13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Anson
I was distracted through dinner.
Alma and Bailey were gossiping about someone they knew who had dumped her fiancé a week before her wedding because he had been sleeping with the bride's mother. My mother was interjecting with her own gossip.
Christ! Was this the best dinner conversation we could have?
My mind went back to the times that I'd eaten with Nova. She cooked for me in that disgusting studio apartment of hers. She was a damn good cook; she'd had to be, she told me. Eating out was too expensive and not healthy to boot.
I remembered the time she made lasagna. She had invited me over on her day off from the diner, and even set her sad, little, rickety table, covering it with a white tablecloth, and placing a small vase with a couple of dark pink dahlias. She had mentioned that she was allergic to flowers but loved them, so dahlias were her compromise. I hadn't brought her flowers or anything, in fact, I'd just shown up empty-handed. It was rude, but she didn't seem to notice or care. I loved that about her—she wasn't into the social bullshit.
"Holy fuck, this is good," I exclaimed after taking a first bite of the lasagna.
She smiled broadly. "I'm glad you like it, honey. Everything is made from scratch, including the pasta."
I couldn't believe it. "And the bread?" I picked up a slice of focaccia.
"That too. It lasts me a week, so it's great for a quick breakfast before I head out for school or work."
She seemed comfortable talking about her life—not ashamed that she had to work two jobs.
"You cook like this all the time?"
She shrugged. "I have to. It's cheaper to buy flour and eggs than pre-made pasta. And I freeze portions of what I make so I have dinner when I get home from work."
"You don't get food in the diner?"
"I do…but it's so greasy. And when there's a farmer's market, I can get fruit and vegetables for next to nothing."
I had met no one who lived like she did, so close to poverty. Still, she did the best she could with what she had. She had even made her crappy studio comfortable and clean. It had a fresh citrus scent about it. The table had been set with chipped plates and old but polished silverware—and the food had been excellent.
"You're an awesome cook, Sugar." I leaned across the small table and kissed her lips softly.
"It's been so long since I've been able to share my cooking with anyone."
I felt her loneliness slam into me. Before I could respond, she cried out. "Oh, I have something for you."
She ran to where her sofa bed was, and looked through a small bookshelf. She brought a book back, and gave it to me.
When I read the title At the Existentialist Café, Freedom, Being, and Apricot Cocktails by Sarah Bakewell , I raised an eyebrow.
"You told me you were going to study Sartre next semester, and I came across this book at a library giveaway. It's great. The author delves into existentialism by exploring the lives, ideas, and vibrant personalities of key thinkers, including Jean-Paul Sartre. I think you'll like it."
"How the fuck do you know so much about Sartre?" I flipped through the book.
"Well, this philosophy podcast I listen to mentioned it. Then I found the book. Such luck, right? I read it at the diner when we were having a slow week."
Yeah, so we didn't talk at all about people breaking up or fucking each other's mothers. With Nova, I was challenged to be better. A girl who read Sartre would not steal, would she? But there had been so much evidence. Pete found the jewelry in her apartment. Nova got a lawyer. All of that indicated guilt on her part.
"Anson," my mother called out, and it looked like she'd been doing that a few times to get my attention.
"Yeah, Mama?"
"We need to set a wedding date, Anson. You can't just—"
"No," I cut her off. I glared at Bailey. "Don't use my mother to get me to set a date."
Bailey pouted mutinously. "I don't understand why you don't want to."
Alma sighed. "Does this have something to do with Nova King being in Sentinel today?"
Mama gasped. "What? That n—"
"Don't you dare say that word," I barked at my mother. The South was still steeped in racism, especially in small towns like Sentinel. I didn't abide by it, and I wouldn't have it in my home.
"You can't talk to me like that," Mama bellowed. "I'm your mother."
"You're also a racist, and I can't change that, but you will not spew garbage in my home, in my presence."
"Son, I've lived here longer than you've been alive," she admonished.
Mama had a mean streak, just like Alma, just like Bailey. Fuck, was I engaged to my mother? Yeah, I needed to break it off with Bailey. This wasn't going to work.
"The mansion, the estate, the business…they're all mine. I know how much Daddy left you, and you're welcome to live elsewhere."
"Anson," my sister cried out.
"And you, too," I retorted. "You're a grown woman, Sis. Find a job, do something with your life."
"God, what's it with you and everyone getting a job." Alma pushed her plate so hard her wine glass toppled and spilled blood-red onto the white tablecloth. "Mama didn't work. I'm not going to work. Bailey isn't goin' to as well, once you get married. Women like us don't work. Period."
She was so very wrong about Bailey's future, but I let that slide. "What's so special about women like you?" I demanded.
"We're rich," Alma said arrogantly.
"Then live your life somewhere else and not in the Larue mansion," I suggested. "And Bailey is not rich. Her family is drowning in debt, which is why I had to give her a job."
"You could pay her father's debt off," Mama scolded. "You have enough to live lifetimes without working."
"If you care so much, feel free to pay Bailey's father's debt and her bills with your money. It won't be with mine."
"What's the point in us getting married if I have to continue to take care of myself financially?" Bailey whined. "I don't get it, Anson."
I took a fortifying breath. There were too many women in my home. Either they had to leave, or I had to.
"Bailey, I have some work tonight, but let's make some time soon for a serious discussion."
She brightened, sure that I'd set a wedding date. Fuck! It would devastate her when I'd call off the engagement.
"Mama, if you say one more racist thing in front of me, I will have you leave this house. It's my home. You're a guest . Don't forget that. Alma, you have two months to get the hell out, and get your life in order."
"Anson." Alma got up so fast that her dining chair crashed onto the carpet covering the original hardwood floor. "Tyler is gonna propose soon, and then we're goin' to live together. I don't understand the rush."
I ran a hand through my hair. "Tyler is not goin' to propose, Alma."
Her eyes went wide.
"Anson," Mama warned me. "He still might."
"What?" Alma asked and gaped at Bailey, who looked guilty as hell.
So, Alma was the last to know that her boyfriend was in love with another woman, and was only seeing her because his Daddy expected him to. When I found out a week ago, I told Tyler to be a man and tell Alma. He obviously hadn't, but you couldn't teach a man courage.
"Bailey?" Alma looked at her best friend, tears in her eyes.
Bailey looked miserable. "I…my aunt lives next to the Henderson's and…there was a big brouhaha…. You know, Alma, you should talk to Tyler and—"
"Tell me," my sister screeched.
Bailey grimaced. "He told his family he was going to propose to a girl he works with. His father is against it, but Tyler is—"
"You're talking about Sadie Kincaid?" Alma folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "She's nothing—just someone he fu…sorry, Mama, does on the side."
"And you don't mind?" I couldn't fucking believe it.
Alma shrugged. "Everyone does it, Anson." And that's when she looked at Bailey.
"Do you, Bails?" I asked.
Bailey licked her lips and shook her head. "No. Of course not."
Alma rolled her eyes again.
"What does that mean?" I asked. Was Bailey cheating on me?
My mother grabbed my hand. "Go easy on Alma."
"Mama—"
"Please."
I pushed my half-eaten plate of roast beef away, and picked up my glass of wine. "I'm going to get some work done."
When I got to my office, I saw Carole, our housekeeper, hovering. She'd been in our lives for the past ten and a half years, and there was pretty much nothing that happened in and around the Larue family that she didn't know about. If someone murdered one of us, she'd be the first person the cops would talk to.
"Carole," I greeted her softly.
"Mr. Larue," she said stiffly.
I sipped my wine. "You have somethin' to say?"
"I do."
I nodded toward my office.
I sat on a couch, and Carole took the matching armchair across from me.
"Well?"
She cleared her throat. "There's been a rumor that Nova King is going to be working on Sentinel Heights for you."
Carole was born and raised in Sentinel, a small town where everyone knew everyone's business.
"It's true. She's working for the company in Savannah that's going to do the design and architecture work."
She sat straighter. "Well…you know how important this Sentinel Heights thing is for the town. There's goin' to be jobs for folks before, during, and after construction."
I leaned forward, waiting for her to get her point.
"We're not comfortable with her… you know , after what she did."
"What do you mean?" I asked casually, though I could guess.
And who the fuck is this "we?"
Carole dropped her voice. "Well, she robbed you. That's somethin' we all know about. And she was whorin' herself around before that."
I wanted to protest. Nova had lost her virginity to me, and then had left Sentinel right after. Before that, she worked two jobs and got straight As. She didn't have time to whore herself.
"Who was she…ah…seeing?" I asked, curious to know what story about Nova was going around town.
"Well, for one, she was sleepin' with Maureen's son. Nova went and saw her this morning before she went to Larue Homes. Maureen says Nova is doin' real good. That's not right, Mr. Larue. She never even spent a day in prison for bein' a thief." Carole made a face. These were honest, down-to-earth people, who didn't take kindly to those who committed crimes in their town.
I cocked an eyebrow. "Maureen's son lives in Vidalia; he has been for over ten years."
Carole pursed her lips. "But he used to come home for the holidays. That's when it happened."
"And who told you this?"
"Maria," she informed me.
Maria was Sheriff Pete Fontaine's wife. She was one of Bailey and Alma's friends, and had thought she was going to live the cushy life as the future sheriff's wife. Instead, she was stuck with a husband who had a gambling addiction, and money was tight. In addition, I knew Pete fucked around every chance he got. Maybe Alma was right; everyone was cheating on their partners.
"Carole, I can assure you Nova wasn't with Maureen's son." I couldn't stand Nova's guts, but I would be fair.
"But she's a thief. What if she steals money while she works for you?" Carole's pale face twisted in despair. "You know how their kind are."
I took another sip of wine, reflecting on what Carole meant by their kind . Nova was half Black; her mother and aunt had been African American. In a town like Sentinel, where the racist past was still very much alive, such prejudices lingered. But just because they did, didn't mean I shouldn't speak up.
"You say that sort of thing again in front of me, Carole, I will have to let you go."
She put a hand to her heart. "Mr. Larue," she gasped.
"I won't tolerate racism or racist talk. I've told you that before, and I'm tellin' you again." I set my wine glass down. "About Sentinel Heights, we have it under control, and I promise you no one will be stealin' anything."
Carole looked at me uncertainly. "I know what you're sayin', Mr. Larue, but people were mighty upset when you were seein' that girl all that time ago. You walkin' her home and goin' to her place late in the night, and all that. I'm just sayin' that you should be careful, that's all."
"Thank you for your concern, Carole. I'll consider your advice," I said in dismissal.
She rose. "People are wonderin' why she's workin' for you when you ran her out of town all those years ago."
"Thanks for lettin' me know, Carole."
She waited for an instant, as if thinking about pressing me, but then decided discretion was the better part of valor.
"Please close the door," I requested as she left the room.
I heard the click of the lock, and leaned back on the couch. I hadn't thought about the impact that my spending time that summer with Nova had had on her. Everyone had probably seen us together and made assumptions. No one said anything to me, perhaps because they thought I was just getting some strange, and why the hell not. Nova was a good-looking woman with a good body. Her mother earned her living on her back, so why not the daughter? And I was Anson Larue. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted with whomever I felt like.
Did people give Nova a hard time because of me?
She'd never mentioned it, but I knew she wouldn't have. She wasn't anyone's victim. She'd have let it roll off her back, and got on with what she needed to do. Nova had been clear about reaching her goals. She was going to university. She was going to have a career. She wasn't going to get stuck in Sentinel, working some minimum wage job.
Is that why she stole? To pay for school? She didn't have to. I'd have given the money to her.
I rubbed my hands over my face. I was emotionally drained. Seeing Nova had taken its toll. I felt empty and lonely. Hell, I'd been feeling that way since she left my life. Or rather, as Carole said, since I ran her out of town. I'd never thought about it like that, but that's precisely what had happened.
She'd been released from jail and left right away. The landlord had told me that Nova's lawyer had come by to take some of her things from her apartment. The landlord had thrown everything else of hers away, and let me know about it. Everyone in town had let me know how they supported me and were glad that the whore's daughter had been exposed for who she was. Except Maureen, who'd told me that I was a fool because Nova was the best person she knew.
There was a knock on my office door, and I was going to tell whoever it was to leave me the heck alone. But Bailey came inside before I could respond, a tentative smile on her face.
She went on her knees in front of me. "What's goin' on, baby?"
She was a classic beauty. I'd known her my whole life, well, at least since she'd become friends with Alma when they were in kindergarten.
She ran her hands up my thighs. "You look tired."
"Cause I am," I admitted.
"How tired?" she whispered, as she started to unbutton and unzip my pants.
I closed my eyes and relaxed. Maybe a blow job wouldn't be such a bad thing, I thought. But the minute she touched my uninterested cock, I stopped her.
"Not in the mood, darlin'."
She cried out and leaped to her feet. "You're never in the mood. Do you know we haven't had sex in weeks?"
I did know. Since I saw Nova, I couldn't imagine fucking Bailey. I didn't want to.
Christ! I was losing my mind.
"I've been busy." It was a lame excuse, but it was better than, "Sorry, babe, but I just saw the love of my life, and now my dick only wants her."