One
Vivienne
“Miss Westbrook?” Carl Hughes asks again while Davis kicks my shin under the table. I know he’s waiting for an answer, but I can’t concentrate. I don’t even remember the question he asked me over a minute ago. Lulu’s number just popped up on my phone screen for the third time this morning. Third consecutive time. She obviously needs me, and I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t answer her.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I need to take this.” The phone stops vibrating in my hand but immediately starts back up as I make my way across the conference room and into the hallway.
“I’m so sorry Lulu,” I tell my grandmother when I get the phone to my ear. “I was in the middle of a—”
“It’s your mom, Vivienne.”
Something’s wrong. Why else would she be calling me from Lulu’s phone nonstop if everything was all right? The mere thought of it makes it hard to stand on my own, so I lean against the wall and wait for my mother to give me more information. All I hear are the cries she’s trying to hide from me.
“What happened, Mom?”
“I came over here to check on her this morning, and she didn’t come to the door. She never woke up.”
I refuse to accept what she’s telling me. “I talked to her yesterday. She was fine.” My knees give out and I sink to the floor. My employees are giving me curious glances as they pass, but none of them stop to see what’s wrong with me. I don’t have that kind of relationship with any of them.
“That’s how things happen sometimes, Viv. She was old. It was just a matter of time.”
“Have you started on the arrangements?” I push myself off the floor and slip back into business mode. Sitting on the cold marble, shocked over my grandmother’s sudden death is no way to conduct myself at work. What would my employees think? I’m always calm and collected. Nothing—not even the death of my beloved Lulu—can rattle me. Or, at least, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
“Your father is at the funeral home now. I’m meeting him as soon as we hang up. Can you come home Friday?”
Bellemere hasn’t been my home in sixteen years. New York is home now.
“I have some meetings, but I’ll move them to Monday.”
“Sugar, can’t you manage to stay more than a few days?”
“I can barely manage one,” I snap. She knows I can’t stand it when she talks to me like a child. “There’s a reason I have the most successful marketing firm in the northeast.”
Her sigh comes through loud and clear. “You work too hard. I worry about you.”
“No need to worry. I’ll see you in a few days.”
I end the call before the guilt trip goes any further. She’ll lay it on thick enough at the funeral. Lulu never made me feel bad for leaving. She understands me.
Understood me.
The weight of the news is starting to push down on me, heavy and soul crushing, so I do what I do best, shove it into a dark corner and walk back into the conference room, determined to land a deal with Hughes’ company.
_____
The ink has long since dried on the contract, but I haven’t managed to leave my seat at the head of the table. This job is huge, it’s my biggest contract to date. I’ve been trying to score a deal with Hughes for almost two years, but I can’t celebrate my victory. Not with Lulu gone.
Tallulah Westbrook, my best friend, my biggest supporter, my grandmother.
Should-haves and could-haves start to storm my thoughts, slamming me with guilt over the fact that I never went to see her. We spoke regularly, but I vowed once I left my tiny hometown in South Louisiana I’d never step foot in that place again. I’d fly her out here often, but over the past few years, it got to be too much for her. Lulu acted much younger than her years, but her body wasn’t always on the same page. She knew Bellemere was a no-go for me, so we settled for phone calls and letters.
I should have done more. I should have broken that stupid vow and gone to see her.
“What the hell was that about?” Davis asks as he slams the door shut behind him. He’s my assistant, and the only person in this building with big enough balls to speak to me like that. Anyone else would be out of a job before the words left their mouth.
“I had to take a call.”
“Carl Hughes was sitting in our conference room. Must I remind you that we’ve been trying to make that happen for close to two damn years?”
“Lulu died this morning.”
His face changes instantly. Davis is my closest friend besides Lulu. He knows how much she means to me.
“Oh, Viv, I’m so sorry, baby girl. What can I do?” he asks as he pulls me in his arms. Not work appropriate by any means, but I don’t really care at this point. I need support, and Davis is the only friend I have now.
“We need two tickets to Bellemere, arriving Friday morning and leaving that same night. You’re coming with me.”
“One day?”
“I don’t want to spend a second longer there than necessary.” My hand goes to the scar hidden beneath my bangs, a habit I can’t seem to break, even after all this time.
“Anything else?”
“Call the local florist and send an arrangement. She loved pink and purple.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and make sure ours will be the biggest and best.”
“Of course.”
He leaves for his office, and I pull up my calendar for Friday and Monday, trying to determine how I can juggle meetings and make this work. It’s impossible, so I shoot emails to my clients, explaining that there was a death in the family and that Charles, the vice president of Westbrook Marketing will be in attendance. Before I can finish my email to Charles, though, Davis comes back in.
“We have a problem.”
“We don’t have time for problems.” I don’t do problems.
“Bellemere isn’t on the internet. Everything is on the internet. Am I spelling it right? B-E-L-L-E-M-E-R-E?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s the name of the airport?”
“There is no airport. They only got a stoplight a few years ago. It was a huge deal. The whole town came out to watch the activation.”
He rolls his eyes in typical Davis fashion. “This information would have been helpful twenty minutes ago.”
“I like to see you squirm.”
“If I were into women, I’d spank you,” he jokes. Thank God for Davis, always able to put a smile on my face. “Now, how is this working? Where are we flying?”
“Baton Rouge, and then we’ll have to rent a car and drive about two hours.”
“What about the flowers?”
“Your best bet is to call Darlene’s in the next town over.”
“Which is?”
“Rosemond. It’s a bit bigger. I think they’re up to three stoplights now.”
“And can I find the number to Darlene’s online?”
“Probably not.”
“Do I send a carrier pigeon with the order?”
“Call my mother and have it taken care of.”
He walks out and I stare at my phone, thinking about everything I left behind in Bellemere.
Everyone I left behind.
It’s one day, I tell myself. The town might be small, but there’s no way I’ll see him. Like me, I’m sure once he left, he never looked back.
_____
“We’re not in Kansas anymore.” Davis’ attention is focused more on the scenery than on the road.
We pass field after field of rice or sugar cane. Cows and horses are scattered throughout fenced pastures, and every so often a house can be seen from the road. He’s fascinated that places like this actually exist outside of a television show.
“Did you live on a farm?”
“No, but Lulu’s property used to be a working farm before my pops died.”
“Did you wear overalls and pigtails?”
I grin. “Maybe.”
“This is unreal,” he says as we get closer to town. “It’s so quiet.”
It’s too quiet here. Gives a person too much time to think. Too much time to feel.
He slows down as we get into town. It looks exactly the same as when I drove down Main Street the last time, except for the addition of the stoplight. We don’t have a minute to spare, so we’re already in our funeral attire and heading straight toward Howard and Sons to pay our last respects. It’s not hard to find the place. The town’s only funeral home is on the main road that cuts Bellemere in half, and cars are lined up on both sides of the street. Tallulah Westbrook grew up in this town and was well loved and respected by everyone.
“Is the whole town here?” Davis asks as we park several buildings past where we’re going and start the long walk to the funeral home.
“This many people don’t even live here. This is probably our entire town, plus all of the surrounding ones.”
“She’ll have a good sendoff.”
I nod, agreeing, but I don’t want her to have a good sendoff. I don’t want her to have any kind of sendoff. The best part of my day was getting those early morning calls from Lulu while she sat on her wraparound porch enjoying a glass of iced tea, filling me in on town gossip. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as the drama I heard around the city, but I held onto every single morsel because it was coming from my Lulu and she wanted to share it with me.
I clutch onto Davis’ arm as we near the entrance, the reality of the moment hitting me. Slapping me in the face.
“I can’t do this,” I panic.
“Yes, you can.”
“No.” I shake my head back and forth, denying what I’ll have to face once I open the door and step inside.
“Listen to me, Vivienne,” Davis says. He grabs my shoulders and forces me to look at him. “Shut it off. Be the person that runs Westbrook Marketing. Have her walk through those doors. The cold, calculated bitch that can tear people to shreds with just a look. Find her and latch on. Don’t let go. She’ll get you through this.” I stand a little taller. “Besides,” he adds, “you’re wearing thousand-dollar shoes. One does not lose their shit in thousand-dollar shoes.”
I run my hands down my black lace couture Valentino dress and put on my game face. My CEO of Westbrook Marketing face. Davis is right. That woman he is talking about is who I need to be right now. If she can run one of the most successful businesses in New York, then she can get through a funeral.
“Let’s go.” I throw those doors open and sweep through the lobby like I own the place, my heels echoing as they click on the marble floors, my game plan running through my head. I will not look at Lulu, I will simply pretend like I’m somewhere else entirely. I’ll go to my happy place. A beach in Bali sounds heavenly right about now.
“Honey, you made it,” my mom cries as she wraps her arms around me and weeps softly against my neck. “Everyone’s dying to see you.”
I straighten and pull away from her grasp. “Bad choice of words.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen in horror and she cries louder.
“I was trying to be funny,” I tell her, but it obviously backfired.
“Come on. Let’s say our ‘hellos’ before the rosary starts.” She turns to walk toward the room where Lulu is and sees Davis. “Davis, thank you for coming with her.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he tells her after kissing her cheek.
I link my arm with my mom’s, and we walk through the crowded room. Davis is at my other side, throwing his elbow into my waist each time we’re put face to face with someone wearing jeans or a raggedy old t-shirt, which is about every other person. He has to push his face into my shoulder and hide his mortification when a man wearing Crocs comes over to give his condolences.
“Crocs? Is this normal?” he hisses into my ear.
“In Bellemere? Absolutely.”
Davis is stunned. As he should be. If he wasn’t employed by me, I feel certain he would be donning the pages of magazines. He’s got the face of a model, the best fashion sense of any man I know, and a body to die for. If Davis isn’t at work, he’s in the gym. Women throw themselves at him but are met with disappointment when they realize he wants nothing to do with them. It’s a shame, really, because Davis Hampton would make beautiful babies. Babies with his dark hair and skin and light blue eyes would be quite a sight to see.
Just as we’re about to go sit, an elderly man I can’t put a name to slowly approaches us.
“Vivienne, I’m so glad you could make it. Tallulah always talked to me about how hectic your life is in New York.” He must see me trying to place him, so he continues. “I’m Langston Soileau, your grandmother’s attorney.”
“Yes, I remember meeting you at my grandparents’ home when I was younger.” Before I can continue with any pleasantries, he cuts right to the point.
“We have some matters to discuss. Can you come by my office in the morning? Nine o’clock?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Soileau, but I’m going back home tonight after the services. My assistant can provide you my contact information and we can set up a call.”
Davis hands him a business card, but he shakes his head. “This is a delicate matter that must be handled in person. It’s imperative that we meet in my office in the morning.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Make it happen, Ms. Westbrook,” he says before walking away.
Davis raises his eyebrows, and I nod. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can sense the urgency. “I’ll go rearrange our flights,” Davis says and tries to walk away, but I sink my fingers into his arm to stop him from taking even one step.
“Don’t leave me. Please.” The flights can wait. I don’t care if we can’t arrange things. I’ll gladly lose that money if it means not being alone right now. The reason I’m here has fully sunk in now that we’re just feet away from the casket, and I’m not equipped to deal right now. I might not be able to deal with this loss ever.
“There’s my girl,” I hear from my side. My father, misty-eyed and puffy faced pulls me into his arms, and that’s when I lose it. Big, fat, alligator tears start to roll down my cheeks. My dad holds me against his chest and lets me get it all out. Something I haven’t allowed myself to do since I heard she was gone.
“It’s okay, Sugar Pie. She didn’t suffer. She’s with Pops now. She’s happy.” He continues to whisper reassurances in my ear and we cry together. “You better?” he asks when he pulls away slightly. “I’m sure someone’s got a flask in their pocket if you need something to take the edge off.”
I smile at him and he hands me a handkerchief so that I can try and salvage my makeup.
“Let me,” Davis says, taking over the job.
Just as Davis has me sorted, a woman from the church takes her place at the front of the room to start the rosary. We all sit and I pray with my family, something I haven’t done since I was a little girl. It feels strange but comforting.
And that’s when the crickets start. The woman leading the rosary fumbles a bit over her words and I start to look around, searching for the source of the sound. It’s then I realize it’s not actual crickets, but a cell phone. Mortified, I see my aunt out of the corner of my eye fumbling around her giant purse, desperately searching for her phone. She takes it out and tinkers with it a bit, but the crickets just grow louder. She reaches back into her purse, emptying out the contents in search of her glasses. At this point, we’re on the seventh Hail Mary, and the crickets are going strong. My entire family is as horrified as I am, but at least now my mind is off the fact that Lulu’s in a casket in front of me. When we hit the last Hail Mary of the decade, my aunt decides it’s probably best to leave the room. Good idea. She should have thought of it nine Hail Mary’s ago. My eyes naturally follow her out, and that’s when I see him standing in the back, leaning against the wall.
Oliver Bishop.
I knew it was him the second I saw him, even though he looks so different than he did sixteen years ago. Hardened. Dangerous. Damaged.
I whip my head around so fast I see stars.
“I have to get out of here,” I hiss in Davis’ ear.
“Mortified or not over the cricket incident, you can’t leave.”
“I’m serious, Davis.”
“Me too.”
I huff and push my back against the pew, telling myself that no matter what happens, I’m not allowed to look back there again. That one look at Oliver Bishop was the last one I’ll get.