chapter 2

He hauled back, and punched her hard. She fell, and her head cracked against the big heavy cradle.

"No", he mumbled. He walked over, and turned her over, but her dark eyes were glassy. She was dead, her neck, broken.

"No. Miss Henriette!"

The old woman came in the room then, in a fury. "What in the hell is going on in here?! I told you to have her quietly. You have certainly woken up my daughters by now. You must go!"

Tears poured down his red, drunk face. "She dead, Miss Henriette, her neck done broke."

"I told you to make her a slattern in his eyes, not to kill her for the love of God!", she yelled. She took control of herself easily. "Fine. You did this, now you have to undo it. Take her, carry her, and dump her in the swamp. Our story remains the same, she ran off with you."

"I came here for a bride!" he bellowed, "You owe me!"

"What the law owes you is a hangman's noose, you illiterate", she spat, "Take her and disappear before I call them myself."

He shrank from her, from her power.

The baby squalled from the floor.

Henriette picked up a little pillow from the crib and held it oh so close to the baby's face. It would be so easy to snuff out this unwanted little life.

"Dump her in the swamp, and then come back here and get the baby", she ordered.

He was still hysterical. "I can't kill me no baby right now", he sobbed.

"I'm not telling you to kill him, you half wit. Take him to an orphanage. Somewhere far away. Up north. Yes, up north. Philadelphia. No, New York. Far away from here where I will never see his face again, or his eyes, so like his mother's. I'm going back to bed. If all is not in order in the morning, I'll have you arrested." She slipped out of the room.

3 Days Later

Tristan paced, sweat pouring down his face. "But that's not possible, mother! I do not believe she would just leave me! Or take our baby! For some gutter rat?"

"That's what she said, darling, in the note she left." Henriette nudged the note toward him again.

"She loved me! Loves, loves me, there's no reason to think...this doesn't even look like her writing! I won't rest until I find her!"

But Tristan searched and searched, and his wife and son were gone. And then he drank. And cursed. And had no time for friends or his mother or his sisters. And one day he returned to the port of New Orleans. And walked into the sea.

"Love will kill you", he said, sinking beneath the waves.


Twin Oaks Plantation, 2014

"And why is no one living here and no historical society has taken up residence?" Hank asked.

The realtor shifted her clipboard suspiciously. He knew the look by now. She knew something. What was it? Termites?

"Um...it's pretty far...from New Orleans...per se...just saying. People generally like to live closer...to the city", she said slowly.

This house was potentially worth millions once it was fixed up. Right now, on paper, it should have been a cool 2 million easily. Instead it sat below a half million, unpurchased. He knew something was up, but didn't really care. He loved it.

A New York native, the south was certainly a different world. He'd felt called here, and broke his mother's Manhattan heart when he moved down here to go to college at Tulane. He had a love/hate relationship with the south. It had a beat, a feeling, a fever, an identity all its own, just like New York did. And just like Manhattan, there was a penalty for not towing the line. He was always a bit too chubby to interest most of the female population. He had a round, bouncy ball belly from as long as he could remember, or at least since he'd discovered stuffed crust pizza. And chubby thighs, bottom, and hips to match. He kept track 5'11, 235 pounds. His mother gave him constant hell for it.

"I expect a current pest report", he said, addressing the bugs.

"Right here", the realtor said, handing it to him fast. Too fast. So it wasn't bugs.

He smiled at the realtor, a beautiful woman in a very tight skirt and highlighted blonde hair, green eyes scanning him for weaknesses. Just the kind of girl who never gave him the time of day.

"I'll take it", he said. She hopped up and down and clapped with pleasure and relief. He knew something was wrong, but this place...even in the condition it was in, it was remarkable. With a loving hand, it could be paradise, a dream home. Which he would sell for a tidy profit. Of course he would. But he barely wanted to leave to return to the city to sign the papers.

The Next Night

"Last stop", Grace said to herself, entering a bar on Bourbon Street. Hollywood was done, over, at least for her.

Now it was school. Or a job, or something.

She sat down at the bar and ordered a margarita. De Rigeur in Los Angeles, but apparently not here.

"Do I know you?" the lady bartender asked, mixing the drink.

***.

"I do, I do", the bartender insisted.

"From where? A movie on Lifetime? What was it "A Solider for Christmas"?"

"An Airman for Christmas", Grace corrected, "Didn't know anybody actually saw that." Yeah she did. People asked all the time.

"You played the sad, sad fiancé, and then he came back...ohhh", the bartender said, clutching her heart. "What kinds of things you in now?


"I'm kind of done with acting", Grace whispered, wishing the woman would disappear. Did the Lifetime movie have to haunt her for the rest of hers?

"Oh no!"

"Oh yeah, school I think", Grace said. "Have to start at the bottom again."

"On the house, Grace", the bartender responded, handing over the drink.

"You don't have to", Grace said.

"I insist. Saw them in concert." She pointed to Grace's Nirvana tshirt.

"Me too", Grace said. But that was a long, long time ago. And she was tired.

"My niece has a tshirt like that", Grace heard the male voice from behind her. She rolled her eyes. The bartender laughed.

A waitress stopped to deliver more peanuts.

"Weren't you in that Lifetime movie?"

She tossed back her margarita. "I'm getting out of here", Grace growled.


"Did I say something wrong?"


"Look, I know my life is a joke, okay, I just don't need to be reminded of it..." and Grace fell into tears.


"Oh sweetie, it's okay...none of us have ever even been in a Lifetime movie", the bartender offered, pouring her another margarita.


"God, I'm sorry. I put my foot in my mouth sometimes." The male voice again.


"Why are you people being nice to me?", Grace wailed.


"Honey, this is New Orleans. No one ends up here doesn't have some ghosts", the bartender said.


Grace turned around to face the man who was talking. And her mouth fell open.


Tallish. Rounded. Her eyes fell to his belly, and he sucked in uncomfortably.


Don't do that, she thought.


"I'm sorry if..." he muttered.



"It's okay. I'm used to people who are sarcastic and rude and...when I meet people who aren't, sometimes it takes me a minute", Grace answered.


"Where are you from?"


"14 year Los Angeles resident."


"Ahhhh", he said, "So you were in a Lifetime movie?"


Her shoulders dropped.


"Was it something I said?"


"No....."


"Can I sit down?"


"Sure."

"You're... sorry, I know, I don't know you....but you're beautiful", Hank added.


"Thank you. Really, thank you. And you're handsome."


He flushed scarlet. "And too big..."


"No, not at all, not everyone is meant to be a cookie cutter, you know, people are different. I like bigger guys", Grace said.


"Really?" he frowned and laughed.


"Really."


The bartender was grinning ear to ear.


"Hank here is a yankee", she said, as if it were a disease, "But he bought Twin Oaks", she smiled, "A beautifullllll old Antebellum mansion out interstate 10."


Bartender and matchmaker.


The last thing I need right now is a guy, Grace thought. I didn't come here for that. It never works out.

They're liars, they're cheaters. Why would this one be different?

But Grace couldn't kick the feeling that she knew this guy, that they'd met before...and that was disturbing.

She downed her margarita. "I need a place to stay, any motel recommendations?" Grace asked.

"The Hotel Montelone is nice, 4 star..."

"Not necessary", Grace said.

"Well the Motel 6 is almost as good and $58."

"Done", Grace said.

"Can I give you a lift?" Hank asked.

Every bone in her body said no. This guy was a complication she didn't need.

"I don't bite", he said.

"Okay.....and thank you."

"You'll be back in soon?" the bartender asked.

"I will, thanks."

Hank got the door.

"Listen, I know this is crazy", he said, bright blue eyes shining, a smile on his handsome face, "But I feel like I know you. Did we meet before?"

He looked so...expectant. "I kinda feel that way too, but I don't see how we would have."

"You feel that way too?!" Smiling ear to ear. Oh god. He sounded excited.

"Yeah, I get de ja vu sometimes", she said, trying to write it off.

"No, I don't feel like I've been here before, just like I know you. I'm not trying to be weird, I promise. I'm sorry." He swung around in traffic and pulled neatly into the Motel 6 parking lot.

"Can I take you out sometime?" he asked.

"I don't know. I...I'm not here for romance, you know. I need to earn some money..."

"If you're not interested, that's different, but don't let money or something stop you, please. You don't have to know everything you're doing with your life to go on a date with me", he said, looking adorable.

"Oh fine", she said. He was strangely irresistible.

"Dinner tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?! I just got into town..."

"Then you don't know your way around...I'll take you out", he said.


"All right", she agreed.

"Can I help you check in? Can I carry your bags? Are you okay for money?" he spat out all at once.

"What they say about southern gentlemen is true", she said, hugging him, "I'm fine."

He blushed bright red. "I'll I'll,,,,see you tomorrow."

"Night."