Ida Belle nodded. “And that’s the problem. Walter has never approved of the things I involve myself in because they put me at risk. He can’t bear the thought of something happening to me. But putting myself at risk is who I am, and I’m not willing to pretend to be someone else, even for Walter. It might have worked for a little while, but in the end, I would have resented him for not accepting me the way I am and he would have resented me for putting him through hell.”
“And you’re afraid I’m in the same situation with Carter. But if you know we’re so alike, then what makes you think I’d be any more likely than you were to give up who I am for a man?”
“I don’t think that for a minute, but you’re still discovering who you are. You’re in a state of flux. Oh, there’s things about you that aren’t ever going to change, and if Carter is being honest with himself, those are the very things he loves most about you and that also scare the daylights out of him. My point is, you still have an opportunity to find balance. A way to be yourself but not outside the realm of what Carter can live with.”
“You really think it’s possible?” I asked, because the longer I thought about what my future might look like and what Carter would prefer it look like, the more I felt our differences were a giant chasm that would be almost impossible to bridge.
“I think you have a really good chance,” Ida Belle said. “Based on who he is and the things he’s done, Carter has a good understanding of you and what makes you tick. He could no more give up law enforcement than you would leave me to fend for myself with this car thing.”
“Understanding is one thing, but can he accept it as part of his everyday life? That’s a huge leap. Can we really make this work if we’re constantly keeping secrets from each other?”
“That’s where the trust part comes in. You have to trust each other that the only secrets you’re keeping have to do with your work. You have to believe that it’s not personal.”
“I think I can do that. I know that Carter isn’t legally allowed to give me information, although I still think he was out of line for not telling you that you might be in danger. The fact that we’d already figured it out doesn’t matter. The problem is if I pursue this PI thing, will Carter respect my clients’ privacy and let me do my job? If I continued to work for the federal government, he wouldn’t have a choice, but confidentiality isn’t a legal requirement for PIs. It’s an ethical standard.”
“I don’t know if he can respect it. That’s something the two of you will have to figure out. But I do think you’ve got a far greater chance of Carter accepting you as you really are than I ever had with Walter. I would have put that man into an early grave. And I love him too much to do that to either of us.”
I stared at her, surprised that she’d admitted something so personal and so important. “It’s not too late, you know. You’re both still here and healthy.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “And we’re both still the same people we were all those years ago. I’m not made to sit in a rocker, knitting and exchanging casserole recipes. Odds are, I’ll go out right smack in the middle of something that everyone else will say I had no business poking my nose into.”
“Don’t you think after all these years, he’s used to it? Do you really think he cares less about you just because you aren’t in a relationship?”
Ida Belle never answered. After about thirty long seconds of silence, I was about to say something else when my cell phone signaled that I’d received a text. I checked the display. It was from Little.
Everything is ready.
I had no idea what that meant exactly, but I trusted that when we showed up at the storage unit with Carter, he would see whatever he expected to see and nothing that Big and Little didn’t want him to see.
“They’re ready at the storage unit,” I said, and explained my text to Little the night before.
“It’s good you warned them,” Ida Belle said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to surprise them by showing up with Carter.”
“Yeah, that fell directly under ‘things that are a bad idea, especially when I promised no cops.’”
I heard the front door open and Gertie called out from the front of the house. Several seconds later, she shuffled into the kitchen, looking like an extra for The Walking Dead.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ida Belle asked.
“I’m a little sore.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, then hovered over the chair and dropped as if her knees had given out.
I got up and snagged a bottle of aspirin, then retrieved an ice pack from the refrigerator.
“Rotate this every couple of minutes on your knees,” I said, and handed her the ice pack. “If you’ve eaten breakfast, then take some aspirin. If not, then I’ll find you something to eat.”
Gertie stuck the ice pack on her right knee and reached for the bottle. “I had leftover chicken casserole. Ate it cold right out of the pan. Didn’t want to stand long enough to heat it or cook something else.”
Ida Belle narrowed her eyes at Gertie. “You’re that bad off from a little running?”
“It wasn’t a little running,” Gertie said. “It was a mad dash through the swamp, and then I got to bang around in the bottom of that boat because no one ever lets me sit in a seat.”
“That’s still not enough,” Ida Belle said. “What are you up to?”
Gertie threw her hands in the air. “You always think I’m up to something.”
“Only when you are,” Ida Belle replied.
“Okay, fine,” Gertie said. “Because I know you two nosy parkers won’t leave it alone until you know everything, I’ve been doing some video exercising. You keep harping on me about getting in shape, well, I’m getting in shape.”
“Getting in shape isn’t supposed to injure you,” I said.
“What kind of exercise video?” Ida Belle asked.
“Dancing,” Gertie said, suddenly deciding that her coffee needed intense stirring while staring into it.
I looked over at Ida Belle, who shook her head.
“What kind of dancing?” Ida Belle asked.
“Break dancing,” Gertie mumbled.
“Break dancing!” Ida Belle said. “Are you crazy?” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. That was rhetorical.”
“Can’t you just try one of those country-and-western line-dancing things?” I asked.
“It’s boring,” Gertie said.
“But not nearly as bad on the knees,” I said. “Break dancing is for young people whose bodies haven’t betrayed them yet.”
“My body hasn’t betrayed me,” Gertie said. “It’s just launched a mild protest.”
“Your body went on strike thirty years ago,” Ida Belle said.
“I’m getting decent at the head spins,” Gertie said. “I can rotate almost halfway around.”
“That’s because you’ve got the hardest head in southern Louisiana,” Ida Belle said. “And this proves it.”
“You’re one to talk. You and your fast cars and motorcycles.”
“But I’m still in good enough shape to drive them,” Ida Belle said. “And when I’m not, I’ll get a nice big Bentley. It will be like riding around on my couch.”
“I hope not,” I said, “because your couch sucks.”
“It’s probably time for a new one,” Ida Belle agreed.
“How old is that one?” I asked.
“When did Happy Days go off the air?” Gertie asked.
“Fine,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll buy a new couch if you agree to stop break dancing. Take up a nice waltz.”