Southern Hearts (8 page)
Lani leaned into me.
“I took out a can of trash to dump in the recycle bin in the garage. I remember my mother had told me not to take it out, to just leave it by the back door and that she or my father would take it out later. But I opened the back door and went across the lawn. The wind was blowing pretty hard, and when I started to open the garage door it banged against the outside wall. I yanked on the cord to turn on the light, and I saw him.” I took another breath, trying to keep calm.
“My cousin was hanging there, his body jerking and convulsing, spit dripping from the corners of his month. I was frozen with fear. I wanted to turn and run, to yell...but I stood there watching him. His eyes fluttered between brown and white. It was terrible. I could have done something, gotten help, called out. I don’t know, something. But I picked up the trash, walked back to the house, and set it down on the back stoop.” I swallowed harshly. “I went back into the living room and never said a word about it. My uncle found him the next day.”
Lani put her arm around me, and my body went weak, my head resting on her shoulder as I wept.
“You were young, I would have probably reacted the same way at that age. It’s not your fault, he made his own choice that day. So don’t blame yourself.”
“Maybe I could have saved him,” I said, looking at her.
“He didn’t want to be saved, Kari. I didn’t want to die, and deep down I wanted to get caught. That’s why I left the door unlocked. I knew my mother got up and went to the bathroom several times during the night. I wanted her to catch me in the act and stop me.”
The weight of my head became difficult for me to hold. I rested it on Lani’s chest, and she parted the strands of my uncombed hair, flattening them into place.
We sat without talking, the only sound the foliage as it rustled in the summer breeze. We had both said a lot that afternoon, shared more then we had probably wanted to, and told stories that were more painful, once the words were out in the open air. Lani and I were barely acquaintances, not quite friends and yet now no longer strangers.
As we silently gathered our things together and walked toward the car, I thought of my cousin, I thought of my mother, and I thought of Lani. My emotions seemed jumbled and smeared together, like the swirl of oil paint on a canvas. It was hard for me separate them, to put each in its rightful place and then analyze them from their respective categories. I kept a steady pace several yards in front of Lani, talking to myself and listening to the sound of hiking boots along the crunchy sand behind me.
Chapter Six
I spent the morning relaxing and reading, allowing the Jude Deveraux novel to pull my mind effortlessly from fact to fiction, submerging my thought to her words as the light of morning began to rise over the skirt of the Teche. The spears of grass along the shore began to sway with the light wind that channeled crosswise over the bayou. The water was dreary from the slush and mire, and on mornings like this, where the remnants of dampness still clung to the branches coated with peat moss, it smelled ripe with mildew.
I sipped grapefruit juice from a beaker crammed with crushed ice as thoughts of yesterday echoed in my mind. I thought of Lani and how embarrassed I now felt for allowing myself to become an emotional wreck and telling such intimate and private details.
Then my thoughts turned to Regee. It had been over two weeks since the afternoon on the boat, and I hadn’t heard from her. Maybe I had been only a flash in her pants, literally. Whatever the case, as the day wound on I still hoped I would see her.
“Good morning, chèr.”
“Morning.” I looked up as my mother sat down next to me. She added a dash of cream to her tea. As she stirred it from brown to tan, I remembered our trip to Boston over Easter break of 1992, and how, even then, I had felt uncomfortable about myself. My mother had insisted that we have afternoon tea in the dining room of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Everyone was dressed and primped to the hilt. I was in my worn dungarees and polo shirt, my mullet-cut hair short along the sides and lengthy in the back. Every eye was on me when I walked into the room. I felt freakish that day. I had fidgeted with my hair as if I were on a narcotic, pressing hard on the ends, knowing that my nervousness had only added to my unnaturalness. I was undeniably different. I was fourteen and I didn’t know how to handle the gawks and scowls of disapproval. I could still see that day in my mind as if it were yesterday.
My mother took a Lillian Vernon catalog from the burlap magazine holder at her feet and began to flip through it. Thus far, she had dodged the issue of her collapse. I had tried to bring it up, asking how she was, and she had vehemently dismissed from the topic. I didn’t want to add to her troubles by having her hear about my secret from anyone but me. The party was still several weeks away, and keeping the issue of my sexuality from my mother was becoming increasingly stressful. The memories of my rendezvous with Regee and my candor with Lani constantly pounded inside of me, making the need to tell her almost unbearable. I hoped to make my confession as pain free for my mother as I could, although I feared an argument might ensue.
“Mother,” I said, breaking into her page turning.
“Hmm,” she murmured without looking up.
I stopped.
“What is it, chèr?”
“There is something that I need to tell you. Discuss with you, would perhaps be a more accurate way of putting it,” I stammered. “I’m not sure how to say this.”
“Just say it, chèr, you’ve never been shy.”
“I’m not sure how to say it.”
“Good morning, ladies.”
I turned, annoyed at the interruption.
“I hope you’re feeling better, Mrs. Bossier, my father told me about your collapse.” Regee stepped onto the porch, poking her long fingernails into my back, just out of my mother’s sight.
“I’m doing much better, dear. An unfortunate bout of dehydration. I suppose I should have known better.”
“Maybe you should leave the gardening chores to us. After all, that is what you pay us for.” She chuckled, digging her fingers tightly into my back.
I shifted uneasily, clenching my teeth at the sudden discomfort. I moved forward and crossed one leg atop the other.
“My father wanted me to send his best also.”
“Is he near? I wanted to discuss this year’s lawn sculpture for the party.” My mother’s voice rose from cordial to formal.
“He’s taking the day off. I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for today.”
“I hope everything is okay?” my mother asked politely.
“He woke up with a case of the greens.” Regee’s voice dropped to a stage whisper.
My mother stared as if confused by the comment.
“The golf greens, I think it was,” Regee said with a smile. “Perhaps Kari can go over the specifics of how you’d like the shrubbery cut?” She sank her manicured nail into me like a claw clinging to a scratching post. I arched forward.
“Are you okay, chèr?” my mother asked noticing my sudden movement. “You look a bit tense.”
“My back,” I said slowly. “It’s a bit tight this morning, just stretching out the kinks.” I bowed back and forth exaggeratedly.
My mother squinted her eyes. “Well, take Regency out and show her how the bushes are to be trimmed. Remember, doves like we discussed.” She pointed toward the open area just beside the bank. “Make sure you don’t take too much off, a dove could nearly turn to a vulture with a few too many swipes of the shears,” she joked, though her tone was serious.
I stood up and trailed behind Regee. She stopped a few hundred yards from where my mother watched and fanned her arm out, pointing as if we had begun an eventful conversation.
“I’ve missed seeing you,” she said coyly, winking at my uneasiness.
“I...” I looked back toward my mother and then continued. “I’ve missed seeing you too.”
“Point toward the shed,” she directed.
I lifted my arm.
“I want to ravage your body until the come leaks from your loins and drips down your thighs.”
She lifted both hands into a fluttering motion, keeping up the charade.
I smiled. “You’re crazy!”
“I want to take you right now, bend you into me until your heart gives way and pounds at my touch,” she growled, leaning into me.
“Make sure it’s large enough to be seen from the front of the house,” my mother yelled.
I cleared my dry throat. My tongue felt leathery and enlarged.
“I’ll make sure of it, Mrs. Bossier,” Regee called out.
“Turn toward the front of the house and then motion in that direction,” she added calmly.
I put my hand to my face to wipe away the perspiration, then did as she had asked. She took a few steps forward and then narrowed her eyes, as if motioning for me to follow. I turned toward my mother and saw her looking in my direction, then put my hands to my hips as if in thought. When she looked down, I turned and walked toward Regee. She was waving me on from the side of the house. She grinned at my sudden awkwardness, then shook her head in disbelief.
When I passed beyond the corner of the house, she snatched the front of my T-shirt, gathering it until she had enough fabric to pull me into her.
“We can’t do this now!” I exclaimed. “My mother is—”
She pressed her lips to mine. My heart throbbed below my breasts, and the sudden firmness of her touch made me ooze with wetness.
“I can’t.” I put my hands roughly around her shoulders, pushing forcibly into the house siding.
I thrust my tongue into her mouth, tracing it, curving it, and plunging inside. I could hear the sprinklers click on as if they had been timed to respond to us; a machine thrummed in the background, and the distant song of cicadas came from the treetops.
“God, I’m so wet,” Regee proclaimed, arching her body forward. She took my hand and rolled it back and forth over the seam of her shorts. “Oh yes!” she called out. “Harder!”
I pressed my palm harder into her, pressing my middle finger upward. She flung one leg over my hip and I clutched it tightly to my waist.
“Go inside baby...go inside.” I followed her command, then put my hand over her mouth as she cried out and fell into me.
“Are you wet?” She slid one hand underneath the leg of my shorts, turning me and shoving my back around to the wall.
