Page 33 of The Soul Never Forgets

Mrs. Le Blanc drops the keys in my hand. “There won’t be anything to eat at the house. Tell August I’ll bring some groceries to her in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell her to be watching for you.”

I offer my hand to Mr. Le Blanc. “We’re grateful for everything y’all are doing for us. We can’t thank you enough.”

Mr. Blanc takes my hand, pulling me in for a hug, and kisses the top of my head just the way my own father did so many times. “We want you to be safe and happy because we love you, Frank. And now we love her too.”

“I love you both.” And I do. The Le Blancs came into my life at a time when I had no one to help me. I had no one to depend on. They gave me a job and a place to sleep when I had none. They fed me when I was hungry. They’ve treated me like a son.

“You need not worry about your girl while they hold you in the jail. Sable and I will see to her.”

“I know you will.”

“You remember where the house is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go then, son. They could show up here at any minute.”

We leave, and I’ve driven about five miles from the Le Blancs when the full reality of what’s happening hits me like a ton of bricks. We’re riding in a borrowed car, heading to a loaned house. Each of us have the clothes on our backs and nothing else except for a small stash of cash I won playing poker. Augustina is barefoot because she lost her shoes while fending off her father.

My wife doesn’t have a pair of shoes. Or something to sleep in. Or a toothbrush.

“I’m so sorry, Gussy.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’m your husband. It’s my job to take care of you, and I’m not doing a very good job.”

She reaches for my hand and laces her fingers through mine. “You saved me, Frank. My father would have chased me down and killed me if you hadn’t arrived when you did. And my mother would have stood by and allowed it to happen. If that’s not taking care of your wife, then I don’t know what is.”

I squeeze her hand. “We’re safe tonight, and that’s all that matters right now. I’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

She slides across the bench seat and snuggles up to me. “I’m not a rich, spoiled debutante. Well, maybe I am, but I’m also strong and resilient.”

“I’ve never thought of you as a rich, spoiled debutante. And I know you’re strong and resilient. Otherwise, you’d have never left your secure world behind for me.”

“I’ll be a good wife for you. I promise.”

“I know you will. And I’ll be a good husband for you.”

“You already are.”

I park the car around back, and we enter the house through the rear entrance. It’s a small but cozy cottage filled with fine furnishings. It’s a vast step-down for Augustina.

“I’ve always loved little cottages like this.”

“It’s better than anyplace I’ve ever lived.” It feels like a palace to me.

Gussy reaches up and touches her hair. “I’m filthy. There’s dirt and grass in my hair. I want to take a bath as soon as possible.”

“I’ll run a tub of water for you, but first I want to see how hurt you are.”

We go into the bathroom and the water fills the tub while she slips out of her torn dress. It’s the same dress that I grappled with only a couple of hours ago when I lifted its skirts and made love to her on the beach.

How did so many things go wrong in only two hours?

The red splotches on her throat have darkened and are taking on a deep purple appearance. Tiny pinpoint red dots have formed over her entire face, and her bottom lip has a small split in it. Her knees are dirty, and I suspect the grass and dirt are camouflaging more bruises.

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