their ancestors built these mounds.”
“Must be nice to have a history like that. Mine’s not nearly as interesting. Do your boys feel that same closeness to this place?”
Picou snorted. “Maybe Nate, but he’s always been hard to read. Abram is wrapped in his own world—one of pigskin, off-season workouts and recruiting, and Darby’s been running from Beau Soleil ever since he was a boy. And Della, well, I haven’t found her again…yet.”
“I thought—” Annie closed her mouth. Who was she to prick a pin in the inflated hope of the older woman?
“You thought she was dead?”
Annie nodded.
“She’s not. She’s alive. And she’s close.” Picou stared out into the woods as if she might part them and find the treasure she sought.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve always known, but Darby made me certain. He’s her twin, and when he was small, he dreamed of her, cried out to go get her and bring her back. It’s something you feel in your bones, you know. Deep down inside, throbbing, waiting.” Picou paused as if weary from revealing something so personal. “And then there is the powerful mambo who gave me a prophecy.”
Mambo? More like mumbo jumbo. Must be a Louisiana thing. People wanted to believe in something. Always had. Even Tawny flirted with the kabbalah and other mysticisms. But not Annie. The only thing she believed in was herself and the power of hard work. She hadn’t been to Mass since her mother’s funeral. Funny how what drove some people toward unflinching faith destroyed it in others.
“I hope you find her.” Annie walked toward the mounds, uncomfortable at the turn of conversation. “Come on, Spencer, we need to get back for worksheets, PB&J and a nap.”
“I don’t want a nap,” Spencer called, ducking on the other side of the mound.
“Here we go,” Annie grumped to herself, trudging toward the first mound. “I’m not messing around, Spence. When I say jump, you say?”
“I don’t want a nap,” Spencer called.
“Wrong answer,” Annie called.
Picou laughed as Annie chased Spencer around the mounds. She even encouraged him by telling him to yell out “Marco.”
Annie went along, being a good sport with her successive call of “Polo.” Finally she caught him.
“The answer is ‘how high?’”
Spencer giggled then latched his arms around her neck, giving her a sloppy kiss.
“Blech,” she said, swiping off the wetness, but deep down inside her heart throbbed, much like Picou’s hope. She didn’t want to love Spencer, because he was a job, but there was something so utterly sweet and innocent in him, something she wanted to touch as if it might heal her, help her capture a piece of the innocence trampled long ago.
She’d tried to use Seth and Mallory to do that. To heal herself and pretend she was like any other woman. She’d wanted to love Seth quite desperately, hoped to find in him and Mallory what she’d lost the day she buried her mother. The day her prayers had failed. The day her father drank too much and lost himself in the liquor and later still when her sister had run away and fallen into trouble. Life had slapped her in the face, knocked her down and dragged her by her heels. Loving her father, sister, even her grandmother who passed away soon after her mother, had left her heartsick and battle weary…and very lonely.
By the time Annie had graduated from high school, she’d stopped feeling as if she cared for anything or anyone. She was an empty shell inside—one she’d filled with ambition. Her life had been her career, first in the Air Force and then in the FBI.
Everything had been about protecting herself—financially and professionally.
Until Christmas Eve last year.
When she sat in her spartan apartment in Philly with no Christmas tree, no holiday ham, no presents, and watched that damned movie. At that moment she’d realized she didn’t matter to anyone. And she hadn’t wanted to live that way.
One month later she met
“Must be nice to have a history like that. Mine’s not nearly as interesting. Do your boys feel that same closeness to this place?”
Picou snorted. “Maybe Nate, but he’s always been hard to read. Abram is wrapped in his own world—one of pigskin, off-season workouts and recruiting, and Darby’s been running from Beau Soleil ever since he was a boy. And Della, well, I haven’t found her again…yet.”
“I thought—” Annie closed her mouth. Who was she to prick a pin in the inflated hope of the older woman?
“You thought she was dead?”
Annie nodded.
“She’s not. She’s alive. And she’s close.” Picou stared out into the woods as if she might part them and find the treasure she sought.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve always known, but Darby made me certain. He’s her twin, and when he was small, he dreamed of her, cried out to go get her and bring her back. It’s something you feel in your bones, you know. Deep down inside, throbbing, waiting.” Picou paused as if weary from revealing something so personal. “And then there is the powerful mambo who gave me a prophecy.”
Mambo? More like mumbo jumbo. Must be a Louisiana thing. People wanted to believe in something. Always had. Even Tawny flirted with the kabbalah and other mysticisms. But not Annie. The only thing she believed in was herself and the power of hard work. She hadn’t been to Mass since her mother’s funeral. Funny how what drove some people toward unflinching faith destroyed it in others.
“I hope you find her.” Annie walked toward the mounds, uncomfortable at the turn of conversation. “Come on, Spencer, we need to get back for worksheets, PB&J and a nap.”
“I don’t want a nap,” Spencer called, ducking on the other side of the mound.
“Here we go,” Annie grumped to herself, trudging toward the first mound. “I’m not messing around, Spence. When I say jump, you say?”
“I don’t want a nap,” Spencer called.
“Wrong answer,” Annie called.
Picou laughed as Annie chased Spencer around the mounds. She even encouraged him by telling him to yell out “Marco.”
Annie went along, being a good sport with her successive call of “Polo.” Finally she caught him.
“The answer is ‘how high?’”
Spencer giggled then latched his arms around her neck, giving her a sloppy kiss.
“Blech,” she said, swiping off the wetness, but deep down inside her heart throbbed, much like Picou’s hope. She didn’t want to love Spencer, because he was a job, but there was something so utterly sweet and innocent in him, something she wanted to touch as if it might heal her, help her capture a piece of the innocence trampled long ago.
She’d tried to use Seth and Mallory to do that. To heal herself and pretend she was like any other woman. She’d wanted to love Seth quite desperately, hoped to find in him and Mallory what she’d lost the day she buried her mother. The day her prayers had failed. The day her father drank too much and lost himself in the liquor and later still when her sister had run away and fallen into trouble. Life had slapped her in the face, knocked her down and dragged her by her heels. Loving her father, sister, even her grandmother who passed away soon after her mother, had left her heartsick and battle weary…and very lonely.
By the time Annie had graduated from high school, she’d stopped feeling as if she cared for anything or anyone. She was an empty shell inside—one she’d filled with ambition. Her life had been her career, first in the Air Force and then in the FBI.
Everything had been about protecting herself—financially and professionally.
Until Christmas Eve last year.
When she sat in her spartan apartment in Philly with no Christmas tree, no holiday ham, no presents, and watched that damned movie. At that moment she’d realized she didn’t matter to anyone. And she hadn’t wanted to live that way.
One month later she met
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