chapter 3

Hank was staying in his new home now, having the bedroom restored already and working on the kitchen. He figured he could live in a house with those two rooms.

There were even antiques left in the house, a fortune of them, he could barely believe it.

The bed in the enormous master bedroom was 4-poster with gilt paint restored. A brilliant scarlet velvet bedcover was still in excellent condition. There was also a chaise lounge with a mauve colored fabric that had been repaired.

The coverlet had been dry cleaned, as had the luxurious linen sheets that Hank felt like a king sleeping under.

But sleeping wasn't something he was doing well these days. Every night, the door down the hall to a small bedroom, would slam shut. He would hear muttering downstairs, and walk down with his Louisville Slugger, only to find no one. And a baby, a baby crying half the night.

The problem was there wasn't in a neighbor in sight or hearing distance, much less with a baby. And he started closing the door to the little bedroom at night, but it still managed to open and slam.

And now he knew it wasn't bugs. It was something else.

"How long has the average resident stayed in this house in the past?" he asked the realtor on the phone the next morning.

"People get in too deep with a mortgage", she stalled.

"Just answer the question", he barked. He was a New Yorker at heart.

"The longest was six months", she swallowed, "Since the original owners passed."

"And how long ago did someone else live here because the place was never renovated, and it's virtually uninhabitable until it is...."

"1875", she said.

"The last resident lived here in 1875? No wonder!", He yelled, "Let me guess, as an out of towner, I'm the only idiot who didn't know it was haunted."

"We don't recognize haunted houses as such..." she started.

"This is New Orleans."

"If you want to get rid of the house, sir, I can help relist it..."

"I didn't say I wanted to get rid of it", he said.

"You didn't, I mean you don't?!" she asked.

"No. I feel like I have to get to the bottom of this", he said, knowing it was true for the first time.

"Oh man, you're not one of those sub-parnatural investigators are you?" she asked.

Hank shook his head. "No, I'm not a supernatural investigator. But this is my house, and I want to know what's going on."

She mumbled unintelligibly.

"Thank you", he said, hanging up.

He set his cell phone on his desk, set up in the middle of a messy living room. He needed to hire help.

A huge breath of wind passed through the room, blowing trash on the messy floor around and rattling pocket doors.

"Gooooooo awayyyyyyyyyyy."

The next day, Hank pulled on some old sweat pants that didn't fit and spent most of the day in the garden. A ghost in the living room he didn't need.

A truck pulled up and he looked up. "Plaster and Reconstruction" Perfect.

Hank stood up, not having time to change before the guy stopped and jumped out.

He knew the man was staring and trying not to chuckle. The small sweatpants were below his growing belly and his love handles were definitely sticking out in the back. He could barely bend his legs, the thighs of the pants were so tight.

The man held out his hand, "I'm Jeremiah of Crescent City Plaster and Reconstruction."

Hank shook his hand. "Hank, formerly of New York City"

"Wow, that's a change."

"Yeah, it is and I needed one."

"What do you do?" the man asked.

"Computers, so most of my work is remote. Doesn't really matter where I am."

He left out the part about feeling called here, the part about the wind in his living room that told him to get out, the crying baby every night, and the woman he'd met once and couldn't get out of his head.

"Must pay well", Jeremiah said, looking the place over.

"Well, most of what's going into the house is inherited. My grandmother was an early investor in Apple. In 1980..."

"Oh. Oh shit, that would do it", Jeremiah said, covering his mouth, "Apologies."

"I'm from New York, man, that's the politest thing I've heard in a long time", Hank said, "I had to do something with it. So I'm saving a historic landmark", Hank said. "My grandmother didn't do badly for the great granddaughter of a Civil War era orphan left on a church doorstep. Sometimes strange things happen..."

Hank found he was talking to himself.

"This way", he said, leading Jeremiah into the house.

"Wow!!" There was a double flying staircase with a huge crystal chandelier in the middle. The paint had peeled off everything,the floor was filthy, but beneath the grime was one of the most beautiful examples of Antebellum architecture in the region.

"You heard the stories right?" Jeremiah asked.

"Um, not until after I purchased", Hank said.

"Oh um, well, did you know it wouldn't burn? This old place. When the Yankee army showed up burning everything that stood in 1864, supposedly they tried to burn Twin Oaks too, but it wouldn't catch. Tried again and again. But supposedly the old Thibodaux woman who lived here cursed them a blue streak and it just wouldn't catch. They left her be. But by then there were already tales....that the place was haunted by her son who killed himself, or the wife who ran off and left him. She became a recluse, and the rumors got worse after the old lady died."

"She wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't have run off." Hank closed his eyes and could see it....as it was then. Beautiful and white as cotton. Dressed with holiday lights. His eyes snapped open and he recovered himself.

"Umm, okay", Jeremiah said, "Where would you like me to start?"

"Living room. Can you match the colors?"

"Yeah, we take a sample and reproduce them exact", he said.

"Awesome.I'm working on the kitchen myself. It'll get done faster this way."

"Sure you don't want me to do it?" Jeremiah asked, wrinkling up his nose.

"I'm sure, I've done this before", Hank said. He got Jeremiah started and went upstairs to dig out some larger clothes so his fat wasn't hanging out everywhere in front of that poor guy. Why did he seem to have a flashback to this place in its prime? He saw it like it was yesterday. Good thing he was getting out of here for a while tonight, he feared he was becoming obsessed.

She liked "bigger guys." He hoped she actually did.

Hours later, he took a shower, and dressed in nice clothes. He came down the stairs in dark jeans and a cashmere sweater, tugging over his tummy.

"That's it for today, be back tomorrow", Jeremiah said. "Wow, going out?"

"I have a date", Hank said.

"Anybody I know?"

"She's new to town herself, from Los Angeles", Hank said.

"Ohhhh, don't bother. Knew a few California girls in my life...." Jeremiah cringed.

Great. Hank disregarded that. He was anxious to see her again, she seemed almost....unreal, like a dream.

Hank pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot, and Grace was standing out front in a black dress with a low dip, long thick blonde hair piled on top of her head.

He waved excitedly. He hopped out and opened the door.

"Grace you're...beautiful."

She smiled. His dark hair and brilliant blue eyes were an arresting combination. And then there was the soft cashmere sweater riding up on an even softer round belly. He clearly hadn't shopped since he'd put on some weight.

She jumped in, curious as to where they were going.

She was pleased when they arrived at a great, but casual seafood restaurant near the beach with darkened rooms and a live jazz band, with dancing.

"Do you dance?" he asked.

"Not in public", she answered.

"Dancing is fun!"

She gave him the evil eye.

"Another time", he said with a smile, pulling out her chair.

"So New York, tell me about it", she said.

"Boring, I want to know about you and your adventures in Hollywood", he said.

"Talk about boring! I spent 14 years there pursuing fame and fortune and have exactly nothing to show for it. "

"I don't know who wouldn't hire you, you're..."

"Old?"
"I was going to say beautiful", he said.

"Well, thanks, but you have to make it by your early 30's. By 35, it's over for a woman. You might as well be 60 in the rest of the country."

"Ouch", he said, eager to get off the topic that was upsetting her, "Can I ask you another personal question?"

"You're on a roll", she said.

"When you said you liked bigger guys, what did you mean by that?" he asked. "Like bodybuilders?"

"Fat."

He coughed and nearly choked on his water.

"Really?"

"Yea h, I like something to hold onto. I mean, I have a limit, but otherwise the bigger the better. I like to help men gain weight too."

His head was spinning.

"Help? Help men gain weight? How do you do a thing like that?" he asked.

"By encouraging them to eat. Listen, it's hard to describe, it's easier to read. I'll text you a website." She said.

"So you do this now?" he asked, "You help men gain weight now? Lots of them?"

She laughed. "I do this inside a relationship. You don't have to, whatever makes you happy, but it's a sexual fantasy for me, and I'm not the type to be with a bunch of guys at once."

His eyes were big as saucers.

"Forget it", she said, "It's absolutely not necessary for a man I date to take part."

But he didn't want to forget it. It was like peering inside a magical world he very much wanted to live in. Permission to be who he really was, instead of insults and arguments from "well meaning" family and friends. And those not so well meaning. More than permission - acceptance, encouragement, love. It was almost too much to hope for.