Chapter Twenty-Six

I sped up Flood, using the Florida Avenue Bridge to avoid what was surely a major commotion around Claiborne crossing.

My harrowing journey in the dark seemed like it should have taken all night, all the fear should have been forever, but it was just past seven-thirty. Cordelia’s plane hadn’t taken off yet. If I drove as fast as I sanely could, I might catch her at the airport.

That was my intent, why I was blowing off Joanne after she’d done me an incredible favor. I couldn’t have Cordelia leave thinking I’d deliberately avoided her today, that I wanted our last encounter to be how we ended. I had been bitter and angry for too long, letting those toxic emotions overshadow what was really important: that she was my best friend, knew things about me no one else did, that we’d laughed and loved for days and years, that she’d opened herself to me in a way no other woman had. And probably no one woman would. Fifty years wasn’t enough and it was about all I had left now.

I desperately wanted to say “I love you” one more time, hold her one more time, even if it was in good-bye.

From Florida Avenue it was a short trip up Franklin to the interstate. There were no lights, only sporadic car beams. This, too, had flooded, all the houses, all the lives watermarked. It was dark for miles, all flooded, all wrecked, past City Park, only the dark shapes changed, from ruined hulks of homes to downed trees.

Then suddenly, a bright glow, closer as I sped to the dividing line, the 17th Street Canal, one wall held, one failed. I had to go to the light, to where power flowed and the houses and the people were still there. There was little traffic on I-10. So many people hadn’t returned that its normal slow crawl was suspended.

I sped around slow trucks and taxis, pushing the speed limit as much as I dared. I couldn’t risk getting pulled over.

Exit after exit whizzed by. The airport was about as far as you could go before falling off into the swamp that surrounded and defined this city.

“Let her plane be delayed,” I begged as I passed a slow minivan.

Another exit.

Another.

Then the one for the airport.

After leaving the interstate, I had to slow down. The airport access road was much slower. It swooped around the length of the airfield.

I impatiently drummed my fingers as I waited at the stoplight that regulated traffic into the actual airport loop road. I glanced at my watch. It had taken me under twenty minutes to get here. A record. New Orleans isn’t a huge area, so getting to the airport wasn’t the slog that it was in other cities.

The light changed and I shot past a dawdling Cadillac. I’d have to park my car and that would take some time. Entering the garage, I didn’t bother to look for a parking spot, just headed straight for the roof, where there were usually plenty of spaces.

Once parked, I ran to the elevators, my ankle hurting with every step. Waiting for the elevator, I again looked at my watch. Eight-oh-five. She’d already be past the security gate by now.

Buy a ticket. See if you can get on the same plane. I’d talk to her if I had to fly to Dallas to do so.

As the elevator slowly descended, I wondered what I was doing. I could call her in Dallas and explain what had kept me away. That was a lot cheaper than buying a last-minute airfare.

But it wasn’t enough, it was too small and paltry a gesture to make up for the months of my anger and distance. I had to prove to her—and me—that I’d changed, that I would do whatever it took for us. On that scale a plane ticket to Dallas didn’t seem like much.

Exiting the elevator, I hurriedly scanned the flights. There was an eight-thirty to Dallas on Southwest.

On the first bit of luck of the night, my friend Larry was working the counter.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” he asked as I approached.

“Long story, no time. I need a ticket for the Dallas flight.”

He looked me up and down as if wondering if I was crazy. Either he decided I wasn’t or that even if I was, a trip to Dallas was a mild bout of insanity.

“Let me see what I can do. I think the flight’s booked.”

“Even standby, if nothing else.”

It was agonizingly slow as he took my information and punched it into the computer. I knew he was going as fast as he could, but every second was one less that I could spare.

Finally he handed me a boarding pass. “Good luck,” he said. “You may not be able to get on. It’s pretty booked. Come back if you can’t. I’ll set you up for first thing tomorrow.”

I didn’t have time to tell him it was now or never. I threw a hurried thank you over my shoulder and sprinted for the gate.

The security guard there gave me a long, hard look as she examined my ticket and driver’s license. I had to look like hell, dirty and bruised, certainly not like someone who should be traveling.

“Family emergency,” I said. “Was gutting the house when I got the call. No time to change.”

She nodded sympathetically and waved me on.

I kicked off my shoes only to be slowed by a couple who seemed not to have gone through airport security in about twenty years. They had to be told to take off their shoes. Then his belt, then her keys.

Finally they were through and I was right behind them. They were still futzing as I reached between them to grab my shoes. I took time only to shove them on and stick the laces inside so I wouldn’t trip on them.

I was hurting as I dashed past the gates. My ankle, but also all the other places I’d fallen, been cut and bruised. And hit. I wondered how big a bruise Carmen had left. I hoped that it took the cops a while to find her.

It was eight-twenty when I got to the gate. The passengers had all boarded, only the gate agent was there.

My chest was heaving; I could barely talk from the exertion of running. I placed my ticket on the counter.

She gave me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, it’s already full.”

“I was,” I gasped, “supposed to meet someone, travel together.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I can get you on the next plane, I promise.”

Damn and damn. She wasn’t being a jerk; she seemed genuinely to want to be helpful. But the plane was full. I was too late.

“Can I get a message to…my friend?”

“Cell phone?” she suggested. “They’re probably about ready to close the boarding doors.”

I nodded. My luck had run out.

Turning away from her I flipped open my cell phone, then quickly punched in Cordelia’s number.

It rang.

And rang.

And went to voice mail.

Of course, she had turned it off. You can’t use cell phones on the plane, so she was always a good girl, turned it off and put it away.

If the gate agent hadn’t been watching, I would have crumpled to the floor and started crying.

It was too painful to just give up. I could at least leave her a text message to let her know I’d come to the airport in search of her. Maybe that would be enough.

I typed in, “I’m here. Tried to see you. Long story. I love you. Fifty years isn’t enough.” Then punched Send.

That was it; that was all I could do.

I trudged back down the terminal, each step hurting more.

Halfway back I found an empty gate area and sat down. I faced the glass wall, not wanting to see the people walking by. It was a shimmering darkness, glimpses of the planes overlaid with the glare of the terminal fluorescents.

I’d saved Nathalie.

I’d lost Cordelia.

I tried to console myself that even if I’d talked to Cordelia it might not have made a difference. And if I’d abandoned Nathalie, she’d be decaying in a ruined house by now.

Off to the side I noticed someone. I wanted to be alone. It was a janitor changing out the trash bag. I ignored her. I couldn’t do small talk right now. If someone so much as commented on the weather to me, I’d bite her head off.

The janitor hastily finished her task and moved off.

I must have looked scary. Dirty, clothes ripped, face bruised.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to be in enough control that I could get up, walk by strangers, and get in my car and drive home. All I managed was to finally tie my shoes.

Which home would I go to?

“Fuck, the one with hot water,” I muttered out loud, looking at the dirt under my fingernails.

But I couldn’t move.

I needed to call Joanne. I looked at my cell phone, but couldn’t even bring myself to dial her. She had called three times. I hadn’t checked it to see how many calls I’d missed while it was left on the ground.

A shape again intruded in my peripheral vision. I ignored it, looking resolutely at the floor.

I heard footsteps. Damn it, I thought, this whole empty airport and someone has to do their wandering near me.

Suddenly the seat next to me was occupied.

I looked up just as she said, “Oh, honey, what happened to you?”

Cordelia. She gently touched the bruise on my face.

“Long story,” I got out. I could barely speak. “I called. You didn’t answer. How did you…?”

“I was talking to Alex. She was trying to convince me to stay longer, when you called. I couldn’t answer, then saw your message. I got off the plane.”

We looked at each other. She brushed dirt out of my hair. She’s here; we were finally together. I wished we could just blot out the last few months, pretend they didn’t exist. But they did.

“You could have talked to me. At least told me you wanted to leave rather than…what happened,” I finally said.

“I didn’t know…that I wanted to leave. I…but it shouldn’t have happened the way it did.” She was silent, but I knew her well enough to know she had more to say. “I was…I guess I was stupid and naive. I…as you know, I didn’t have all that much experience before we got together. With…sex. I could stand outside and think that there are rules and you just follow them.” She gave a sad smile. “Easy to do when…when nothing is tempting you to break them.”

“So why did you break your rules?”

“I guess…I thought, of course, Lauren and I can work together, flirt a bit. She has a partner, I have a partner, nothing can happen. I was flattered at her attention. It was easy to let her tell me I had beautiful eyes, or how smart I was. Or a hug that we held for a long time. I kept telling myself, we can’t really go any further. And I guess I thought she had the same boundaries that I did.

“One day, when we were alone in the office, she turned to me and said, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it,’ and she kissed me. And…suddenly, we were over the boundary and I didn’t know how to get back.” She looked at me for a moment, then continued. “Not then. I pulled away and said we can’t do this. She said okay, she would respect my wishes. And we went home. But the next day she told me she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing me and how much she wanted to do it again.”

“She seduced you.”

Cordelia looked away from me. “Maybe. But…I let myself be seduced. I could have…I should have said we had to stop, not to talk about it, not to bring it up, not to even consider it. But I didn’t.”

“She left the burden of stopping what was happening on you.”

“I…guess.” Cordelia stammered. “Her attention was beguiling and…I didn’t say no.”

“It went beyond kissing? You slept with her?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer, her head down, staring at the floor. Finally, very softly she said, “Yes.” Then, “I’m sorry.” And then, “She said that she thought you and Shannon were sleeping together.”

“We weren’t.” Then I had to add, “At least not then.”

She understood the impact of my words, but her only reply was, “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“This isn’t all your fault. Oh, it’s a lot your fault. But in my past I’ve been Lauren, pushing for sex because I wanted it, knowing how powerful it can be to touch someone that way. I don’t think you’ve ever done anything like that.”

“Until now.”

“Why did you believe her? Why didn’t you ask me if I was sleeping with Shannon?”

“I guess…part of me wanted to believe her. And I didn’t think you’d tell me if you were. I…I’ve assumed that there have been other times.”

“You thought that I’ve…Goddamn it, Cordelia, no! All these years and you still don’t trust me?” I stood up and paced down the row of chairs, then back to her. I put my hand under her chin, lifting her face so she was looking at me. “You want to know the goddamn truth? I’ve never had sex with another woman in all the time we were together!”

“It’s not…not you. It’s me. I’ve seen the looks we get, like why are you with someone who looks like me? I’m too tall, what they politely call big boned, my nose is—”

“Cordelia, you are beautiful. This isn’t even the issue. I’m not with you because I want some goddamned model. How can you not trust me?”

“I trust you, Micky. I trust you in just about every way there is to trust someone. I just never thought…I’d be enough. I guess I thought I was lucky that you only went away for an occasional night, and you always came home to me.”

“So you thought I’d fooled around all these years we’ve been together, and that made it okay for you to, is that it?”

“I…it wasn’t okay. But I guess…I did think that.”

“I’m the bayou rat from the broken family. I thought I was goddamn lucky to get someone like you—kind, smart, decent in a way few people are. Beautiful, if not in the model way, in every way that counted.”

She was crying.

That was the fault line, that neither of us trusted that the other wouldn’t someday find someone better. I thought about it, all those nights when I worked late, at times all night, only coming home after dawn. Some of the clients I’d had, alluring and powerful woman. With regret, I realized that at times I’d been consumed with work, my cases demanding all my time. If a client described some of my behaviors, I’d assume that divorce papers would soon be filed. And most stupidly of all, it never occurred to me that Cordelia needed some reassurance behind “I can’t really talk about my cases” to explain those long nights. I sat back down beside her.

“I learned my lesson,” she said. “When I got out of Charity, I called Lauren. But…I was distressed, babbling about people dying. She was polite, told me she was sorry if things had gotten out of hand and if she’d accidentally created the impression that we were more than just a fling.”

“That bitch,” I said. Then we both looked at each other, catching at the same time the absurdity of me being angry at Lauren for dumping Cordelia in a callous way. “Well, at any rate, I’m glad she showed her true colors before you did something like move up there.”

“I was too much of a coward to call you.”

“So you went through hell by yourself?”

“I deserved it.”

“You deserved about a day of me being vile and angry. And I’d say…I’m over the limit. You didn’t deserve being left to rot in Charity. You didn’t deserve me building a big, angry wall between us that probably was only partly about you and a lot about Katrina and the levees failing and people being left to die on the streets I’ve lived most of my life. Can you forgive me?”

“Micky. Yes, of course. How can I not forgive you? If you’re willing to absolve me?” She put her hand on my neck, under my collar. “Yes, yes, and yes.”

“Prove it.”

“Anything.”

“Wild sex. And doing the dishes for the next month.”

She rubbed my neck, then burst into laughter.

“Oh, and cat litter,” I added.

“You are the only person who can make me laugh at times like this.” She shook her head. An announcement about not accepting packages from strangers blared over the loudspeakers.

“You’ve missed your plane,” I said.

“I can get one first thing in the morning,” she said, then paused as if thinking and said, “Or not go at all.”

I took her hand, my dirty, scratched fingers over hers. “Stay. Please stay.”

She didn’t answer.

I looked at her; she was crying. I tightened my grasp. “Please.” My voice broke.

She lifted my hand, held it against her cheek as she nodded yes.

I wrapped my arms around her. All the other passengers be damned. They could deal with two women holding each other. But it was New Orleans and no one seemed to care.

We held each other for a long time, alternating who got to cry, until my cell phone finally interrupted us.

“I need to answer that,” I said, digging in my jacket pocket.

“Where the hell are you?” Joanne, as I expected, demanded. There were voices in the background; otherwise the “hell” might have been something more appropriate.

“At the airport.”

“Leaving? Don’t you fucking dare.”

“No, picking someone up.”

She was quiet for a beat before asking, “Cordelia?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a breath. “The sooner you can get here, the better.”

“On my way.” I hung up. “Want to go to the police station with me?” I asked Cordelia.

“Does that have anything to do with your bruises and long story?”

“Everything to do with it.”

She kept her arm around me; I needed her support to limp out of the airport.

As we got to the car, I said, “Oh, Cordelia, I love you.” No, the parking garage at the airport wasn’t the most romantic of places. “I…spent a lot of time tonight wanting another chance to say that.”

“You’re okay?” she asked as she helped me into the car, wisely easing me into the passenger seat. She looked at me with concern. From Joanne’s call to my limp, she was obviously beginning to suspect that I’d had a bit more of an adventure than I was letting on.

“Yeah, I’m fine, no blows to the head.”

She didn’t answer immediately, just went around to the driver’s side and got in.

“You could have been killed, right?” she finally asked.

I hedged. “Um…driving in New Orleans can get you killed.” She left a silence, telling me I needed to answer her question. “Yeah, there were some not-nice people. And…a young girl from the Midwest got tangled with them.”

“You saved her instead of coming to see me?” Cordelia asked.

The only answer was the honest one. “Yes. She might have been hurt. Maybe killed.” Definitely killed, but Cordelia was smart enough to know that would have included me as well. “I had…to. I’m sorry.”

She took my face between her hands and looked me directly in the eyes. “I love you. At times like this more than I can say. Don’t apologize for doing the right thing.” Her kiss was soft and gentle, more than words could say.

And then we left the not-so-romantic parking lot for the even less romantic police station.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14