Chapter 14 #2
“So does Sarah feel she’ll be safe at home again now that the police are aware this guy has tried to contact her? And what about the social media messages from an unknown account?”
“The police are looking into it and they suggested she delete her account. As for how safe Sarah will feel back home…I didn’t bring that up.
” He shook his head and set down his glass.
“The past few days with her have just really knocked me on my butt. I figured I’d take a day or two of no drama and ask her counselor’s advice.
There’s no rush to get home with Sarah’s school on vacation next week anyhow.
” His eyes found hers. “Besides, this town has been damn good to me. I don’t mind sticking around a little longer. ”
His words slid over her senses, inciting a shiver. Had he changed gears to distract her from talking about Sarah? Or to distract himself from thoughts of the past?
“I’m glad to hear it.” She was relieved he’d given up trying to protect her from getting involved with him. Not that she expected him to let his guard down overnight. But maybe, with time, they could still have something together. “You haven’t seen the best of Heartache yet.”
“You’re wrong about that.” He reached for her, his fingers brushing her cheek in a soft caress.
It would be easy to get swept away by his touch. To kiss him until they forgot everything else. But she didn’t want to lose this chance to get to know him better, to understand what made him tick.
“Can I ask you a question?” She peered out at the rainstorm again, grateful to be indoors with the scent of dinner cooking in the oven and the warmth of the man next to her.
“That sounds ominous.” His touch fell away from her cheek.
“It’s not. I promise.” She scooted closer to him, letting her forehead fall on his shoulder.
Just that one small point of contact.
“Okay. Shoot.”
“What was it like living in bayou country?” She’d traveled a lot scouring the southeast for antiques and unique items for Last Chance Vintage, but she’d never been south of New Orleans.
More importantly, she wanted to hear him talk about another time in his life—before the trauma of his wife’s death.
“Well…let’s just say I wasn’t lyin’ `bout growing up near gators.” He let loose the full-fledged Cajun drawl, making her smile.
She relaxed, glad they could just be together and enjoy each other.
“Do you have family there?”
“A couple of brothers. And my mom.” His cheek tipped to rest on the top of her head. “They’ll never leave Terrebonne. My brothers drink too much and spend their Friday nights in the dance halls. One is a cop. The other is a net maker, if you can believe there still is such a thing.”
“You’re not close with them?” Why wouldn’t he have moved back to that area after Liv’s death?
God, it was so tough to consider sleeping with him again when every other second something circled back around to thoughts of his dead wife.
“I’ve always been the black sheep. They couldn’t understand why I would ever want to live anywhere that didn’t let me fish off my back porch.
” He hesitated. “I guess I had trouble watching a way of life erode right under my feet. Every day, more of the bayou sinks into the sea. Swamps I used to punt through are part of the Gulf now.”
“Is that because the Mississippi doesn’t flood the same way or something like that?” She tried to remember what she’d heard about the state’s changing ecosystem.
“That’s part of it. We don’t get the silt from the floods the way we used to.
Stopping the flooding introduced a lot of problems the engineers hadn’t accounted for.
” He shook his head. “But there are other issues—the salt water kills the old oaks. There are oil spills and the general havoc wreaked by industry. It’s sad to witness. ”
“You should produce a show on that.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Wouldn’t you be in a good position now to help?”
“Television viewers aren’t always receptive to causes. I’d get better ratings filming my brothers’ fights in the dance halls than showing the sad remnants of a fading culture.”
“So make a show called Bayou Brothers and sneak in your message between brawls and gator wrestling.” She toyed with his shirt collar and traced the placket down his chest.
“That’s not a bad idea except I was thinking about going back to photography once Sarah starts college.” He lifted his wineglass. “If she goes to college.”
“Really?” Erin saw him with new eyes. “I wasn’t sure how serious Sarah was when she said you gave up photography because her mom wanted you to.”
“Her version of events is overly simplified.” Remy reached behind them to a sofa table where he’d laid his phone.
He seemed to search through a few screens while he spoke.
“I saw the promise in Liv’s art and wanted to do whatever I could to get it into the right galleries.
Plus, I wanted her to concentrate on making the most of her creativity because she’d gone through some rough years raising Sarah alone. ”
He turned the phone toward Erin to show her a bright painting of a cypress tree off center on a canvas. The pride on his face was obvious.
“Is that her work?” Erin took the phone to see it better, enjoying the peeks into his life in a way she’d never had with Patrick. She liked knowing what made Remy tick.
“Yes. She did a whole series based on some of my early photographs around Houma.” He slid a finger across the phone screen for her. “You can see more of the paintings and the photos she worked from.”
“Your photos?” she clarified, pausing on the twilight image of the skeleton cypress with no leaves. A casket floated in the water at its base. “This is really powerful.”
She turned the phone so he could see which photo she meant.
“I can’t take much credit for that. It’s the draw of the place, not the art.”
“What about the choice of composition? The timing for the best lighting?” She was surprised to hear him undersell himself. “That’s the artistry.”
He rubbed a hand through the light scruff of golden-brown hair along his jaw. “If I go back to photography, I’ll improve. Until then, I hope to stockpile enough funds to pay off Sarah’s education.”
She flipped through more images—paintings and photos alike—one after the other and began to see the creative synergy between them.
“I can’t believe you quit photography with such a gift.” She didn’t mean it as a judgment, however, and worried he might take it that way. “What I mean is, you obviously inspired one another. It must have been hard to decide to do something else.”
“I had an idea for a local television show about the art community. It was self-serving since I wanted to feature Liv first and foremost. But as I was pitching the guy I wanted to sponsor the project, we got talking about something else—a show about local singers. I ended up making that, Voice of America, instead.”
“You produce American Voice?” She nearly dropped his phone.
American Voice was still on the air, still in the tabloids, and had been incredibly lucrative judging by the celebrity singers who coached young talent on each week’s episode.
“Not the version you now see on television. But I owned the rights since I started it on a regional level, and I retained a share of the project after I sold off creative control.” He grinned for a moment, a rogue dimple making its first appearance that she could remember.
Then, the smile faded. “The show paid for that big house I built in Lafayette. It put me in demand as a producer. I started traveling more.”
She reached for his hand and held it. He was a success on multiple fronts and had achieved so many dreams at a young age, only to see them end in a horrific way.
Leaning over, she kissed his shoulder and hoped it was okay to gently steer the conversation away from the dark sadness still dogging him.
“It’s an amazing talent to bring artistic vision to the masses.” She couldn’t believe all he’d accomplished in a short time.
“I know. Liv had that talent in spades. She started a second business as a perfumer and that was going really well, too.”
Erin shook her head. “I meant you, though. You’ve got a great talent, Remy.
A lot of creative people don’t get the satisfaction of seeing their work enjoyed by the public, but you found a way for people to view your earliest photos.
You’ve created multiple television shows that give viewers something entertaining and substantive. ”
“It doesn’t mean a lot, though, when I can’t even get Sarah off to college successfully.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “Maybe I’ve been away from my bayou roots too long. My mama would say that people count a whole lot more than things. And it’s people that I keep failing.”
She opened her mouth to argue the point, but the lights flickered. Once. Twice.
Then went out altogether.
“It’s okay.” Erin stood, grateful for the flashes of lightning that lit her way. “I put some candles out earlier.”
She made her way to the kitchen and patted around the counter until she found the box of matches.
“I should call Sarah.” Light from Remy’s phone illuminated the living room. “Or text, I guess. Kids don’t use phones to talk.”
Erin lit the two tapers, then moved around the living room with the box of matches to light a few candles she kept on the mantel and end tables.
By the time she was done, the house glowed with warm light. The house wouldn’t cool off that much since a rainstorm in a Tennessee spring didn’t bring the temperature down that much.
“I think the quiche is almost done anyhow.” She pulled it out of the oven. “It smells amazing.”
“Sarah is a great cook.” Remy strode toward the kitchen, stopping to lean on the island. “She says they’re fine, by the way. Ally invited her to sleep over.”
“Good.” Erin wondered how Bethany was doing after being so upset at the store. “Ally could use friends around her right now. Her mother and father are going through a tough year.”