Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

Whether deliberately or subconsciously, Laurel thought Caroline had chosen to eat out here so they would be surrounded by positive affirmations of life and beauty when talk around town all morning had been of death and ugliness. They could sit and feel the breeze sweep under the shade trees and along the gallery, bringing with it the heavy perfume of sweet olive and gardenia. They could listen to the songs of the warblers and buntings and look out on the abundance of life in the garden and try to counterbalance thoughts of death.

"Me, I dunno what dis world comin' to," Mama Pearl grumbled, wagging her head. She dug a good-size chunk of chicken out of her tomato with a ferocious stab of her fork, but she didn't bring it to her mouth. Setting the fork aside, she heaved a sigh and rubbed a plump hand across her lips, as if to push back the words that might have spilled out. As tears rose, her eyes darted to the courtyard and she stared hard at the old stone fountain with its grubby-faced cherubs cavorting around the base.

Caroline toyed with her salad, turning a ring of black olive over and over with the tines of her fork. Her usual air of command seemed dimmed, subdued by the weight of events, but she was still the head of Belle Rivière, their leader, their rock, and she rose to the occasion as best she could. Drawing in a deep breath to fortify herself, she squared her dainty shoulders beneath the soft white chiffon blouse she wore.

"The world has been a violent place since the days of Cain," she said quietly. "It's no worse today. It only seems so because the violence has hit so close to home."

Mama Pearl gave her a sharp look of disapproval and hefted her bulk up from the table, scraping her chair back. "You tell dat to T-Grace Delahoussaye. I gots to check my cake."

Grumbling under her breath, she waddled into the house, her red print cotton shift swishing around her with every step. Caroline watched her go, feeling helpless to do anything to alleviate the grief and worry and anger that had tempers running short and fears running close to the surface of everyone she knew. She turned her gaze to Laurel, who was picking at her chicken salad.

"How are you doing, darlin'?"

"Fine." The answer was automatic. Caroline ignored it and waited patiently for something closer to the truth.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, Laurel set her fork aside and rested her forearms on the cool glass of the tabletop. "I feel stronger than I did," she said, a little amazed by the admission. "But with all the things that have happened… everything I feel myself getting dragged into… A part of me would like very much to run away to a resort someplace where I wouldn't know a soul."

In a gesture of love and an offer of support, Caroline reached across the table and twined her fingers with her niece's. "But you won't."

To leave now, with her word given to the Delahoussayes, with tension between her and Savannah, would be the coward's way out. She couldn't walk away and live with herself. "No, I won't."

Caroline squeezed her hand, her heart brimming with love, with sympathy. "Your father would have been so very proud of you," she said, her voice suddenly husky with emotion. "I'm proud of you."

Laurel couldn't think of a single thing she had done to be proud of, but she didn't say so. She didn't say anything for a minute for fear she would burst into tears. For a long moment she stared off at a particularly beautiful cluster of purple clematis that was twining around one of the gallery pillars, and just hung on to her aunt's hand, savoring the contact and the strength that passed to her from someone who loved her unconditionally.

She suspected a great many people in Bayou Breaux were paying special attention to family today, having been struck aware that loved ones could be snatched away in a heartbeat with feelings left unspoken and dreams never realized. Today, life would seem more precious, more urgent, something to be clung to and relished.

Bringing her emotions back in line, she gently extricated her fingers from Caroline's and reached for the stack of mail she had picked up at the post office on her way to the courthouse. "You've got some interesting-looking letters today," she said, sorting through the stack. She plucked out several fine-quality envelopes, each with a different postmark-Biloxi, New Orleans, Natchez-all of them addressed in flowing, feminine script, one smelling faintly of jasmine.

Caroline accepted them, a soft smile turning her lips as she perched her reading glasses on her slim, upturned nose and scanned the addresses. "How lovely to hear from friends on such a terrible day."

"Old friends from school?" Laurel asked carefully, watching closely as her aunt used a table knife to open the pink one. "Or business?"

"Mmm… just friends."

Laurel chided herself for her curiosity. Caroline's privacy was her own. Of course, Savannah might have just asked her outright.

"I can't believe Savannah is sleeping in so late," she murmured, wondering if today might not be the perfect time to start mending the tears in their relationship. Arguments seemed petty and pointless in the face of death, and life seemed so finite. They could take the rest of the day and drive down to Cypremort Point for bluepoint crabs and a view of the gulf at sunset. They would sit together with the salty breeze on their faces and in their hair, and talk and watch the saw grass sway in the shallows while gulls wheeled overhead. "Do you think I dare wake her up on the pretense of delivering her Visa bill?"

"Hmm? Oh, a-" Caroline glanced up from her letter. " Savannah isn't here, darlin'."

"Where did she go?" Laurel asked, annoyed that the perfect day that had painted itself in her mind was going to be put off. "More to the point, how did she go? I had the car all morning."

"I'm not sure. Perhaps she had a friend pick her up. I couldn't say; I was at the store. Did you have plans?"

"No. It's just that we've been talking about spending some time together. She wanted to do something yesterday, and then Jack showed up."

"She left here in a state yesterday, I do know that," Caroline said, folding back a sheet of pink stationery. "I take it she doesn't approve of your seeing Mr. Boudreaux."

"I don't think Jack is her problem." Concern tugged at the corners of Laurel 's mouth and furrowed her brow. She wrestled for a moment with the thoughts that had been troubling her since Savannah 's blowup, finally deciding they were best shared. "I'm worried about her. She seems so… volatile. Up one minute and down the next. She got into a fight with Annie Gerrard Sunday. A fist fight! Aunt Caroline, I'm frightened for her."

And for myself, she thought, in a small way. The child in Laurel had always depended on Savannah. That child felt lost at the prospect of Savannah 's not being dependable anymore.

Caroline set her letters aside and slipped her reading glasses off, her expression somber. "She was seeing a psychiatrist in Lafayette for a while. I think she might have gotten help there, but she wouldn't stay with it."

Naturally. Just as she never stayed with a job or anything else that might have given her help or a sense of purpose that didn't involve sex. Laurel 's hands fisted on the tabletop, and she wished for something she could hit to let off some of the impotent anger that was building inside her. "She's determined to let the past rule her life, dictate who she is, what she is. We had an awful fight about it the other day. I lost my temper, but it makes me angry to see her throw her life away for something that ended fifteen years ago."

For a moment Caroline said nothing. She sat quietly toying with one of the heavy gold hoops that hung from her ears and let Laurel's statement hang in the air, let it sink in not for her own benefit, but for her niece's.