Sacrifice Page 2

  “I told her that already, Val,” Dallas concurred.

  But I could tell when his eyes met mine that Dallas did not believe me. I turned away, wanting to avoid his frigid stare.

  Val gave a relived sigh. “Nicci, I know you’re feeling pressured about the new book.” She quickly glanced at Dallas. “And about other things, but don’t let any of that get to you. Relax and enjoy your life. Why don’t you come with me on my cruise tomorrow? Three weeks around the Mediterranean will do wonders for you.”

  “Thank you, Val, but I don’t think that would be a good idea right now. My publisher might need me to do some additional work before the new book tour starts next month.”

  She shook her head. “Well, I think you’re too young to be having nervous breakdowns like your Aunt Hattie.”

  “Did I hear my name mentioned?” Aunt Hattie came waddling up to our small group. “What are ya’ll whispering about over here?” she asked.

  Aunt Hattie was my mother’s only sibling and known as the more frantic of the two sisters. She stood a few inches shorter than me and shared some of my mother’s delicate features. But unlike my mother’s pale white skin, Hattie had inherited the Bascselli family’s olive complexion and short, almost pudgy stature. Where my mother and been tall, slender, and the definition of grace, my aunt was plump, awkward, and walked more like a penguin than a human being.

  Hattie wiggled her plump finger at me. “Let me guess? You’re discussing your own nuptials to this fine young man. Well, I already have the perfect wedding for you two all planned out. I think we should have the service at Holy Cross Church on Canal Street. It has been completely renovated since Katrina. Then we could all take flower decorated trolleys down Canal Street to a reception at the new Roosevelt Hotel.” She paused. “Or perhaps we should go to—”

  “Hattie,” Uncle Ned interrupted his wife. “Don’t you think you should leave Nicci to plan her own wedding? Besides you have done enough damage to our checkbook with this wedding.”

  My Uncle Ned Vasterling was Hattie’s third husband. He had always been a supportive stepfather to my cousin, Colleen, and a practical sounding board for me throughout the years. He was a wiry man with a long face, pale brown eyes, and thinning gray hair. He was always calm, despite his wife’s frenzied behavior, and never appeared angry, even with Colleen, who had a propensity for Jack Daniel’s induced misconduct.

  “Nonsense, Neddie,” Aunt Hattie chided. “Colleen’s wedding has been quite modest compared to many others I have attended in the city.”

  “Hattie you had ten brides maids,” Uncle Ned fired back.

  “Plus an eight-tiered wedding cake decorated with gold leaf,” Val reported.

  “And let’s not forget the caviar and lobster hors d’oeuvres. Along with the six foot high Veuve Clicquot champagne fountain,” Uncle Lance added, raising his eyebrows.

  “And then there was the imported star gazer lilies and delphinium you had in all the wedding bouquets,” Betty called out. All eyes turned to her and she blushed. “I thought that one was obvious,” she said sheepishly.

  Hattie waved away the comments with a flick of her hand. “I’m sure Nicci will want just as much tasteful luxury at her own affair.”

  “Wanna bet?” Uncle Lance mumbled.

  “What’s going on over here? People are beginning to stare,” Colleen whined as she came up to my side in her meringue white wedding dress with the exaggerated puffy shoulders and wide hoop skirt. Her lanky, redheaded groom followed close behind her.

  “Oh, we were just discussing Nicci’s wedding to Dallas,” Aunt Hattie explained.

  Colleen squealed. “That’s so great,” she said as she hugged me. “When is it?” Colleen stood back from me. “You must to let me design your dress,” she insisted and then looked my figure up and down. “I think I see you in a swirl of cream lace and white silk, off the shoulder with a wide skirt, and long silk gloves. Gloves are all the rage this year.”

  “Only when you’re working with garbage,” Uncle Lance mumbled beneath his breath.

  “Perhaps we could have a small reception at your house, Val.” Aunt Hattie turned to Val. “We could have a tasteful reception in your courtyard in the fall. I was thinking of rose and amber for their wedding colors. What do you think?”

  “Don’t drag me into this caper, Hattie,” Val answered. “Why don’t we let Nicci and Dallas plan their own wedding?”

  Ray Phillips laughed as he reached over and patted Dallas on the shoulder. “Better get ready, Dallas. The only question anyone ever asked me about this wedding was my tuxedo size.”

  Aunt Hattie waved a dismissive hand at her new son-in-law. “That’s because men can’t plan—”

  “Only pay,” Uncle Ned blurted out.

  Colleen and Aunt Hattie looked over at Uncle Ned. Then the two women began sucking in large gasps of air. As their boisterous laughter filled the ballroom, all the guests suddenly grew quiet.

  A sickening feeling gripped me as I observed our group. “I think I need some air,” I stated as I handed Dallas my glass of champagne and turned to leave.

  “Pet, don’t go,” Val called out behind me. “We’ll change the subject.”

  I glanced back at her. “No, it’s not that. I just need to step outside for a moment.” I took in my wide-eyed family members around me. “Excuse me,” I softly added.

  “I think I’ll join you,” Dallas said next to me and put my champagne glass down on the table next to him. He took my arm firmly in his hand and escorted me away from my family.

  It wasn’t until we were standing outside on an adjoining balcony that he finally spoke to me.

  “Well, that was rude.” He scowled at me as he put his vodka and soda down on a nearby table. “Your family is excited for Colleen and for you. Perhaps you should try and be a little less obvious with your emotions,” he scolded.

  I looked into his stern face. No matter the circumstance the man seemed to wear a perpetual scowl. “I thought you wanted me to show my emotions. Up until yesterday you thought I wasn’t being emotional enough.”

  He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and sighed. “I just think you should have been a little more tolerant of your family. That’s all. They’re happy for you, for both of us, and they want to share that excitement with you.” His icy eyes pondered mine for a moment. “You’re still thinking about the man you saw in the square this morning, aren’t you?” he questioned.

  I turned from him and took in the view of the surrounding French Quarter and Mississippi River from the rooftop balcony. “I don’t know, Dallas.” I wrapped my arms about my waist. “He looked so much like David. And the way he walked. He had David’s confidence and grace. I could have sworn it really was him.”

  He threw his hands up. “Listen to yourself. You know as well as I do that David being alive and walking around the city is impossible. He’s dead, Nicci. You need to pull it together.”

  “I’ve got it together, Dallas. And I know what I saw. I’m not hallucinating or having a nervous breakdown. The man was there.”

  I stared into his eyes. It was always impossible for me to fathom his thoughts, but at that moment I wondered if he had been lying to me about all that he knew of David’s death. As he stood before me, I realized something felt different about him. He seemed more reticent than usual, as if he were trying to put up a greater wall in front of me than he normally did. Then the bitter taste of acid burned in the back of my throat as a wave of doubt surged forward.

  “You said once that David knew someone was after him,” I calmly stated as I kept my eyes on his. “What do you know, Dallas? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Dallas grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close to him. “What are you talking about, Nicci? You know I don’t know anything more than you. How could you think I would keep something like that from you? You need to stop this. I don’t want to hear another word about seeing dead men walking around the French Quarter.” He let me go and shook his head. “M
aybe it’s a good thing we’re heading back to Connecticut day after tomorrow. The sooner we get you away from this place, the sooner you can rest and regroup before your book tour begins.”

  I backed away from him, casting my eyes to the ground. “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps I should stay in New Orleans for a while. You can go back home without me. I know you’ve been itching to get back to the boatyard. You won’t miss me for a few days.” I shrugged. “Besides when the book tour starts up, God knows when I’ll get back here to see my family again.”

  He placed his hand on his hip. “Why this sudden urge to stay? Yesterday you told me you couldn’t wait to get home. I know you, Nicci, and you don’t run on whims. There has to be something real damned compelling to keep you in New Orleans.”

  “I’m just tired, that’s all.” I threw my hands up in the air, hoping the gesture added credibility to my performance. “Why do you have to analyze everything I say?”

  I could see the doubt riveted on his face. He did not believe me, but he did not want to believe that I was lying to him either. Funny how love gives us license to lie. We justify the lies by pretending we are protecting the ones we love, but we are still lying, still deceiving, and still hurting another. A shame love doesn’t come with a warning label like cigarettes. Imagine all the broken hearts that could have been saved.

  “All right, Nicci. Stay in New Orleans.” He walked over to the table and picked up his drink.

  I felt my soul rip in two as I observed him standing before me. I was going to hurt this man no matter what I did. I could feel the guilt already building inside of my heart like the pressure beneath a sleeping volcano.

  Dallas kept his back to me. “Maybe you could use your time down here to start looking into making some arrangements for our wedding.” He took a long sip from his drink.

  I spoke slowly, knowing my words were apt to begin yet another argument about our proposed nuptials. “Dallas, now is not the time for us to make any plans.”

  He turned to me and slammed his drink down on the tabletop. “Damn it, Nicci!” he shouted. “You always do this. You shut me down right—”

  “I’ve told you before, with the new book coming out and the book tour starting, I don’t have time to plan a wedding,” I interrupted, keeping my voice calm.

  “You don’t have to plan anything! Your Aunt Hattie and Val have already said they would do everything. We could have the wedding right after your book tour ends so there wouldn’t be any conflict.”

  “Dallas, don’t start that again! I told you I’m not ready for all that just yet.”

  “You never want to talk about getting married. There’s always something else you need to do first. I’m beginning to feel like I’m beating a dead horse here.” He shook his head and sighed as he looked down. “Do you love me, Nicci?” he whispered.

  Love. The word felt like a thunderbolt piercing my insides and rendering my heart from my soul. How could I tell him what that word meant to me? Like so many inept poets and philosophers before me, I was waylaid by the overpowering presence of such an emotion. But my recollections of love were not the chubby cherub laden, red heart encounters so often depicted on sappy Valentine’s Day cards. Love to me was a black enshrouding veil of mourning that embraced your heart in an aching perpetual winter. Love was loss to me. Love was death to me. For all I had ever loved had left me, and my heart had never fully recovered.

  I searched for words that would appease him. “Dallas I care deeply for you,” I eventually said.

  “Care? After all this time I would think you could come up with something better than care. Jesus, Nicci! What kind of writer are you if you can’t even lie to me!”

  “I can’t lie about that. And don’t ask me to explain my feelings for you.” I shook my head feeling the uncertainty gaining ground inside of me. “When I moved to Connecticut to live with you last February, neither one of us was ready for marriage and considering everything that I went through after…”

  “I thought we needed time to get over the past,” Dallas explained. “But we have had time, Nicci. And I’m ready to start my life over with you, but you obviously aren’t ready.” He paused and his intrusive stare made me fidget uncomfortably. “It’s David, isn’t it?” he finally asked.

  I thought I had been doing a good job of keeping my thoughts from him. Obviously, I was wrong.

  “Everyday like some dark secret between us I have felt his presence. You never speak of him. Never mention his name. I used to think that was a good thing, but now I’m beginning to wonder. I love you, Nicci, but I can’t compete with a dead man anymore.” He turned his back to me. “You need to decide which one of us you want.” He took a step toward the balcony entrance. “Stay in New Orleans if that is what you must do. But don’t come back home until you’re ready to marry me.”

  “I think you’re being—”

  “Don’t come back until you know for sure, Nicci. I don’t want to see you again until you can tell me you love me.”

  “And what if I can’t?” I whispered.

  “Then don’t come back at all,” he growled over his shoulder. He walked off the balcony and back into the reception.

  I stared transfixed at the doorway Dallas had hastily exited through as I replayed our conversation in my head. Reason told me to run after him, beg his forgiveness, and tell him what he needed to hear, whether it was the truth or not. But my heart, that resolute chalice of our emotions, was not as quick to resolve my dilemma. Somewhere inside of me there was an uncomfortable stitch from my past that had to be undone and reexamined before I could once and for all tie the knot and move on. My mother had always said the tapestry of life was sewn one stitch at a time, and no tapestry was ever complete until every last knot was secured. One loose thread, she had warned, could eventually reduce a lifetime of work into a mangled ball of worthless twine.

  Chapter Two

  When I returned to our table to collect my things, Dad was there.

  He folded his arms across his chest as his green eyes eagerly swarmed all over me. “Care to tell me what happened? I just saw Dallas storming out,” he stated, nodding to the entrance.

  “Where’s your date?” I asked, looking about the room.

  Dad frowned. “Dancing with your Uncle Lance.”

  “Is that wise? He might want to steal Betty away from you just like you stole mom away from him.”

  “I didn’t steal your mother from him,” Dad corrected. “Are you going to tell me what happened with Dallas?”

  I sighed as I came up to his side. “I told him I wanted to stay on here for a few more days. He can go back to Connecticut without me.”

  My father shook his head. “Nicci, you don’t need to stay in New Orleans. You need to go back to Connecticut with Dallas.” He took a breath and glared at me for a few uncomfortable moments. “So what is it? You two had a fight?”

  I shrugged. “A fight? Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Let me guess, about the wedding,” he surmised.

  I didn’t say anything. I casually scanned the room and tried to keep the frenzy of confusion concealed inside of me.

  My father placed his hand beneath my chin and turned my face back to him. “Nicci, it has been readily apparent since the two of you arrived that you weren’t that crazy about planning a wedding right away. Dallas on the other hand…” He lowered his hand to his side. “He loves you. When a man loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you, you either want to do the same or you don’t.” He looked me up and down. “And you obviously don’t.”

  “Can we please not discuss this now? I’ve already gotten an earful from Dallas.”

  He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Nicci, I just want you to be happy. I thought you and Dallas were happy. At least you appeared to be happy up until this afternoon.”

  “Dad, I am happy with Dallas as we are, but what he wants is more than I can give right now.”

  “He wants a wife and a family. If you’re n
ot willing to give him that, then you should end it.”

  “Dallas told me not to go back to Connecticut until I was ready to marry him.”

  My father nodded skeptically. “I see. And does your extended stay have anything to do with the figure you thought you saw walking around Jackson Square today? Is that why you want to stay, Nicci?”

  I glanced down at my hands and for the first time realized that my fists were clenched. I fought to pull out the right words from the jumbled pile roaming inside of my head. I took a deep breath and turned to my father.

  “I know David is dead. I buried him almost three years ago. At least I thought I buried him.”

  My father placed his hands on my shoulders. “You buried David. You went to the morgue after he was murdered and identified his body.”

  “But I never got a good look at his body,” I countered. “I was shown a corpse lying on a gurney through a glass window in a dark room for five seconds. I never got a good look at his face. And the funeral was closed coffin. None of us ever saw his body.”

  My father gave me a wary glance. “What do you mean you never got a look at his face?”

  “The morgue officials had half of his face covered with a towel. The police said it would have been too traumatic for me to see his mutilated face. So they covered half of it.” I walked over to a chair at the table next to my father.

  “And was it him?”

  I turned back to him. “I don’t know. At the time I thought that it was David. Same hair color, same height and build, and then when they showed me his wallet and the engagement ring he had bought for me that day, I broke down and started crying. He was found next to the red Jeep he owned. The wallet discovered with his body had his New York driver’s license in it. I figured it had to be him.”

  “You figured it had to be him?” My father shook his head. “Nicole Beauvoir, listen to yourself.”

  “I have been listening to myself, Dad. For damn near three years I have believed that was David I buried up at that cemetery in Hammond. Now I’m not so sure.”