I locate the kitchen when Greier’s deep voice reverberates from the back of the house and follow it. I crack the door open enough to see him leaning over the island in the center, talking with a woman cooking over the stove. I’m about to open the door and announce myself when he says something that stops me. “You need to keep an eye on her, Mame.”
She turns away from the stove, which gives me a chance to see her. She’s in her late sixties, plump, wears her silver hair in a low bun, and has steely eyes, both in color and resolve. Even with her short stature, she looks like someone you don’t want to upset. I’m going to like her.
“You have nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” she says with a rich Cajun accent, reaching across the counter and setting her hand over his. It’s so much smaller. “Anyone you care ‘bout, we care ‘bout. Me and Beau’ll keep her safe for you.”
She speaks to him with the love of a mother. It makes me both happy for him and sad for myself. I’ll never know that kind of relationship with my mother—or father for that matter. But there are bigger issues to worry about now. I’ll have to grieve the loss another day.
Greier plucks a cherry from the bowl on the counter and smiles at it when the older woman turns her attention back to the food sizzling on the stove. He pops it in his mouth and chews on it slowly. My skin goes flush from tip to tail.
“You do care about her, don’t you?”
“I love her,” he says with a reflective gaze.
“Does she love you?” she asks, a bud of hope blooming in her voice.
“Better than anyone.”
A wide grin fattens her cheeks and deepens the laugh lines around her eyes.
“Brings joy to my heart to see you happy, kiddo.”
I decide not to lurk any further. I already learned that lesson.
I open the door with a fake smile on my face. Nothing too big. Don’t want to look like I was eavesdropping.
“Morning,” I greet them. Seems like a general enough thing to say. Act natural.
“Morning.”
Greier walks over to me, wrangling me to the island with a hand on my lower back. Not because I can’t find it myself, but in a knightly gesture. I like to think it’s because he couldn’t wait the four seconds it would take me to traverse the distance between door and counter to touch me.
“Rae, this is Mame. Mame, Rae. She’s staying with us a while.”
One part of me hopes forever. The other part hopes he hopes that, too. It’s foolish to entertain the thought when tomorrow isn’t a guarantee. But is it ever?
“Pleasure to meet you,” I state, extending my hand toward her.
“No need to be so formal ‘round here,” she says with a chuckle, hauling me in for a squeeze. “We’re happy to have you.”
She’s strong. And, as I assumed she would, gives great hugs.
I glance at Greier, who shrugs and smiles.
“Now, you two sit,” she says, releasing me from her python grip. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Let me help,” I suggest.
Turning to Greier, she says, “I like her.”
I locate some plates in the cabinet and silverware in the drawer below it and take it over to the table, setting it out.
“Mornin’, Mama,” a deep male voice booms from the doorway. A burly, middle-aged man with bits of gray hair around his temples walks through it, an oily engine part in his hand. He’s cleaning it with a smudged rag.
“What have I told you about bringin’ that stuff into my clean kitchen?” Mame scolds him.
He looks up from his dirty hands, halting when he sees Greier. A smile grows across his face.
“Thought I saw your car out front,” says the man.
“Got in late last night.” They hug in that manly way, where they pat each other on the back and don’t make full contact. “Didn’t want to disturb anyone.”
His eyes find mine over Greier’s shoulder.
“Who’s this?”
“Rae,” Mame eagerly introduces me. “She’s goin’ to be stayin’ with us.” She grins widely, her gaze skipping between Greier and me. “Rae, this is my boy, Beau.”
“Hi,” I mutter with a shy blush on my cheeks, flustered by her motherly pride. Obviously, she sees Grey as a second son. Maybe it embarrasses me because I never had anyone gush over me.
Greier flags down Beau’s attention, nodding toward the foyer door.
“Could we talk a minute?”
“Sure,” Beau says, “sure.”
He smiles tightly and tips his head at me. “Nice to meet ya, Rae.”
“Likewise,” I agree, continuing my task of setting the table.
They walk out to the huge entryway, speaking lowly, their masculine voices muffled through the closed door.
After a breakfast of eggs, bacon, grits, and fruit, Greier gives me a tour of the house. It’s massive, big enough I’ll need a map to find my way around, and beautifully preserved, the perfect mix of modern and yesterday. Rooms are spacious and airy with numerous floor-to-ceiling doors and windows leading to the deep porches. I never physically set foot in this place before last night yet from the moment I came here, a sense of uneasy familiarity came over me. Saturated in history and old-world splendor, these estates have a creep factor. Maybe it comes from the period. I’ve been to my share of colonial estates up North, for fundraisers and other political events. But this is more than the normal unease. Desperate to make this accommodation work, I chalk it up to déjà vu.
He shows me the grounds, acres of green grass, southern oaks dressed in swaying moss, the bayou, and the well-maintained garden. It’s a perfect day for it. Maybe a bit humid. The sun beats hot on my skin as we navigate the maze of flowers and leafy hedges, cooled by the breeze coming off the river, carrying the stale, mossy scent of the bayou. It’s very distinct. When we reach the center, my legs quit working, and my hand slips from his. He turns back to me, his face screwed into a scowl.
I stare at the magnolia tree with low hanging branches.
I dreamt of this place. It wasn’t exactly the same, but this is the mansion from my dream, the tree from my dream.
Heed its warnin’.
Blood.
Blood on your hands.
I’d forgotten about my reading with Izzie’s grandma, her forecast about the nightmare. I’ve been so preoccupied with Greier and the Shaw situation, I haven’t had much time to think about it.
Should I say something to Grey?
He’s going to think I’m nuts. I think I’m nuts, so why wouldn’t he? I mean, dreaming of plantation houses and magnolia trees isn’t exactly unusual when you’re in Louisiana. Bleeding petals, on the other hand—
If it’s nothing more than a strangely accurate nightmare, last thing I should do is put him on edge more than he already is. What good would that do?
“Rae?” Greier’s voice smashes through my thoughts like a wrecking ball through a glass wall.
“Hm?”
“Are you alright?” he asks, clutching his big hands around my tiny upper arms. There’s something comforting in it. His touch instantly pacifies me.
It’s best not to worry him anymore than he already is and keep my dream to myself.
“Yeah.” I fake a chuckle, downplaying my strange behavior. “Thought I saw something.”
He looks around for anything out of place.
“You sure?” he asks, eyeing me suspiciously. He sees right through me, but I’m set on not adding to the heap of problems we’re already facing. It was a dream for fuck’s sake.
“I was mistaken.”
“Alright,” he says and guides me back to the main house.