from the crawfish. 'The vast majority of adopted children don't. There may be a minor curiosity from time to time, but your mom and dad are your mom and dad.'
'The people who raise you.'
'That's it. A long time ago a woman gave birth to me, and gave me over to the state because she felt it best for both of us. She now has her life, I have mine, and my birth father his. I can appreciate on an intellectual level that they birthed me, but emotionally, my folks are Jack and Ann Kyle. Jack helped me ace algebra and Ann drove me to the court every day after school to practice tennis. Do you see?'
'Sure. They're your family.'
She smiled and nodded and ate more of the etouffee. 'Just like yours.'
'Yet you've devoted your career to this kind of work.'
'Not really. Most of my practice is in the area of divorce and custody disputes. But I don't have to want to recover my birth parents to appreciate that need in others. All of us should have access to our medical histories. Because I feel the weight of that, and because I'm in a position to help those with the need, I do.'
'You share a mutual experience with other adopted children and you feel a kinship. All brothers and sisters under the skin.'
She seemed pleased. 'That's exactly right.' Amazing how a little vodka can dull the senses, isn't it? She put down her fork and crossed her arms on the table. 'So, Mr. Adventure, tell me what you think of our Louisiana crawfish. Is it the most incredible thing you've ever eaten?'
'I ate dog when I was in Vietnam.'
Lucy Chenier's smile vanished and she looked uncertain. 'How… adventurous.'
I shrugged and finished off the crawfish tails.
She said, 'Arf.'
I looked up.
Lucy Chenier's face was red and her mouth was a dimpled tight line. She opened her mouth and breathed deep and blinked to clear her eyes, 'I'm sorry, but the idea of it.' She covered her face with her napkin. 'Was it a poodle?'
I put down my fork and folded my arms on the table. 'Oh, I get it. Humor.'
'I'm sorry. It's just so funny.'
'Not to the dog.'
Lucy laughed, then motioned to the waitress and said, 'I really do have to be going.'
'Would you like coffee?'
'I would, but I can't. I have another appointment with a very special gentleman.'
I looked at her. 'Oh.'
'My son. He's eight.'
'Ah.'
The waitress brought us Handi Wipes. Lucy paid, and then we drove back to the hotel. I suggested that we go together to Edith Boudreaux's shop the next morning, but Lucy had two early meetings and thought it better if we met there. I told her that that would be fine. We rode in silence most of the way with an air of expectancy in the car that felt more hopeful than uncomfortable, as if the night held a kind of static charge waiting to be released.
When we stopped at the Ho-Jo's front entrance, it was almost ten.
She said, 'Well.'
'I had a very nice time tonight, Lucy. Thank you.'
'Me, too.'
We sat in the neon light another moment, looking at each other, and then I leaned across to kiss her. She put her hand on my chest and gently pushed, and I backed up. She looked uncomfortable. 'You're a neat guy, and I had a good time with you, but we're working together. Do you see?'
'Sure.' I swallowed and blinked, and then offered my hand. 'Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed myself.'
She took my hand, eyes never leaving mine. 'Please don't take this wrong.'
'Of course not.' I tried to smile.
We shook, and then I got out of Lucy Chenier's car and watched her drive away.
The night was balmy and pleasant, and I walked along the levee and up the little hill and along the nighttime Baton Rouge streets, drunk not from the vodka but with the joyful awareness that tomorrow I would see her again.
CHAPTER 9
T he next morning I left the hotel just before eight, drove across the Huey Long Bridge, and, one hour and five minutes later, parked in a diagonal spot beneath the Eunice town clock just across the square from Edith Boudreaux's clothing store. A CLOSED sign hung in the window, and the red and white store hours sign said that they opened at ten A.M. It was twelve minutes after nine.
I went into a coffee shop, bought two coffees to go, and brought them and a handful of sweetener and creamer packs out to my car. I sat there with the windows down, sipping the coffee and watching the store. At twenty-six minutes after nine Lucy Chenier's Lexus came around the square and parked four spaces down from me. I got out with the coffees, walked over, rapped on her fender, then opened her passenger-side door, slid in, and handed her a coffee. 'There's sweetener and creamer. I didn't know what you take.'
'This is so thoughtful. Thank you.'
'We're a full-service operation, ma'am.' She popped the plastic top off the Styrofoam cup, blew on the coffee, then sipped it black. Even watching her sip was an adventure.
She said, 'Is that the store?'
'Yes. Edie's. They open at ten.'
Lucy Chenier sipped more of the coffee and watched the store. When she sipped, the steam from the coffee brushed over her face like a child's fingers. The amber-green eyes seemed darker today, almost brown, and I wondered at their change. She was wearing a crushed linen jacket over a white blouse and baggy camel pants, and she smelled of buttermilk soap. If I stared at her any more I'd probably reveal myself to be the world's largest doogie. I forced myself to look at the store.
At fourteen minutes before ten, Edith Boudreaux walked around the corner and came down the block and let herself in through the shop's front door. I said, 'That's her.'
'My God, she does look like Jodi, doesn't she?'
'Yep.'
Lucy finished her coffee, then said, 'Let's go see her.'
We walked across the square and went in. The same little bell rang when we entered, and the air was as chill today as I remembered it. Edith Boudreaux looked up at us from the cash register where she was loading a fresh tape. She said, 'Sorry. We're not open yet.' She hadn't yet turned around the CLOSED sign.
Lucy smiled pleasantly and stepped into the store as if they were old friends. 'I know, but I was hoping we might spend a few minutes now. My name is Lucille Chenier. I'm an attorney from Baton Rouge.' Lucy crossed with her hand out and Edith Boudreaux took it without thinking. She seemed sort of puzzled, and then she recognized me.
'You were in yesterday.'
'That's right.'
She brightened and glanced at Lucy. 'You brought your wife this time.'
Lucy gave a friendly laugh. 'No. Mr. Cole and I work together.' She patted Edith Boudreaux's hand, calming her, telling her that we were good people and there was nothing to be frightened of. Friendly people come to change your life. Lucy said, 'I know you need to ready for opening, but it's better that we're alone.'
'What are you talking about?' Looking at me. 'Why alone?'
Lucy said, 'I practice civil law, and part of my practice involves adoption recovery. It's a sensitive, private
