Читать книгу Return To Love - Betsy St. Amant - Страница 11

Carter flopped down on the sofa and propped booted feet on the coffee table. His friend and college roommate, Andy Stewart, handed him a Dr. Pepper before claiming the La-Z-Boy. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Carter opened the can and took a quick sip, the fizz bubbling in his throat on the way down.

“So what’s up, man? You that nervous about performing for the kids?” Andy jacked the handle on the recliner, and the footrest popped into place.

“Not really. Your youth group at L’Eglise de Grace can’t be worse than the crowds I’ve played before.” Carter shook his head with a grin. “And if they are, we have a whole new problem on our hands, Pastor.”

Andy laughed. “Hey, I’ve done what I can with them. But they’re still teenagers—so no promises.”

“Hopefully they won’t throw rotten vegetables.”

Dr. Pepper spewed from Andy’s lips. He sat up straight and wiped his chin with his hand. “People have actually done that?”

“Well, not veggies. But a drunk guy threw a shoe once.”

“No wonder you retired.”

Retired, quit. Was it the same? Not really, but Andy knew the details, knew that Carter’s faith was what led him to leave the stage lights and his band far behind. If not for his friend’s guidance, he would have put down his guitar permanently, but Andy convinced him to try singing in churches instead of in clubs.

Nothing had been quite the same since.

“If you aren’t nervous about performing Thursday night at my church, then what gives? And don’t pull the jet-lag card on me—you only drove about five hours to get here.”

“I ran into someone today I wasn’t expecting.” Carter took another gulp from his soda can. “It didn’t go so well.” To put it mildly. He waited at the aquarium for Gracie until closing time, when he was politely asked to leave by a security guard who needed to lock up. Gracie had successfully avoided him after the penguin’s showing—not that he really blamed her.

“Must have been a woman.” Andy’s eyes darkened with understanding as he leaned forward to rest his drink on the coffee table. “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Sort of.” He and Gracie had never dated, thanks to him. But if he could go back…

Carter couldn’t sit anymore, not with the weight of the past pressing against his shoulders. He stood and moved to the window in the living room, shoving aside the curtain to look down onto the road below. A streetcar stopped at the corner and passengers filed out—a tall brunette in a long, camel-colored jacket, a potbellied man in overalls, a teen boy with spiked hair and a studded dog collar. The rest of the patrons followed behind, adjusting their jackets and purses, some talking, others holding hands. A few walked with their heads down, arms crossed, as if the city or maybe the world itself were out to get them.

He recognized that stance. Carter rested his shoulder against the wall, eyes fixed on the fading golden sunlight spilling over the streets. He knew how it felt to hide, to grow tired of the mask. He walked around with his own arms crossed in a protective gesture for most of his life—the result of a fishbowl existence, lost within the murky waters of his father’s church. People thought they saw everything, but they only saw what they wanted. Never the truth.

The streetcar moved away from the corner and continued down the block, out of his line of vision. He let the curtain fall and turned back to Andy.

His friend studied him with narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure if I should offer to pray with you or give you the remote control.”

Carter snorted and sat back on the couch. “Now I know you pity me. You never shared the remote in college.”

“You were hardly there, anyway.” Andy’s eyebrow quirked. “Day or night.”

“Don’t remind me,” Carter groaned. “The life of a rockstar.” His guitar, propped in the corner of the room near the fireplace hearth, caught his eye and he winced at the memories. How many screaming fans and busted strings and bright lights had it seen? Too many to count—though those days were all but over. Church crowds didn’t react quite the same way to his music.

“Sacrifices are never simple.” Andy nodded. “You had a big one to make.”

“Funny thing is I don’t miss it.”

“Not even a little?”

Carter shrugged. “Maybe a little.” He’d been lead singer of Cajun Friday for years. He never would have thought a high school band could have lasted so long and gained so much popularity in college and beyond. But if he was serious about honoring God with his life, he was more than willing to start from scratch and do things right this time, do something big and meaningful with his future as his parents always hoped he might—even if his dad wasn’t around to see it happen now. Bitterness clogged his throat and he coughed.

“I can’t wait to hear you play again.” Andy edged the recliner back a notch and stretched out. “Those kids wear me out, but they’re pretty awesome. Some of them have come in off the street with the hardest hearts you can imagine, and done complete one-eighties.”

“I’ll bet.” The description sounded like Carter himself not too many years ago. “I hope I’m able to reach them.”

“I’m sure you will. Don’t sweat it.” Andy pointed toward the ceiling. “That’s His job, right?”

“Right.”

Silence stretched across the room, save for the ticking of the coffee mug shaped clock on the living room wall. Could Andy tell he was still thinking about Gracie? Carter shifted on the couch, not sure whether to bring up the past on his first evening in New Orleans or let it ride for now. He pressed his lips together.

Andy made the decision for him. “Okay, I’ll take one guess and then leave you alone. Is this about Blue Eyes?”

Carter’s breath caught. His nickname for Gracie in high school, after that wide, naively alluring gaze—not practiced, as most of the women who kept him company—and the inspiration behind one of his band’s hit songs. If she wanted nothing to do with Carter now, that was her choice, and an understandable one—a few years ago, he would have felt the same. But the swells of pride and stubbornness had washed him away from what his heart knew to be right, tugging him further out to the sea of bitterness and denial. How could he have been so blind to what was right before his face for literally a decade? But he’d ridden that circular method of thinking for years now, with no more clarity than before.

He needed to answer Andy’s question, though he was sure by then his friend could read the truth on his face. “Yes.”

“Then here you go, man.” Andy tossed the remote at Carter from across the room. “That’s all you had to say.”

On Wednesday morning, Gracie poised her pencil over the paper in front of her, wrote a figure, then erased it. She grimaced. It was no use. Regardless of what she scribbled in the margins, the money simply wasn’t there. The gala budget was already stretched to the max, and she had yet to fund the decorations.

You have to spend money to make money. The words of her boss, curator of birds Michael Dupree, echoed in her mind from last week’s meeting. That might be true, but she couldn’t create something from nothing.

Gracie kneaded her forehead with her knuckles. The framed picture on her desk of Ernie and Huey caught her eye and she grinned in spite of her circumstances. They were waddling toward the camera, chests puffed out and beaks open as if smiling. “Guys, remind me why I volunteered to head this fund-raiser again?”

But the photo was evidence enough in itself. She was doing this for the penguins upstate who wouldn’t have a home come March. The Louisiana Aquarium, after struggling to recover financially from the results of Hurricane Katrina, would be shutting its doors in the spring. Because the other aquariums in the state were at full capacity, the Aquarium of the Americas was the only possible solution for the little birds that would soon be homeless.

If she could raise the money. The board of advisors firmly stated they were willing to expand the current exhibit if the funds were provided. It wasn’t in the yearly budget otherwise—not after their own financial hit from the storms.

Gracie tapped her pencil on the sheet before her. She would have to call in some favors unless she could move money from another category. But most of what she needed had already been purchased, or required a set amount she couldn’t budge. For instance, the caterer and the band. If she was better at begging, she might play up the charity angle and attempt to get a price cut from either—but at the moment, she simply didn’t have that much moxie.

She sighed. Two weeks ago, before the budget was finalized, she felt prepared, capable and ready to take it all on. Then she started receiving quotes from the seemingly endless list of vendors necessary to pull off the gala, and her hopes dwindled almost as fast as the cash in the temporary account.

“I’ve got to make this work.” The penguins in the picture didn’t respond.

Gracie rolled back in her chair and closed her eyes. Not only was the destiny of a group of innocent birds counting on her, but in a way, she felt pressure even from beyond the grave. Carter’s father—Reverend Alexander—was the one who had secured her job at the aquarium. The penguin exhibit had been one of his favorite places in America—hence his generous annual donations. She had fought to have this new wing named in his honor. If she failed the penguins now, she failed Carter’s father—the one man in her life who’d been a constant. He deserved better than that, especially after the way Carter had treated him. She had to figure something out.

The office door opened and Lori flopped into the chair across from Gracie’s desk. She tossed her a rubber penguin keychain. “Here, we got a new shipment. From the blue cloud gathering outside your office, I thought you might need cheering up.”

“Am I that obvious?” Gracie squeezed the belly of the penguin. A light shone from its open beak and she laughed.

Lori crossed her legs. “So it’s not going so great, huh?”

“It was going great until I realized our money ran out and we still need decoration funding, not to mention extra advertising dollars.” Gracie rested her elbows on the desk. “What kind of Christmas gala is it going to be if no one hears about it, and there’s all this great food and entertainment in a completely bare, boring room? We want to wow the people so that they’ll donate money to fund the new exhibit.”

“What if I did it?”

“Did what?”

“Decorate! You know I went to design school for a few years. I majored in creating on a low budget.” Lori winked.

“Did you minor in creating on no budget?”

“Hey, in college—same difference.”

Gracie squinted, trying to envision the possibilities. Maybe her friend was on to something.

“My stepmother loves this aquarium. I bet she’d donate a bunch of poinsettias for the cause, and I can go to the dollar store and load up on lights and ornaments for a tree.” Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And you know those wreaths in our attic I usually hang on the windows at Christmas? I can let you use them for the gala instead.”

“That might actually work.” Hope sprung for the first time in hours.

Lori tossed back her long hair and tilted her nose toward the ceiling. “Of course. I’m a genius.”

Gracie’s cell phone rang next to a stack of papers on the desk. She flipped the cover, still smiling at her friend’s generosity, and said hello.

“Ms. Broussard?”

“This is she.” Gracie didn’t recognize the voice. She picked up a pencil and grabbed a pad of sticky notes in case it was fund-raiser-related.

“This is John Stevens with the Creole Boys band.”

“Yes?” A knot stuck in Gracie’s throat, but she tried to think positively. John could be calling to confirm the dates or—

“I’m afraid I have some bad news about your event.”

Gracie clenched the pencil with suddenly sweaty fingers. “Oh?”

“The Creole Boys are going to have to cancel.”

Gracie rubbed her bare arms against the cool fall breeze blowing off the river. Late autumn had officially arrived in all its glory, scattering golden leaves across her path and casting dusky shadows under storefront awnings.

After Lori finished her closing duties at the gift store, they decided to share a bowl of gumbo at Gumbo Shop before heading to their townhouse. They could brainstorm what to do about the gala over a steaming bowl of sausage and rice. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.

Lori tugged down the long sleeves of her uniform shirt. “Whew! It’s getting chilly.”

“You’ll warm up after a few bites.” The hanging wooden sign of the famous restaurant swung into view. Gracie quickened her pace and breathed in the spicy aroma hovering outside the door. A few more steps, and she’d be inhaling the best gumbo this side of the Mississippi. She reached for the handle, her stomach growling in anticipation.

A deep, familiar laugh penetrated the air.

Grace’s fingers slipped off the door and she stared unseeing down the street. The bustling city sidewalks, the resonance of wind and boots scuffling leaves faded until only one sound reached her ears. Her back straightened and she drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Did you hear that?”

“What? Your stomach growl?” Lori reached for the door of the restaurant.

“No.” Gracie shoved the door shut and pulled Lori to one side. “That laugh.”

Lori frowned. “I hear people laughing all the time. It’s a common expression of pleasure or enjoyment. You should try it more—”

“It’s Carter.” Gracie slumped against the wall by the door. The husky, unique chuckle sounded again from the corner, and she knew without looking he must be a part of the crowd gathered around the performing street mime. His voice wrapped around her soul, pressing forbidden memories into the cracked pieces yet to heal. She’d missed that laugh.

Lori’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

Oh, she was sure. Her heart knew his voice—the same voice that serenaded the ripples in the Black Bayou Lake, that sang reassurances when they were ten years old and snuck out to watch a meteor shower and got lost on the way home. The same laugh that echoed across the dirty lake water while splashing waves in her face. No, she wouldn’t forget it—couldn’t. She nodded once.

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Are you crazy?” Gracie stared at Lori in shock. “I don’t want to talk to him.” Yet some morbid, curious piece of her did.

“He’s famous around this area, Gracie. You’ve gotta admit that’s pretty cool, jerk or not.” Lori craned her head to peer up the street at the patrons gathered around the clown.

Bitterness crept back into the hollow places and Gracie’s fists clenched at her sides. It was always about Carter and his music, never about anything else. Never about his family—the way he hurt them with his rebellion and didn’t care. The way he broke his poor father’s heart by leaving town and never looking back. Never about his schoolwork and responsibilities, never about getting good grades for college, never about the church and the youth group.

Never about her.

His laugh sounded again, rising above the other chuckles in the crowd, and it sounded closer this time. Panic pounded in equal rhythm with her pulse. She couldn’t sit inside the Gumbo Shop now, couldn’t spoon rice from a bowl knowing Carter was mere feet away.

“Let’s just say a quick hello.” Lori tugged at Gracie’s arm. “I want to see the man who’s had you all stirred up for a decade.”

“Seven years.”

“Whatever.” Lori pulled, and Gracie’s feet reacted against her will, following her friend down the cracked sidewalk and up the street to the corner of Royal and Saint Peter—her traitorous heart only an anxious beat behind.

Carter joined in the crowd applauding the mime’s antics, then reached for his wallet and dropped a dollar bill into the box at the clown’s feet. “Great show!”

The mime bowed in his direction and pretended to swipe tears of appreciation from his painted cheeks.

Andy laughed. “See, I told you this was better than reruns on TV.” He elbowed Carter’s arm.

“I never doubted you, man.”

“I really like supporting the entertainment around here. We haven’t had nearly as many acts since Hurricane Katrina.”

“I would imagine not.” Carter moved aside for another couple to drop a handful of change into the box, briefly wondering how much money the mime made on an average day performing. Was he a flood victim? Surely this wasn’t his only job.

It reminded Carter he had a lot to be thankful for—the money he’d saved from his touring days and album releases guaranteed financial security for the next several years, if he was smart. Then he could work a side job and live comfortably while figuring out which path he was to take with his music ministry—while attempting to right the myriad wrongs in his life.

And better yet, not having to touch the inheritance money his father left behind. He didn’t want any money from his father—ever.

Ignoring the tightening in his stomach, Carter turned away from the crowd. “So what’s this about New Orleans cuisine? Are you guys all talk down here?”

Andy puffed out his chest. “Hey, we don’t joke about food in this city. You want some jambalaya? The Gumbo Shop is just around the bend.”

“Lead the way. My stomach will follow.”

Carter moved behind Andy, and a flash of red on the corner caught his eye, hovering under the elaborate ironwork balcony on Royal Street. He blinked, then stared. It was Gracie, standing beside a tall brunette, both of them leaning against the window of an antique gallery and looking right at him.

Gracie ducked behind Lori and turned to face the La-Branche House, heart pounding as she pretended to study the lacy iron scrollwork dripping off the three stories above her head. “Did he see me?”

“Probably. Just go talk to him, for old times’ sake. You know you want to introduce me.”

Oh, right. Gracie allowed Lori to pull her across the corner. Trusted new best friend, meet my backstabbing old best friend. They drew closer and Gracie’s pulse leaped at the sight of Carter’s unruly curls falling across his forehead. It brought another rush of forgotten memories and she paused, nearly yanking Lori backward. “You know, I’d really rather prefer a big bowl of gumbo. I’ll even pay.” She tried to tug her arm out of Lori’s grasp but her friend squeezed tighter.

“No, ma’am. We’re almost there. Then you’ll thank me for getting you past this nightmare.”

More like forcing her through it. Gracie took a shuddering breath and crossed the remaining feet of concrete separating her from her past. A light breeze wafted her hair across her eyes and she tossed her head to free the strands, not wanting to see Carter up close but unable to quell the urge—or Lori’s purposeful march.

Carter looked up as they neared. “Gracie.” Warmth filled his eyes and a nervous shiver inched down her spine. “Hey. Wow, you look great.”

So did he, but that was beyond the point. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, her back rigid. “Hi.”

They stared at each other.

A man walking ahead of Carter stopped and turned around. Gracie gasped. “Andy?” The street suddenly seemed much, much too small. “You know Carter?”

“Pastor Andy!” Lori beamed. “Small world, huh?”

“Carter and I were roommates at LSU.” Andy shoved his hands in his pockets and looked from Carter to Gracie, a knowing grin lighting his features. “And I guess you’re Blue—”

Carter stepped forward, bumping Andy with his shoulder. He stretched out his hand toward Lori. “Carter Alexander.”

“Lori Perkins, Gracie’s roommate and friend from work.” They shook hands.

“Well, isn’t this cozy.” Andy smiled. “We were just about to grab some gumbo. You ladies want to join us?”

“Sure.” Lori beamed.

“No, thanks,” Gracie said at the same time.

Gracie exchanged looks with Lori, hoping her friend would catch the hint in her glare, but she instead turned to Carter with an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “So I hear you visited the aquarium yesterday.”

Gracie sucked in her breath. Now Carter would know she had been talking about him. She tucked her hair behind her ears and risked a glance at his reaction.

Surprise crossed his face, followed by…amusement? He nodded once, his shoulders relaxing. “I did.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Gracie wished it wouldn’t be immature to kick Lori in the shin.

“Yes, actually.” Carter’s eyes left Lori’s and collided with Gracie’s. “Beautiful sights.”

Andy snorted, then coughed loudly into his fist.

The heat in Gracie’s face morphed into an inferno, and she wished the sidewalk would swallow her whole—her flaming cheeks, blotchy neck and shaky hands in one big gulp.

Lori pulled in her bottom lip, but a smile poked around the edges of her mouth. “I’m glad you thought so.”

Andy gestured toward Lori and Gracie. “These ladies here have been volunteers with our youth group for over a year now. They’ve been a big help.”

“I’m sure.” Carter smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His mind was on something else—Gracie remembered that zoned-out look he’d get before starting a conversation he wished he didn’t have to have. She searched for a way out, a way to backpedal into a new topic. Her mind went blank. Breathe, Gracie. It’s almost over. She’d somehow survive this encounter-that-should-never-have-been and record the entire brutal ordeal in her journal.

Then promptly burn the pages.

Carter cleared his throat, emotion dimming his eyes. “Gracie, it’s been so long, I really—”

“Like we said, we were just heading to dinner.” Gracie quickly gestured over her shoulder. She was being rude, but she couldn’t bear to listen to whatever he had been about to say. Her heart fluttered faster than the humming birds outside her mom’s old garden. “So I guess we’ll see you at church tomorrow night, Andy.”

“Sounds great. Carter will be there, too, playing for the youth.”

Lori’s mouth opened. “I didn’t realize you were this month’s entertainment! I can’t wait to hear you play.”

“Thanks.” Carter smiled, but his disappointed gaze stayed on Gracie’s, searching, seeking—what? Acceptance? Forgiveness?

She flexed sweaty palms at her sides. “It was nice, uh…nice seeing you.”

“You, too—and nice meeting you, Lori. I hope to visit the aquarium again.” He edged back a step.

“How long are you in town?” Lori squinted up at Carter against the fading evening sun.

He shrugged. “Not sure. Why do you ask?”

“Gracie is hosting a fund-raising event at the end of next month. A big Christmas gala, to raise money for a penguin expansion project at the aquarium.” Lori shook off the hand Gracie laid on her arm. “You should come. It’s for a great cause.”

Gracie’s cheeks continued to burn. What was Lori up to? The fund-raiser was none of Carter’s business. Irritation settled in her stomach, replacing her Cajun-food craving.

“Like I said, I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.” He glanced at Gracie, then back at Lori. A slight grin tipped the corners of his mouth. “But I imagine ’bout as long as it takes.”

“Perfect.” Lori tossed back her long hair. “Then you should still be here for the dedication. It’d be great for you to cut the ribbon in honor of your father.”

“My father?” The smile faded from Carter’s face and his eyes darted to Gracie in alarm.

Her heart skipped, then thudded hard against her chest. This wasn’t exactly the way she had planned on telling Carter about the new wing being named after the reverend. In fact, she hadn’t planned on telling him at all. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Did he have to ruin everything that was important to her?

Lori glanced back and forth between Gracie and Carter’s narrowed eyes as if following a tennis match. “I hope that wasn’t a surprise.”

Carter shook his head, but the light remained extinguished from his expression. “It’s not a problem.” The frown between his brows suggested otherwise.

Gracie tugged on Lori’s sleeve. “We better go eat before all the tables are gone.” The restaurant wouldn’t be booming on a weeknight, but she couldn’t look at Carter a second longer.

Lori followed Gracie’s pull and stumbled after her down the street. “See you guys later!”

Gracie tightened her grip on Lori’s shirt and forced a smile at the men standing in their wake.

Not if she could help it.