Want (7 page)

“Holy crap, R.J. They’ll flip! Oh, let me guess, you met a cute upperclassman sorority chick and you’re both going to major in English so you can write poetry together under the full moon?”

“Shut up, you douche! I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Oh. Right. Continue.” The repercussions of his decision are huge. The men in our family have been lawyers since Le Sieur de Bienville landed on the Gulf Coast in 1699.

He clears his throat. “
Anyway
, I can’t do the pre-law thing. I know Daddy wants me to join the firm in a couple of years, but I’d rather stick my face in a paper shredder. I’ve switched to pre-med. I want to study psychology and psychiatry. I want to figure out what’s going on with Mama and why we’re so screwed up. I don’t want to be like Daddy and bury my head in the sand, you know?”

I nod, still not sure if I’m on board.

“I mean, what if I have kids and they have problems, too?
Or your kids?
Don’t
wanna
be mean, but we both know you’ve got problems. I want to fix this. And I want to help others. I know Mama and Daddy will be pissed, but I think it’s still respectable.” He grins. “And you’d have to call me
Doctor
.”

I sock him in the shoulder. “Okay. I’ll support you. I assume I need to keep this hushed up?”

“Yeah. Definitely. I’m
gonna
wait to bring it up when I’m home over Christmas. I want to see how this first semester of classes goes before I spring it on them.”

I take a deep breath. “You said there was something else. Something that had to do with me?”

“Yeah.”

He looks up at the ceiling and blows a bronze wave out of his eyes. I stand and sort a pile of sheet music.

“Here’s the thing,” he says. “I think you’re hiding something. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it’s just about Mama. You’ve always told me about that stuff, and you know I’m here for you. I just…I don’t know. You’re different.”

“Different how?”

“It’s hard to explain, especially since I don’t want to piss you off. That’s a first, isn’t it?”

I stick out my tongue. Long ago, we agreed we couldn’t tell anyone about the craziness at home. For one thing, it’d make the situation worse. Mama would freak. For another, we don’t want to get Mama in trouble. She’s sick, and she can’t help it. We know that at one time, and in
her own
way, Mama loved us. Still does. Before R.J. went to college, she often went on tirades, but that was nothing compared to what she does now. I don’t know if he can’t see it or chooses to ignore it. I like to think he loves me enough that it’s the former.

I grab a score and settle back down on the loveseat next to R.J. He reaches over and takes my hand. “Don’t get mad, okay? And don’t freak. It’s just…I think you’re getting really worked up over this NEC thing. I know. I know it’s a huge deal and you’ve got every right to freak out. God knows I did with the pre-law program. It’s just that you’re almost
home-free
, you know? Literally. Next year you’ll be out of here no matter what, whether it’s in Boston or someplace else. Don’t make yourself sick when you’re in the homestretch.”

I pull my hand away from his and flip through the pages again. “Any other clichés?”

“Um, yeah, actually.”

“Shoot.”

“Okay, this is where you’re really going to freak.”

“Why?”

“See? You’re already doing that eyebrow thing. Man, I wish I could do that.”

“R.J.!”

“Okay! I wanted to tell you to…um…well, I know you’re almost eighteen, and I’m not that much older than you, so this is going to sound weird, because really it’s none of my business, except that it is, because I love you and only want what’s best for you
—
”

“
R.J
.
!
”

“Okay! Just keep your legs crossed. Wait! Down, girl! I come in peace. Ouch!”

I flick him right between the eyes like we did when we were little. It sounds stupid, but man, it hurts.

“Hear me out. I’m trying to be
big-brotherly
.
J
ust be careful. I think it’s really weird that Mama and Daddy set you up with Isaac Laroche.”

I hit him over the head with the score in my hand, like a puppy and a newspaper. “They didn’t ‘set us up.’ They didn’t give Mr. Cline a stroke.”

“No, I know. It’s just that I heard things about him when we were little. How old is he?”

I see where this is going. “He’s twenty-seven, R.J.”

“Ten years older than you.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I remember hearing rumors about him when we were in elementary school.
Yeah, because it was your first year at solo and ensemble competition.
He would’ve been a junior or senior.”

“And?”

“I don’t remember specifics. I just remember his name came up, and Mama and her friends talked about him a lot. I got the impression it wasn’t good.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad if they still let him come to our house every day.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“But there’s more?”

“It’s just…I know how guys are. Let me put it this way: You think of Mr. Cline as a grandfather, right?”

“Of course.”

“And he thinks of you as a granddaughter.”

“I hope so.”

“Well, I can guarantee you that Isaac Laroche does
not
think of you as a granddaughter.”

“R.J., I can honestly say it’s not like that. Isaac is all business. The first couple weeks, I could barely get him to talk or smile. I don’t think he wanted to be here.”

“Has he been a jerk?”

“No, not a jerk. Just…he keeps to himself. Except when he yells or drinks.”

“He drinks while he’s here?” R.J.’s voice goes so high that I expect the neighborhood dogs to howl.

“No, don’t be stupid. I ran into him at Felix’s once.”

“You still sneak over there? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Did he try anything?”

“No, I told you, it’s not like that. He was just a lot more normal when I saw him there. Not so anal.”

“Uh-huh.”

There’s no way I can tell R.J. that I got into Isaac’s car. Or that I
kinda
sorta kissed him. It didn’t really count.

“R.J., will you relax? With all the problems I have, Isaac doesn’t even register. He’s doing a great job of helping me prepare, and he’s identified a lot of my problem areas. Mr. Cline did the right thing when he ‘set us up.’ So, when will you be home next?”

“Definitely over Thanksgiving and Christmas. Plus, I think I’ll be a back a couple of weekends to get fitted. I told Mama to just take my measurements, but she didn’t think that was good enough.”

R.J. is serving as a knight in the Mardi
Gras
king’s court again this year. It’s an honor reserved for the male friends and family of each year’s king. Basically, you dress up like an idiot, get drunk, ride on a float and throw stuff at people. Sounds bizarre, but it’s a pretty big deal and a whole lot of fun.

“She just wants any excuse to get you home again. Can’t say I blame her.”

“Aw, I love it when you try to be nice, Sis.”

“Oh, stop it. Don’t make me cry.”

We put our arms around the other’s shoulders and walk through the yard to the back door.

“Mmm, I smell dinner.” He shoves the back door open as Mama takes lasagna out of the oven. She pauses when she sees us with our arms still around each other.

“Talking about me again?”

“What? No. I smelled that wonderful lasagna in the backyard. I hope you made two, because you know it’s my favorite. I’ll eat one just by myself. Here, let me help you set the table.”

R.J. always knows just what to say to diffuse the bomb before she explodes. I grab some napkins and follow him into the dining room.

***

“This application essay is kicking my butt.” We survived last night’s dinner, but this essay may be the death of me. I push away from the desk and pace my bedroom. R.J.’s stretched out on the floor, so I nearly kick him in the head.

“When’s it due?”

“Next week.”

He laughs. “Way to procrastinate, Juli. Haven’t you been writing it in your head for, like, your entire life?”

“That’s the problem!” I throw my hands in the air. “I need it to be perfect, and when I write it in the shower or in the car, it sounds great. But every time I sit at the computer, I draw a blank.”

“Wish I could help you. But really, does the essay matter that much? They’re going to judge you on your performance, you know?”

“Ugh. Yes, I know.”

R.J. leans up on his elbows to follow my progress around the room. “Let me guess, you don’t know what you’re playing for your recording either?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Mama appears in the doorway.

“Big sales this weekend,” she says. “Let’s go to the outlets.”

Mama’s been normal the past couple of days, so I agree. R.J. begs off. “Gotta finish packing. I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”

On the drive there, we talk about everything and nothing. Mama taps her bony fingers on the steering wheel to the songs on the radio. I watch the boats out on the water as we cross the causeway to the other side of Mobile Bay.

At all the stores, I’m drawn to sweaters and jeans. I flip through the racks and listen to the metal hangers clack before I slide them back into place.

Isaac says it gets wicked cold in Boston. It even snows.

Mama sees me and gives me that withering look that means
Don’t
get your hopes up
.

“That color doesn’t go with your hair,” is all she says out loud.

I steal glances at her every few minutes. All morning I watch, wait, anticipate the moment when the bottom falls out, when the darkness invades her eyes and slowly seeps its poison into her mind. I wait to see the slight pinch of her lips, the scowl that deepens until it’s all that’s left of her face.

It never comes.

After a few hours, we leave with some separates I can layer, a pair of shoes and a pair of boots. Uniforms are required at my school, so I don’t need much. We go to lunch afterward
,
a miracle in itself given Mama’s eating habits
, and we
talk together almost like we’re normal. She leads the conversation, but that’s okay.

“Marcie
—
Mrs. Swann
—
she’s just insufferable. That woman has an ego a mile wide, honestly.”

Mama and Mrs. Swann are on the committee together for the Mystics of Dardenne ball, and it’s pretty much all she talks about lately.

“She’s taken over the entire project. She won’t delegate a thing.
Really
. You remember Heather? She’s coming back down to Mobile this year for the ball since her brother’s supposed to be king. But now we’ve got a regular fiasco on our hands because he just got kicked out of the university for running a gambling ring. Blew all the money his parents set aside for royal obligations. Just goes to show that you can’t count on anyone.”

“Well, if Geoffrey’s such a loser, how can he be king?”

“Exactly. He practically bankrupted his parents when he ordered all those place settings and linens for the banquet, and his costume is only half finished. I heard he hasn’t made a single payment on that. He’s already chosen a theme—Birds of a Feather—ordered decorations,
favors…and now he can’t pay the balance.” She waves her empty fork in the air. “We’ve never had this happen before. I’m not sure what we’ll do, but if Marcie keeps carrying on the way she is, none of us will even want to
go
to the ball.”

Here’s what I know about being king or queen at a Mardi
Gras
ball: money, money, money, and connections. It takes a fortune to be royalty, not to mention your own harem to design, make, and fit your costume, the decorations and dinnerware for your banquet, the menu, and the throws and favors you’ll give away. There’s a king and queen chosen to rule over the entire city during Mardi
Gras
, but most societies also elect their own, as well. The Mystics are no exception.

“Do you have to replace him?”

“If only it were that easy, I certainly think we would. Marcy insists she and her husband will pay off his debts, but I don’t think we want someone like that to represent us. How would that look? Why, we’d never recover. We might as well disband and join the Joe Cain riffraff!”

I turn so she won’t see me roll my eyes. Joe Cain Day is a tradition in Mobile. He’s the man who restarted Mardi
Gras
in the city after the Civil War, so he gets his own day. It’s “the people’s” parade
.
It’s not nearly as impressive as the Mystics parade, but the
people-watching
is fantastic. You’re guaranteed to see at least one drunken
cat fight
and plenty of Confederate flags.