Southern Ruby (52 page)

I was on my way back downstairs when the house telephone rang and Lorena called me to the kitchen. ‘It's your aunty,' she said.

‘Hello, Amandine! I hope you can hear me?' Aunt Louise's voice sounded faint through the buzzing static. ‘We've had trouble with our connections in the desert. From midday we're off on a trek. It's a retreat so we won't have any communication with the outside world until Monday. I wanted to check that you and Momma are all right?'

Apart from the dress upsetting Grandma Ruby, she seemed fine. ‘We're good,' I told my aunt. ‘Don't worry about us. You enjoy yourselves.'

More crackles and static interrupted the connection. ‘I'm sorry about the phone — I think we're about to drop out. We love you, Amandine. I'll call you when we're back at the ranch.'

The connection cut out, but I stood holding the receiver to my ear as if Aunt Louise was still on the line. With a simple phrase that meant the world to me — ‘We love you, Amandine' — she had calmed the mental tumult that had plagued me all morning. Despite all the ups and downs of the past week, I would have made the decision to come to New Orleans all over again, if only to hear those words from somebody who was related to me.

I put the receiver back and returned to the porch step, where I waited a while longer for Oliver. When he didn't come, I figured he must have gone to the garden nursery for supplies.

‘I'll be back in a couple of hours,' I told Lorena, picking up my handbag. ‘I'm going to visit a friend.'

‘Amandine!' said Terence when he answered his doorbell. ‘I've been looking forward to seeing you today.'

He invited me into the front room, then pointed to my kneehigh gladiator sandals. ‘I like your shoes.'

‘Thank you,' I said, taking the seat he offered me. ‘But the straps aren't so good for tan lines.' I opened my purse and took out my restoration plan. ‘I wanted to talk to you about a project I'm going to start at my grandmother's home; she's got a porch in need of restoration. I've done all the measurements, but I want a carpenter experienced with New Orleans houses and the climate. I was wondering if you could come over and look at it?'

I was surprised when he hesitated. ‘Oh, I'm retired now, Amandine. And my eyesight and my back aren't what they used to be. But I know a carpenter in Gentilly who would be perfect for the job. If he sees a joint you can fit a credit card into it drives him crazy. He's done a lot of restoration work too.'

I did my best to hide my disappointment. Not only would I have enjoyed working with Terence but I wanted to introduce him to my family. He'd told me what he thought of ‘fancy folks', but I was sure Grandma Ruby, Aunt Louise and Uncle Jonathan would love him. I wouldn't push it for now. I might be able to convince him later.

‘Maybe you could help me select the wood then?' I suggested.

He nodded. ‘Yes, I can get you exactly what you want at the lumberyard at a good price. Those guys remember me. They won't dare cheat you.' Then rubbing his knees and turning to the piano, he said, ‘Well, let's get started on our lesson. Since I saw you last, I've remembered a piece that your father told me he wrote for your mother.'

I flinched. The pain of the previous evening flooded back to me. I still didn't have an answer to what had upset my father so much on the night of the accident. ‘Amandine, are you all right?' asked Terence, frowning.

I shook my head. ‘I met a friend of my father's last night. He told me my mother was driving the car when the accident occurred. I'd always believed it was my father.'

Terence looked at me a long time, then took a breath before answering. ‘I didn't know it was your mother driving. The details didn't make a difference to me. All I knew was an accident had taken place and two beautiful people had died.'

I tried to blink back the tears that were pricking my eyes. ‘My nan blamed my father for my mother's death. I don't know if it was because she wanted to believe that, or she deliberately lied to make me hate him like she did. I wish I could talk to her, to ask her what she was thinking telling me that.'

Terence went to the kitchen and poured an iced water from the fridge. He handed it to me with an apologetic grin. ‘I haven't had a chance to make more root beer yet.'

He sat down again and waited for me to continue, but I was too choked up.

Then leaning towards me, he asked, ‘Do you mind if I tell you something as an old man who has seen much of life?'

I took a sip of the water. ‘Go ahead.'

‘When you're young, you have an ideal version of how you'll be when you're older. How you won't feel fear any more and you'll always know the right thing to do.' He sat back and smiled. ‘Then you get to my age and you realise that, apart from some valuable life experience, you are still scared and you still do stupid things. In the end, we're all only human.'

I looked at him. His face turned serious again.

‘It's a painful fact of life, but we can never know all the answers, Amandine. That your nan loved you, there can be little doubt. She brought you up, didn't she? But whether she was deliberately lying in telling you that your father was to blame for the accident is a question that can never be answered now. By asking it, all you're going to do is create so much pain that you can't ever go forward. And go forward you must . . . because there's no going back.'

Terence was right, I knew it. Maybe I was more intimidated by the idea of creating a new life — my own life — than I cared to admit. If I took responsibility for myself, who could I blame if things didn't work out?

I took a few more sips of the water and steeled myself. ‘Okay, let's work on the next piece.'

After our lesson, as I was about to leave, I asked Terence how he'd managed to become such a proficient musician while working as a carpenter.

He regarded me with a bemused expression on his face. ‘In New Orleans it's quite rare to be a full-time musician. Most
people have some other line of work besides their music. Nearly all the jazz greats, including Louis Armstrong, Bunk Johnson and Buddy Bolden, worked in trades, in factories or as labourers at some point in their lives. That's why the music here feels so real, because it's made by real people.'

I thought about how difficult it had been to keep up the piano when I was studying at university.

‘You'd need superhuman energy!' I said. ‘It's hard to hold down a job and follow your passion.'

He laughed. ‘Who told you that? Passion gives you the energy. That's the difference between New Orleans and other big cities. In New York, you're a judge or you're a musician. You can't be both. Down here we're less pretentious. Our city coroner plays trumpet in gigs all over town. We've got judges and lawyers who think nothing of jamming with garbage collectors and city clerks. Jazz is a great equaliser. There's no reason you can't be an architect and a musician, Amandine. The only person stopping you is yourself.'

When I returned to the house in the Garden District I found Oliver moving the outdoor furniture into the potting shed. ‘That tropical depression that's been hanging around the Bahamas is growing,' he explained.

I nodded, embarrassed that I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. I hadn't listened to the news since coming to New Orleans.

‘Do you think it's going to threaten us?' I asked.

‘At the moment, it could hit anywhere,' he answered, folding down a patio umbrella. ‘But I'm following an old family superstition: When they give a storm a name, you better start preparing.' He pointed towards the dovecote. ‘I'll take the birds to my mother's place in Natchez. I was planning to take my
wife and kids to visit her anyway.' He peered at me like he'd just thought of something. ‘You've got a plan, don't you, for you and Ruby to get somewhere safe?'

Aunt Louise had told me that she and Uncle Jonathan would be out of communication for a while. Did that mean they wouldn't have heard about a storm potentially heading for New Orleans?

Oliver took my hesitation for a negative answer. He went to his truck and opened the glove box, took out a pamphlet and handed it to me. ‘That's the evacuation route out of the city. You better call some places in the non-coastal towns listed and make bookings. Even if you don't end up using them it's better to waste your money than have your grandmother sleeping in the car for three days. Especially in this heat.'

‘Oh, no!' I said, horrified at the thought. ‘Thanks. I'll make some calls.'

He indicated the garage with a nod of his head. ‘Go fill the car now. This city is full of people who wait until the last minute before leaving. You don't want to be left short.'

He returned to his task of putting away anything that could become a projectile. It wasn't the right time to talk about fixing the porch. As I turned back to the house, I glanced at the neighbours' gardens. Basketball hoops, kiddie pools and garden ornaments were out in full view. If anybody else was worried about a potential hurricane, they weren't showing it.

I thought of something and called back to Oliver. ‘What's its name?'

He put down the flower pot he was lifting and looked at me. ‘Excuse me?'

‘You said the storm has been given a name?'

‘Oh,' he said, nodding to show he understood. ‘Katrina. Tropical Storm Katrina.'

Lorena had already left for the day, but had posted a note on the refrigerator to say that Elliot had called. My stomach sank.
I'd promised the previous night to call him first thing in the morning, but in all the excitement with the trunk I'd forgotten. He'd think I was a flake.

I dialled his number, but when he recognised my voice he sounded as cheerful as ever. ‘Hey, Amandine! I tried your cell too but you didn't answer.'

‘I was at Terence's,' I said. ‘I'm sorry I didn't call —'

‘You don't have to explain,' he said easily. ‘I was wondering if you would like to come out tonight? I could take you to Snug Harbor.'

I would have liked nothing more than to go out with Elliot, but with all that had happened with the trunk I wanted to stay with Grandma Ruby.

‘My grandmother's unwell,' I told him, then almost kicked myself. He'd think I was trying to blow him off for sure now. ‘Would you like to come here?' I quickly added. ‘I can make dinner.'

‘Sure,' he replied. ‘Your grandmother sounded nice on the phone the other day. I'd like to meet her.'

We agreed on six-thirty for Elliot to come over, then I went into a mild panic when I remembered his tiny but well-equipped kitchen. He was probably an excellent cook. What was I going to make to impress him given all Grandma Ruby's dietary restrictions? Did we even have any food in the fridge?

I opened it to see that it was well-stocked with condiments and fruit and vegetables. ‘Thank you, Lorena!' That emergency over, I started thinking about my hair, which was sticking out in all directions from the humidity.

I put the pamphlet Oliver had given me on the hall table. Elliot hadn't mentioned anything about a dangerous storm. Perhaps Oliver was one of those people who became alarmed by anything.