The Feathered Bone (44 page)
Read The Feathered Bone Online
Authors: Julie Cantrell
Now she falls back onto the sofa, curling in close next to Beth and placing her head on Preacher's shoulder. It's clear their daughter
is caught in a strange space, some stratum that exists for those who grow up too fast. She's become a sort of woman-child. A minute ago I was listening to a young woman, wise beyond her years. And now she's a sixth-grade girl again, in need of a mother, a father, and a belief that the world is a good and happy place. She doesn't yet know where she stands.
“Sarah,” I whisper. “We're all here with you. You're not alone.”
Sunday, November 9, 2008
W
E'RE SEATED IN FRONT OF THE SHERIFF
'
S DEPARTMENT
. A
ROW OF
reporters record the impromptu press conference. When Jay moves front and center, the eager crowd falls silent. He confirms the fact that Dex rescued Sarah during a routine traffic violation, and he guarantees that every measure will be taken to investigate this case further so as to expose all those involved in criminal activity.
Then Preacher takes the spotlight, and the questions begin to flow. “Mr. Broussard, is it true Sarah has been rescued?”
“Yes, our girl is home! We sure are grateful for all of you who helped us look for Sarah.”
“Will she be going through any kind of therapy? Rehab?”
“We're already working with professional counselors. We're taking this one day at a time. Of course Beth and I will do anything Sarah needs. Anything to help her recover.”
“Is she planning to go back to school? Normal life?”
“Right now we want to give her some quiet rest. A safe place to heal. We'll reevaluate in a month or so, see what she's ready for at that time.”
“We're told she was held captive and sold into prostitution. Is that true?”
I want to pull this guy's professional license, if there is such a thing.
Preacher gives the man a disappointed glare, and a few reporters shuffle uncomfortably. It's their job to ask the hard questions. Preacher handles it well. “The case is still under investigation. We can't share any details at this time.”
“Anything else you want to say, Mr. Broussard?”
Preacher hesitates, then adds one final thought. “Yes. Again, we thank everyone who has worked so hard to bring our daughter home to us. Take this as proof. Miracles do happen.”
Preacher and Beth have decided to take Sarah home, but Jay asks me to stick around to help him sort through the evidence. As he leads me back into the building, we both reach for the door, resulting in one of those awkward situations where I don't know if I should let go or not.
“Would it kill you to let somebody take care of you every now and then?”
Every cell in my body turns to velvet, and my heart folds in on itself. After all these years of trying to take care of everybody else, determined to stay strong and independent, I turn to mush the moment Jay says these words. There's no more denying the truth.
When it comes down to it, I do want someone to take care of me every now and then. Sometimes I want nothing more than to roll my head against a strong shoulder, wrap into somebody's safe arms, and let the worries of the world fall away, even if only for a minute or two. I'm tired of doing it by myself. It's all I can do not to
say, “Yes, please, Jay, take care of me. Take care of me and I'll take care of you and we'll shelter each other. Now. Forever. Forget the just-friends arrangement. I'll stick with you.”
But of course I don't say anything of the sort. Instead, I force myself to snap out of it, killing the theme music that is streaming through my mind. If there's anything Ellie taught me, it's that happy is a myth. And that includes happy-ever-after, no matter how much Viv wants a fantasy ending for this brown-eyed girl. As Jay waits for me to enter, I step against the door and insist he go first.
“The last thing I need is a man to take care of me,” I declare. “I tried that once. Look where it got me.”
Jay retreats with a sigh. “Amanda, maybe I shouldn't say this, but I'm tired of holding it back.”
I can't bring myself to look at him.
“Everybody knows Carl wasn't good to you, but that doesn't mean somebody else wouldn't be.”
Suddenly my body feels as if it belongs somewhere else. What to make of those words? Is Jay suggesting
he
would be good to me?
I don't know how to answer, so I choose the safest routeâsilence. When I don't reply, Jay heads toward his office and I follow. At the entrance, he puts his hand on my back to guide me into the room. Despite my resistance, the warmth of his touch sends a hum through my bones unlike any I've ever known. Never once has Jay's hand caused me to flinch or fear, but right now it does more than comfort me. It ignites me.
I don't quite know how to absorb such a gentle touch. I move away.
He drops a stack of spiral notebooks onto his desk and says,
“Read these.” Each is wide-ruled with water stains and tattered edges. The colors range from green to blue to orange, with scribbles and doodles sketched across the cardboard covers.
As I begin to read, all I can see is the twelve-year-old, ponytailed girl I chaperoned all those years ago. I imagine her sitting in that filthy shed, writing letters to a sparrow, hoping day after day that we'd find our way there to rescue her.
The earliest entries reflect her innocence, with little hearts forming the dots of each letter
i
across the page. It's painful to see.
I read about the men coming to “visit” on their way home from work, dropping in before driving home to their families. It's been more than three years since I learned the truth about Carl, his double life, and I still have trouble trusting people. I can't imagine how Sarah will ever believe in anything again.
I sit for hours, reading every word of Sarah's journals, filling in the gaps of her last four years. In bigger cities I probably wouldn't be allowed to help with this investigation due to my personal ties to Sarah. But here, resources are limited. We have learned, in efforts like these when we know the family, to separate ourselves from our emotions, to get the job done in a professional and confidential manner. But this is Sarah. So I cry my way through every page.
I flag some sections for Jay along the way, words or phrases he'll be able to use to build a case against the abductors. Some entries stand out more than others.
Hello Sparrow,
I'm so glad you're here. Some days I start to think God has forgotten all about me. But then he sends me a message. Some kind of sign, like you, Sparrow, to remind me that he really is with me.
I thought miracles were big things, like turning water into wine or making a blind man see. But now I know miracles happen every day.
You are here with me. That's a miracle.
The Man only took me and not Ellie. That's a miracle.
I wasn't locked in the shed when the flood came. Another miracle.
I survived being kept in a box. And chained. And all the other things. Miracle!
Bridgette brings me books and pens and stuff. That's a miracle.
So maybe a miracle is anything that gets us through another day when life gets too hard.
Remember that fortune-teller who gave me this feather and told me I could fly? I think I finally understand. We all have a feathered bone. It's called hope. If we hang on to hope, if we don't let anybody break us or make us forget who we are, then we will always be free.
Hello Sparrow,
Today I asked Bridgette if she loves The Man. And she said, “Ain't no such thing as love.” I told her I believe in love, and she said, “Don't be stupid.”
I told her it's because Mom and Pop love me. My friends love me. God loves me. And no matter how many
bad things happen to me, I'll always have that love inside of me.
She got real quiet, and then she asked me how I know they love me.
I told her they would never do anything to hurt me. Not on purpose.
She said, “But God's hurting you right now, keeping you here in this place.”
“God's not doing this,” I said. “You are.”
She got mad and said she wasn't doing it either. That LeMoyne was doing it. Just like he had done to her. And then she told me a really sad story:
When I was little, my mama was always pimpin' herself out for a fix. I don't remember how old I was the first time she let 'em have me. We were in The Boss's stable, but what I bet you couldn't guess is that LeMoyne used to be in The Boss's stable too. Just like me.
Boss used to beat him so hard he'd stop breathin'. Hold him under water 'til his face turned blue. Mama said LeMoyne got it the worst 'cause he was always fightin' back.
One day LeMoyne tried to get away. Boss caught him. Poured a whole pot of fish fry right on top of LeMoyne. You seen his back, right?
But you gotta understand somethin'. Back then, Boss was still workin' under the big man, Sax. So Sax comes in, finds LeMoyne thereâhis favorite boyâall melted like a popsicle.
And he figures Boss needs a lesson too. He slams a big
ol' pipe against Boss's back. Snapped his spine, so his legs don't work no more. That's why Boss is in that wheelchair. You see?
That was the last time he forgot who was in charge.
Couple years later, Sax died. Boss took over and started making everybody call him Boss. And now LeMoyne works for him. Well, he did until we got this big house. Now I guess LeMoyne's runnin' his own show, and Boss ain't so big no more.
Jay finds me in his office. “We're bringing in the suspects now. Oliver LeMoyne and Bridgette Gallatino. Find anything yet?”
“She's mentioning someone they call Boss,” I say. “He might be paraplegic.”
“Yeah, we're following that lead right now. Think we've traced it back to a man in Algiers.”
Chills run through me. “Jay, I saw him. The day of the field trip. He was on the ferry with us. Then I saw him again by the café. He was near a young woman. I thought she might have been a prostitute. There was a younger girl with him on the ferry, but she wasn't with him later. That had to be him.”
“Would you know him if you saw him?” He scrolls through his computer screen, pulling up profiles.
“That's him.” My stomach sinks as I point to the man's weathered and familiar face. The same cold stare that set my nerves on end that day in New Orleans.
“You sure?”
I nod. “He's in two of the photos I have from the field trip.” Sweat coats my palms. “He's been right here all this time.”
“We got him now,” Jay says, lifting his phone to call the NOPD.
While Jay handles the search for the man known as Boss, I continue reading Sarah's journals.
