Chapter 2
C ARRAH DARTED OUT of her room like the March Hare, afraid of not making teatime. She was about to be late, and if she were, she would never hear the end of it. Aubrey had jinxed her, she thought as she raced down the stairs and considered ignoring the ringing of her cell phone.
Carrah relented and pulled the phone to her ear. “Hello.”
“Where are you?” Carrah’s big brother, Beau, shouted in her ear.
“I told her not to be late,” Aubrey hissed in the background.
Carrah paused at the bottom of the stairs and kicked off her shoes then snatched them up into her hands. She sprinted down the west hall of the house. It was the fastest way to get outside to the carriage house from her room. “I’m coming,” she panted. “Be there in a second. Don’t start without me.”
“Ridiculous,” Beau barked before disconnecting.
Carrah disregarded her brother’s palpable disgust and continued moving toward the meeting point for their mother’s second line birthday entrance. After grabbing a Cajun shrimp skewer from a moving appetizer tray while almost bumping into the service staff, she sped up. Once she’d made it to the door that led to the portico, where everyone was staging, she dropped down and quickly put her shoes back on. Just as she was about to exit outside, movement caught her peripheral vision.
“I’m now certain that I am not the only one to have raised the ire of our big brother.” She had turned to gain a better view and watched as her youngest brother, Dominic, emerged from a closet buckling his belt as a girl adjusted her dress.
Carrah breathed a little easier knowing she wasn’t the only one who would owe Beau and Aubrey an apology. Her lips curved until a smirk rested upon her face.
Dominic flashed a smile whereas the girl, who turned out to be the younger sister of her friend Peyton Daniels, darted away in the other direction. “You know I’m irresistible.” He winked and then adjusted his bow tie.
Dominic was a charmer. He stood tall like their father at a good six feet three inches with an athletic build he attributed to football. His wavy hair and ebony eyes were his icing on the cake, and there was never a shortage of girls willing to throw their panties his way. “I know you need to learn to keep that thang in your pants, Nic.”
“Mannnn, watch out!” He chuckled. “You talki—”
A trumpet blared to life. Carrah and Dominic scrambled to the side door, pushing and shoving each other to be the first one out. Carrah was the victor and she gloated by quickly snatching up a parasol and leaving Dominic with a handkerchief. They disregarded the glares from Aubrey and Beau while blending into the sea of family members giddy with excitement.
The Grand Marshal who had been procured to lead their elaborate entrance adjusted his sash, gazed over everyone before he lifted his Stetson, and turned to the front, blowing his whistle. They all began to move forward, following the man’s fancy footwork, as the band’s zest filled the notoriously quiet, sleepy lakeside town with melodies of the Crescent City.
Carrah danced around, twirling her hand-decorated parasol as she kept in step with the brassy sounds of her hometown. There was an unclaimed joy she experienced as she looked over her shoulder, seeing family and friends swing handkerchiefs to the beat of the drum. Her happiness became almost uncontainable when her attention landed on her mother, Camille Andrews, at the front of the processional, waving a feathered fan. The smile upon her mother’s face matched the energy of her body as she strutted toward the event tent, where guests were waiting. It was a glorious sight after months of helping her get around with a walker.
The solid timbre of the trombone ripped through the air and replanted Carrah in the moment. Never had a brass band blared this much to life in the Shores. Mount Dora was unlike the Garden District in New Orleans, which was her primary residence. Life in the Big Easy was fast, colorful, and sadly demanding. By contrast, the Shores offered a slower pace that lingered in nostalgia and allowed time for her mind to rest, reflect, and discover unspoken possibilities.
The bucolic views of green, rolling hills and Lake Dora made the world stand still, and the pressure to be her family’s savior faded away. This was the place she had escaped to summer after summer to leave the cares of the real world behind. Her true friends were here, and they had been since she was old enough to walk.
After all, this was where other like-minded families of the Black elite congregated from May through the end of July. A great sense of belonging always seemed to settle her thirsty spirit during the annual reunions, which were full of lakeside shenanigans. It was the reason she came back even though she was old enough not to.
A flash of royal blue went up into the air before the Grand Marshal buckjumped for joy and caught his snazzy hat. The festivities were in full swing as he continued leading the second line in jubilation fully showcasing the sights and sounds of New Orleans, courtesy of Carrah’s mother. This one time, Camille had decided to liven the night and bring the flavor of her Creole roots to their summer haven to celebrate making one more, hard-fought trip around the sun.
“Happy Birthday, ma mère ,” Carrah shouted over the music, laughing as she jumped to her mother’s side. They stood still, indulging in the delicious sounds of rhythm and blues as their hips swayed in sync. There was an undeniable energy and connection that flowed between mother and daughter. She planted a huge kiss on her mother’s cheek. “I love you.”
“Ahh, chérie ,” her mother sang through a wide smile before wrapping her long, fair-skinned arms around Carrah. “What a blessed day it is. This time last year I wasn’t sure if I would make it.” The smile tightened upon her mother’s face as water started to well in her eyes.
Carrah fought the emotional roller coaster that would gladly take her to a peak then zoom in and out of loops and bends before dropping her down in a valley she didn’t have enough energy to claw out of. “You’re not allowed to cry tonight, Mama.” Carrah forced a smile upon her face, thumbed a tear from the corner of her mother’s eye, pushed her parasol in the air, and then began twirling again. “It’s your birthday! We’re going to celebrate.”
“You’re right.” Her mother linked elbows with her. “Thank you for being the only one of my children that let me live even when I thought I was dying.” Their eyes met with understanding, and this time it was Carrah unable to control the water pooling in the bottom of her lids. “Sorry, now come, dance with me. Joie de vivre ,” she cried out.
Carrah shuffle-stepped with Camille and vowed to forget the way lupus had ravaged her mother’s body last year… at least for tonight. While everyone in attendance this evening would believe the over-the-top festivities were to celebrate Camille’s penchant for the flair on her fifty-sixth, Carrah, her father, and siblings knew tonight honored her strength for being a survivor. And it wasn’t a far-fetched decoy.
Camille, once coroneted as the famed Zulu Queen of Nawlins, was the definition of pomp and circumstance. Hailing from one of Louisiana’s most prominent families that were descendants of the gens de couleur , she lived for ways to expose her rich culture and influence her family still wielded over the place many had nicknamed the Paris of the South.
An earsplitting shrill from the Grand Marshal’s whistle elicited cheers from the crowd of two hundred awaiting them in the distance underneath the event tent. They were already on their feet clapping and swaying to the beat of the music. Laughter and cheers swirled, while handkerchiefs darted into the air to welcome their mother.
Not one person had been able to resist the beat of the bass drum framing the rhythm for the brass instruments that sparked joy, life, and fond memories of growing up in one of the lushest estates within the Garden District of New Orleans as a Creole elite. After a few minutes, the music mellowed until the sounds of the second line faded into applause.
“They’re all here for you, darlin’,” Melvin, Carrah’s father, said as he carved a small space between Carrah and her mother. He kissed his wife on her temple and then winked at Carrah before signaling for her siblings to come to their side. He then turned his attention back to the crowd and gestured for them to reclaim their seats. “Thank you all for joining us this evening. You know my wife loves a good party. This one is extra special.” He paused, swallowing hard as he pulled her into his side and held her tight. “Happy birthday, Camille. Me and the kids love you so much.”
Aubrey grabbed Carrah’s hand tight. Beau and Dominic followed suit. Carrah looked down the line at her siblings and could see the same pride she felt for their parents. Camille and Melvin always commanded their respect and admiration. They had defined love, showed them a healthy marriage, affection, and trust between a man and a woman. However, it was a lesson Carrah had no interest in mastering.
Unlike her sister, who had dutifully married right after graduate school and produced a grandchild, or her oldest brother, Beau, who had tied the knot with his college sweetheart, Carrah simply wished for the scars from her last relationship to heal.
“There is plenty of food, spirits, and the band will be here awhile longer. Enjoy yourselves!” Their father then turned to them. His hard dark eyes skipped over her and Aubrey, and landed on Dominic. “Be on your best behavior. This is a special night, and we don’t need any distractions. Got me.” It wasn’t a question, and yet he still waited for Dominic to acknowledge his words. “Oh, Carrah, I believe Trent will be here tonight. Do show him your best Southern hospitality.” A half smile played on his lips before he spun their mother into the crowd and disappeared.
Carrah battled a wave of nausea at the mention of her ex before turning to her siblings. Aubrey and Beau’s deadpan expressions chased the bile in her throat away. Why hadn’t she escaped like Dominic? “What’d I do now?” Carrah asked, silently counting to twenty to keep her hot head from exploding at the judgment she sensed her older siblings were prepared to cast her way.
“You were almost late,” Beau snapped.
“But I wasn’t,” Carrah quipped back, unable to contain the way her voice had risen a decibel. She never almost did anything; she always gave it… them… her all. “You really want to do this now, big brother?” She gestured to their guests. They had all learned long ago that eyes were always on them.
Especially in a place as small as the Shores.
Beau raised his arms in defeat. “Fine. Just make sure the product performance review is in my in-box by the morning. I’ve tolerated you being on your own time long enough.”
Her brother turned on his heel and walked away. Before Carrah gave her sister an open door to echo Beau’s sentiments or coax her into playing nice with Trent, she ducked into the crowd. The dust hadn’t settled from their earlier exchange, and the resentment over being boxed in and denied the chance to chase her own dreams was still too raw.
On her quest to find the friends she knew were in attendance, Carrah was roped into hostess duties. She bided her time exchanging pleasantries, highlighting her accomplishments that unfortunately left out aspiring to be a novelist while pretending that all had been perfect in the Andrews household despite the battles her mother had fought. By the grace of God, her mother had won. Only, now Carrah realized the fear of not having enough time to accomplish her own dreams.
Once Carrah broke free of her duties, she made a beeline to where Reese Devlin and Peyton Daniels were standing together. They were friends from her family’s inner circle whom she had adored for as long as she could remember, particularly during the summer months when they all came to the Shores. They also shared being legacies of Jack and Jill, and were part of a famed sisterhood that formed when they were presented to society ten years ago as debutantes in the renowned Lakeside Debutante Ball.
A sense of relief passed through Carrah. These were girls, now women, who had been raised like her and understood the complicated world of the Black elite. They understood the high value placed on legacy and family loyalty above all else. It was the only reason she freely contemplated sharing the unsettled emotions doing battle within her to gain Reese and Peyton’s perspectives. Carrah needed assurance that the thoughts plaguing her weren’t as irrational as they seemed since she’d never deviated from the path she was expected to follow. Never mind the fiduciary duties that bound her to Noir.
Except this was one time that her decision to stay on the straight and narrow and remain in her families good graces didn’t feel right. She didn’t know exactly what she was hoping for, but she knew it felt like something was about to slip through her hands. So she had to ask them if forgoing notions of chasing unicorns in order to fulfill family ambitions was foolish or best left deferred?
“Reese, Peyton,” she called. They waved as she began walking to where they stood. She greeted them faire la bise, air-kissing each of their cheeks before looking over her shoulder to make sure her ex hadn’t shown up. “Glad you both could make it!”
“Do you really think my mother would’ve let me miss her favorite soror’s birthday party?” Reese laughed, prompting the same from Carrah. Their mothers were two peas in a pod. It was the very reason Reese and Carrah had become friends as toddlers. “Besides, Ms. Camille would’ve told me about myself at the next debutante activity. She looks great, Carrah.”
Carrah would never confirm the battle her mother endured last year even though she suspected Reese knew since their mothers were close. The secrecy she was sworn to preserved her mother’s frail vanity. Camille cowered at the thought of anyone thinking of her as sick and shut in. She only wanted people to associate her name with strength and beauty.
And while Carrah understood her mother’s sentiments, the mental toll it placed upon her had been unimaginable. Having a friend to confide in would’ve been helpful. Thank goodness she’d rediscovered her ability to craft words.
“Thanks. She has a lot to be happy about.” The smile stretching across Carrah’s face as she spotted her mother dancing with friends was priceless.
“I’d say! Your mama still moves like one of those Silas Green showgirls.” Peyton made them chuckle as they gazed at the center of the dance floor and watched Carrah’s mom. “For real! And is there a such thing as reverse aging?”
“ The Curious Case of Benjamin Button ,” Ava snickered, magically appearing as part of the circle while prompting them all to fall out in laughter before she hugged and kissed them. “Real talk, Carrah. Peyton is right. Ms. Camille looks like she’s no more than thirty years old.”
Carrah’s cheeks remained full. “Good genes, girl.”
“Black don’t crack,” Reese mumbled through giggles.
“Of course it doesn’t. Especially when your daughter is an alchemical genius.” Peyton winked at Carrah. “Did you bottle up the Chàvous DNA? Is that the secret life-prolonging elixir you were pulling all sorts of crazy hours in the lab to create?”
No, was the honest answer. Those wee hours in the night were spent writing her first draft after she had finished work and caring for her mother. However, they should’ve been used to perfect the serum or review products that would define the future of Noir. Carrah forced a smile. She was appreciative of their admiration, but not certain on how to respond because it meant she would have to tell another white lie to cover for the first.
“Ha! Secret life-prolonging elixir.” Reese threw back the last of her wine and flashed a grin that went from ear to ear. “Is that what we’re calling it now? At ten, it was that purge potion you created and made a jack-o’-lantern throw up at Ava’s slumber party.”
A bubble of laughter managed to escape Carrah. “You remember the vomiting pumpkin?”
“Of course we do—it was the highlight of my party,” Ava teased. “I tried to do it again after all of you left. All I got was fussed at for the mess I made, and that I used my mom’s new kitchen towels to clean it up.”
They all fell into a fit of laughter, and then a slow creep down memory lane began with the girls reminding Carrah of how she always brought a lab set to playdates and oftentimes made them her guinea pigs. It was just the right dose of cheer to make Carrah’s heart feel lighter about the work she did compared to how she felt when she’d dashed out of her room to line up for the party.
“Hey, you three.” Quinn popped into the circle they were standing in. She kissed each of them on the cheek and then passed Carrah a small wrapped box. “Sneak this into your mother’s gift stash,” she whispered. “Sorry I’m late. I’m mad I missed the beginning. I heard Madam Camille’s entrance was to die for!”
“You already know.” Carrah chortled, tilting her head at her mother. “However, she won’t know you missed it unless you tell her.” Quinn brought her fingers to her lips and did an invisible zip. “Why are you so late anyway?” Carrah asked.
“Because she’s been politicking like her daddy.” Ava signaled for a waiter to bring over the tray of appetizers and wine for Quinn. “Guess you can’t help it since your dad’s up for reelection.”
“The dark side of being a senator’s daughter with an unmarried brother eager to follow in his steps.” Quinn took the wine from the waitstaff and gulped. “But… I was actually or rather unofficially meeting with Chris on behalf of the Juneteenth committee. He’s sorta helping me tie up a loose end for the annual Red Party.”
Carrah rolled her eyes. Chris Chennault was the last person she wanted to hear about. His family’s cosmetics company had recently launched a beauty campaign that outshined Noir’s, and placed more pressure on her to complete the serum, foundation corrector, or anything else that could expeditiously move through the pipeline and be in stores by the end of the year. The stress of the competition had recently turned her oldest brother into the worst CFO, and placed a strain on the family that had not been felt since the passing of her grandfather.
She dared to not be selfish and consider how it was negatively impacting her ability to take advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “Chennaults don’t sort of do anything, Quinn. They are deliberate. I’m certain there is something in it for Chris.”
Reese, Peyton, and Ava all shot wry glances her away. As their lips pursed to reply, Quinn’s hand shot up while she shook her head no. She frowned at Carrah. “Just because you and your family don’t mix with the Chennaults doesn’t mean the rest of us should feel the same.” Quinn paused for a second and took the boudin ball and second full glass of wine that was being offered to her. “For the record, his mother used to co-chair the Juneteenth committee. We called in a favor to him for help with securing new entertainment after the band we booked backed out.”
“That makes sense. He’s well connected in the entertainment industry. His roster is stupid impressive,” Ava offered, half glancing up to meet Carrah’s eyes. “Heck, I’m still sometimes shocked to see my name by all those big-time celebrities. But he’s been my attorney since before he founded his own firm.”
Reese cleared her throat. “Didn’t you tell me that he recently helped you land a publishing deal for a photographic arts journal with TIME ?” Ava nodded yes and Reese cast her judging gaze onto Carrah.
“So basically, he’s beyond qualified and a logical choice for the committee to seek help from,” Peyton chimed in, cutting her eyes at Carrah.
Carrah ignored them and gulped down the last of her merlot. She needed to remember that these friends didn’t take sides, which was why she sometimes found herself coexisting at a distance with him. They had all been friends with Chris for as long as she had been friends with them. It wasn’t their fault the Chennaults and Andrewses were like oil and water. Now was starting to feel like the perfect time to leave.
“Anyhow,” Quinn said, regaining Carrah’s attention. “One of his clients agreed to perform at th—”
“Excuse me.” Trent’s deep voice cut off Quinn’s words and made Carrah’s skin crawl. “Carrah, darling, can we talk?” His words were sweeter than syrup. Only Carrah knew better.
Carrah’s teeth clenched together. She slowly turned her head to see Trent standing mere inches behind her. Her ex-lover may have had a face carved by the angels, but his soul was vile. She wanted no part of him, and he knew it, which was why she couldn’t believe he had come to her mother’s party. The fact that he’d apparently received an invitation was even more alarming.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Trent.” Carrah refused to mince words with him. She’d been clear when they broke up three months ago. The audience of her closest friends empowered her to remain true to her feelings. Her line of sight met each of her friends’ before she looked off into the distance. She hoped he would get the hint and disappear.
He gripped her arm then tugged her toward him. “Let’s not make a scene. We need to discuss a few things.” He inclined his head to the front of the room, where her father stood smiling at them. “Your father wants us to talk.”
“What about what I want?” She cleared her throat and snatched her arm away from him, all the while fighting back the discomfort from having to be in his company.
“How about you tell that to your father,” he whispered.
The sureness of his words made the hairs on her arm stand up. He was not above starting an argument with her tonight to get his way. And while she was ready to give him a piece of her mind, this wasn’t the time. She would never taint the celebration honoring her mother.
“I’ll catch you ladies later.” Carrah offered a tight lip smile and then turned away from her friends.
She moved through the crowd, never checking over her shoulder to see if Trent followed. Based on the fact that he boldly showed up demanding they talk, she knew he would be behind her. When she got to the edge of the tent, she made the rash decision to step outside, away from the perimeter where people lingered, and faced Trent.
Logic had battled spontaneity because she knew having any eyes was better than none when dealing with a man with questionable integrity. Yet this was the Shores, and she wasn’t ready to become the subject of gossip among their crowd of people.
Trent relaxed into an unwelcome smile then reached for her hand. Carrah took a step back. Boundaries were important here. Her ex had crossed every line that would deem a relationship healthy, happy, or loving.
After a tense silence, he finally spoke. “You look beautiful.”
“Is that what you told Oliva and Ebony? Oh, wait, I forgot about your assistant. What was her name?” Carrah’s throat burned with shame as she swallowed the hurt and pain from being made to feel inadequate. All those dollars in therapy seemed useless as she stood in front of Trent.
He took a step toward her, and she took another one back. “I’ve apologized. I even proposed. What more do you want?” His jaw ticked. “You’ve had more than enough time to get over my indiscretions. Your parents want this wedding, and so do I. I need you. I’m sorry I fucked up.”
“You only need me because it boosts your image and helps with your aspirations for public office. Like I asked you earlier, what about what I want? How will I ever achieve my hopes and dreams if I’m drowning in yours.” It wasn’t meant to be a question, but a statement she left him with as she took off back toward the main house.
Once inside her room, she locked the door and scatted over to where she’d stowed her manuscript away. The second it was in her hands, the anger, anxiety, and pain that were bearing down on her were replaced with hope, joy, and freedom. She saw possibilities, not a dead end. She couldn’t give up the chance to change her life.
The evening had delivered the unexpected. And yet there was a silver lining. Her friends had unknowingly provided an answer to her dilemma, and it was Christopher Chennault.
She said his name under her breath as she sat at her desk, opened her laptop, and typed his name inside the Google search bar. A record of his success was plastered across the web from various articles to photos with him alongside famous celebrities. She didn’t discover anything she didn’t know. However, she had not fully comprehended his reach in the entertainment world, which on his bio included literary representation.
Hope bloomed to life. Chris would understand and could explain the offer extended by Hurston House. With his counsel, she could logically deliberate her options and decide if she was ready to walk through a new door. The alternative was to remain stuck in a place where what everyone else wanted for her was not what she desired for herself.
Carrah had a life to figure out. One that had been in constant reflection since her mother took ill and she’d rediscovered a lost passion. It was time she took a chance and did something for herself. And so she swallowed her pride, shook off her apprehension, and quickly filled out the online query form for Chris’s firm. The bad blood between their families dictated her formality. However, just maybe her enemy could become her ally.