Scaredy Cat (4 page)

The last part of Blake’s statement sounded so desperate that Quinn would’ve promised to carry her if she had to. She got out of the truck, walked around to the passenger’s side, and opened the door. “We’ll walk side by side, I swear.”

And that was exactly what they did. Blake’s hip was glued to Quinn’s so snugly she had no choice but to put an arm around Blake’s waist. Blake bought their tickets for the tour, then burrowed into Quinn again as they walked down a cement path leading toward the old plantation home.

“Stop looking up at the trees and focus on something else, like that big bowl at the junction we’re coming up on. I’ll watch for the birds. Why are you afraid of broccoli?”

“It looks like trees, and that’s where the birds live.”

Quinn hid her smile. “I should’ve already figured that out.”

“My dad claims that I use fear as an excuse to avoid doing things I don’t want to.” Blake was quiet for a moment, then said with a sigh, “He’s right, or at least he was at one time. They pushed me and my sister, Danielle, hard to socialize every time we moved. That came naturally for Dani but not for me. All I wanted to do was stay in my room. I was allowed to do that after I broke my arm. I learned quickly that if I was terrified of something, my mother gave in to me. It became a habit, and as time went by, I built a fortress of fear around me, and now I’m trapped behind walls of my own making. That’s what years of therapy have taught me, but that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to remove the bricks.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you removed a brick today by coming out here.”

“Thanks,” Blake said without much conviction.

Quinn stood guard against the birds while Blake snapped pictures of the lilies inside what looked like a giant metal bowl. They received a few curious glances as Quinn stood pressed against Blake. Quinn found it humorous that those who stared figured them as a lesbian couple. They were lesbians, but not a couple, and the closeness was not affection, but protection from birds, of all things.

It felt good, though. Blake’s hair and skin smelled fresh and clean, her tiny body fit easily in Quinn’s shelter. And yet there was no stirring of desire, which made Quinn wonder if the cold place in her heart had spread like a disease.

Blake stopped taking pictures and lowered her camera. “What is it?” she asked with tension in her voice.

“Nothing, why?”

“You suddenly became very stiff. Is…is a bird near?”

Quinn was compelled to lie and say yes, rather than explain what was going through her mind. Her silence unnerved Blake, who tried to climb into the water-filled bowl to escape whatever was behind them. “What’re you doing?” Quinn exclaimed as she grabbed her around the waist. Blake’s grip on the bowl was like iron, and she was trying to get a foot in as Quinn wrestled her.

“It’s a bird! It’s a bird!” Blake screamed as she writhed in Quinn’s arms.

Passersby stopped walking and stared at the two. One little girl pointed and said, “Momma, she’s gonna throw that lady in the bowl.”

“I’m not.” Quinn continued to try to restrain Blake.

“There’s a bird in the bowl?” a woman asked as she walked over and looked in. “It’ll drown, someone get it out.”

“Blake! Stop it!” Quinn ground out as she managed to pin Blake’s arms to her sides. “There’s no bird close by, and even if there was, it’s in Kentucky by now after you scared the shit out of it.” Quinn’s face turned dark red as she gazed back at the puzzled expressions on the faces that surrounded them. “It was a misunderstanding, folks. There’s no drowning bird.” She lifted Blake’s feet off the ground and carried her over to a bench where she forced her to sit. “You’ve got people thinking you’re insane,” she rasped.

“I saw your reflection in the water. Your face was like stone, and your eyes were huge.” Blake pulled her feet up onto the bench. “Oh, God, was it a snake?”

“I was daydreaming,” Quinn exclaimed in exasperation.

“You’re supposed to be vigilant!”

Quinn bent down so that she was eye to eye with Blake. “I was glued to your ass. Nothing was going to get to you without going through me first.” Quinn stood up straight and released a heavy sigh. “Why don’t we skip touring the grounds and check out the inside of the house?”

Blake ran a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “Just let me catch my breath.” Nearby, a bird squawked loudly. “Okay, I’m good,” she said as she jumped up and nearly wrapped herself around Quinn.

“I can’t walk with you on the front of me. You’re gonna have to let me go.”

Blake moved to her side but kept a firm grip on Quinn’s arm. They walked quickly toward the house, but upon arrival were told they’d have to wait on the back patio for the tour to begin. Quinn found a chair and stuffed Blake into it while she hovered over her like a tent away from the others.

“Better now?” Quinn asked, trying to keep agitation from her tone.

“A little.”

“What energy do you feel now?”

“Anxiety.”

“No, don’t you feel the history? Can’t you see women in hoop skirts with parasols on this patio?”

“I see one now,” Blake said.

“That’s it, just let that creative mind wander.”

“No, really.” Blake pointed.

Quinn looked up, and a woman in full antebellum dress stood on the portico. She raised her voice slightly as she addressed the group. “I’m Patricia Scrantz, and I’ll be your tour guide this fine morning. Welcome to Oak Alley Plantation, built in…”

Quinn felt Blake’s fingers dig into her arms. She saw the reason for the tension as it hopped across the manicured lawns seemingly headed straight for them. “That’s just a little ol’ squirrel, it’s… Oh, God!”

Members of the tour group turned when the screaming started. Quinn’s voice rose above Blake’s as Blake climbed her like the squirrel did the tree behind them. She lost her footing and dropped to all fours with Blake hanging around her neck.

“Are you serious?” Quinn bellowed as Blake’s heels dug into her lower back.

Blake’s face was inches from hers. “It’s on me! It’s on me! I can feel it tearing at my back.”

“That’s a rose bush!”

Quinn felt someone pulling her up. Two men had come to their rescue. As she rose, so did Blake, who was still attached to the front of her body like a starfish.

“What happened?” one of the guys asked.

“I…uh…I tripped,” Quinn stammered. “Thank you both for the help, we truly appreciate it.” When Quinn and Blake were alone again, Quinn grabbed Blake by the arm. “You have got to get a grip. Have you seen anyone else out here attacked by birds or squirrels?”

Blake looked remorseful as her chest heaved. “I’m sorry. I get kind of excited when something scares me.”

“That’s an understatement.” Quinn grabbed Blake by the hand and dragged her into the house where they became the tail end of the tour. She’d preached to herself about being open-minded, but one breast was hanging out of her bra, and her good intentions were seriously waning.

“I’m sorry.”

Quinn was still breathing heavy as she discreetly tried to get herself back into the bra. More hair was out of her ponytail than in. She wanted the tour to be over, Blake back in her house, and the sight of it in her rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry,” Blake said again lowly. “I truly want to walk down the street like everyone else and not be afraid of who or what is going to swoop down, bite my leg, or knife me in the back.”

“Maybe you should start writing children’s books, make your characters fluffy bunnies with no teeth. I think what you spend most of your time concentrating on fortifies the fortress you mentally live in.”

Blake shrugged. “They say you write what you know. Fear and I have an intimate relationship.”

“You need some joy in your life, Blake.” Quinn smoothed back her hair and redid her ponytail. “This place looks huge on the outside but kinda small on the inside.”

“That’s because you’re ten feet tall.”

“I’m only five-ten.”

“You look like a basketball player from down here. I feel small.”

“You are. I can see the top of your head. Black isn’t your natural color, is it?”

Blake ran her fingers through it. “No, it’s medium brown. Cassidy says I look more menacing with it black.”

“Your agent needs to let you be you.”

They took quick peeks into the rooms on the lower floor, then waited as some of the group stopped on the stairs to take pictures. Quinn found it dull. Rooms filled with old furniture from a bygone era held no appeal, especially the era the plantation home showcased.

When they arrived upstairs, one of the women in the group asked the tour guide if she’d ever seen a ghost, to which she replied with a smile, “I’ve seen shadows. Others have claimed to have seen some of the slaves on the grounds.”

Quinn and Blake hung back as the others looked into the rooms from the doorways. “Do you feel anything?” Quinn asked as she looked around.

“I’m not a sensitive or an empath, but this place seems sad to me, probably because of the history.”

They looked into the bedrooms as the group walked out onto the balcony. Just outside the door, a woman asked a friend, “Do you suppose that some of the slaves were happy here?”

Quinn looked at Blake and spoke softly. “I believe the answer to that question is no. Human beings were snatched from their home, sold like cattle, and made to wait hand and foot on someone else. That had to be emotionally debilitating. Their feelings and opinions insignificant in the eyes of their masters, no matter how well a slave owner treated them. The degradation, I’m sure, was intolerable.” Quinn looked out the door, and her gaze scanned the grounds below. “I feel the sadness, too. I find it hard to see the beauty of this place because of the history. It’s also a misconception that all Southerners are racist.”

“I’m aware of that. It’s everywhere, not just here.” Blake stepped out onto the balcony and kept her back to the wall. “It’s an act of choice that we all have to make. I choose to see everyone as a human being, and in all of us, there’s good and bad. That comes from being looked down upon by others who disapprove of who I am. Discrimination has shaped my personal choices. Don’t you just get mad at the expectation that we should live up to someone else’s standard or we’re less of a human?”

“Furious,” Quinn said with a nod as she stepped outside. She noticed how Blake was hugging the wall. “Are you afraid of heights?”

Blake winced. “A little, and a bird could send me over the railing.”

Quinn folded her arms. “Did you ever go anywhere else besides your apartment in New York?”

Blake looked away, her silence made the answer clear.

“How did you ever manage to have a relationship with anyone?”

“That’s a personal question.”

“You pulled one boob out of my bra back there and smashed the other. Your legs have been wrapped around me twice. I think we’ve gotten really personal. Before I take you anywhere else, I need to know
all
the things you’re afraid of.”

Blake sighed. “The dark, dogs, cats, anything that makes sudden movement, loud noise, cooked fish with the head still—”

“So everything,” Quinn said as she raised a hand.

“Look, I moved out of my comfort zone. I’m out here with birds and rabid squirrels,” Blake said as she clenched her fists. “I’ve made some big strides recently, and it hasn’t been easy. Do you have any idea how degrading it is to know that Cassidy had to pay someone to spend time with me?”

“Wait, she’s paying me to show you around, not to be your buddy.” Quinn bit her tongue when she noticed pain flash through Blake’s eyes before she looked away. It seemed Quinn’s heart still had a few soft spots left. “My friendship is lagniappe. I’ll help you break out of the jail you’re in, but I have to warn you. You need to get used to being out of that comfort zone.”

“What does lagniappe mean? I’ve never heard that word before,” Blake asked dully.

“It means something extra. My friendship can’t be bought, and if I’m gonna be your friend, then I can’t sit back and watch you hide your life away. So if you want to hang out with me, you start with a mint julep.”

Chapter 7

Blake swallowed as Quinn put her finger on the bottom of the cup and tipped it upward. She turned her face away and inhaled a gulp of air. “That’s so sweet and strong. It’s making me sweat more than I already am.”

“Drink half the glass, and you’ll be grabbing the birds out of the trees.”

Blake tried to hand the drink back. “I don’t want to touch them.”

“Take the edge off, Blake, imbibe a little.” Quinn waved it off. “I’m told the food at the restaurant here is pretty good. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t like restaurants. Too many people too close.”

“Are you ready to go home, or is there something else you want to see?”

“I’d kinda like to see a graveyard where the crypts are above the ground.” Blake thought she noted a look of disappointment in Quinn’s eyes for a second. “I don’t want to go to New Orleans, though. I hear tourists get mugged in the cemeteries there a lot. We don’t really even have to get out of the truck, just a quick drive-through.”

“I know of one between here and Cypress. Drink half of that julep, and I’ll take you there.”

“My nose already feels like it’s vibrating.” Blake put her fingers on it to see if it actually was.

Quinn smiled. “But are you relaxed?”

“I think I can walk back to the truck without holding your hand.”

Quinn gestured toward the path. “Go right ahead, I’ll be a few steps behind. This is liberation lesson one.”

The parking lot was a good distance away; Blake could just make out the top of the red truck. She downed more of the drink and grimaced as she wiped her mouth. “Am I already walking?”

Quinn shook her head as she took the cup and dropped it into a trash can. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Blake took a few steps, hesitated, and forged on without looking back. Instead of the birds, she focused on walking what she hoped was a straight line. The effects of the alcohol made everything seem surreal, like a dream where nothing could really hurt her.

“What’s your middle name, Blake Taylor?” Quinn asked as she followed.

“Angelique, and my first name is really Blakelyn.”

“Your initials spell bat, that’s kinda funny.”

Blake rolled her eyes. “And you’re the sober one. What’s your middle name?”

There was a long pause, then Quinn said with obvious disdain, “Iris.”

Blake was glad Quinn couldn’t see her face because it was all she could do not to laugh.

“Don’t disrespect my grandmother whom I was named after by laughing.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Blake said with a grin.

“Your legs look twelve inches long. How do you find jeans that fit?”

“I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to distract me.”

Quinn laughed. “No, I’m not, they’re really short.”

“Thanks, I had no clue.” Blake stepped up her pace as her feet hit the gravel in the parking lot, but before she could reach the handle on the door of Quinn’s truck, Quinn grabbed it first and opened it.

“You did really good,” she said with a smile as Blake climbed in. “Now you get a reward.”

“Why do they call them po-boys?” Blake asked as she unwrapped a sandwich that dripped with gravy.

Quinn shrugged as they sat on the tailgate of her truck on a dirt road just outside the gates of a cemetery. “I’ve heard everything from they were considered a poor man’s sandwich because they were made from scraps to a pair of brothers who fed streetcar workers on strike because the strikers were poor boys. This is going to be very messy. Don’t even try to be proper.” Quinn bit into the sandwich; gravy ran down her fingers and dripped onto her shorts.

Two bites in, and Blake had gravy down the front of her shirt and on her jeans. It was delicious. The French bread was saturated with the gravy, and cheese, pickles, lettuce, and tomato added to the flavor. Blake decided it was certainly worth the mess. She gave up on trying to manage the napkin and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

“This area is below sea level, and that’s why the crypts are on top of the ground, right?”

Quinn nodded as she continued to eat.

“Are all the graveyards in Louisiana like this?”

“No, not all, just the ones in the low-lying areas.”

“Here’s a tidbit you may already know,” Blake said before she took a sip of her soda. “Almost all graves face east.”

Quinn set her sandwich on the wrapper and tried to clean her hands somewhat before grabbing an onion ring from the box between them. “I didn’t know that. Why?”

“Some cultures worshipped the sun and buried their dead to face it as it rose in the east each day. The Christian religion believes in doing it because Christ will return in the east, according to interpretation of Scripture.”

Quinn waved a hand. “So all of those people out there are facing us and watching us eat these sloppy sandwiches. Had I known that, I would’ve used my napkin more often and not wiped my hands on my shorts. I think I’m going to save the other half of my po-boy for dinner.” She laughed when she looked at Blake. “You have gravy all over your chin.”

“I know, I’m a mess.” Blake scrubbed her hands with a napkin, then wiped her face on her sleeve. “It was scrumptious, though. I’ll save mine, too, and maybe eat the rest of it tonight.”

They wrapped up the food and put it back into the bag, then Blake pulled out her camera and began taking photos from where she stood beside the truck. Quinn watched her for a moment, then said, “You’re not going in because there are trees with birds, are you?”

“Yes, and there are dead people in there, and that creepy statue in the middle just weirds me out.”

“There are bodies, mostly dust and bones, and cement crypts, not people.” Quinn walked toward the gate. “Lesson two, Blake Taylor, braving the graveyard.”

“I think one lesson a day is sufficient,” Blake said under her breath as she looked into the trees and slowly followed.

Quinn walked through the gate, strode over to a crypt, and stretched out on it.

“What’re you doing?” Blake asked aghast.

“Lunch made me sleepy.” Quinn tucked her hands behind her head. “I’m contemplating a nap.”

“Oh, that’s so disrespectful.” Blake stepped in and looked at the grave marker. “Eugenia Billingsly is going to be very upset with you.”

“I’m sure Gina doesn’t care in the least. If I were to be buried, and for the record I don’t want to be, I’d want people to picnic on my crypt as long as they picked up the trash.”

Blake snapped a picture of Quinn. “You want to be cremated?”

“Yes, but my sister has a hissy every time I mention it. Frankly, I think it’s a macabre thing to lay out a dead person’s body for everyone to look at. With today’s technology, there’s no reason to sit up with the dead, so to speak. We know they’re dead for sure, and if they weren’t, they’d surely be after the embalming. No, cremate me and pour my ashes into the Mississippi. I’ll make it to the Gulf eventually. I don’t want a service.”

“Why?”

“At my dad’s funeral, everyone talked about him like he was a saint. I guess they wanted to give him a positive send-off.” Quinn crossed one foot over her ankle and stared up at the sky. “The truth was that Dad was a hard man to live with when we were young. He worked hard, played hard, and when he was home with us, he was tired and grumpy. My memories of him as a kid were of him yelling at us all the time. It wasn’t until he got up in age that he mellowed and was nice to be around. He sat me and my siblings down individually and apologized for the way he was when we were growing up, and in his later years, he tried very hard to make it up to us.” Quinn sat up. “He wasn’t perfect, and that’s what I thought people should know. Do you know what I mean?”

Blake pursed her lips. “It bothered you that people thought he was?”

“Not in the way you’re probably thinking. Dad made mistakes, and he realized it, then he tried to make it right. I think that’s better than people believing that you were perfect. We all screw up, but it takes guts to admit that you’re wrong and even more to do something about it. I wanted people to know that my dad was that type of man, but at the funeral, I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t speak without the floodgates opening. He wasn’t perfect, but what he did for me and my sister and brother was.” Quinn cleared her throat and laughed softly. “I don’t know why I got off on that tangent. I guess it’s because he’s buried over there.” She pointed to one of the newer-looking grave markers. “Mom will be beside him soon.”

Wrapped up in what Quinn was saying, Blake sat down on a crypt, unaware of what she was doing. “I’m sorry for your loss. Am I keeping you from spending time with your mother?”

“No,” Quinn said with a shake of her head. “She is…we don’t see eye to eye. She doesn’t approve of me anymore. I’m not what she wanted. Do your folks have a problem with your sexuality?”

“No, my sister and I are both lesbians. Dani came out first, and I suppose paved the way for me. I’m sure they were a bit disappointed at first because they wanted grandchildren and thought they wouldn’t have any. But Dani and her partner, Susan, have two kids, both boys. They live in Connecticut, and my parents get to see them often.”

“That’s nice, I’m happy for you,” Quinn said with sincerity. “I’m sure Cedric Weaver is thoroughly enjoying that you’re sitting on his chest.”

What Quinn said didn’t immediately register, then it hit. Blake sprang up off the crypt. “I’m so sorry, Cedric!”

Quinn hopped up, laughing hysterically. “Let me get you home before you have a heart attack.”

“Wait,” Blake said as she followed Quinn to the gate. “Don’t you want to visit your father’s grave?”

“He’s not here,” Quinn said as she continued on. “The best part of him is always with me.”

*******

Quinn pulled into the driveway and looked at Blake. “I meant to ask the other day, why don’t you drive? Are you afraid?”

“There was never any reason. I’ve always lived in places that didn’t necessitate having a car, and of course, you know now that I didn’t get out that much.”

Quinn put the truck in park but didn’t kill the engine. “Did you ever go on book tours and stuff like that?”

Blake released a sigh as the traumatic memories swept through her mind. “I did when my first few books came out. I found it very overwhelming, and Cassidy had to give me Valium just to make it through the signings. I tried to do a reading once but got so ill that she told everyone that I’d lost my voice, and she actually read in my place. I was just very fortunate that she got my fifth book into the hands of a movie producer. My popularity soared after that, and my publisher stopped pressuring me as much to do social engagements. Cassidy schedules photo sessions often and maintains my website and all of my media networking sites on the Net. That’s the extent of my exposure now. I just need to produce.”

“Go do it,” Quinn said with a smile. “Walk to that door alone, step inside, and write something that will scare the shit out of me.”

Blake smiled weakly. “I’ll try. Next lesson, right? Walk to the door past the bird.”

Quinn nodded. “If it makes a move, I’ll be out of this truck in a heartbeat. I have to work tomorrow, but I’ll come by when I get off to check on you. If there’s an emergency,” she said as she fished a card from her console, “call this number.”

Blake took it and stuffed it into the bag on her lap. “Thanks for today.” Blake didn’t give herself any time to debate. She threw open the door and walked as fast as she could to the porch, unlocked the door, and rushed inside. She gave Quinn a thumbs-up from behind the window. But when she turned around, the world seemed to shift.

Her first instinct was to grab for the bottle of pills she’d been prescribed. She dropped the bag, refusing to give in. “I’m okay,” she repeated, hoping to believe it. “This is home for a while…I have to get out.” Blake began grabbing as much as she could. Night would be there soon, and she’d be trapped. With her bag, a screwdriver, and a spool of string, she rushed onto the porch. “I can’t do this, either.” Everything dropped from her hands as she turned and ran back inside. She opened the door and grabbed the bag. Blake clutched it to her chest as she rocked back and forth. “I hate the night. I hate the dark. Right now, I hate me.”