Page 85 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
She opened it, her gnarled fingers gentle with the cover. I watched her eyes devour the story. She said nothing. Occasionally her breathing hitched, but she turned page after page without comment. Being on the footstool with nothing to do while she read smacked of standing by a teacher’s desk while she refused to look up. It was a conspicuous, squirmy sensation. I shut my eyes and recited the story silently to myself. It calmed me. Near the end, the warmth that always surrounded me when I worked through the whole story enfolded me like one of my mom’s hugs as I saw the final paintings in my mind’s eye.
When Delphine turned the page, I pictured Trista’s face, heartbreak spilling all over it in the book’s only portrait.Trista didn’t know she was lonely until Prince Sterling came. It was as if he had lifted a giant torch and shined a light on so many things she had never noticed before. Much of what he showed her was wildly beautiful, like how it felt to laugh with someone, and dream about someone, and ache for someone, but Trista could see other things too. Like how much more dreadful her life was than she had ever realized. And now she knew it and she couldn’t unknow it.
I hated the next scene. Trista, to keep Sterling safe, convinces him that she finds him amusing and nothing more, and orders him not to come looking for her. My mom’s rich paintings crossed the screen in my mind like a live action film. There was Nimue the witch, bursting into the clearing, rage twisting her face when she spied a satin evening slipper nestled in the tall swamp grass. The painting vibrated with chaos, my mom’s brushstrokes communicating the panic of the animals as they tried to escape Nimue’s wrath. Trista tries to stop Nimue from hurting the animals, throwing herself at the witch to contain her. “Lala!” she cried to the egret. “Her eyes! Her eyes!” Trista leaped for the staff in the witch’s hands, pitting her strength from years of hard work against the crooked form of the evil crone. Trista pulled, and as she did, Lala dove for Nimue’s eyes, her beak slashing them closed, never to open again.
But Nimue fights viciously, and when Trista gathers her strength for a hopeless last-ditch effort, Sterling suddenly bursts onto the scene, subduing Nimue and gathering up the exhausted Trista.
Delphine turned the last page, and a small sigh escaped me like it did every time I saw this scene. Trista stood in the most magnificent gown of all, a silver confection that looked as if it had been spun from gossamer, with the prince at her side in a uniform dripping gold braid.When at last the bells tolled the joyous news of the prince’s marriage, rejoicing spread throughout the land. Trista quickly became beloved of the people, known for her wisdom and compassion. It was even said that the miraculous Royal Healer, a blind old crone with gifted hands, had learned everything she knew from the young maiden.
But none was happier than Prince Sterling who lived with his princess Happily Ever After.
I opened my eyes at the sound of the book closing. It rested in Delphine’s lap, her hands fisted on the recliner’s arms.
“Why did you show me this?” she asked.
“I just thought I should.” I didn’t want to point to the clear resemblance between her and Nimue.
“This is what your mama spent all her time on.”Before she diedhung unspoken in the air between us.
“Take it,” she said, handing it to me after a moment. “I’m done.”
I did. Frustration welled up, and my head throbbed. Since it had nowhere else to go, it burst out of my mouth in a torrent of hurt. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you hate me. But all I’m trying to do is get out of your hair now, and I need to get into SoHo Design to do that.” I stood up. “I’ll work twice as hard on the auction stuff when I’m done with my project, but I wanted you to know what I’m up to for the next two weeks. I’ll keep up my side of it, Delphine. I’m pushing pause, that’s all. You have enough money now to pay for your meds until January. It will be okay.” I didn’t tell her that I had every intention of finding and selling enough of her stuff to last her for a few years. I’d wait until I was sure I could pull it off.
“Sit down.”
I sat, rather than argue.
“What happened to your project?”
I explained, my words terse as I related Angelique’s deviousness. Delphine scowled. “Sounds to me like that fancy-pants judge’s daughter thinks LeBlanc means ‘better than Landry.’”
I shrugged. “She thinks money means better than scholarship. She’s got issues.”
Delphine said nothing, only sat there and worried something between her teeth, like she was hulling a sunflower seed except there was nothing. After a minute she spoke. “Take the fabrics you need.” She reached down and lifted her pocketbook up from the floor, reaching in to pull out a heavy set of keys. “The one with the blue tag will get you into the shed with the rest of Daddy’s stuff. As soon as you’re done with this mess, I want my owl.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much. I—” I swallowed. “Thank you.” I jumped up and headed for the door before she could change her mind.
“Camille.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I never hated you.”
Swamp Peopleburst back into life on the TV, and I slipped out of the room. That was the closest thing to an apology I would ever get.
Chapter 31
When the doorbell rang after breakfast, I found Livvie, Rhett, Bran, and Chloe on the porch.
“You’re amazing, all of you.” I stepped back to let them in and handed Rhett the jar of Vicks. “Delphine says I can have any fabrics I need. Boys, maybe you could look for those in the shed? I don’t know what kind of shape it’s in out there.”
“On it,” Bran said, taking his turn with the stink-fighting menthol. “What are we looking for?”
“Anything black,” I said. “Anything in a wild color or print. Pile it all up, and I’ll figure out if it works.”
“What about me?” Livvie objected. “Put me in, Coach.”
I grinned. “I have a special assignment for you.” I dug a few twenties out of my back pocket. “If I gave you eighty dollars, could you hit the vintage stores and text me pictures of shoes that look like they’ll fit Rococo Punk?”
