The Bourbon Thief(91)

Veritas hears a sound like a river rising, bursting through mountains, washing away the world. But Veritas is on top of the mountain and she smiles as it’s washed away. The river is speaking and it speaks through Veritas.

“You will have a son, and he will die of a fever. And you will die giving birth to your next child. And your husband will be happy to see you dead and buried,” Veritas says. “Oh, he will dance on your grave, you ugly old hag.”

“What did you say to me?” Missus hisses.

“I said you will die and your husband will smile at your graveside. And someday I will smile over his. I will come back and cut this family down to the roots. Then I will tear out the roots and everything you had and everything you are will burn, and not even all the rivers of the world will put out the fire I start in your house. My child will be a girl and I will name her Paris after my mother, and when Paris comes knocking on your door, you will let her in, and she will bring my vengeance in her blood and your death in her hands. There will be no more Maddoxes because of me. I curse you all from the branches to the roots. Veritas will rule your house.”

Veritas punctuates her sentence by spitting in Missus’s face. Missus raises her hand again to Veritas, with a fist this time, and the second they touch, Tamara is awake again.

*

Tamara recoils as she feels the touch of hands on her body.

“No—”

“Come on now. Let’s get back to the house.”

Arms lifted Tamara off the dock, and Tamara whimpered in protest. She didn’t want to leave the river, not while she lived. But she didn’t have the strength to pull away, to wade into the water. She could barely walk. How long had she slept? How long had it been since she ate? How long since Levi had left her?

“I don’t want to go...” was all she could get out between breaths.

In the house she was placed on a sofa. The sofa was a new antique, purchased after the flood. It wasn’t even September, but someone had started a fire and it glowed like a grinning demon behind the gate. Tamara’s eyes opened and shut in slow, dazed blinks.

“I can’t be here,” she said to herself, but someone heard her.

“You’re sick. You need to rest.”

“I’m not sick.”

“You always said that, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby,” Tamara said.

“But you are my baby.”

Tamara opened her eyes.

“Momma?”





31

Her mother bathed her skin with wet washcloths and helped her into clean clothes. Tamara didn’t speak the entire time as her mother raised her arms to put the shirt on her, tapped her feet to help her into her favorite old jeans. She was a child again in her mother’s care. Tamara wished she could hate it, but she’d missed it. Her mother half dragged, half carried her into the living room and sat her down on the sofa.

“What are you doing here, Momma?” Tamara asked as she stretched out on her back. She had no more strength to sit up straight.

Her mother held out a cup of water, but Tamara only looked at it.

“It’s just water,” her mother said, taking a sip of it to show her it was safe. “Drink it.”

Tamara’s hand shook as she took the cup from her mother’s hand. Her mother helped her up enough to drink. Once it was to her lips, she drank every drop down in a few quick swallows.

“I thought you were someone else,” Tamara said, clutching the cup of water. “I wanted you to be someone else.”

“Levi.”

Tamara lay back down again but didn’t close her eyes. If she closed them, she would see Levi behind her eyes.

“Why are you here?” Tamara asked again. The room was dark but for the fireplace burning. Her mother must have lit it to warm her chilled skin. Tamara looked down at her arms and saw bumps on them—mosquito bites. Had she lain there on the dock all night long? But it was still night.

“I’m your mother. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Why are you here?” Tamara asked again and heard the knife’s edge in her voice, serrated and gleaming.

“I thought you should know the truth.”

“A little late for that, Momma.”

Tamara turned her head. Her mother looked tired, but almost pretty again. She wore very little makeup and had her dyed blond hair caught in a low bun at the nape of her neck. She was in a black short-sleeved sweater and slacks. A good look for her. Classy almost.

“I’m sorry about the letter,” her mother said at last. “You and Levi disappeared and I didn’t know how or where to find you. I had to wait until you came back.”

“We wondered why you gave up the suit.”

“It seemed the only way to get you two to come back from wherever you’d run off to. I left a dozen messages with Daniel’s secretary. None of them got through?”

“Levi brought me a letter. I threw it in the ocean. He told the judge’s secretary not to send anything from you to us. You can’t blame him. You sent the cops to kill him.”

Her mother raised her hand in protest. “I did no such thing. I told them to bring you home. That’s all I told them.”

“They would have killed him if I hadn’t stopped them.”

“I’m sorry.” Her mother’s voice sounded hollow as a reed, but Tamara believed she was sorry. So was Tamara. “I didn’t tell them to do that. I got your note, and I didn’t know what else to do. Your grandfather—”