Going Home (The Green Bayou Novels Book 1) Page 9

  Keeping true to the small town life observation, I notice Robert Lancon sitting at one of the tables looking just as melancholy as ever. He’s with a heavy-set older woman who has bleached blonde hair, heavy makeup, and wears a zebra-print dress. Maybe she’s his wife? I don’t remember him mentioning a wife, but Robert hardly speaks anyway, so I decide against greeting him. Best to leave the man of few words alone, so I make my way back over to Jacob and Bert.

  I’m not there long when Connie finally joins us. “I’m so sorry, girl! A friend of mine was over there, and she wouldn’t stop yapping!” Connie’s coppery red hair shimmers under the pool table light.

  “No problem! I’m only just getting here,” I answer, giving her a hug.

  We start off talking about my work because, of course, she’s curious about the ax murderer. She’s mesmerized as I give her a play by play and show her my scars. Once I’m finished recapping, I ask how her shifts have been.

  “Girl, my stuff isn’t anywhere near as exciting as yours! The flu’s going around. Whoopadee doo. Sorry to bombard you with such shocking and devastating news.” Her voice is laden with sarcasm. “Onto more important things, when are we going shopping again?” she asks with excited enthusiasm.

  Bert chokes on his drink, and Connie gives him a hard pop on the back. I’m not sure if the tears in Bert’s eyes are from desperation or the stinging slap. I give a subtle hand gesture to make him aware I remember our earlier conversation.

  “About that, Connie. I had so much fun the last time, and I’d really like to go, but...”

  She flings up her hand, and her nostrils begin to flare. “Don’t even bother going any farther!” She holds up her hand, her palm inches from my face, and then exaggeratedly sniffs the air. “I smell a rat. This has your name written all over it, Bertrand Hebert!”

  Bert hustles to the other side of the table and pretends to concentrate deeply on the nine ball. He’d be convincing if his eyes weren’t nervously darting around.

  “Bert, did you tell Emily she shouldn’t go shopping with me?”

  “Shhh. It’s a tough shot. I need to concentrate,” Bert says, still pretending to line up everything. Connie laughs.

  “I love you so much you rotten, rotten man. I’m letting you off the hook, Bert. I won’t go shopping, but we’re still having dinner with her and Pete, understand?”

  He comes around and plants a hard kiss on her lips. “Now that we can do.”

  The DJ’s voice catches our attention, so we make our way to the stage. “Up next for your listening entertainment, Alphonse! Come on up here and show us what you’ve got.”

  Everyone stops to watch the lanky man take the stage. He looks like an emaciated cowboy tonight, trading his tactical belt for one with a huge silver buckle. A long-sleeved cowboy shirt is tucked into skinny jeans, while an oversized hat and snakeskin boots complete his ensemble.

  He accepts the microphone from the DJ with a huge grin from ear to ear. He’s soft-voiced, but okay when he starts, so we cheer him on. His shoulders roll back, and his chest puffs up as his confidence boosts, so he sings much louder. Half way through, the crowd sings along, and Alphonse grows even more enthusiastic.

  He takes off with the microphone and makes his way through the crowd, singing to the women who cross his path. He stops for a second when arriving in front of me and tips his hat. I giggle because he looks so proud of himself. Alphonse gets a quick kiss on the cheek, dances around spastically, and pretends his knees are buckling. The crowd goes wild.

  After his over the top display, Alphonse cockily makes his way to the next table of women, and it becomes a game to see who can top my simple kiss on the cheek with the most lewd gesture.

  Jacob leans over to whisper in my ear, “You probably made him piss his pants.” I laugh at the thought.

  “I doubt it, especially with Busty and Bustier rubbing their boobs in his face,” I whisper back into his ear.

  I feel someone standing behind us, and turn to see Pete looming. I pull away from Jacob and smile at Pete. He doesn’t look all that happy, so I take his hand in mine and give it a squeeze.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Rough evening. Did I miss anything?” Pete asks.

  “Not really. Alphonse sang, and it was hilarious. Jacob and I were talking about it.” Pete nods his head, and the three of us quietly watch the current act on stage.

  It’s Alphonse who breaks the silence by asking me to dance. I eagerly accept his offer just to get away from the awkward silence at the table. Bert and Connie are already on the floor, and I fight back tears because Connie keeps motioning for me to grab Alphonse’s non-existent ass. I want to laugh so badly but choke it back. Alphonse smiles at Pete and makes a grand gesture when stepping aside once Pete asks to cut in.

  I’m still laughing at the silly man when Pete pulls me in close. “I missed you. Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” he whispers.

  “That’s okay. You didn’t miss much,” I offer.

  “What’s up with Jacob?”

  I’m somewhat shocked by his question. “I’m not sure. What do you want to know?” I ask.

  “I want to know what’s up with him,” Pete answers.

  “Nothing that I know of. Maybe you should ask him if you’re curious,” I suggest.

  “All I know is he sure seems to be getting extra friendly with you,” Pete states. Before I can open my mouth, he whirls me around the floor, dips me, and pulls me tightly into his body.

  “He’s my partner, so yeah, we’re close. It’s nothing you need to worry about, though. In fact, can we talk about something else? Something like how you’re going to make you tardiness up to me tonight.”

  He smiles then moves to whisper in my ear. “Fine. I’ll drop it—for now.” His tongue flicks my ear lobe, and a jolt runs through me. Oh, why does he have to be so good at that?

  The slow music ends, and someone belts out a classic rock anthem. We leave the dance floor to sit at one of the tables to pick songs from the karaoke book. Bert opts for a slow song, and before Pete has the chance, Jacob leads me to the dance floor.

  “I’m curious to see what you’ll conjure up for our next shift,” Jacob says, talking close to my ear so I can hear him over the music.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I question, pulling away slightly.

  “Nothing. Just making conversation,” he answers with a coy playfulness. I narrow my gaze.

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “What?” He smirks. “I make a simple statement, and you’re giving me grief. What’s the problem?”

  “You know damn well you’re wondering what trouble I’m going to bring about next shift. I can’t help it if I’m a shit magnet, and thank you very much for pointing it out. Really…”

  He interrupts me. “Emily?”

  “What?” I reply with a clipped tone.

  “Shut up and dance with me,” he says, his grin growing into a full smile. I playfully shake my head and close the gap I’d put between us.

  Next on the microphone is Robert, and I’m shocked, not only by how well he can sing, but also by how animated he is on the stage. We cheer him on, and he smiles, but as soon as the song finishes, he’s right back to his typical melancholy self. He and his date leave shortly thereafter. Kent sings a classic rock tune, and his lady friend screams, cries, and jumps up and down like a deranged fan during the entire performance. It’s incredibly embarrassing, so of course we all have a good laugh.

  Finally, it’s my turn, and despite the huge dose of liquid courage I have ingested since arriving at Chaisson’s, I pull Pete on stage to sing with me.

  We’re laughing so hard when we finish that I forego the last step and clumsily reach out for Pete to steady myself. I miss and crumple to the floor, giggling to the point I can’t catch my breath. Pete clutches his sides because he’s laughing so hard, completely ignoring my now extended hand. Eventually, he helps me stand, and I feel a tap at my shoulder. Fully expe
cting it to be one of the gang hell-bent on teasing me about my stumble, I’m surprised to find a petite brown-haired woman standing there. I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes and desperately try to place her, but I keep coming up blank. Maybe she’s a past patient? Someone I ran into at a store? An ex-classmate?

  “Hi. I’m sorry, but I can’t place your face. Can I help you?” I say, trying to remain steady in my inebriated state.

  Her smile turns into a scowl. “You better watch that there boy you’re with,” she says bitterly as she tips her head to point toward Pete. I turn to look at him, and he’s beet red. “Did he tell you about Sarah? Did he?” she demands, inching ever closer to us. I’m very uncomfortable with the way she’s closing in, and despite my attempts to move away, I end up backed into a corner.

  “You need to back off. I have no idea what or who you’re talking about,” I reply with sharpness in my tone. I’m in no mood to play games. “Sarah who?”

  “Listen, Cherie. This isn’t the time or the place,” Pete says in a more hushed tone as he tries to pull me from the corner.

  “What’s she talking about, Pete? Who’s Sarah?” I demand, digging my heels into the barroom floor.

  “Yeah, go ahead and tell her, Pete,” Cherie insists.

  “Shut your mouth, Cherie,” Pete warns. He drops my hand and stands there searching for the words.

  “You had your chance, and you blew it. I’m telling her! Sarah’s his fiancée, or at least she was ‘til he did something to her.” Cherie’s words are laced with hurt and hatred. The blood rushes from my face.

  “What do you mean?” I stammer.

  “She used to work on the ambulance, but supposedly she done left town with her partner. I don’t buy it. Sarah wouldn’t leave like that.” Cherie begins to cry. “She wouldn’t have just left a stupid note behind. She’d have gotten in touch with one of us by now. I love my sister, and she loves me. She wouldn’t do that. She just wouldn’t.”

  Her crying stops, and her rant gets progressively louder.

  “He did something to her and got his cop friends to hide it. What did you do to her, Pete? What did you do!” Cherie charges toward Pete, beating her fists against his chest.

  Bert and Kent step in, but it only makes the situation worse. Connie tells me to leave, but my feet refuse to budge. “She’s crazy,” Connie says, pulling on me.

  “You’re the ones who helped him cover it up! I’m gonna find out what happened to Sarah! I will!” she yells in a thick Cajun accent as Bert and Kent carry her toward the door.

  Not only am I left dumbfounded, but I don’t want to hear anymore. Bert and Kent help the bouncer push Cherie out the front door while Pete stands frozen near the stage. Nausea sets in when I see his face. His paleness lets me know there must be some merit to Cherie’s accusations.

  “Do you have a fiancée named Sarah?” I demand, looking him dead in the eye.

  “Emily, we need to talk,” he says, his head lowered.

  I feel gutted and choke back the tears welling in my eyes. I want to punch the shit out of him for lying to me, but instead, after one curt nod, I take off for the door. Spying Jacob sitting on the edge of a pool table, I grab him by the shirt.

  “Will you drive me home?” I ask, thrusting my keys into his hands.

  “Uh, sure,” he stammers slightly, his face a little confused at first. When he spots Pete rushing toward us, he turns all business.

  “Let’s go. Now!” he asserts, taking my hand. We make it to the parking lot, and Jacob is unlocking the door when Pete joins us.

  “Emily!” Pete pleads. “Please let me explain.”

  Ignoring him, I jump into the car and close the door. He steadily pounds on the passenger side window. “Please, let me drive you home so we can talk about it.”

  Jacob, quiet until this point, sits in the driver’s seat. “Do you want him to drive you home?” he asks softly.

  I face him, huge tears now falling freely. “No,” I answer, scared to utter more than that. He starts the car and revs the engine a couple of times.

  “Emily! Emily! Please!” Pete yells.

  “I need time to think, Pete! Leave me alone!” I shout through the window, my hands on my temples.

  The parking lot is full of bystanders curious to see what all the commotion is about, and once a police car pulls up, Cherie starts shrieking again. It’s all too much!

  “Go, Jacob. Drive!” I demand. He pulls out of the lot leaving Pete to stare at our tail lights.

  The ride to Greenleaf is pretty silent except for a random sniffle here and there. I stare out the window as conflicting emotions overwhelm me. A stray tear slides when the hurt hits, but it’s quickly dashed when anger overrides it. Jacob shuts off the engine when we pull into the drive, and the silence continues. Finally, I sigh and look over at him. His hands are still on the steering wheel until he fishes his cell phone out of his jeans.

  “If you think you’ll be okay, I’m going to call someone to pick me up,” he announces.

  “Oh, my gosh, I’m so self-centered. Jacob, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about you, or how you’d get home; I just wanted to get away. It’s way too late for you to be calling up random people for a ride. Just put the phone away and stay in one of the guest rooms.”

  “Uh, yeah. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Seriously? It’s not any different from work,” I rationalize.

  “No, it could be very different.”

  I give him a stern look. “No, it won’t be any different because I’m staying in my room, and you’re staying in yours. Got it?”

  He smiles. “Okay, got it.” His tone shifts to one more serious. “You’ve had a rough night, and I’d like to be here if you need anything, so yes. I’ll stay.”

  Once inside, I give a quick tour, showing him all of the essentials on the bottom floor before heading upstairs.

  “I’m going to take a shower. Surely, Dad has something for you to wear,” I say, digging around one of the dresser drawers in the guest room. “Yes, here you go.” I find a simple t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants then pass them to Jacob. “You’re on your own after this, so dig, rummage, or make do without from here on. Just make yourself at home. Your bathroom is through that door.” I nod in the appropriate direction before walking out the door. Poking my head back inside, I add, “And Jacob, thank you.” He’s still smiling when I pull the door shut.

  I shower quickly, put on my nightclothes, and feeling bad that I was so abrupt with him, pad down the hall to check on Jacob. I’m startled to find him with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Damn, he’s hot! I shake my head to break up the thought.

  “I’m sorry to barge in, but I didn’t really mean what I said when I left the room earlier; you know, that you’re on your own. Please let me know if you need anything. Are you good?” I nervously inquire. He seems unaffected and simply slides on the pants, tosses the towel, and cinches the drawstring.

  “Yeah, I’m good, and I’m tired, too. It won’t be long before I’m out,” he says.

  “Thanks again for driving me home. I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” I say a little sheepishly.

  “Stop. There’s nothing to apologize for, and you’re welcome. I’m always here if you need me. That’s what partners do,” he replies, and then offers a wink.

  I return with a half-hearted smile and a couple of taps to the door frame before padding off to my room. I’m exhausted and comfy in my bed, but despite many failed attempts, I can’t stop replaying Cherie’s speech in my head. It’s the nonstop fretful tossing and turning that keeps me irritated. After a full hour’s worth, I grunt in disgust. A beam of light from the hallway cuts through the darkness, and when I sit up, Jacob’s standing in the doorway holding my phone.

  “Not only has this thing been buzzing non-stop on the table in the hall, but I hear you thrashing around all the way from my room. Are you okay?” he asks, handing the phone to me. I don’t even check it before powering i
t off.

  “Yes and no. I’m sorry to keep you awake. I’m so tired, but can’t sleep.”

  “Can I get you anything? Maybe there’s something I can do to help?

  “I think I’m beyond help, Jacob,” I say on the verge of tears.

  “No way. It’s just the frustration talking. You’ll be okay. Here, I know what will help. Just trust me, okay?”

  I shrug, and Jacob comes to the side of the bed, nudges me over, and climbs in with me.

  “Oh, whoa,” I say, giving him a look because surely he’s playing a prank. His face is serious when he rolls onto his side and pats his shoulder.

  “Come here,” he says.

  “You’re crazy,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Just trust me, Em. Let me hold you for a little while to see if it helps you relax.”

  “That’s it? I’m just supposed to trust you?” I fuss with a half-hearted laugh.

  “Yes,” he answers. Skeptical, I gently lower myself to be wrapped in his arms, and he softly kisses my forehead. “Now rest,” he insists.

  Surprisingly, it does relax me, especially when he softly hums while stroking my hair. My eyes close, and I feel his lips brush lightly against mine. I go rigid, and I’m about to make him leave, but the kiss is so quick I wonder if it really happened. “Shhhh. Just rest,” he whispers, before I debate it. Seconds later, I’m out.

  When I wake the next morning, it’s with a horrible sore throat and body aches.

  “I feel like crap,” I groan to Jacob. He flashes me a look of insincere sympathy. He must think I’m fighting the after-effects of the booze.

  “Tell me why I’m supposed to feel sorry for you when you’re hung over,” he jokes.

  “Because I’m not.” My voice is nasally, and when I release a sneeze-groan combo, he presses his hand to my forehead. His look changes to one of concern.

  “You’re running a fever, and a pretty high one at that. Do you have a thermometer?” Jacob asks.

  “In the medicine chest in the bathroom.” I point him in the right direction.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Pulling the comforter over my body, I try to get rid of the chill bumps that pepper my flesh. Jacob winces once he sees the reading.