chapter Nineteen
“…if we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
I sit alone in my usual spot, but the place next to me is empty. Isaac sits at the organ, and Rev. Landry sweats despite the freezing drafts that seep through the stained glass windows. His words echo in the sanctuary, just as they echo in my head. I knew this would happen, but I need to be here just the same.
“…we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves.”
Sin. Is that what this is? What we did? Because I don’t regret it and I can’t repent if I’m not sorry. I could call it a mistake. But it’s not. I stare at Isaac’s broad back as he shuffles his music and catch a glimpse of his profile. Instantly, the fire ignites again, deep in my gut, licking its way outward.
“Therefore I declare to you the entire forgiveness of all your sins…”
I whimper, and the woman in front of me turns her head.
Surely, I’m going to hell.
***
Isaac stops over every few days to see how I’m doing, and he even plays for me. Each visit sweeps me into a high I never thought possible. His touch is intoxicating and I’m constantly amazed at the ways I affect him—one move, a small noise, and he comes undone in my arms. I’m addicted.
After the sweat dries and adrenaline fades, the tailspin and crash send me to bed with dark thoughts, thoughts about where this isn’t going and what it says about me that I’m willing to repeat the cycle again and again.
“So.”
“Yes, ma’am?” His sad eyes stare out the window.
“What’s going on here? I mean, are we…is this just…a little help here?” I scrunch my good shoulder.
He sighs. “Well, I don’t really know, Juli. Here’s the thing—I really, really care about you. You know that. And you know I want you. Lord knows, I tried not to, but there it is.”
“But?”
“But think how it looks. Your daddy wouldn’t hesitate to pull a pistol on me. And if your mama’s friends, if the Mystics found out? You’re not quite eighteen. I’m almost thirty. Now wait.” He holds up a hand when I squeak out a protest. “I know it’s legal. But you know how people talk around here and they wouldn’t let it die. You’ve had to put up with enough shit. Do you really want to bring on more?”
“So, great. I’m a friend with benefits. Your dirty secret. I—”
I cry, as much as my meds will let me.
“Jesus Lord, don’t do that. Don’t cry, Juli. Look, let’s lay low for a while and figure this out. It would be a bad idea to go public. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”
He brushes away my tears with his thumbs. The rational side of me knows he’s right. Unfortunately, rational isn’t my strong suit. Not even meds can fix that. The rest of me just wants him—all of him—with an intensity that rivals how much I want to get into the NEC. When his lips meet mine, I’m too eager to accommodate. When we sin again, I think I could be in love with the devil.
***
Today I’ll see Mama for the first time since the attack. Both Daddy and Dr. Jordan are with me to make sure neither of us hurts the other. Or ourselves, I suppose.
I won’t stay long. Just long enough to tell her the audition went well and thank her for her note. Daddy tells me she’s much better, that they’ve gotten her medication where it needs to be. She’s in therapy every day, just like me, and she wants to talk. I’m nervous, but I think I can hold it together. If not, well, that’s what Dr. Jordan’s for.
The first thing I notice is how normal she looks. Her face is fuller, her hair is thicker and there aren’t any bruises or scrapes on her knuckles. When she says hello, her breath isn’t putrid. Her eyes tear up, and I look away.
“I won’t keep you,” she says. “I know you don’t want to be here.”
Her voice is softer than I remember. She looks out the window and swallows.
“I’m sorry, Julianne. I haven’t been the mother you deserve. I’m getting better and I’d like the chance to make it up to you. Or at least try. I’ll do my best to be there for you. To show you how proud I am, because I am.”
When her chin quivers, mine does, too.
“There’s something else I need to say. To both of you. I owe you an apology. These past few weeks reminded me why I married your father. I’ve said things I’m not proud of. I blamed him and his job for a lot of my own issues.”
She blamed almost everything on him. What she didn’t pin on him, she put on me or R.J.
“I was frustrated, but that didn’t give me the right to talk about our problems to you. You were so small and didn’t understand, and I shouldn’t have expected you to. It wasn’t right to burden you that way. I want you to know that your father and I love each other very much and we both love you. We’ve worked through a lot of things since...” She takes a deep breath. “I worry that I gave you an unhealthy view of men. I’m just so thankful you have a good relationship with R.J. I used to be jealous that you two were so close. Now I’m grateful you have each other.”
I didn’t see this coming. I mean, I’m glad she and Daddy are making progress, but he’s been with her so much, he hasn’t been there for me. Still, it’s kind of sweet to think of them as actually being in love. She’s right. I don’t have the greatest view of guys. Maybe I’ve been unfair to Isaac. After all, he warned me time and again that we couldn’t be together not because he didn’t care, but because of what other people would say. He’s been protecting me all along. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Dr. Jordan clears his throat. “Time’s almost up. I’ll be in the hall when you’re ready to go.” I’d forgotten he was lurking by the door. Mama manages a weak smile.
“So, Daddy said your audition went well. Could—would you tell me about it?”
I’m still processing everything she said, but I think she earned the right to hear about it.
“The judges gave me a standing ovation. Except for Sasha Rozum. He had his head on the table after the Rachmaninoff. It was the same piece he played during that competition I saw on TV when I was little.”
“You mean the one you cried over when it ended? I remember. You were seven and I made you hot cocoa to calm you down. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen.”
I don’t remember the cocoa.
“The next day, you told Mr. Cline you were going to learn that piece and you’d do it better. And you did. Such determination.”
I’m speechless. She’s given me more compliments in the past ten minutes than the whole rest of my life.
“Thank you, Mama.” A tear escapes.
She sniffs.
Decision time. Do I follow my head—which tells me to play it cool—or do I listen to the whisper playing at the edges of my heart? It sends a different message. I think of our last back-to-school shopping trip. At the time, it was so perfect. I’d longed to take her hand. But I was wrong. This is perfect. Even though we’re in a mental institution and medicated to the hilt, this is our perfect moment.
I’m going to do it. I am.
I reach for her hand and she lets me wrap my fingers around her cold ones. I squeeze. She squeezes back. Behind me, Daddy makes a hiccupping noise.
After a moment, I let go.
I let go.
So many words.
So many hurts.
I let go.
***
Daddy and R.J. are late. They overslept and slam around the house like madmen. I stand in the kitchen by the back door, a glittery satin costume in each hand. R.J. is first to stumble in. He grabs a bagel off the counter, pelts me with a quick kiss on the cheek, snags his costume and throws himself out the door.
Daddy’s next. He moves only slightly slower than R.J. I point to the travel mug of coffee on the counter and the protein bar next to it. He snatches them up, takes his costume from me and turns toward the door.
“You’ll be okay, right?”
“Yep. I’ll pick up Mr. Cline in an hour and then swing by Isaac’s to get Dave. See you down there.” Dave and I are on speaking terms again.
“Thanks, sweetie. Hope you have fun.”
It’s Fat Tuesday in Mobile, and the city’s gone wild. For the past two weeks, other Mardi Gras societies have paraded and partied, but today is all about the Mystics of Dardenne. As the oldest and most distinguished group, we go last. We are the main attraction. The city holds its breath for two weeks, waiting to finally see our over-the-top floats and costumed marshals plumed like iridescent monsters atop unearthly horses. All the other parades and balls are just opening acts to our grand finale.
The parade doesn’t step off until dark, but it’s all hands on deck today. R.J. will be on the knights’ float with his friends, Isaac and his mother, sisters, and brothers-in-law are on another, and Daddy will be on yet another one for senior members. Mama was supposed to ride with him, so they offered me her spot, but I declined. This year, I just want to watch. I want to see the parade as if I were a visitor. After I leave in the fall, perhaps that’s all I’ll ever be in Mobile.
Mr. Cline isn’t riding and Dave didn’t rent a car, so we carpool. Downtown will be insane, packed with tailgaters, revelers, tourists and locals, all smashed together against the metal crowd-control fences that line the parade route.
“Over there, dear. On the sidewalk.” Mr. Cline’s eagle eye lands us a creative parking spot near the Mystics’ float barn, where things are even crazier. There’s hardly a sober soul among them and the parade is still hours away. I locate R.J. and the knights’ float while Mr. Cline and Dave head down the line to find Mrs. Laroche and Isaac. The guys load their throws—beads, commemorative cups, and doubloons—onto their float with as much grace as a two-legged donkey. R.J. sees me and waves me over. His breath reeks of vodka.
“Juli, my favorite baby sister. Thanks for breakfast, by the way. That bagel’s doing a good job of soaking up the syrup I poured on top, if ya know what I mean.” He tries to wink, but his eyes don’t quite sync up.
Geoffrey Swann wanders over—and I do mean wanders—but unlike his indifferent snub at the New Year’s Eve party, today he gives me the once-over.
“Julianne, may I say you look particularly fine today? Oh, I just did!” He elbows R.J. and they crack up.
What’s really humorous is the King Felix III costume he wears. Well, half of it. From the waist down he sports gold satin breeches and white stockings up to the knee. Golden swan buckles on his black shoes reflect the sun. From the waist up he’s wearing a red Alabama University shirt with suspicious wet spots dribbled all over. His sunglasses look pretty incongruous with his crooked crown, too.
He leans in close and whispers in my ear. “Lost the baby fat when you became a woman, eh? Perhaps you wouldn’t mind being a good subject and servicing your king later.”
He squeezes my bottom and it’s all I can do not to smack him. What stops me is the whooshing sound in my ears and the icy knife that twists in my gut.
He knows. How?
Isaac and I have been so careful to cover our tracks. R.J. doesn’t suspect and Daddy doesn’t have a clue. They’d both freak. Oh, God. If Geoffrey knows, and he opens his big mouth…oh.
I compose my face before Geoffrey sees he’s upset me and before R.J. asks what’s wrong. I need to find Isaac. No. I need to stay away from Isaac. I need…I need to get out of here. My pulse races and the whooshing makes it hard to hear. I make my face a blank slate. All those years of Mama’s training kicks in.
Not happy with my lack of response, Geoffrey leans toward me, but I recoil. Spittle hits my cheek as he pulls me closer. If I pull away, I’ll wrench my shoulder.
“How’s your mama doing? I’ve heard some juicy tidbits. Guess that makes you damaged goods, twice over. You should stay on my good side, sweetheart.”
“Hey, man, back off my sister. Maybe we ought to lay off the booze for a while, you know? We got a long day ahead of us.”
“Little late for that, don’t you think? I was just having a nice conversation with Julianne. But we’re done. For now.” Geoffrey chucks me under the chin and I want to vomit all over his ugly, bird-themed shoes.
He turns, a dismissal, and takes a few steps before I make my move.
“Hey, Geoffrey, I almost forgot to tell you, I was in Boston a couple of weeks ago auditioning at the New England Conservatory. See, I’ll be heading to college in the fall, and I hoped you might have some advice for me. You know, since you’re already in college.”
He smirks, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“But then I heard some ‘juicy tidbits’ about you, too. You got kicked out, right? For gambling. And yet you’re still King Felix, though you pissed away all the money set aside for Mardi Gras. Did Mommy and Daddy have to pay for your Felix stuff all over again? Guess that makes you a royal f*ck-up. Twice over.”
The pulse in his neck jumps. “My, my, such language from a young woman. What will you do next, Miss Casquette? Laissez les bons temps rouler!” He raises his bottle and disappears into the crowd.
“What the hell, Juli?” R.J. asks.
“Nothing. He’s just drunk. I hope he takes a swan dive off his float.”
“No, that’s Daddy’s float.”
“Huh?”
“Swan Dive. That’s the theme.”
“Right. Swan Dive.”
All the floats are swan-related, as per the Swanns’ orders…The Ugly Duckling, Leda and the Swan—that’s Isaac’s—Swan Lake, Swan Song, The Black Swan—Marcie Swann is on that one—and Swanee River. I swear the Mystics have acquired every fake white feather this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.
“Look, do you guys have everything you need? I want to go find Mr. Cline and Dave.”
“Yeah, go. Have fun. But not too much fun. That guy’s still got the hots for you.”
“Shut up, he does not.”
“Does too.” R.J. pulls a flask out of his pocket and takes a swig. With another time-delayed wink, he melts into the crowd.
I turn around, and not ten yards away, Mr. Cline and Dave are deep in conversation. I head over and they abruptly stop.
“Is…everything okay?”
“It is now, gorgeous.” Dave loops his arm around my waist and pulls me close.
“Liar.” I wriggle out of his grasp.
Mr. Cline taps his cane on the pavement. “Juli, dear, let’s go find a great spot along the parade route. It’s been years since I got to watch as a bystander.”
We push our way past the tailgating crowds, the bars and churches. Once we reach Government Street, we decide against playing the Mystics card to sit in the reserved grandstands. Instead, we find a spot against the barricades across from the Carnival Museum.
Next to us, a little girl in a pink rhinestone cowboy hat shoots a bubble gun at her brother. Dave squats down and pulls a quarter from behind her ear and she squeals. “Reminds me of Maddie,” he says.
I look up at the beads caught in the trees lining the street and think of all the years I spent on Junior Court. It’s weird to be on this side of the barriers, but I’m okay with it. I hope they replaced me with a nice girl who enjoys these parades more than I did.
After a society called the Order of Neptune marches by, Mr. Cline sags against the metal fence.
“I forget I have limits,” he says. “Looks like it’s the grandstands for me after all. But you two stay here. Don’t let me ruin your fun.”
The tone of his voice is off. I turn in time to catch a meaningful glance between him and Dave. As soon as Mr. Cline is gone, Dave starts joking.
“So at what point do you—” He pulls up his shirt and shakes what he’s got. Or doesn’t, in this case.
“Stop it! There are little kids around. It’s not like that here.”
“It’s not?”
“No, look around. This is a family event. You’re thinking of New Orleans.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s blow this taco stand.”
“Taco stand? And you Yankees accuse us of having weird sayings.”
“Seriously, let’s go. We could leave now and be there in two hours.”
“Dave, level with me. What’s going on? I saw you and Mr. Cline looking at each other funny, and now you’re suggesting we leave Mobile. Whatever it is, it can’t be that big a deal. I’m not important enough for it to be a big deal.”
“First, yes you are. To some of us, you’re very important. Second, there’s nothing I’d like more than to transport you across state lines, ply you with alcohol, and make you forget all about Mobile and everyone in it.”
“Would you stop it?”
“Stop what?”
“All your flirty comments. All you are is talk.”
“Which is why I’m so good at it. Now come here.”
“Seriously?”
“Just come here, will you? Stop being stubborn for once. Besides, you should trust me by now. I’m wounded.”
I shake my head, but I let him pull me in for a hug.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I don’t like all this weirdness between us. It’s giving me crow’s feet, and I found a gray chest hair yesterday.”
“Ew!” I smack him in said chest.
“Listen to me. I’ve got a bad feeling about the ball. Let’s just go somewhere. You and me.”
“Dave, I can’t just abandon the ball. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but you don’t just ditch a Mardi Gras ball. It’s kind of a big deal.”
“Not as big a deal as you, kitten.”
I sigh. I’m helpless against Dave’s flattery. I don’t know how I stayed mad at him for an entire week.
“You really are my best friend, you know that?”
He pulls my arms away from his neck and backs away. “Oh God, the kiss of death.”
“What?”
“You’re my best friend. Just cut off my b—”
I clap a hand over his mouth. “Children, Dave! Ew.” I wipe my hand on my pants.
“You had it coming. At least let me think I still have a chance.”
“You mean like the chance you turned down? Sorry, Dave. I’m taken now.”
He turns his head and looks at the city skyline. “Me, too.”
An hour later, the sun has gone down and the Mystics take to the streets. The parade is a success, despite the knights’ obvious inebriation. They rock their float so hard it cracks in a couple of places, but the crowds are happy and I only get smacked in the face by beads a couple of times. Dave gets whacked in the head with a full box of Moon Pies and takes a bag of peanuts to the cheek. When it’s over, we find Mr. Cline and race out of there with our loot. I drop them off and return home to change for the ball.
I’m already waiting by the back door when Mr. Cline pulls in the driveway. I take one last look in the mirror, tuck a curl behind my ear, and grab my mask. Outside, Mr. Cline executes a formal bow, opens my car door, and closes it behind me. He slides behind the wheel, but doesn’t drive. He turns to me with a face paler than the moon over his shoulder. His next words send my heart racing.
“Julianne, there’s something we need to discuss.”