can’t make sense of it all because I don’t feel drunk or even buzzed. My eyes are slow to adjust, and I curse while extending my hands in front of me to get my bearings. I quickly realize it’s a person, not a wall I’ve run into.

  “Pete?” I ask in stern voice. “Baby, you know it’s not going to happen so don’t even try,”

  “Nope, it’s not Pete,” the voice teases.

  I frantically search for the light switch, but my hands keep bouncing off the person standing in front of me instead. His nearly silent chuckle turns from breathy gasps into full-fledged sinister laughter. My eyes finally begin to register shapes in the darkened room, and I can tell by the silhouette it’s Kent.

  “Kent?” I ask to be sure.

  “Took you long enough to figure it out,” he replies.

  “What are you doing in here?” I demand.

  “Relax. Pete sent me up,” he says.

  “Oh, really? What did he want?”

  All of a sudden the bedroom light clicks on, and the bright light temporarily blinds me once again.

  “You look really nice tonight, Emily,” Kent comments.

  “Thank you,” I say, squinting. “So what did Pete need?”

  “He didn’t need anything. Sorry, I misspoke. He sent me up to check everything out up here.”

  “Okay, I’m confused.”

  “Because I like the house. I always admired this place but have never been inside. He told me to check it out.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, not much to see up here. Just a few bedrooms.” I try to make my way past him to rejoin the ladies, but he snatches me by the wrist and spins me to face him. I gasp from the sudden action.

  “Don’t be scared. I just want to thank you for inviting me before we go back downstairs,” he says, raising the back of my hand to his lips.

  “No problem,” I reply, taking my hand back. It’s incredibly awkward, and I vow to talk to Pete about Kent’s alcohol intake while visiting us.

  Kent follows me down the back staircase, and I feel his eyes on my ass the entire time. He retreats back to the den, and Pete enters the kitchen to pick at some leftovers. I grab his shirt and push him into the butler’s pantry that sits right off the kitchen.

  “Why would you send Kent upstairs?” I give him an extra shove when demanding the answer.

  “Hey!” He laughs. “What do you mean?” He rubs his chest where I poked him.

  “I go upstairs to use the bathroom, and Kent is in the bedroom when I come out,” I whisper. “He said that you sent him up there to have a look around. Did you?”

  “I guess I did,” he says, pulling me into his arms. He slowly sways his body from side to side, dancing to music only he can hear. I know he’s well past buzzed and on his way to full-on drunk. “He said he’d like to see the rest of the house. I kinda figured he’d wait for somebody to show him around,” he says, dipping me. “Did he see you tinkle?”

  “No, he didn’t see me tinkle,” I say, pushing against his chest. He raises me back to a standing position and kisses me gently.

  “Then no harm, no foul. Right?”

  “I guess,” I say, putting my arms around his neck. He sways to the imaginary music once again, and I pull away.

  “Hey!” he says, pouting.

  “Cut it out. I need to visit with our guests, and so do you.”

  He sighs and returns to the den while I go into the parlor to talk with the women.

  Later, we’re feeling no pain and decide to play a few board ga
mes. It’s well past midnight when Bert and Connie leave the plantation. While lying in bed, I replay the wonderful evening over and over in my head until I drift off to sleep the wonderful sleep that a copious amount of wine delivers!

  Dad and Pete spend lots of time together during the week that follows Christmas, and I’m not too sure if I like it or not. With Dad preoccupied, Mom turns all of her attention to me. That means shopping for new clothes because she doesn’t like what I have in my closet, researching automobile statistics because she doesn’t feel my classic car is safe, and when she brings up which bedroom she thinks would convert into the best nursery, I’m done. She pouts a bit when I tell her there are no grandchildren planned in the near future, but I fix it with an extra shot of bourbon in her mint julep. By the time she finishes sipping her drink, the conversation shifts to which spring flowers would look best planted around the house.

  The day before my parents head back to Maine, the guys decide to brave the cold on the golf course, so I go with Mom to visit a friend of hers from high school. Basically, she’s the person Mom reaches out to for town gossip, so after catching up on who is sleeping with whom, what medical problems plague the locals, and what businesses are opening and closing, we finally return home. The guys beat us home, and we find them watching an old John Wayne movie while inhaling po’boys and beer.

  “Do you think it’s too cold to have coffee on the patio?” I ask Mom, giving the guys a wary look.

  “Nah, it’s warmed up some. Plus, I’ll just put an extra shot in my coffee, and it’ll warm me just fine.” She doesn’t notice, but I roll my eyes. Mom only drinks to calm her nerves, and don’t think for one minute that I haven’t noticed it seems to happen mostly when she’s around me.

  “I really hate to leave,” Mom starts, her eyes never leaving the bayou.

  “I know. It’s been great having you home for the holidays. Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll miss you guys, but I’m fine here.”