Chapter Eleven #2
“You trying to paint this picture in a different light doesn’t change the fact that they want to destroy what we’ve built,” she said.
“And it also doesn’t change the fact that if it wasn’t for you, this conglomerate would never have put us on their radar.
If we allow this to happen, it can change the entire makeup of this community, Damien. ”
A thought occurred to her. She looked over at him, and it was as if her eyes were opening for the first time.
“But, then again, that’s what you wanted from the start, isn’t it?” April accused.
He looked at her, then quickly averted his eyes, but April still caught the guilt that flashed across his face.
“I knew it,” she said. She huffed out a humorless laugh. “Despite everything we’ve talked about over these past few weeks, your goal never changed, did it?”
Just as Damien opened his mouth to spout whatever lame excuse he’d prepared, April’s phone rang. She rudely picked it up and answered it, despite being in the middle of a conversation.
“April—” Damien started, but she stopped him, holding a finger up in the universal “give me a minute” gesture.
“This is April Knight,” she answered.
It felt as if every drop of blood drained from her face as she listened to the person on the other end of the line. April closed her eyes and cradled her forehead in her palm.
“Please tell me this is a joke,” she whispered.
“April, what is it?” Damien asked, the concern in his voice coming across clearly.
Ignoring his question, April rose from the table.
“I’ll be right there,” she said to the person on the other end of the line. She disconnected the call and looked over at Damien. “I have to go and take care of something.”
“What is it?” He stood. “Do you need my help?”
“No,” she said. “You’ve helped enough.”
* * *
Damien stood there in the café at A Fresh Start, debating whether he should follow April.
But when the alert went off on his phone—his reminder about his lunch with Kurt—he decided against it.
If the past ten minutes were any indication of how things would go, April would have probably run him over with her car the minute she saw him.
Instead, Damien drove out to Mid-City, pulling into Kurt’s driveway fifteen minutes after leaving A Fresh Start. He sat behind the wheel, contemplating calling Kurt and rescheduling their weekly lunch. With the mood he was in, he wouldn’t be good company for anybody.
His cell phone rang and Kurt’s number flashed on the screen.
Damien pressed the Bluetooth button on his console. “I’m right outside,” he said by way of greeting.
“I know that,” Kurt answered. “I was calling to ask if you planned to come inside. I’ve got fried shrimp. They’ll get cold and rubbery if they sit for too long.”
“Yeah, I’ll be inside in a minute,” Damien said.
He gripped the steering wheel, unable to get the picture of April’s face when he told her about the McGowan Group’s plans out of his mind. But what really got to him was when she accused him of wanting this all along.
He had, hadn’t he?
He was getting exactly what he wanted. The investors he’d sought were willing to make his dream a reality.
So why in the hell did it feel as if he had lead sitting in his stomach, weighing him down like a rusty anchor?
Damien got out of the car and trudged up the ramp leading to the porch.
As he approached, the front door opened and Kurt appeared.
He maneuvered his chair so that Damien could come in, and then led the way into the kitchen.
Damien could smell the unique aroma of shrimps fried in cornmeal and spices, just like his mom used to make.
There was a salad bowl filled with leafy greens. A small plate with tomato slices and pickles sat next to it. A long loaf of French bread from the Leidenheimer Baking Company—a New Orleans staple for making po’boys—sat on the counter next to the other fixings.
“I’ve got canned drinks in the fridge,” Kurt said as he rolled over to the cabinet and used the elevation button on his chair to lift him up high enough to retrieve two plates from the cabinet. Damien didn’t make a move to help him.
As Kurt fixed their sandwiches, he regaled Damien with the latest story about his hippie neighbors who were constantly being arrested for indecent exposure. This time the couple decided to work in their flowerbeds in the buff, in the middle of the day.
Damien usually found their antics entertaining, but he just wasn’t feeling it today.
“What’s up with you?” Kurt asked when Damien responded to his story with a halfhearted chuckle.
“Nothing,” he answered. “Just a lot on my mind today.”
Damien put his elbows up on the table and folded his hands over his sandwich. He bowed his head as his brother prayed over their lunch, but he couldn’t bring himself to take a bite. He watched as Kurt started in on his sandwich.
After several moments passed, Damien asked, “How is it that you’re not still filled with rage?”
His brother stopped midbite. “Filled with rage about what?”
“About what happened to you. About the fact that you’re stuck in this chair for the rest of your life because some bastard shot you down in the street?”
Kurt’s head snapped back in surprise. “Where is this coming from?”
“I just never understood how you got past the anger so quickly.”
“What good would being filled with rage do? You read some new study that says that anger helps paraplegics walk again?” Kurt drawled.
Damien ignored his mocking tone. “I know the rage doesn’t help anything, but damn, Kurt! I’m more upset over it than you are. I still can’t go into that neighborhood without remembering what happened to you and to dad. I swear, it makes me so damn angry I can hardly see straight.
“That’s why this thing with April is so hard.” Damien ran a palm down his face. “She’s all about saving the Ninth Ward, but how in the hell can I work to save a neighborhood that did this to you?”
Kurt placed his sandwich on his plate, and with deliberate slowness, wiped at the corners of his mouth.
“Is that what you think?” his brother asked. “You think the neighborhood did this to me?”
“How else should I see it? You were just minding your own business and someone shot you down. The bastard probably still lives there, walking along those same streets without a care in the world.”
“He doesn’t live there anymore,” Kurt said.
“How do you know? The police never caught him.”
“And they never will, because he’s dead.”
“What are you talking about?” Damien asked. “The police were never even able to identify the suspect. How do you know that he’s dead?”
“I knew who shot me,” his brother answered. “He was shot and killed himself just a few weeks after I was shot.”
Damien shook his head, as if that would clear the confusion caused by his brother’s words. “Kurt, what in the hell are you talking about? You were just walking down the street and you were shot in the back.”
“I was selling drugs,” Kurt said.
Damien could do nothing but sit there as a wave of shock crashed into him.
He jumped out of his chair and paced to the other end of the kitchen, trying to physically distance himself from the lie his brother had just told. Because it was a lie. It had to be a lie.
“You were not selling drugs,” Damien argued. “Why would you even say that?”
“Because, I was,” Kurt answered. “The person who shot me had come to buy drugs, but he didn’t have the money. He tried to steal them from me. I was shot in the back because I turned to run away from him.”
Damien collapsed into his seat again. It felt as if the world had just slipped out from underneath him. His older brother? The person he’d looked up to for all these years? A drug dealer?
“How? You...” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud.
“I made stupid choices,” Kurt said. “I did that, and I paid for them. You want to know why I’m not angry?
It’s because I realize that I’m lucky to be in this chair.
I’m lucky to be alive, Damien. I could have died that day.
I put myself in that situation. Don’t put the blame on the Ninth Ward.
The only one who deserves blame for what happened to me is me. ”
Kurt backed his chair away from the table and came over to sit right in front of Damien. Kurt clamped his hands over Damien’s shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze.
As he looked up at his brother, Damien felt as if his entire being had been caught up in a tornado of confusion.
“Look, Damien, you explained what you wanted to do with that land you bought, and I supported you because you’re my brother and I’ll always support you. But I don’t believe in it.
“There’s a lot of good already going on in the old neighborhood.
It’s had a bad rap for a long time, but people like April are trying to change it.
She and the rest of those folks at that youth center are seeing to it that the kids who live there now won’t make the same choices I made.
” Kurt tapped him in the center of his chest. “They need to see people like you. Those who made it out the right way. If you really want to leave a legacy in the world, help those kids make something of themselves. Help give them a neighborhood they can be proud of.”
And just like that, Damien knew what he needed to do.