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He got out quickly and opened the rear door.
"Madame told me it would be awhile," he said, confused.
"Just drive," I screamed. He shrugged but got back into the car and pulled away. Moments later we were back on the highway. I looked back at the dark, murky town. It was as if I had gone in and out of a nightmare.
But when I turned and looked ahead, the reality of what awaited me hit me like a gust of hurricane wind. Daphne would be furious; she would make my life even more miserable. We approached a fork in the road. The arrow on the sign pointed left to indicate the direction of New Orleans, but it also had an arrow pointing right, toward Houma.
"Stop!" I ordered.
"What?" The driver pressed his foot down on the brake and turned around. "What now,
mademoiselle?" he asked.
I hesitated. My whole life seemed to flash by me: Grandmere Catherine waiting for me when I returned from school, running up to her with my pigtails flying, embracing her and trying to tell her as fast as I could about all the things that I had learned and done at school. Paul in a pirogue coming out from a bend and waving to me, and me rushing down to the shore to join him, a picnic lunch under my arms. Grandmere Catherine's last words, my promises, walking off to get on the bus to New Orleans. Arriving at the mansion in the Garden District. Daddy's soft, loving eyes, the excitement in his face when he realized who I was.. All of it rushed by in moments.
I opened the car door.
"Mademoiselle?"
"Just go back to New Orleans, Charles," I told him.
"What?" he said in disbelief.
"Tell Madame Dumas . . . tell her she is finally rid of me," I said, and started walking toward Houma.
Charles waited, confused. But when I disappeared in the darkness, he pulled away and the sleek limousine went on without me, its rear lights growing smaller and smaller until it was completely gone, and I was alone on the highway.
A year before I had left Houma thinking I was going home.
The truth was that right now I was returning to the only home I had ever known.
18
Why Me?
.
The tears streamed down my face faster and
harder as I continued walking through the darkness. Cars and trucks rushed by me, some honking their horns, but I walked on and on until I came to a gas station. It was closed, but there was a telephone booth beside it. I dialed Beau's number and prayed with all my heart that Beau
had talked his family into permitting him to stay in New Orleans. As the phone rang, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and caught my breath. Garton, the Andreas family butler, answered.
"May I speak with Beau, please, Garton?" I said quickly. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but Monsieur Beau is not here," he said.
"Do you know where he is or when he will return?" asked with desperation in my voice.
"He's on his way to the airport, mademoiselle." "Tonight? He's going away tonight?"
"Oui, mademoiselle. I am sorry. Is there a message, mademoiselle?"
"No," I said weakly. "No message. Merci beaucoup, Garton."
I cradled the receiver slowly and let my head fall against the phone. Beau was leaving before we had even had a chance to say goodbye. Why didn't he just run away and come to me? I asked myself but then realized how unreasonable and foolish such an act would have been. What good would it have done for him to give up his family and his future?
I sighed deeply and sat back. The dark clouds that had covered the moon slipped off and the pale white light illuminated the road, making it look like a trail of bones that led into yet deeper darkness. I had made a decision back there, I thought. There was nothing to do now but carry it out. I started to walk again.
The sound of a truck horn blaring behind me spun me around just as the driver of a tractor-trailer slowed it down to a stop. He leaned out the passengerside window and gazed down at me.
