Page 45 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
Yes!A small one, just us four.I waited for his reaction.
FOUR? Does Rhett make four?I could imagine the grin on his face when I confirmed his guess.
Make it five, he texted back.I’m bringing someone, too.
Interesting. I’d put money on Chloe. I texted Livvie to let her know that we were activating Escape From Witch Mountain protocol, the name for the strategy we used any time I needed an extra break from Delphine but Miss Annie didn’t have us scheduled. I’d tell Delphine I got called in to cover for someone last minute, Livvie would swing by and grab me, and I’d get my escape. Bran had come up with the code name, mostly to tease me about my mom’s fairy tale and my personal witch captor.
I rarely used it because most of the time, if Delphine was zonked, I was fine with quiet time in my room. But I knew from last weekend’s experience that she would use every spare minute I had this weekend to look for her precious Mr. Hooty poster.
I texted back.I think Bran’s inviting Chloe. Chloe’s cell phone went off, and when she checked it, a big smile spread over her face.Definitely Chloe, I clarified.
A couple of minutes later, Livvie hit me up again.Trent is coming.
Of course he was. I texted Bran.Party of six.
And now I had to see if that was a true statement. Because if Rhett didn’t want to come, it was going to be a very awkward party of five.
Chapter 17
Around four-thirty, I threaded my way toward Delphine’s recliner. “Aunt Delphine?”
She grunted.
“Miss Annie called. She’s short one server for a banquet tonight. I need to go. I’ll make sure you have some dinner and a cold drink before Livvie picks me up. Is there anything else I can get you?”
She looked up with red-rimmed eyes. The lines around her mouth looked deeper and longer than usual. Her late bingo night must have taken a toll. “I’m not hungry,” she said, her tone flat. “I’ll order out if I need something later.” There was no heat in her voice, no suspicion about my last-minute shift. There was nothing in her voice at all.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “But she won’t need me for another hour. I’ll check in with you before I go.” I backed out of the room and stood in the foyer, not daring to believe my luck. Witch Mountain protocol had never required less than ten full minutes of pleading and reasoning. I had a foot on the stairs, ready to put together an outfit, when an unfamiliar feeling washed over me. I paused to identify it: worry. I was worried about Delphine. What the crap?
I shrugged it off and made it halfway up the stairs before my mom’s soft words floated from memory. “Take care of Delphine for me, Camille. She’s broken inside and needs mending.”
Dang it.
I walked back to the recliner. “Aunt Delphine? Are you okay? You look like maybe you don’t feel so good.”
She raised her head slowly.
“Aunt Delphine?” I stepped closer, unsure what to do. Was she having a heart attack? Or a stroke? I tried to remember the first aid unit from tenth grade health. I took her wrist to check her pulse. She glared but she didn’t pull back, just watched me find the right artery. I studied her face as I counted the thumps of the blood pumping through her veins. I didn’t know exactly what to look for except a strong pulse. The beats beneath my thumb seemed okay, but what did I know? Her skin felt normal too, not feverish, not clammy. Maybe a little dry. But something in her eyes wasn’t right as they tracked me, watery and unfocused.
“I feel like something is off,” I said as she stared at me. “Delphine, can you hear me?”
“I’m tired, not deaf,” she snapped and jerked her arm back. Unexpected relief flooded through me. She was okay.
“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping back. “I thought something bad was happening. I’m glad you’re all right.”
As she gathered herself, her gaze hardened. “You don’t fool me, Camille,” she said, her voice as hard as her eyes now. “You come traipsing in here like your mama’s daughter, acting sweet like she was. But you are your father’s child. I see it in the way you slink around here, up to no good all the time. You are nothing like your mama.”
It was an old complaint, but it hurt far more than usual because I had truly been worried for a moment. Her rejection felt like a slap, but she wasn’t done.
“You’re only glad I’m all right because you’ll be out on the street if anything happens to me.”
Which was not true. I used to worry about her dying when I was younger, afraid of what that meant for me, but she’d weathered one chronic illness after the next. They wore her down a bit before she settled back to normal, but she always did. Normal for her, anyway. I’d finally decided a couple of years ago that she was one of those people who would live to a hundred out of sheer spite so she could continue her reign of terror in the discount stores. Since then I’d switched from worrying about where I’d go if she croaked to plotting how to get out of her house as soon as I graduated.
“Okay. My mistake. I thought you might be sick,” I said, turning to escape.
“You want to know what’s wrong with me?” she spat. “Your daddy. It’s easy for you to forget that he killed my Remy. But he did. Eighteen years ago today.” She could have jumped up and high-kicked me in the chest and shocked me less. She crumpled back into her chair, the glint in her eye gone, her face a long mass of wrinkles once more. “Get out,” she said.
I whirled and fled for my room, angrier than I could remember being in years. I pulled my door shut behind me, making sure it closed with a quiet click, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten to me. I pulled my mom’s picture off the dresser and threw it face down on my bed.
