Page 39 of One Last Regret

“Mary? Is everything—”

I hang up and look at Dr. Yarrow. He gives me a wary smile, then walks out the door. As soon as it closes behind him, I drop to my knees and grip my hair in both my hands. My heart pounds heavily.

Could Annie be responsible for the plague that is consuming this family?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When I have recovered enough to think more clearly, I take a walk through the gardens. Fortunately for the Lacroixs, other than the group of young people who attempted to scale the fence but left when they saw me and Philippa, no one else uses their yard for trysts or drug and alcohol abuse. There are a few pieces of trash that I assume were thrown over the fence, but nothing that can’t easily be cleaned in an afternoon.

Well, I need something to occupy myself, and Philippa isn’t here. I return to the house for a garbage bag and a pair of rubber gloves, then start cleaning.

Beyond the property, the city looks like it’s been through a war. Garbage lies thick on the ground, and even at this late hour, there are people lying in yards or staggering down the street. I see police lights on the next street over as the officers attempt to help those most deeply affected by the party, so I assume they’ll make their way here soon enough.

My heartbeat slowly calms as I clear that trash. By the time I finish, I’m more rational. There are millions of blonde, blue-eyed women in the world. Jacques’s “curse” is a parlor trick, nothing more. As for the things I’ve experienced, well, Dr. Yarrow isn’t here now, so I can admit that they were likely hallucinations I conjured up. When I studied psychology, I heard that there are occasions when people afflicted by similar maladies can experience complementary hallucinations, so perhaps that’s what’s happening here. The Lacroixs believe in this curse hogwash, and I’m operating on superstition to look for my sister.

That's what it is. I read that stupid playbill and allowed myself to come here to New Orleans based on nothing more than a triggered memory of my sister playing saxophone. I left myselfvulnerable, and all of my old fears latched onto the fear and grief with which this family struggles. It's brought all of my old symptoms back with a vengeance.

I need to leave here. It's cold of me to say that, but it's true. This place isn't good for me, and as much as I hate leaving the children behind, I won't help them if I lose control of my own faculties.

I’ll let Etienne know tonight. I’ll alert Dr. Yarrow too. Maybe he can visit them more often. Or, if he thinks it best, he can remove the children or coerce Etienne into doing it.

I toss the trash into the large garbage can on the side of the house, then head inside and upstairs to shower. When I’m finished, I’ll talk to the children. I won’t tell them I’m leaving yet, not until I talk to the adults, but I’ll give them some advice to keep when I leave.

I don’t remember until I’m lathering myself that I showered only a few hours ago. Well, whatever. I’ll be even cleaner. I just need to get this stench off of me. All of it. It’s…

“It’s too much,” I say aloud.

And for reasons only God knows, that sentence is enough to trigger another memory.

“It’s too much,” Annie says, setting the saxophone down and plopping onto the bed. “I can’t do it, Mary. My lungs aren’t big enough.”

“You forget I live with you,” I remind her. “I’ve heard you scream loudly enough to wake the dead. Your lungs are fine. It’s your work ethic that’s inadequate.”

She cocks her head. “Do you think someonecouldscream loudly enough to wake the dead?”

“No. I’m not getting into one of your metaphysical conversations right now. Practice.”

She grins mischievously at me. “I will if you will.”

“I don’t have ambitions to be a successful musician,” I counter.

“Neither do I. I’m doing this for myself.”

“Then practice for yourself.”

“But what if I’m not enjoying myself anymore?”

“Then give up. Never work for the things you want. When the going gets tough, throw your hands in the air and say, ‘Oh well, at least I sort of tried for a little while.’”

She giggles, and I roll my eyes, but also laugh with her.

“You make me laugh, Mary. You’re always so certain that you’re right.”

I stop laughing. “Well, I am. This time, I am.”

“Of course you are.”

“How could I be wrong about encouraging you to practice?”

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