Broken (The Raiford Chronicles #3 Book 1) Page 6

  "I know. Townes will turn eighteen before he ships off to boot camp. I know they're babies, Raif. Graduation will be what?"

  "About three months, I'm guessing," offered Raif. “I’ll get Trista into a doctor as soon as I can.”

  "Where will we live?" worried Trista.

  "Huh." Raif looked incredulously at Chris's little replica. "Maybe you should've thought about that beforehand," he snarled.

  "Dad?" Trista whimpered.

  "Don't drop another tear," commanded Raif. "Of course, you'll stay at the house until Townes is sent wherever the government sends him. Then, you'll be living on a military base with a lot of other military families if it's a place where Townes's family can join him. If not, I guess you'll stay with me until you can join him."

  Terry nodded. "That plan works for me."

  Raif looked at his soon-to-be son-in-law. Wagging his head, he said, "Townes, say something."

  Townes stammered, "The condom failed."

  Raif and Terry looked at each other. As if of one mind, they each plopped a hand firmly on one of the boy's shoulders and squeezed hard enough to make Townes wince.

  "Dad!" shouted Trista, completely stunned by her father's reaction for she had never seen him lose his temper.

  Raif pointed at her. "You aren't married yet." He turned toward Townes. "And even when she is, if a comment like that comes from your mouth, she will be a widow." He turned back to Trista. "I can be just like Ray if you push me." Raif turned to Terry. "It's Wednesday. I'd say Saturday makes a good wedding day. What do you think?"

  "Yep."

  "Hold on just a minute," snapped Trista. "Don't we get to say anything?"

  "Like what—the condom failed?" asked Raif, oozing sarcasm.

  "Like, I'd like Townes to ask me to marry him." She glared at the boy. "You did say you love me."

  "I…I do," spluttered Townes.

  "Townes Johnson!" Trista stomped her foot. "I didn't do this alone. I can't do this alone, but I will if you don't want to marry me."

  "Trista, I'm scared," whined Townes.

  "How do you think I feel?"

  "More scared than me. Mr. Raif, I'm sorry. I truly never meant for this to happen."

  "I'm sure you didn't," said Raif a bit more calmly. "But the only one-hundred-percent foolproof birth control is abstinence. Y'all didn't use that. Y'all made a choice. Choices have consequences. A child is a serious responsibility. Townes, whether you marry Trista or not, you will still be a father. I promise you that. Trista will have this baby, and you will support it."

  "I do want to marry Trista."

  "And I want a real wedding," Trista added.

  Townes looked back and forth between the two parents. "Can we, please, wait until after graduation? Nobody else has to know she's pregnant, do they? She won't be showing. Prom is next week. I know we messed up, but can't we be kids for one more month? Please? I had already planned to join the service, but after graduation. I planned that since ninth grade. I've been in ROTC four years." Townes looked at his girlfriend. "I do love you. I'm sorry I've been acting like a brat." He smiled. "Will you marry me?"

  Trista hooked her arm around Raif's. "With my father's permission. Please, Dad?" she asked with Chris's eyes looking at Raif.

  He choked back tears and sighed, "Terry?"

  Terry Johnson nodded. "All right. Plan a wedding. Graduation is May 12th. You will be married the following Saturday."

  Raif helped his daughter get ready for prom and graduation and a wedding, a small intimate affair at Charity Chapel with only Patrick Gautier and Courtney Reynolds, Ray's daughter, as attendants. At the simple reception at the Gautier home, Ray cornered Raif. "Is she pregnant?" he asked pointedly.

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "They didn't want anyone else to know. Townes is leaving next week for boot camp." He puffed out air. "He'd planned to go at the end of summer. We'll take it one day at a time. Ray, I am so tired. This has been the year from Hell. Two weeks from tomorrow will be one year since I lost Chris. I don't think I can take anymore."

  Ray hugged his brother. "Hey, maybe you should let me play big brother for a bit. Take a vacation."

  "Maybe. Maybe I will."

  At the reception, Courtney caught the bouquet. Ray whispered in her ear, "A long time."

  She nodded. "As you say, Daddy, 'You know it.'" She laughed. "I'm only fifteen."

  Standing beside Courtney, Tasha Johnson, only eleven months older than her brother, Townes, nodded agreement. "You can have it. I don't want it. It'll be a real long time for me."

  Patrick ducked so as not to catch the garter. It landed squarely in Raif’s hand.

  Two weeks later, Raif visited Chris's grave and put fresh flowers in the vase attached to the crypt. He talked to her. "Oh, baby, what do I do? I'm so tired, Chris. Some days I don't even want to get out of bed. Baby, I told Ray this has been the year from Hell.

  "I lost you." He rubbed his face with his hands.

  "Before I could turn around the firm was under investigation, and we were sued. I had to have several employees arrested for embezzling funds. Walter's doctor told him he had to cut some stress before he had a heart attack, so he retired. Patrick Swift and Steve Journey were murdered. Patrick, our son, went to Tulane and almost got expelled because his professor accused him of plagiarism. Larkin got him out of that. Maybe she has spread her guardian-angel wings my way a little. Lindsay broke her leg and pelvis in a car accident. And now…" He gusted a groan.

  "Now, Trista is pregnant. I'm worn out. I'm not worried about being a grandfather, but she's my baby and too young to be having a baby. You would have handled that so much better than I did. I almost hit Townes Johnson—Yeah, he's the father. I am so broken and lost without you. Tell me what to do." He dropped his face into his hands and wept.

  A long, quiet moment passed.

  Something whispered to Raif's spirit. "Follow your feet. See where they will take you."

  He looked around, expecting to see Chris standing there.

  Raif left the cemetery, got in his car, and started driving.

  9

  Rambling Man

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  June 3, 2029

  Neely Rivers had been closing every night at eight since she reopened for business. On this night she was running late because she had a last-minute customer, a college student. Ordinarily, she would have locked the door behind the exiting customer, but having dropped several items, she was picking things up before she could clean and sterilize the equipment. When the bell jingled, she almost jumped out of her skin. Holding a tattoo tube with needle inserted in her hand ready to stab anything or anyone who threatened her, she came around the screen that separated the tattoo chair and table from the rest of the shop. The man who had entered was studying the paintings on display.

  "Raif?" Neely said in disbelief, her voice barely audible. She dropped her hand to her side.

  Raiford Gautier turned around. "You actually remember me?"

  "You're hard to forget."

  He felt a burn in his face, but a smile flickered across his lips. "I'm flattered. Did you paint these?" He nodded around the room.

  "Yes."

  "They're magnificent." He reached up to touch a seascape. "Why are you doing tattoos and hiding your real talent? These should be in a gallery and for sale."

  "Thank you, but, you know, I do have to eat." She waved her hand toward the tattoo chair. "This pays the bills. And they are for sale. Notice the sticker."

  "I suppose you're right." He creased his brow. "But you're not charging enough."

  She shook her head. "Maybe too much. None of them have sold." Neely laid her equipment in its case. "Raif, are you all right? Patrick told me about your wife. I'm so sorry."

  "Thanks. I'm living—well, existing."

  "What brings you here? Did you like Patrick's Celtic cross so well that you came for another tattoo?"

  "No, although it was quite nice." He
spread his hands in the air and shrugged his shoulders. "I really don't know why I'm here. I just got in the car, and this is where I ended up."

  "Is your car outside?" She pointed.

  "No, I parked at Harrah's and walked."

  "Somebody who looks like you should not be walking down these side streets alone at night."

  "What do I look like?"

  "Like you have money to spare." She took in his tan slacks, a white oxford shirt, and brown loafers, all from an Armani collection. "You're a mugging waiting to happen."

  He laughed. "I've already been beaten and broken in New Orleans a long time ago. Have things gotten that bad around here?"

  "Yes." Neely turned the key in the dead bolt and switched off the "OPEN" sign.

  "You're closing. I'm sorry," Raif apologized. "I shouldn't have come."

  "It's all right. I'm just not open for business late since…" She shivered.

  "Since what?"

  Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, she said, "I was attacked and vandalized and left for dead a few months back."

  "My God! I had no idea. But you reopened. You're a brave one."

  "I didn't want to let the goons win, but I now keep a gun behind the counter." She pointed.

  "That's probably wise. Can you shoot it?"

  "You bet. I took some classes and have a license to carry."

  He chuckled. "Ray gave me a gun years ago. I took some classes and have a license also. I just don't particularly like guns." He put his hand on the doorknob. "I should go and let you get home."

  Neely laughed lightly. "I am home." She lowered the blinds and started behind the counter. "Would you like to visit? I can't let you wander the streets."

  He stood quietly until a voice whispered in his mind, "Go with her."

  "Yes, I would if you don't mind." He smiled.

  "No, I'd like some company. Have you had dinner?"

  "No."

  "I'm sure I can find something for us. Will you join me?"

  "Yes, I'd really like that." He looked around as if expecting to hear another prompt.

  "Come on."

  Raif followed Neely through a beaded curtain and a small storage room to a door, which she unlocked. "Welcome to my home," she said, pushing the entry aside and flicking a light switch.

  "Your apartment is attached to your business." A slight laugh escaped his lips. "How quaint! I thought these things were long gone."

  "This is an old section of town. Many of the businesses in this area still have apartments behind or above. It's small, but it's all I need." They stepped inside.

  Neely's apartment had a fairly large open sitting, dining, and kitchen combo, separated by a bar; two bedrooms, one of which she used as her art studio; and a bathroom, which also contained a stacked washer and dryer. There was a back door through the kitchen.

  "This is quite nice," said Raif, appraising the apartment from an architect's point of view.

  "Thanks. It's where I grew up," explained Neely. "I've lived here my whole life. Maybe that's why I didn't want to be forced out by violence and slow business, but it's been hard to make ends meet lately. Let's see what I can scrounge up for dinner. Would you like something to drink? I have sodas, iced tea, and lemonade."

  "Lemonade, please. I try not to drink too many sodas."

  "Why? Is it a health thing?"

  "In a way." He nodded. "A few years ago, my nephew, Parker, needed a kidney. Ray only has one since he was attacked by Latrice Descartes and he couldn't help his son. Since we're identical twins, I was a match. I want to protect the one I have left."

  She paused, holding an ice cube in mid-air. "You gave your nephew your kidney?"

  "I couldn't let him die."

  "You're amazing, Raiford Gautier."

  He felt the heat in his face again. "No, it's just the way I am."

  Neely shook her head as she concluded the man in her apartment was truly extraordinary.

  Raif watched this young woman. She's beautiful, even more so than I thought when I first met her. Five-foot-six, a hundred ten pounds, with long naturally platinum-blonde hair. And those eyes! They're Confederate gray. I've never seen eyes that color. Raif said thoughtfully, "Why would anybody want to hurt you? You're such a free, yet gentle, spirit."

  "Maybe that's why I was an easy target."

  "It makes no sense."

  "Well, I was the thirteenth victim. The other twelve women died. I guess I was lucky."

  "Good, Lord!" exclaimed Raif. "Another lucky thirteen."

  "What?"

  While Neely cooked chicken strips and macaroni and cheese and tossed a salad, Raif told her the story of Lucky Thirteen.

  Placing the salad on the counter for them to eat sitting at the bar, Neely said, "I read that book, but I had no idea it was true. I just thought it was the first in the Rusty Rose collection."

  "Every word of it. The names were changed to protect the innocent. It did give rise to the infamous Detective Rusty Rose. All the cases were based in some truth. Larkin did embellish a little in later books." He laughed lightly. "Latrice, aka Laramie in print, abducting and successfully sacrificing twelve women, trying for a thirteenth to summon a demon and using men with some form of mental illness to help her needed no embellishment." He exhaled long and loud. "I know." He tapped his temple, remembering how Latrice had used his supposed schizophrenia.

  "It ended with Lydda and Rusty getting married."

  "Yep. That was actually Larkin and Ray."

  "And you're Russ."

  He grinned. "Guilty, but not crazy."

  "So much has happened since then. Larkin should write a sequel, all true."

  "So, does that mean you'd like to know all about my life?"

  "Yes, I would." She placed the rest of the meal on the bar that divided the kitchen from the small dining area. She was very informal in the way she served her guest. The plates, glasses, and cutlery did not match, but the food was good.

  "Neely, how old are you?" Raif asked after swallowing a bite of pasta.

  "I turned thirty-one May 13th."

  "You know, the inverse of thirteen is thirty-one."

  "Does that mean I'm gonna get lucky again?" laughed Neely.

  Feeling the now familiar tingle in his face as before when he thought about the double entendre of what Neely had just said, the woman's guest became quiet. Finally, he said, "I was fifty-one on January 13th, but lately I've felt like a hundred fifty-one."

  "You don't look a second older than the day you walked through that door out there to get your older brother and younger brother tattoos."

  "Are you trying to make me feel good?"

  "Is it working?" She smiled.

  "A bit." Raif took his plate to the sink.

  "What are you doing?" asked Neely.

  "Helping you clean up."

  "It's not necessary."

  "I don't mind."

  "All right, then. I'll wash. You dry." Neely slid off her stool and rounded the bar. Opening a drawer, she handed Raif a dishtowel.

  It took about ten minutes to wash the few dishes they had dirtied. Neely asked, "Would you like a glass of wine?"

  Raif replied, "I should probably be going."

  "Why? Do you have some place you need to be, or am I offensive company?"

  "Neither." He knitted his brow in a frown, and then smiled, causing his right dimple to crease deeper than his left. "Yes, I'd love a glass of wine."

  "It's zinfandel."

  "That's fine."

  Neely poured two glasses of wine and led the way to the sitting area. Raif sat in the chair, and Neely flipped on a stereo system that was wired to play throughout the apartment before she sat on the ivory Naugahyde couch, kicked off her shoes, and curled her feet under her. A golden-oldies radio station played songs from the 1950s forward.

  After a sip of wine, she asked, "So, other than losing your wife, what else has been so tough this year?"

  "Wow!" He set his glass on the coffee table and looked a
t the scar in his palm where he had broken a wine glass on the day of his wife's memorial. A whole year. He put his hand to his head, looking as if he were having one of his brother's migraines.

  "That much?" Neely tilted her head to the side and lifted curious eyebrows.

  "There's been a bit." He ran his fingers through his still coal-black hair with a little more gray near the temples than when Neely had first met him. He repeated almost verbatim what he had said at Chris's grave. He retrieved his glass, collapsed against the back of the chair, and sipped the wine, feeling a great release from having said all the words aloud to a living, breathing person.

  "That has been one hellacious year."

  "You've had a rough year, too."

  "True."

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "It's hard for me." Neely pulled her knees into her chest.

  "You said you were attacked and left for dead. Were you just beaten, or was there more? Are you the woman Steve Journey was going to see when he was shot?"

  "You knew Agent Journey?"

  Raif nodded. "Yes. He was Stanley in the book. He's one of the friends I mentioned. How bad was it, Neely? Have you ever talked about it?"

  "No. I don't want to."

  "It'll help you heal."

  Her voice hitched. "You don't know what they did to me."

  "Tell me," Raif gently coaxed.

  She stared at the man she had fantasized about. What's the worst that can happen if I tell him? He'll bolt. I'll be no worse off. She took a deep breath. "You've already figured out that they raped me—all five of them. They hit and kicked me." She tensed all over. "Then, they used something—a glass shard."

  Tears dripped down Neely's cheeks. Raif leaned forward and took her hand.

  She said softly, "They did so much damage that the doctors say I will never be able to have children; it would be too risky to try and carry one to term, if the fertilized egg could even implant. You have no idea how much that hurts. A year ago, I joked with my friend, Esther, about her biological time clock ticking faster than mine because she's two years older and had just gotten married a little before that. Now mine has stopped. It's broken."