More Than He Can Handle (9 page)

Cleveland would've been content to hold Freddie all night, but after what little she'd told him, he couldn't sleep. She wanted to find her father, but she made it seem as if they were about to embark on a deadly recon mission at the heart of a five alarm fire. Hopefully, he thought as he stared down at her slumbering frame, she'd be more talkative and tell him more about what they were really looking for.

By the time he drifted to sleep, Freddie was waking him up. “Cleveland,” she said. Her voice had a soft sing-song quality. “Get up. We've got to go.”

“What time is it?” he asked through a haze of sleep.

“Time to go. Come on, you've got fifteen minutes and then I'm gone. If you're going to be dragging me down, then I can do this on my own.”

Sitting up, Cleveland noticed that Freddie was wrapped in a plush pink towel and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “How long have you been up?” he asked.

“Long enough to take a shower. We have an hour's drive and I want to try and get out of here before too many partiers wake up and before the parade starts,” she said.

“All right, let me run across the hall and shower. Do you want me to meet you in the lobby?” he asked.

“No, no. The last thing I need is for my staff to see us together. There's no telling what Celeste has already told them. I have strict rules about my employees fraternizing with the guests. If they see you and me leaving together, I'm going to look like the biggest fraud. Meet me in the parking deck near my car, okay,” she said.

“You're not trying to blow me off, are you?”

“I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind,” Freddie said honestly. “But maybe I need some new eyes. I'll be down there in fifteen minutes. Please don't keep me waiting.”

After putting on his clothes, Cleveland dashed across to his room, took a quick shower, and dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. He was ready in less than ten minutes, because in the back of his mind, he figured that Freddie would leave him. But when he reached the parking deck, her car was still there. Five minutes later, so was Freddie.

“Thanks for being on time,” she said.

“I don't like to make people wait when they need me. So, where are we going?”

“Mississippi,” Freddie said as they got in the car. “I think the last place I heard my father was seen was in Pass Christian right after Katrina.”

“Pass what?”

Freddie laughed, “Pass Chris-chee-ann. It's an hour away from here. Robin Roberts from
Good Morning America
is from there. And something drew my father there.”

“Okay, before we get started on the journey, tell me what you expect to find?” Cleveland said.

“Answers. My father isn't a nice guy. He's supposed to be serving a life sentence in Pollock, Louisiana. About seven years ago, he broke out, and before Katrina we were supposed to meet but . . .” Freddie stopped talking. She didn't want to say too much. Then again, there was so much that she didn't know. That's why she had to talk to her father and find out the whole story. Something she would not get in media reports or from her mother. “If I don't find him soon, I may never get the answers I need.”

“Why didn't you meet him before the storm?” Cleveland asked.

“It wasn't safe,” she replied, not getting into specifics. Again she fell silent.

“Freddie?”

“Just help me follow the lead that I have and don't ask too many questions. If what my mother says about him is true, Jacques isn't a nice man anyway. But I need to know that for myself.”

Cleveland leaned back in the supple leather seats of the classic Mustang. “Does your father have family in Pass Christian?”

She shrugged and bit her bottom lip as if she was pondering whether she should tell him the entire story about her father, at least what she knew about him.

Noting her silence, he pressed on. “What's so important about finding your father?”

“Because, I have to know why he left us and let us struggle the way we did. What kind of man does that?” Her voice rose several octaves as she spoke. “Growing up was really hard for us. Half of the town treated us like we were pariahs. If it wasn't for Lillian and her family, there would've been days that my mother, Loraine and I wouldn't have eaten.”

Cleveland nodded. He knew about hard times because after his father died things were hard in the Alexander household. Margaret became the breadwinner and he and Darren had to grow up fast. They didn't give their mother a lot of trouble growing up. But unlike Freddie, they had a support system in place. The men in their father's battalion made sure Cleveland and Darren were taken care of, and they gave them those man speeches that Margaret couldn't provide.

“Why didn't people want to reach out to you and your mom?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” she said. “There are still some neighborhoods in New Orleans where you can't speak my father's name without someone shaking a gris-gris at you.”

“A what?” Cleveland asked.

“A gris-gris is a charm that people believe can bring good luck or ward evil spirits away,” she explained. “I don't believe in it.”

“So, your dad's a bad guy?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know. I feel like he's an asshole for leaving me and my mom the way he did. We had so much debt and that hotel was like an albatross for so many years. But Mom would never sell it.”

“It's a good thing that she didn't. Looks like you've made a go of it.”

Freddie flipped the radio on and Cleveland got the feeling that she didn't want to talk anymore.

 

 

You're doing it again,
Freddie thought as she merged on to Interstate 10.
You're letting someone in and you're going to end up paying for it.

She was wishing that she hadn't told Cleveland anything. She should've left him sleeping in her bed. What was he going to do when he found out that her father could net him a million dollars? Her mind flashed to the last night she and Marcus had spent together. It was two days before the storm and she had talked to her father. They'd planned to meet in the hotel's restaurant before the evacuation. After hanging up with Babineaux, she'd rushed into the bedroom where Marcus was waiting.

Happily, she leapt into his arms. “Guess what! I found him.”

“Found who?” he'd asked.

“My father. He's going to meet me at the hotel in the morning. Then we can get out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

Marcus smiled and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “I'm happy for you. This is what you've wanted, right.”

Freddie nodded. “Thank you so much for helping me find him.”

“Of course. I'd do anything for you, baby.”

Letting him go, she walked seductively to the bathroom. “Well, let me do something for you. I'll be right back.”

Freddie was about to change into a sexy lace nightgown when she heard Marcus walk out of the bedroom.
Where is he going?
she thought as she stepped out of the bathroom. That's when she heard him talking in a hushed tone.

“Yes, at The French Garden Inn. I don't know what time, but his daughter just told me that she was meeting him there in the morning. When do I get my money?”

“Look, I've been with his daughter for the last six months, haven't I told you everything that she knew about him? It's not my fault that your men are slow.”

Freddie burst out of the bedroom. “You slimy bastard. You set me up. You haven't been trying to help me find my father because you care about me!”

Marcus snapped his cell phone shut. “It's not what you think . . .”

Freddie punched him in the face, causing blood to spurt from his nose. “Get the hell out of my house!”

“Look,” he said, “we can split the million.”

She swung at him again, but missed. “You'd better hope that my father doesn't get caught because . . .”

“He's a criminal. I don't know why you want a relationship with him anyway. Everyone in New Orleans knows what he did and if you'd take your blinders off, you'd know that prison is where he belongs.”

Once again, she swung at him and this time she connected with his eye. “Out!”

Marcus stalked out of her house and out of her life.

The next morning, Freddie didn't have a chance to meet with her father. He called her with a warning.

“Chere, I don't think this storm is one to play with. Get out of New Orleans,” he warned.

“Jacques, when am I going to see you so we can talk?”

“After this water blows over, we'll talk. What I have to say has to be face to face. It's not going to be safe in New Orleans, so you get to high ground, okay?”

Sighing, she told her father that she would leave. Hours later, she and Loraine were on their way to Atlanta.

“Freddie!” Cleveland called out, breaking into her thoughts. “Watch that car.”

She slammed the breaks as the car in front of her did the same. Swearing under her breath, she quickly changed lanes.

“Bit of road rage?” he asked with a tense laugh.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you—today.”

Cleveland sneered at her. “You're so funny. Where did you go?”

She ran her free hand over her ponytail. “I was listening to the radio.”

“The toothpaste commercial?”

She sighed and stared straight ahead. “I'm focusing on the road, okay? Open the glove box, the directions to where we're going are in there.”

He opened the glove compartment and blanched when he picked up the map and saw the nine-millimeter handgun underneath it. “What in the hell have you gotten me into?” Cleveland demanded as he picked up the gun.

“Put that down,” she said calmly.

He lowered the gun. “Why do you feel the need to have this? Are you going to kill your father?”

“No! What kind of person do you think I am? That gun is for protection, there have been a lot of robberies in the area and . . . Why am I explaining this to you? You're the one who said you wanted to help me. If you want to back out, then let me know now.”

“That's what you want, isn't it? You want me to leave you high and dry, don't you, so that you can say, he's just like the rest of them?” Cleveland asked.

“Did I say that? Stop projecting your bullshit on me and trying to analyze me,” Freddie said. “Do you have a hero complex or something?”

“Superhero actually,” Cleveland said. “I save lives for a living.”

Rolling her eyes, Freddie struggled not to smile. “You are a firefighter, I forgot. Still, I don't know why you think you know so much about me.”

“I know I don't,” he said. “But I'm willing to learn.”

“Opening up about this is hard for me,” she said. “So, can I trust you?”

Freddie glanced at Cleveland, sizing him up. Was he more trustworthy than Marcus had been? The best thing about Cleveland was that he wasn't from New Orleans and he didn't know who Babineaux was, that meant he wasn't after the money. But what was he going to do when he found out? A million dollars could change everything.

“My father is wanted by the FBI. I just want the truth, and he's the only person I can get it from.”

“Why don't you just ask your mother?”

Her eyebrows shot up in frustration. “Damn, why didn't I think of that?”

“All right, stupid suggestion,” he said. “What if your father is dangerous?”

“If you're scared, just say so,” she snapped.

“Did I say I was scared? I'm just worried about you. If you feel the need to carry a gun to look for him, then maybe . . .”

“My father isn't who I'm worried about,” she said.

“There are some people who would rather not see my father and I meet.” Freddie left out the part about the bounty hunters. Though she'd never used her gun before, if she had to, she would.

“Why's that?”

She shrugged. “That's part of the whole mystery. Why would anyone want to keep a father away from his daughter?”

For the rest of the trip, Cleveland and Freddie rode in silence. Though he wouldn't admit it to her, he couldn't help but wonder if he was in over his head.

Pass Christian looked like a ghost town. A lot of the storm debris was still piled on the streets. White FEMA trailers stood in the place of the destroyed shorefront houses that couldn't withstand Katrina's fury.

Growing up in New Orleans, Freddie always though Pass Christian was a playground for the elite, a place where they docked their yachts and lived in fancy mansions on the beach. They must have thought their money protected them from nature. What Camille didn't teach them, Katrina did, Freddie thought as she looked around the rubble. It was the kids that she felt for the most. Some had lost their parents, some had lost their homes, and all of them lost their schools and libraries. She stopped the car in front of what looked like a diner.

“So, what's the plan?” Cleveland asked as they stepped out of the car.

“I don't know, let's just play it by ear. People around here don't like it when you ask a lot of questions.”

Cleveland nodded. “But you know what, asking questions is just what we need to do. We can say we're looking for someone that fits your father's description if you don't want to mention him by name. You'll get the privilege of pretending to be my wife.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” she said as she closed the car door. As much as she hated to admit it, Cleveland's plan had merit. She reached out and took his hand as they walked into the restaurant.

The chatter stopped instantly when Cleveland and Freddie walked inside. Most of the people there knew each other, they were either residents or long term volunteers.

“Morning,” Cleveland said to a patch of people who kept staring at him.

They mumbled a greeting before returning to drinking their coffee. “Tough group,” Cleveland whispered to Freddie.

“I guess we stand out more than I thought we would,” she said as she tugged gently on one of Cleveland's locs.

“Then why don't we just ask a few questions?” he said as they took a seat in a booth near the rear of the restaurant.

She shrugged. “I guess you're right,” she said. Still, she was afraid that they may ask the wrong person the right question. “The last thing I want to do is put him in danger or be the reason that he's caught,” Freddie admitted. “He's been running for a long time and I'm sure some people would do anything to send him back to prison—not that he doesn't belong there. But he is my father.”

Cleveland focused his intense stare on Freddie. “Why do you think your father is here?” he asked.

“Before Lillian's wedding, I heard my mother say something about Jacques being around and all his presence was going to do is cause problems for us. When I asked her about it, she said if I wanted to find out why he'd returned, that I'd have to do it without her help. Pass Christian has always been one of his favorite places.”

Cleveland furrowed his brows in confusion. “Has your mother said why she doesn't want your father in your life?”

“She's never given me a concrete reason. It's beyond frustrating,” she said.

He shook his head. “I don't mean to sound judgmental, but your mother shouldn't stand in the way of you and your father getting to know each other. Obviously, she thought enough of him to have you.”

“People change, I guess,” she said. “There is no justification for what my mother or my father have done. The least either of them can do is just explain everything to me.”

Cleveland nodded in agreement. “Wow. Even though you're dealing with all of this, you're holding up pretty well.”

“One thing I can say my mother taught me is how to hide my emotions,” she said as she crossed her legs.

Before Cleveland could reply, a red-haired waitress wearing a tight uniform walked over to their table and asked them if they would like to order.

Cleveland ordered coffee, grits and toast. Freddie, who didn't have much of an appetite, ordered just a cup of coffee and raisin toast.

“Excuse me,” Cleveland said, before the waitress walked away. “We're looking for someone, a man that may be volunteering with some of the people working on the reconstruction. Do you know where they meet in the mornings?”

“Usually at the town hall,” she said. “Who are you looking for?”

“A family friend,” Freddie interjected. “He was so moved by what was going on here, that he took off and didn't tell a soul where he was going.”

The woman nodded as if she didn't believe the story Freddie was weaving, but she didn't say a word.

“You're not going to make many friends here,” Cleveland said once the waitress was out of ear shot.

“Who said I was trying to make friends? I just want to find my father and get out of here.”

“What happens when you find him?”

Freddie shrugged. “I just want to talk to him and get the answers that I need.”

“And then what?”

“You agreed to help me find my father, but that doesn't mean that I have to tell you everything that I need from him,” she said.

“That's true, but—”

“You volunteered to help me, I didn't ask for your help. I knew this was a mistake,” Freddie railed.

“Calm down,” Cleveland said. “You're right, I did volunteer, but I didn't know that we were going to be playing cloak and dagger. You have a gun and you haven't been forthcoming with any information.”

“Because it doesn't matter,” Freddie said. “Once we find my father and get back to New Orleans, we're going to go our separate ways.”

“You really think it's going to go down like that? We're not finished, not by a long shot,” he said.

“So, you're not helping me from the kindness of your heart?” Freddie folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes.

“There's something going on between us and as much as you'd like to ignore it, I'm not going to let you.”

“This isn't the time or the place for this discussion,” Freddie said through clenched teeth. “And for the record, there is nothing between us but two incidents that shouldn't have happened.”

“Incidents? So that's what we're calling it now?”

She rolled her eyes and tugged at her ponytail. “Cleveland, don't do this, okay?”

“Do what?” he asked innocently.

“Can we just go now?” she said with a hint of an attitude in her voice.

Cleveland rose to his feet, took enough money out of his wallet to cover their breakfasts and stepped aside so that Freddie could exit the booth.

She stalked out of the restaurant in silence, because the last thing she wanted to do was think about what she and Cleveland had done between the sheets. Everytime she thought about the feel of his lips against hers or the way he felt inside her, she got weak. Weakness was something she couldn't show. Not now, not ever.

Still it felt as if his gray eyes cut through her soul every time he looked at her. Maybe that's why she couldn't eat or look him directly in his eyes at the restaurant. The sooner she found her father, the sooner Cleveland could get back to Atlanta and they would never have to see each other again.

Could she handle that?
Of course I can,
she thought as she slipped into the car.
Cleveland will forget about me as soon as his feet hit the Georgia red clay.
She glanced at him as she drove. If things were different, then maybe she and Cleveland would've had something more than a few rolls in the hay. But he had to understand that she didn't want a relationship with him or anyone else. Not until she knew why her father was running and why he'd abandoned her.

“Are you all right?” Cleveland asked after Freddie started the car.

“I'm fine.”

“Listen, I know this is hard for you. But after you find your father, you're going to have to ask yourself, how am I going to live without Cleveland.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she threw the car in reverse. “What you should ask yourself is, ‘Why am I so stupid that I'd piss off the woman driving, who will leave me in the middle of nowhere.'”

“You'd be back,” he quipped.

“Please shut up,” Freddie snapped. “Do you take anything seriously?”

“I do, but you need to loosen up. You're wound way too tight and you're too young to have a heart attack.”

Freddie pressed the gas pedal down and took off, causing Cleveland to hold on to his seatbelt extra tight.

“I won't say another word as long as you slow down,” he said, shooting a sharp glance at Freddie.

“That was me loosening up,” she said as she slowed the car.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Judging from that crowd, I think that's the town hall up ahead.”

As they approached the town hall, Freddie scanned the crowd looking for her father. Did he look the same as he did when she'd last seen him? Her father had a distinct look, long black wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail, a caramel complexion and a beard like a pirate.

Scanning the crowd, she didn't see him. Freddie felt like a ten-year-old all over again, sitting on the front steps waiting for her dad to show up.

“Why don't you park the car so that we can look around,” Cleveland suggested.

“That's what I was going to do, but you've noticed that they don't take too kindly to strangers around here,” she said.

“Then I guess we need to make friends,” he said once she stopped the car and parked.

Cleveland hopped out the passenger side and headed to the throng of volunteers standing near the entrance of the town hall. Everyone turned and looked at him, immediately sensing that he wasn't one of them.

“Hey,” he said to the crowd. “Who do I need to talk to about volunteering?”

One man stepped up and gave him the once over. “You're not from around here are you?” he asked.

“No. I'm from Atlanta, but my wife and I saw what was still going on here and we want to help,” Cleveland said smoothly.

A red-haired woman, dressed in a pair of denim overalls and a pink baseball cap, pushed the man aside. “Don't pay attention to Earl. We're glad to have you. Come over here so we can sign you and your wife up.”

Cleveland turned around and saw Freddie standing behind him with a fake smile plastered on her face.

“I'm Estelle,” the woman said as she led them to the booth where the volunteers were to sign in.

“Cleveland and this my wife . . .”

“Winfred Babineaux,” Freddie said.

Estelle stopped in her tracks. “Babineaux? Are you from New Orleans?”

Freddie nodded.

“Oh dear, I have to ask you this, you're not related to Jacques Babineaux are you?”

“Has he been here?”

“Not that I know of, thank God. But everyone in the Gulf knows what he did. We don't need your help or that kind of trouble around here.”

“Ma'am,” Cleveland said. “We're not here to start any trouble and we just want to help.”

“What did Babineaux do to make him the pariah of the Gulf Coast?” Freddie asked, her voice desperate.

Estelle motioned for Freddie and Cleveland to step to the side with her. “All my life, I've always heard that the only good Babineaux is a dead Babineaux. Jacques Babineaux is a cursed man for what he did. If I were you, I'd go back to where you came from and I wouldn't tell anyone else that you're a Babineaux.”

“Look, lady,” Freddie said. “If you know something other than conjecture and legend about my father, then tell me.”

“Father?” Estelle said, her eyes widened in disbelief. “Jacques is your father?”

“Yes, and I think he's here.”

“Mon dieu,” Estelle said, pushing her hat back from her forehead. “Wait here.”

Freddie and Cleveland exchanged confused looks. “Let's just go,” Freddie said. “This is just another dead end. I'm sick of this.”

“Wait, maybe Estelle knows more than she's letting on. Why did you tell her that you were his daughter?” Cleveland asked.

“Because I don't do subtle and I'm tired of this bullshit. I want to find this man and get the hell away from here.”
And you,
she added silently. “If my father is here, he's probably . . .”

“Right behind you, darling,” a man said. Freddie and Cleveland turned around. The man that they thought was Earl stood in front of them. “Can't believe you got married, I always hoped I'd be able to give you away.”

Freddie folded her arms across her chest. “I have a hard time believing that.”

Babineaux nodded. “I guess you would. How's your mother?”

“I didn't come all this way for small talk.”

“I imagine not, but this isn't the time or the place.” He nodded toward Cleveland. “Can he be trusted?”

She nodded. “Why don't we go somewhere private,” Freddie suggested as she tossed the car keys to Cleveland. “Will you wait for me?”

Though Cleveland figured Freddie and her father needed privacy to hash out whatever they had to talk about, he didn't want to leave her alone with a purported murderer, father or not.

“Don't have much of a choice, do I?” he asked as he headed for the car.

 

 

Freddie looked at her father; he was truly a master of disguise. He was completely bald, had lost the earring and started wearing a pair of tortoiseshell eyeglasses.

“You look different,” Freddie said.

“That's the plan. After all, people are looking for me,” he said.

“Tell me about it.”

Jacques smiled and opened his arms to her, but Freddie didn't move. “So, you can't give your old man a hug?”