Page 50 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

While we eat, we talk about the damage in town from the storm. We also discuss Leonie and randomly our opinions on tattoos—we both have one. His is from when he graduated from the fire academy. I won’t tell him what or where mine is—a pair of checkered racing flags on my hip. For once, we’re like two normal people. Like friends. And not like a pair of wolves at each other’s throats. Funny, what breaking bread can do.

We take turns cleaning up and then take an after-dinner walk, which also feels very normal. I wear Leonie in the strappy pouch thing Maddock helped me figure out how to assemble. I’ve had it for months but didn’t know which clips to connect where and every time I tried to use it, she and I both ended up in a tangle.

The night is cool, the stars barely visible above, but the landscaping lights illuminate a path through what was once a beautiful garden and is now cut back like a toddler was set loose with a tractor.

“JQ suggested I consult Backyard Dreamscapes to figure out what to do out here. They did a nice job on what he calls his oasis. But that’ll come later. For now, I just wanted to clear out the old growth to make way for the new.”

A lump grows in my throat. “You’ve been hanging out with JQ?”

“And Jesse.”

A train of thought threatens to run away with emotions I thought were old and that I’d cleared out. JQ was Cory’s bestfriend. He and Jesse were enemies. But now Maddock dares to somehow bring them all together.

I harrumph. “Why would you hang out with them?”

Not surprisingly, he shoots me a look like I’m the one who kicked over the statue in the corner of the garden and ran away with its head—that was Jesse and it was a long time ago. We needed an additional bowling ball for a game we were playing on the drag strip out past Daley’s farm.

Maddock answers, “Because they’re nice guys. Remind me of Leyton and some of the others on the crew back home.”

“When are you leaving? Going back home?”

“Not sure yet.”

I have the sudden need to escape that answer. “We should go back to the house. Leonie needs a bath.”

I could spend the time in the bathroom with my baby reflecting on my behavior and comments. Instead, I stew in how unfair everything is. I didn’t ask for a tree to go through my roof or the power outage to render my side of the street to be dark until further notice. Meanwhile, the Coffee Loft and every other business on the north side of Main carries on while, I, the one who didn’t even ask to run a restaurant, am struggling to stay afloat.

Arson is but one of the crimes that sent Mama to the clink. In an ill-advised game of cards bender, she won and then subsequently lost the Laughing Gator Grille back to the original owner. Thinking the insurance transfer had gone through, she set the place ablaze. Thankfully, our volunteer firefighting crew extinguished it before more than the rear entry and kitchen were damaged. I used my racing winnings to pay George and Lucille Guidry, the owners, off instead of entering Nationals. But then they walked away, leaving me with the mess to deal with while Mama went to jail anyway on several other charges to boot—namely grand larceny.

The cheers and jeers at my pity party go quiet when I gaze into Leonie’s eyes. At least I have this sweet baby covered in bubbles, who is happy, healthy, and really truly my sunshine. I sing her the song that Maddock had earlier.

With a smile, she splashes me and lets out a happy roar. Her eyes sparkle. They’re the exact shade of Maddock’s with the dark blue center and the lighter ring like the teardrops on a peacock’s feather.

After wrapping her up like a little dumpling, I go into the bedroom to put her in fresh clothes, when I find Maddock plugging something into the wall.

“Excuse me.”

He shields his eyes. “Sorry. I was just hooking up the baby monitor.”

“We’re both clothed, er, covered. I meant what are you doing in here?” I’m wearing his T-shirt, but that’s so I didn’t get my outfit soaked. There’s no telling when I’ll be able to do laundry again. “Where did you get a baby monitor?”

“Lexi. She said to give it a test spin.”

I glance at the package. “It’s the Baby Watch Pro. Thelma and Betsy got it for her baby shower.”

“Well, it works.” He wiggles the handheld portion and starts to exit, then over his shoulder, says, “See you downstairs in a few.”

I refuse to be told what to do—sit like a dog at dinner or come when ordered. Or even heel. I’m not someone’s puppet. Then again, I did say I come with strings.

Once again, tears spill from my eyes. They’re silent ones—the kind that I hardly let myself spare when I found out Cory was dead. On nights when I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep the electricity running that week. When my dreams of going to Nationals were dashed.

I’m convinced this house is haunted—definitely by ghosts of my past. I’ll make arrangements to stay somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But that doesn’t happen. The rest of the week passes and the restaurant remains closed. Workers are stretched thin—along with the tarp over my roof—and the insurance lapsed. I don’t expect Hank, Dick, and Buck are going to replace it this time.

But Maddock lets us stay at the chateau, feeds us, and clothes us. Well, me. I now have four of his T-shirts.

It’s Friday night and the floor outside the bedroom door creeks. It’s open a crack and a shadow falls across it. Leonie just fell asleep and I tip-toe-run across the wooden floor, desperate for him not to wake her.

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