Late on a purple-sky afternoon.
On a day like this one, Emma Lachance almost remembered
why she used to think Pointe Judah was the only place she
would ever want to call home.
The sun wasn't quite down yet, but frogs already set up a
gruff ruckus, and night-scented blooms began to waft musky
sweetness on humid air.
She ran hard, harder than she needed to. Anger and hurt
could drive you like that, send you pounding over the
treacherous, partly finished sidewalks and gravel streets
of The Willows, an abandoned retirement development.
Concentrating on not turning an ankle helped keep her
focused on the anger.
Emma needed to be angry.
Emma had a husband to divorce. "You're stupid. And you're
getting fat. I'm going to run for governor, remember? I
intend to win. You'd better make sure you don't embarrass
me, so get hold of yourself," Orville had told her less
than an hour earlier, right before he left for
another "important" evening appointment, which she could
expect to keep him out most of the night.
Orville Lachance, mayor of Pointe Judah, Arcadia Parish,
Louisiana, wanted — no, expected — his wife to take
whatever insults he threw at her in private and keep
smiling her adoration on him in public. She had stopped
trying to talk to him when he arrived home in the early
hours to slide into bed as if he was being thoughtful by
not waking her.
Emma didn't sleep much anymore — something to do with the
enemy beside her.
He frightened her, a deep, sickening fear. From the first
time he'd let her see him in a violent rage, Emma knew her
husband could be a dangerous man. With every smashing blow
to a television or pile of dishes, the hate in his face
suggested he would much rather beat her. In the coming
weeks she must proceed carefully, gather evidence against
him without making him suspicious. The mayor who would be
governor would not quietly allow a scandal to interfere
with his ambitions.
Squinting into the setting sun, Emma took the next right,
downhill, and slowed to a jog. Her cheeks flushed, and the
light, burning white from pale concrete turned the way
ahead into a blinding landscape of shifting colors. Dark
glasses were useless.
An engine, running rough, approached from behind, and an
ancient Cadillac sailed slowly past. Emma doubted it had
any shocks left at all. The white car continued on,
weaving slightly, and since she could barely see the heads
of the couple up front she figured them to be older.
Probably wandered in for a look, thinking the retirement
community was up and running.
Whoever came up with the idea and the money to start this
development had not done their homework. The closest place
to go, Pointe Judah, was a small bayou town that looked
the same today as it had when Emma had been growing up.
Getting from here to a city with a major downtown or an
airport took too long for people with time on their hands
and families to visit.
For a few moments she jogged in place, hopped from one
foot to the other, shaded her eyes with a hand. Creepers
snaked from overgrown lots onto the sidewalk. She ran the
route at least once a week, because other people didn't go
there.
A ways ahead a blue Honey Bucket stood in the road. The
portable latrine hadn't been there before, so maybe they
were going to start building again. With vines crawling up
their frames and patches of purple, orange and white
bougainvillea thrusting through open roof timbers, shells
of houses in various stages of construction looked like
greenhouses turned inside out.
Another runner approached her, taking the incline with an
easy, loping stride. A man. A big, powerful man. Emma
could tell that but nothing more, and she hesitated in the
act of starting off in his direction. If she turned
abruptly and dashed back the way she'd come, he would
think she was running away from him.
She would be.
Regardless of which way she went, he could catch her if he
wanted to.
Emma carried on, her pulse ringing in her ears and her
lungs barely expanding. She responded to the man's "Hello"
with one of her own. She didn't look at him when they
passed one another.
Could Orville have found out she'd come here? Had he
guessed her plans to leave him and decided she should die
at some crazy stranger's hands rather than cause the mayor
any inconvenience?
Now there was a paranoid thought.
The woman Finn Duhon had just passed could be Emma Balou,
but it was a long shot. The Emma Balou he remembered from
high school, the brainy, shy girl who never noticed how
much time he spent looking at her, had been tall like the
woman runner, and honey blond. That was where most of the
obvious similarities ended, leaving him with only a
feeling to go on. He guessed Emma Balou, who had been thin
in that notyet-grown way, could have matured into the
shapely runner.
He shouldn't look back, but he was only a human; in fact,
he was really human. Finn turned and ran backward,
grateful the sun had sunk lower. In a white tank top and
shorts, the woman kept going. There surely was something
familiar about her. She had obviously overcome any
curiosity she had about him — probably because he hadn't
interested her in the first place.
The woman tried to look back at him without breaking
stride.
Finn stood still and felt more pleased than he should.
Evidently he'd had some effect on her after all.
The lack of female company in his life showed. Time was
when he hadn't been standoffish around women, or
suspicious of their motives for being interested in him.
There were good reasons for the change in him.
Emma stopped running. She turned slowly and stared uphill.
He'd stopped, too, and shaded his eyes to stare down on
her. He walked slowly back toward her. The impulse to run
away, shrieking, passed blessedly quickly. The man had
stopped because he thought he knew her, just as she
thought she knew him.
Walking this time, she retraced her steps until they stood
a few yards apart. She took off her glasses, found the
handkerchief she carried in a back pocket and wiped her
face thoroughly. Then she rubbed the long bangs that hung
wet around her eyes and down the sides of her face.
"Hey," he said. "Emma Balou, is that you?" He swiped a
forearm across his brow and ran his fingers through short
black hair.
The only people who wouldn't know she was Mrs. La-chance
would be people who no longer lived in town, people who
had moved away before she married Orville twelve years
earlier.
The stranger's grin couldn't be missed, a big, white smile
in a tanned face. They drew closer, and her hand went to
her mouth. "Finn Duhon? Well, I'll be...Finn Duhon, it is
you? I thought you were still in the marines."
"Army. Not anymore," he said and now she could see that
his eyes were just as sharply hazel as they ever had
been.A good-looking boy had grown into an arresting man.
More than that, really. In his face she saw the look of a
man who had seen too much for too long. His body testified
to hard physical training.
"You were in Special Ops? I think that's what they call
it." He nodded. "Yep, that's it. What's been goin'on with
you?" A gust of hot breeze caught the door of the Honey
Bucket. It rattled and creaked.
With her hands on her hips, she bent slightly and looked
at her well-worn running shoes. "Not a whole lot. I went
to Tulane but decided not to stay on after my second year.
I've got a shop at the old Oakdale Mansion. It's called
Poke Around." She laughed. "Sandra, the woman who works
with me, came up with that because we have a pretty
eclectic stock. And folks do come in because they're not
sure what to expect. The shop keeps me busy."
But it didn't keep her happy, Finn decided. Sadness, or
tension, hung around her eyes and mouth. He saw a wedding
ring. So why hadn't she said she was married?
He would like to tell her she was a beautiful woman but
most likely she wouldn't understand his — usually —
uncomplicated appreciation for lovely females. "My mother
left me her house," he said. "I decided to come back and
see if this was somewhere I could settle down."
"Of course." She turned pink. "Mrs. Duhon passed recently.
I wasn't thinkin'. I'm so sorry for your loss. She was a
sweet lady."
"That she was. And smart." He remembered his mother's
face. "I never met a more determined woman, even when her
life must have felt ruined."
Emma nodded, and the trouble in her expression wasn't
faked. "I remember," she said.
She was remembering the circumstances of his father's
death — just months before his mother's — and Finn didn't
intend to get into that now. "Thank you for askin'. How
are your folks?"
"Where are they?" would be a better question. I think
they're real well, but they're off in one of those RVs,
drivin' all over the country and Canada. Who would have
thought the town doctor and his schoolteacher wife would
fall in love with drivin' from one RV park to the next? My
dad says there's nuthin'like the smell of bacon
cookin'outside in the mornin'. The two of them like to sit
in their lawn chairs and soak up the scenery."
"Sounds good to me." He meant each word.
Emma looked into the distance. "Aren't you going back into
stocks...somethin' to do with stocks? I remember hear-in'
you shocked your folks when you left your business in New
York to go in the service."
"I was a stock-trader coach." A successful one, only it
had come too easy, been too lucrative, surrounded him with
too many people who wanted what he had. "No, ma'am, I'm
not goin' back to that, either. Sometimes you've just got
to cut loose and find a new way. Could be I'm comin' close
to find-in' it, too."
Emma met his eyes directly, but he felt she'd moved away
from their conversation. Her lips parted, and she frowned.
He expected her to say something, but she shook her head
instead.
"Are you happy, Emma?" He had no right to ask, but he
wanted to know.
"Is anyone?" She gave an openly bitter laugh and pushed
damp hair back. It had started to curl, and he recalled
she'd had curls in high school, lots of curls. The
ponytail she wore was as honey blond as he remembered from
school. And if anything, her blue eyes were more vivid.
Why not jump in with both feet? "You just startin'your
run, or would you like to get a drink or some coffee
somewhere in town?You could catch me up on the local
action and be doin' an old acquaintance a favor." It was
up to her to say yes or no, or that she was married. "I
expect you've got a car with you."
"No car. I like long runs."
The old Caddy that passed him on his way up slowly
retraced its route.
"These folks must be lost," Finn said. The car crawled,
going slower and slower as it approached. "I guess we must
be the most interesting thing they've seen around here."
He laughed.
Emma grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The car took a
too-wide arc and came straight for them. Correcting just
in time, the driver, who peered out through thick glasses,
glanced his front fender off the Honey Bucket, setting it
rocking. Then he speeded up, slowed down again, and
gradually climbed the hill.
"That's dangerous," Emma said, watching the car. "I think
I'd like to get some coffee and catch up. You and I
weren't exactly part of any in-crowd, so we can look at
things from the outside, in, if you know what I mean. But
I can't be long."
"Good enough. I drove here. My truck's close." The
latrine, still swaying a little, snapped open.
The top of a woman's head burst into view, swung forward,
revealing a naked back. Light-colored hair matted with
something dark. The woman kept falling in slow motion, her
shoulder caught against the inside of the latrine.
Emma choked down a scream and started forward.
Automatically, Finn said, "Get back, Emma. I'll see to
this." She didn't move a muscle or avert her eyes — or
scream. She gulped air through her mouth and turned chalky
white.
"Call 911," he told her. "Don't touch anythin'."
He closed in. The angle of the dying sun hit the inside of
the fiberglass door and the woman's lard-white skin. The
pitch-dark interior of the latrine didn't reveal the rest
of what had to be a horror picture.
"I don't have a phone," Emma said in a too-breathy voice.
She ignored his instructions and stood beside him. "We
have to see what's happened."
"What you don't see, you don't have to remember. Please
step back. Take my phone." He slid it from his waist and
gave it to her.