Chapter 11
mad
. . .
My mouth dropped open so fast, I almost swallowed my tongue. I stared at this fool, gauging the contagiousness of his stupidity. “I don’t know if your brain packed up and decided to hide in your ass,” I growled, “but I am not the one, Chad! Put. That. Away.”
Cheap body spray, as slimy as his smile, overpowered me as he tried to lean in. “I thought, since you do custom glass, maybe you could immortalize me.”
“Immortalize? Baby, the only thing about that picture that deserves immortalization is your nerve.” I pointed at the tiny, mocha member on his phone. “Because that ain’t sculpture material. That’s a clearance item.”
He blinked, confused. “You’re saying … it’s small?”
“Okay, delusional and perverted!” I snapped. “You’re lucky I left my blowtorch in the car, or I’d have …”
My retort trailed off in the mid-March air when a hand clutched Chad’s shoulder from behind. The little freak jerked, twisted, and tried to yank free, but Washington strolled around until he was at his side. That unforgiving hold was stronger than any best-selling eyelash and wig glue combined.
“Chad?” Wash’s voice rolled like thunder on Bourbon Street. Deep. Calm. Lethal.
“Who the hell are you?” Chad sneered.
“I’m Judge Washington Babineaux, her husband.”
I wasn’t sure what caused the man’s knees to buckle. The first or the second title.
While the man rambled explanations and apologies, Washington adjusted his grip enough to bring the dude to his knees. He asked Chad’s last name, which he used so casually as if checking the weather. “Chad Finkle, are you familiar with Louisiana Penal Code Section 14:106?”
Chad froze. “Uh, no, sir?”
“Judge Babineaux. I’m gonna assume you haven’t gone to court before the State of Louisiana.
Allow me to educate you.” Washington leaned in, his Creole growl audible over the crowd.
“Exposing a woman to your male … bits without consent? Falls under indecent behavior. If she wants to press charges, she can.”
Chad’s mouth flapped like a fish. “I-I didn’t mean to. I respect your-your … is she really your wife?” He muttered, “Oh God, oh God,” before Washington even gave a firm nod. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Babineaux.”
Washington shoved him in the chest, and Chad stumbled back. “Mr. Finkle, check yourself, your ego, your damn phone, and get the hell outta here.”
Chad nodded so fast that his neck gave a painful jerk. “Yes, sir.” He ran off.
My ex-husband pinned me with a glare, head tilted sideways, bald head my forever dream. “Madison, why are you over here tryna give me a heart attack?”
“I could’ve handled him.”
“And if you met him somewhere with fewer people around? He could’ve dragged you into an alley!”
“Shouldn’t you fist pump me for being ready to throw hands and my wrath at someone other than you?”
“Nope. I’m just gonna let me take you to dinner.”
He strolled around the fountain as if searching for something on the ground. His long stride versus my smaller steps forced me to walk-run to keep up. “What?” I squeaked. “That doesn’t make sense. If you think you saved me, shouldn’t you ask me to pay for dinner?”
Washington stopped glancing at the ground. “You got money?”
I placed my hand on my hip. “Actually, I have fifty dollars. Chad agreed to my retainer fee to meet.”
“You mention his name again and no free …” His voice trailed off, still preoccupied with the fountain’s edge.
“A free meal? Yeah, I’ll take a free meal,” I replied before I could even ask myself what the hell had gotten into me.
The distance between us this past year made it impossible to stare at that hypnotizing dome of his.
But when he stood right in my face, my heart skipped so many beats that I wondered if I should see a cardiologist. “So, free meal?”
Washington cursed under his breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Somebody stole my momma’s groceries. Gimme a second.” He took out his phone and called Miss Virginia. “Momma, I’m sorry. I … Oh, you did? Okay.” His thumb mashed the Off button.
I stared up at him, trying not to lose myself in those dark brown eyes that sparked with embarrassment.
And just like that, he was the guy I met in college.
Yes, he’d been five years older. Twenty-two to my seventeen, but he had no game.
No swag. He didn’t even have that sexy bald head.
Only an easy-to-read, cute face. And a long trail of one-nighters who bragged about him for a specific reason.
“Momma Virginia stole her own groceries?”
“Yep.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
I chuckled. “You thought you were following me, stealth mode activated?”
“Yep.”
“And she stole her own groceries on a Sunday afternoon. Savage.”
“Say it again and I’ll let you treat me to lunch, Madison.”
My arms sliced the air. “No deal.”
Since I’d left my car at home, less than two miles south in Parkview, I allowed Washington to weasel me into a drive to Tremé.
Not sure how, since it wasn’t much farther.
His Land Rover rental rolled to a stop on the corner of Orleans and North Miro.
I took in the bright green shutters that popped against the red brick.
I was already salivating for Dooky Chase, a restaurant that rivaled his family’s on any day of the year.
“That’s it,” I said as the wooden door creaked open. “I’m doing two entrées.”
“You buying?”
“You’re funny.” I snorted, breathing in the air, rich with butter, roux, and spices.
“No, I’m serious. I eat for free at Hot Chicken & Peach Pit Maison, but I figured you wanted to go to a restaurant that has more history. History like us. Figured you’d at least be courteous.”
I popped him with my hip. “You always pay for your meals at your family’s restaurant.
And you will buy me some fried chicken and gumbo.
Now stop.” I chuckled as we slid into a booth near the front.
Sunlight spilled across the tabletop. I took off my sunglasses and slid a few strands of hair behind my ear.
And when I looked up, Washington stared at me as if his chest ached.
Why? I’d not been good to him, ignoring his calls over the past two weeks.
The voicemail on March first nearly broke me, but I couldn’t respond.
Physically could not. But here he was … staring at me.
How could he still be in love with me after the pain we endured?
How could I? When my entire life’s mission had become something short of a nunnery, living a bland life.
But you wanna enjoy food?
I shook the thought out of my head. Wishy Washy Maddy. Hey, that’s a new one! And it’s all mine. Clearing my throat, I steered us toward common ground that had nothing to do with us as a pair. “Hey, I haven’t gotten a response from Tex yet. You?”
“Nothing. Momma’s getting worried. Texas is the only one who ever did that.” Washington roughed a hand over his face, then he sipped his water.
My hand, with a will of its own, moved across the surface, capturing his. “Your baby brother is a big dude. He can handle himself, and despite the foolishness he says, Texas is smart.”
Instead of releasing my hand, Washington’s thumb caressed my palm. A jolt of energy, like a live wire, surged through me. I remembered his hands, hot on my ass while he pressed me against the door, my thighs locked around his. All that heat.
A throat cleared from my left. Deep. Almost deep. More of a my balls are still dropping, but I can cop an attitude. My attention drifted to the edge of the booth.
“Cason?” I popped up from the table and hugged the young man I hadn’t seen since his fourteenth birthday.
Seeing a kid who said he had nothing to live for on the grind?
It made the hum of the restaurant feel warmer.
It made me want to live again. “How are you? How was your birthday? It just passed, right?” Damn, I couldn’t match Washington’s knack for remembering the finer points.
I tried to release Cason, but the young man didn’t get the memo. He held on. Tight.
Another throat cleared. This time with some conviction.
Cason finally unhanded me and stepped back in tennies I could’ve sworn might’ve been white years ago. Okay, so he was a recovered five-finger discount specialist. That was good. He tilted his head at Washington. “So y’all divorced, huh?”
“Yes,” we declared in unison.
I tried to pretend that the force of us concurring didn’t dice my heart.
Cason’s narrowed eyes slipped between us. An uneasy silence filled the space. “Hey, I’m sorry y’all lost ya little guy.” He shifted in his shoes. “But if y’all divorced, why are y’all … together?”
I sank into the booth, drowning in the awkward moment.
“We’re still good friends, Cason,” Washington muttered. Damn, he always knew what to say.
A kid at the table across from us disrupted my smile when he lifted a toy airplane, mimicking the sounds of a small plane. He held the plastic toy high, and his innocent pride forced the oxygen from my chest.
Elijah …
The sputtering engine filled the air. The water had swallowed everything, and the screams were deafening. The chaos. My son cried our names: Mommy, Daddy!
Palms slick with sweat, I blinked and saw the glassy surface of the lake we had landed in. The memory of our small plane going down rushed through my mind like a tidal wave that I’d never be ready to process.
As I yanked my purse, I nearly knocked Cason over. I scrambled to my feet. My lungs clawed for air, each inhale a desperate, shallow gasp.
Glass shards sliced their way down my throat. My knees threatened to cave before I even cleared the front door.
“Maddy,” Washington called after me. “Madison!”