CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
I kiss Gabriel on the forehead and straighten. I look at his drawings and smile ruefully. The witch depicted in the drawings is quite terrifying with her snaggle teeth and her large black eyes, but she looks nothing like the ghost that haunts me. It’s incredible the lengths to which the mind will go to convince oneself one is too far gone to save.
I tiptoe out of the room and head back downstairs. Josephine and Etienne sit in the parlor with coffee and donuts on the table in front of them. A cup waits for me, and I smile gratefully as I sit across from them. Tonight feels more like a tea night than a coffee night, but if I’m going to eat donuts, I suppose coffee is a better companion than tea.
My phone charges in the outlet near my seat. I’ve resolved to have it connected to a charger constantly unless I’m actively using it. Part of me feels that my subconscious allowed the battery to run down just so it could justify its choice to feel hopeless.
It will have to content itself with a half victory. I’ve found nothing here to suggest that Annie ever set foot in New Orleans. I suppose I could remain in the city and look in earnest now that my employment with the Lacroixs is coming to an end, but I am too exhausted to put myself through that strain right now. I haven't given up on learning the truth about my sister, but I think it's time I admit that I'm not up to the effort of doing so full-time. What I want now is to return home to my lover and forget about all of this for a while.
Speaking of that.
I unplug my phone—not before confirming I have a full charge—and text him. Slight delay. All good news. Talk later. Love you.
I set the phone down and take a bite of my donut. “Well, that’s done, then.”
“Do you think so?” Josephine asks. “Do you think that’s it?”
I sip my coffee as I think of my answer. “I think you’ve all turned a corner,” I say. “I don’t think you’ll be imagining any more spirits of vengeance or cursed musical numbers. There will be hard times ahead. The children will want to know what that note said, and you will have to tell them eventually. That will be difficult no matter what age you choose to reveal that information. But I do feel that the worst is behind you.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Etienne says. “I mean… I suppose I knew she was attracted to me. A lot of women find me attractive. I think it’s the money they think I have more than anything else.” He chuckles. “If only they knew. Anyway, I didn’t imagine it was motivation enough to kill Claude.”
“I don’t think that’s why she killed him,” Josephine said. “I think she felt trapped. I think when she met Claude, he was larger than life to her. I think she was awed by him more than she was in love with him, and I think when she realized that, she reacted badly to it.”
She and I share a look, and I realize that it’s not just Audrey she’s talking about. She didn’t kill Marcel, but the rest of it applies.
Etienne shakes his head. “That’s still no excuse. She might not have loved him, but he loved her. She was the most important thing in the world to him.”
Josephine lowers her eyes and smiles sadly. That, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to have applied to her and Marcel. “Yes. He did.”
He sighs and reaches for another donut. “What do you want to do about the piano, Mother?”
“I don’t know. I suppose we should have it restored, if we can. It’ll never play again, not the way it used to. Maybe that’s a good thing. Your father had a wonderful talent, but it consumed him, and… well, I fear it risks consuming Gabriel too.”
“Yes. I’ve considered canceling their music lessons. Amelia probably wouldn’t mind, but Gabriel would likely tie himself to Mr. Gilroy’s boots if he heard that.”
“Don’t cancel their lessons,” I implore him. “It’s possible to explore a talent without letting it consume you. You just need to guide them and make sure they have other things to love besides music.”
He nods. “Yes, you’re probably right. But not here and not at the club. I’ll send them to their house to study. Franz will like that. He’ll send them home stuffed with strudel every day. You know he makes it himself?”
“His mother’s recipe,” Josephine confirms. “He’s quite proud of it.”
“He should be, at least to here Mr. Gilroy talk.” He cocks his head. “I wonder why he never took Franz’s last name?”
“Does it matter?” Josephine asks. “Names are only names.”
“I suppose not,” Etienne agrees. “I only wondered.” He laughs. “You know, I’ve never seen them fight? I’ve never even seen them argue. They pretend to argue, but I’m convinced it’s only how they express their love.”
"They met when they were older," Josephine speculates. "They had time to learn who they were. When they met, they weren’t children looking for an identity. They were adults looking for companionship.”
“Well, I envy them,” Etienne says. “I don’t think even Julia and I were ever that close.” He looks at me. “So Mary, I suppose I know the answer to this, but I have to ask. Are you still determined to leave us?”
I nod. “I’m afraid so. I’ll stay for a few days longer, at least until after Audrey’s funeral. But I do need to get home. I have my own demons to face that have nothing to do with what your family’s overcome.”
“I understand,” he replies, “but I do hope you’ll visit us. Mother is planning to sell the club—Oh, Mother, I’m sorry. I should have let you reveal that.”
Josephine flips her hand. “It’s all right. And you must visit us, Mary. We’ll have you over next Mardi Gras, and this time we’ll all go out. There are places you can go that aren’t full of drunk college kids trying to show as much skin as possible.”
“Yes, we did see a stunning street performance,” I tell her.
She smiles wryly. “Amelia told me. She said you were so enraptured, she couldn’t get your attention.”
Heat climbs my cheeks. “Yes, well… I’ll have to make sure I’m not quite so enraptured next time.”
“That’s why we’ll come with you,” Etienne says. “Between the three of us, I’m sure we can handle two teenagers.”
Josephine scoffs. “You’ve clearly forgotten how you and your sister were.”
Their smiles fade as they think of their estranged sister. I sip my coffee and weigh the risks of talking about them. In the end, I decide to risk it. “You should call your sister,” I suggest. “I’m sure she would love to see her niece and nephew.”
Etienne smiles ruefully. “I wish it were that simple. I’m afraid the rift between us is a lot wider and more long-lasting than can be solved with a phone call."
“Call her anyway,” I insist. “Believe me when I tell you that the worst thing you can do is cut your sister off and leave her to wonder.”
I share another look with Josephine. She knows a little about my history with Annie now. She squeezes Etienne’s hand and says, “I’ll call her. We’ll work our way up to reconciling.”
Etienne nods curtly. He finishes his coffee and stands. “Well, I’ve had a long day. I’m going to bed. Mary, you’re welcome to stay as long as you wish. And please visit us. That isn’t an empty request.”
“I will,” I assure him. “I still need to experience a Mardi Gras not filled with abject terror.”
He laughs. “I’ll admit it’s a damned fun night if you know how to do it right. For people our age that means a lot of great food, moderate alcohol and good entertainment.”
“I look forward to it.”
Josephine waits until the door to Etienne’s room closes. Then she looks at me. “What did you see? In the club. When you rescued Gabriel?”
My shoulders tense slightly. “It’s nothing that matters.”
“Humor me.”
The sternness in her voice shocks me. A touch of my old fear returns, and I reply, “Well… I saw… I imagined that I saw a woman.”
“A blonde woman with blue eyes?”
I blink. The fear I feel strengthens. “N—well… she would have had blue eyes, but I didn’t see them.”
Josephine nods. Her lips are pressed in a thin line. She sips her coffee and clears her throat. “I didn’t tell you this before, Mary, but when you told me you came here to look for your sister… Well, I think she may have been here.”
I stare at her for a long moment without answering. When I finally reply, I can only offer a hoarse, “Oh?”
“Yes. Marcel and I married thirty-eight years ago. Twenty-nine years ago, I was pregnant with Sylvie. It was a hard pregnancy, and I wasn’t quite able to care for Etienne. He was six at the time. Anyway, Marcel could never be bothered to be there for his children, so he hired a nanny.”
My heart pounds thickly. I can see where she’s taking this, but I can’t allow myself to hear it. It’s so strange that I spend so much of my energy and time hoping for news of my sister, but whenever I’m about to discover that news I’m terrified of it.
Then again, maybe it’s not so strange at all.
"This nanny was easily the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," she continues. "She was in her early twenties, which made her about five years younger than me. She was tall with long, flowing blonde hair, bright blue eyes, full lips and a body that almost made me wonder.” She scoffs and smiles tightly. “Well, I think you can guess. He fell for her. She never loved him, but she had no problem taking advantage of his affections. I knew about it from the beginning, but I never said anything. I was too exhausted with the pregnancy and Etienne.
“So, I waited. She stayed with us for ten months, and when I finally weaned Sylvie, I prepared a surprise for them. I’d been gathering evidence: pictures, videos, phone recordings… enough to prove that they’d been carrying on under my nose. I waited until Marcel’s birthday, and then I arranged a special surprise party. When everyone arrived, I revealed everything. I had pictures taped to all of the walls, a video of them on the television, and tapes of them talking to each other.” She chuckles bitterly. “You should have seen the look on his face.”
My heartbeat quickens. “Do you still have those pictures?”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “No. After the party, I burned them.”
She gazes out the window, a faraway look in her eyes as she reminisces. “I forgave Marcel. Not really, but enough to stay with him. For his part, he was smart enough never to cross me like that again. As for Debra—that was the name she used when she was with us—she left five minutes after I exposed her. I’ll never forget the look she gave me before she left. The hate. The hurt. As though I was somehow in the wrong for the fact that she was underneath my husband half of the time she was in the house.”
She starts and lowers her eyes. “I’m sorry. That was… I suppose I don’t know for sure that she was your sister.”
“It was,” I reply. “I’m sure of it.” Unfortunately.
She nods once, slowly. “Well, I’m sorry if I’ve painted a picture of her you’d rather not see. But I felt you had the right to know. Your hunch wasn’t baseless. She was here. She was my husband’s lover, though I use the term as loosely as possible.”
I sip my coffee. It's gone cold. I set the cup on the table and sigh. "I came here looking for truth. I'm grateful to have found it, no matter how painful it is."
She laughs. “Well, if so, you’re a better woman than me.”
I tense slightly. “I don’t suppose you know where she went when she left?”
She shakes her head. “No idea. I know Marcel tried to call her once after she left, but when I found out, I smashed the phone and told him if I caught him calling that—calling her again—I would leave him. I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. I’m only sorry that my sister hurt you as well.”
She sighs, and her shoulders relax. "You know, it's strange. I remember feeling angry with her. I remember hating her. But now, when I try to feel the same hate… I just can't. It's too much work. Is that odd?"
I don’t know how to answer that. It takes me no work at all to hate my mother, and I watched her die in her bed. So I have to make up a response. “I think you’ve managed to overcome the pain you’ve suffered. I think that you chose to rise above, and I think you should choose to stay above.”
“And you? What will you do?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Josephine, I truly wish I knew.” I stand. “I think I’ll go to bed too. Thank you for talking to me.”
“Thank you for listening. I hope that telling you this hasn’t put you off of visiting us.”
“Of course not. You still owe me a Mardi Gras.”
She grins. “You’ll get it. Good night, Mary.”
“Good night, Josephine.”
As I head upstairs, my smile vanishes. When I finally close my eyes, I see my sister’s mischievous smile. Her eyes above that smile dance with mirth, but at the same time, they are hard and cold.
Our mother’s eyes.