Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series) Page 3

  “Attitude? From you? I expect that from Camilla or one of your cousins, but you?”

  The demure, compliant teenager Momma sent off to college years before had grown up. Unlike her siblings and cousins, she had never rebelled. Ever. She always did all that was expected of her. Including caving about going out-of-state for college. That scholarship she gave up had been a huge source of pride. It was awarded because of her work, not because of her family name or due to family influence. But Momma insisted that she had to keep with tradition and attend college in state.

  In truth, the disappointment that shrouded her life came when she ended her engagement to Steven. She was still learning to live with embarrassment and humiliation. If she wanted to feel different, only she had the ability to change her life. And that’s what she was trying to do.

  Yet, as far as her parents were concerned, her recent departure meant she’d said to hell with rules, and order, and decades of tradition. But that wasn’t true. She took the role of Keeper seriously. She’d worked hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations of an estate manager. But she wasn’t her mother, and she didn’t just love planning weddings. They were a necessary evil that brought in extra revenue to support the estate, which belonged to all of them, though the future care of it rested with her. Beneath her façade of self-confidence, she feared the weight of the entire family’s future on her shoulders.

  She feared failure.

  After all, she’d chosen poorly when accepting a proposal of marriage. Ending the engagement brought embarrassment to her entire family. Though folks in Bayou Petite had touted her wedding as the event of the decade, that wasn’t reason enough to marry misery. Wanting to spare her loved ones the pain of her humiliation, she had told no one, not Momma or even Biloxi, the reason she’d called it quits with Mr. Steven Sterling.

  His betrayal had dumped chaos into her life and rocked the very core of her self-confidence. Would she ever trust herself to lead at Fleur de Lis? Would she ever trust a man again?

  “Forgive me, Momma. My schedule is backwards from what the family’s accustomed to. Is Camilla coming home?” She didn’t wait for an answer. It didn’t matter. She’d forgiven her sister, but wasn’t ready for a face-to-face encounter. Camilla’s lack of sisterly loyalty hurt more than she’d ever imagined. It went beyond words. Like a bell, Camilla’s actions couldn’t be unrung. “I’ll be home for the Fourth July and Christmas, but I can’t make it for Memorial weekend, and unless a miracle happens, you can’t count on me for Thanksgiving. Hopefully, next year will be different. Be that as it may, how may I help now?” She pulled food from the grocery bags, setting the items on the counter.

  “Design the flyers. I’ll get them printed here.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Two years, Branna. The clock is already ticking down.”

  There was an unmistakable hint of glee in her mother’s voice. “We agreed on two years for your...sabbatical from home. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” She clicked the “end” button on the phone, but before she could put it down, it rang again. “What now?”

  “Hmm. I’m guessing you’ve been talking with your mother?”

  Branna sighed. “Biloxi, you and your ESP. She’s trying the guilt-trip of the century. Are you going home for Memorial weekend?”

  “No. These days, I’m lucky to make it to the big thing—Mardi Gras.”

  “So, what’s up with you?”

  “The wall of secrecy about your sister seems to be growing. Are you going to tell me what happened? Where is Camilla? I need to talk with her and can’t locate her.”

  She paused. Though she usually confided in her cousin, she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words.

  “Hello?”

  “Camilla is fine,” she answered brightly.

  “Don’t give me that sing-songy-sales-person voice. I want the truth.”

  “Have you talked to Momma about this?”

  “Aunt Macy’s her own PR department with a spin on everything. She offers glibness in place of substance or truth. Always a smile and a perky mood. I know my Aunt Macy, and she’s covering up something. What gives? I want to talk to my other female Lind cousin.”

  “Momma received a postcard from Camilla just before I moved. She’s in Cody, Wyoming working for the summer. I think at a diner.”

  “Camilla? A diner?” Biloxi laughed hard.

  “Momma’s got the address. Seems Camilla somehow lost her cell phone.”

  “But Branna, why is she in no-man’s-land Cody, Wyoming?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that’s where she ran out of gas and money.” Or maybe Camilla thought she was far enough away that she could hide from her conscience? She wouldn’t know for sure until she’d actually talked with her younger sister about her latest disappearing act. For the last six months, Camilla hadn’t answered her calls.

  “Did something happen between the two of you?”

  “We never had a fight.” Thankfully, those words had the added benefit of being true. She might not tell her cousin everything, but she never lied either.

  “God! Talkin’ to you is like pulling hen’s teeth. When I get this figured out, you’ll fess up.”

  “Nothing to fess-up to. If Camilla’s got a problem with me, you need to go to the source. That would be her. But you can tell her to call me if you find her. Any photo contracts that might take you up that way?”

  “No. I’m headed to Tokyo, then Holland for photo shoots. Are all families as complicated as ours?”

  That made Branna smile. “Darlin’, we’re not complicated. We’re normal. I’ve got to run to work—Lord, I love saying that—so when you find my sister, tell her to come home and stop breaking Momma’s heart.”

  She hung up and finished arranging the newly purchased items in the pantry. She’d never grocery shopped for just one before. They always fed an army at Fleur de Lis. Her first grocery run in Lakeview, and she’d bought the smallest size or quantity of flour, sugar, and other staples. The assembled items looked like accessories for a dollhouse, petite and cute.

  A peek out the kitchen window brought her attention to the sun. Or lack of it. A few moments ago, the sun blazed. Shadows that once stretched across the lawn had disappeared.

  Typical Florida afternoon. Sun. Rain. Sauna.

  An hour later, after changing clothes and checking her makeup for the third time—no telling who she might meet at the bookstore—she headed for the college.

  Gray clouds hung low in the sky, so low that in the distance, the clouds appeared to blanket the ground. Dust and debris twirled in gusts of thick moist air that buffeted against her car. She drove past flickering streetlights, thankfully wrapped in the comfort of her Volvo’s air conditioning.

  The sky continued to darken and the bank of clouds followed her eastbound.

  The wind suddenly stopped, as if to catch its breath, then whipped up again harder. She jumped in her seat when a deep rumbling bass shook the Volvo’s windows. Had thunder really rattled the fillings in her teeth?

  She shuddered, and then counted, “One. Two. Three. Four.”

  Four miles? The wall of darkening clouds seemed closer. Lightning’s long skeletal fingers could strike from miles away. That’s what she feared most. People died every year due to lightning strikes, and after all, Florida was the lightning capital of the United States. The college would be a safe harbor to ride out the storm—if she managed to make it to the door before it started to pour.

  She stopped behind a car at the red light on Highway 90 and gripped the steering wheel. “Change. Change,” she shouted over the music of her favorite classical Bach CD. “Change! Darn it!”

  The signal light flickered to green. Immediately after the car ahead moved forward, she made a right turn. She watched the clouds lumber across the sky as she drove past tall loblolly pines swaying in the quickening wind. If one fell, it would block the road leading to the community college.

  “Almost there.” She readjus
ted her tight grip on the steering wheel and resisted the urge to floor the gas and fly along the straight-of-way. She’d been warned on her visits to the college that sometimes the local police set up radar traps to catch unsuspecting speeders—college students were the primary goal, but they didn’t discriminate if they caught a faculty member or two every now and then. It had been suggested to her that since the police bulletin in Sunday’s paper listed names of speeders, faculty members might want avoid their names in print. Not the best impression for students.

  She’d never been ticketed in her life, but with the storm bearing down, maybe it was worth the risk today.

  On her right, only yards away, the town’s airport runway ended perpendicular to the road. The oversized airstrip allowed commercial jets, cargo carriers, and even military aircraft to land. She’d read that tidbit on the internet when doing research to familiarize herself with Lakeview. In contrast to the small number of only five thousand city residents, the runway was a behemoth. And it made her tense each time she drove past it on the exposed stretch of road.

  Watching her speed carefully, she recalled her second visit to the college. A huge gray, military-cargo plane had rumbled down the tarmac. Black wheels turned with dizzying ferocity. The engine roared as the plane picked up speed. They were on a direct collision course.

  Cargo plane verses Volvo—no contest.

  She had slammed on her brakes. Just before she panicked completely, the gray hulk gained lift, cleared the road and trees like a prehistoric bird taking flight. She’d bet money the pilot had a good laugh. He probably saw fear in her eyes and thought she peed her pants. He’d be half-right.

  Today, thankfully, no plane was in sight.

  “Finally!”

  Before her, the gates to the college stood open. A large, carved stone sign welcomed everyone to Lakeview Community College. The spotlights on the sign flickered on as she passed. Could she outrun the storm? With no one else on the road, she floored it. She had a better chance of talking herself out of a ticket with a college security officer than with the local police.

  A deep rumble shook the earth. With her tires throwing gravel, she spun into the Student Union parking lot. She grabbed her stuff and hoped to beat the on-coming deluge.

  Her purse and tote bounced against her back as she sprinted to the building. Halfway there, fat drops started to fall.

  Splat.

  Cold rain stung her bare arms. When she made it to the canopy covering the building’s back door, her clothes were mostly wet.

  “Nothing like a summer baptism,” she grumbled as she rummaged through her tote looking for a package tissues. No such luck.

  She pushed wet hair behind her ears, and then slapped wetness off her arms. How had she forgotten to put an umbrella in her car?

  When she opened the door to the Student Union, cold air hit her. Not only didn’t she have an umbrella, she was sweater-less. The building was cold enough to refrigerate beef. Damp all over, she’d probably freeze.

  She shivered from the cold, but excitement, too.

  Her dream had turned to reality.

  The first job she’d landed all on her own. The next step on her new journey waited down the long hall.

  With a determined stride, she walked. Or was she floating? She had a right to be proud. After the last six months of hiding, trying to protect her family from scandal, and drowning in self-doubt, this was the opportunity she wanted to define herself, her life, with no influences from any of her family.

  A smile tugged at her mouth. It was a gold-star day when President Westcott had called and offered her the job. If she hadn’t met him, based on their phone call alone, she’d be worried that he was weird. After all, whoever said, “On the horns of a dilemma?”

  She rolled her eyes remembering the strange exchange, but she was all too familiar with small-town dealings where business was done because somebody knew someone related to somebody else. This job was even more special because she’d done it all on her own.

  Her destination waited down the hall. Florescent lights cast a greenish tint on the white cinder-block walls and speckled linoleum floor. Inside the bookstore, a strategically placed sign on a worn counter by the cash register announced, “Back in fifteen-minutes.”

  That gave her time to wander around with no one to intrude on the sacredness of the moment. Tingling excitement made her giddy. The same kind of giddiness as the first time she hooked her seatbelt for her first ever rollercoaster ride on the Scream Machine at Six Flags over New Orleans.

  She quickly located the section that housed the textbooks for her class. An identifying sign listed her name and the course number.

  “I’ve done it. I’ve really done it,” she whispered as she stroked the cover of the book. Textbooks for her first official job as a college instructor. She was a full-fledged faculty member. Savoring the success, she committed each detail to memory.

  Voices drew her attention. Two people entered the bookstore. She leaned to look between the bookshelves. A young woman stood behind the counter, she guessed her to be a student—a colorful one. Blond hair tipped with pink and green made the young woman look like a flower blossom, even in the gray-on-gray camo shirt. On the other side of the counter, a man tapped a pen, re-enforcing a point in their conversation.

  She couldn’t help but overhear their chatter about their weekend plans. Hers—a party at Dub’s on Saturday night before classes started on Monday. His—a date with a new massage therapist in town.

  “Hello,” Branna called. It was bad manners to eavesdrop. Making her presence known was the polite thing to do. “I’m looking for an umbrella.”

  “You’re gonna need one in this weather.” The man walked in her direction. His sneakers squeaked against the linoleum. “Though with wind, not even an umbrella will keep you dry.”

  “Maybe I need to buy a tarp?” she asked.

  “Or just ride out the storm in here,” he said. He stopped beside her and glanced at her name on the shelf.

  “Branna Lind? Did I get that right?”

  “Yes, that’s me.” She smiled and noticed his nametag. Brian Murphy. Bookstore Manager.

  “Checkin’ out the supply?”

  Something about his tone made her feel like a school kid getting caught doing something naughty. Warmth flushed her face. She hated when she blushed. “I wanted to see the books on the shelves.” She shrugged. Was she acting like a college freshman rather than a new faculty member?

  “Are you comin’ to the potluck Friday evening? Mrs. Westcott usually does a nice job of it. We’re a friendly bunch.”

  “Yes. Looking forward to it.” Her voice sounded far calmer than she felt. Meet the entire faculty at President Westcott’s home? Nerves clamped down on her giddiness.

  The. Entire. Faculty.

  She waited when Brian stayed glued to the spot beside her as if he intended to say something more. When he didn’t continue, she dropped her gaze to avoid his stare, observing his golf shirt with the college’s logo.

  “Well...is there...anything I need to know about, for the pot luck?” she finally asked.

  “Oh, let see. Lots of stuff. But I don’t want to frighten you off. We’re happy to have you join our ranks. You’re not the only first-timer here...” his voice trailed off. She followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of Dr. Brown, the Vice President, walking through the door.

  “The umbrellas are over there.” He pointed to where one wall of tinted glass met another to form a corner.

  “Excuse me, please?” Brian turned and went to greet Dr. Brown.

  She made her way to the corner and watched the storm raging outside. Would it rain like this before the Westcott’s party? If so, what would she wear? She feared meeting so many people in a short amount of time. Face after face with names she’d want to remember. It couldn’t be worse than being a human mannequin at a shop on Canal Street in New Orleans, could it?

  Would she finally meet the faculty member Dr. Brown assigned to m
entor her? The evasive Dr. Newbern clearly had a busy schedule. He was a “no-show” at the luncheon. Would he consider his mentoring duties akin to babysitting?

  She pictured an older man in a tweed jacket with suede patches on the elbows. Dr. Brown hadn’t said much about her mentor, except that he was very qualified, a student favorite, and very trustworthy. With that recommendation, she vowed to keep any interaction with the man strictly professional and necessary. No wasting his time. She was a quick study when she enjoyed her work. Maybe one day, Dr. Brown would make similar glowing remarks about her.

  Nearby, a rack of blue-denim shirts with the school’s logo on the front pocket stood ready for the on-slot of students arriving on Monday. Maybe one of those shirts would work with black jeans. Picking one up, she laid it across her arm. Where did Brian say she would find umbrellas?

  “Hi. Brian sent me over. Do you need help?”

  The young woman’s pink and green-tipped hair fascinated Branna. Self-expression had always been discouraged by her mother. “Respectable” was the family hallmark for the Keeper.

  “Thanks, I’m good. I’ll hunt around while I’m waiting for the storm to rain itself out.”

  “Cool. But the umbrellas are over here.” The young woman walked to a spot and pointed down.

  Branna discovered the umbrellas tucked beside a tall bookcase. The selection ranged in size from long golf ones to the micro version, small enough to fit inside a backpack. Just the size she wanted. “This one will do.”

  “I’ll carry it up front, and it’ll be waiting for you. Give me the shirt, too. Take your time. I don’t have anything else to do. Happy to help.”

  “Thank you.”

  Branna paused by a shelf of folded cotton-knit jackets. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers. Softness. Setting her purse down, she unzipped the garment and tried it on.

  Ah...warm.

  Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She would wear it home.

  She picked up her purse and glanced outside at the Commons, the park-like area bordered by the college’s buildings. On the opposite end from the bookstore was the parking lot, though due to the darkness and deluge, it remained invisible. Safe and protected inside the store, she watched the ferocity of the storm. Streetlights around campus glowed eerily, though it was only afternoon.