Lousiana Hotshot

Anthony had said hurtful things about every member of the family, especially her. He cringed now at the phrase,
“my fat-assed ugly sister,”
coupled with Anthony’s supposed abuse of his parents. Angie was a beautiful girl, but she thought she wasn’t; she was thin, but she worried about her weight; and she couldn’t tolerate injustice. He knew all that about her, and he used it against her.
    And for what? Why? How in God’s name could he have gotten angry enough to sink so low?
    In his heart of hearts, he knew how— out of stupid pride. He wanted to control his son’s future, and if he couldn’t, he wanted to destroy it. But only for a moment! Only for a millisecond, it seemed now, looking back. Yet by the time he came to himself the damage was done— Eddie was something less than a man, and he’d been living with it ever since.
    He heard Audrey sobbing into the night, and after a long time getting his nerve up, he went to comfort her. She jammed a chair under the doorknob.
    * * *
    Talba had drunk enough wine to cloud her judgment and enough coffee to keep her awake. Her mind was hopping around like a kid with a sugar high. There was Eddie, there were the Bergerons, there was Cassandra. And there was her father.
    Eddie, with his off-the-wall question, with his improbable tale of reconciliation (precipitated by her— she couldn’t forget that) had stirred it all up again.
    No question it was a riveting subject, but there was so much else. Just now, it wasn’t appropriate to obsess over it. But she had been warned off, and that had to mean something. That was the part that had started to gnaw at her.
    She couldn’t work on the case. In all probability, she’d already done too much. Eddie had told her to go home and rest.
    Fat chance,
she thought.
Wired like this, I’d pace all night and keep Miz Clara up.
    She wanted to see Darryl. Badly.
    Mentally thanking Eddie for her cell phone, she called, but got his voice mail. Maybe he was home, but in the shower. She could try back in a few minutes.
    She looked at her watch. It seemed like midnight, but it was only nine-thirty.
I could go see Corey,
she realized.
Even he doesn’t go to bed at this hour.
    She thought about it. Corey and Michelle were overscheduled and didn’t enjoy Talba’s company a whole lot, anyway. If she tried to set something up, they’d just put her off.
    Because of the wine, perhaps, or because it was time (she thought that later), she took the unprecedented step of driving out to Eastover to see her brother.
    Eastover was not the kind of place you went unannounced. Aaron Neville lived there. Several Saints lived there— the football kind, not the martyred kind— and a few well-known politicians. It was said to be nearly equally divided among wealthy blacks, whites, and Asians, but Talba had been there only once, and most people she saw were African-American. It was a gated community in New Orleans East, an area not otherwise known for its affluence.
    The guard asked if Dr. Wallis was expecting her. For a wild, panicky moment, she thought simply of turning around and pretending it never happened, but she said no, tell him his sister was there. Admission approval came so fast she realized why— it was going to be an instant replay of the scene with Aunt Carrie. Quickly, as she picked her way to her brother’s house, she called on the cell phone: “Nobody’s sick. Everything’s fine. I just need to see you.”
    “Sandra! It’s the middle of the night.”
    “Omigod. Are you in bed? I didn’t think it was
that
late.” She thought,
This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
“Listen, this can wait. Really. I’ll call you later in the week.”
    Corey said, “You’re here. You might as well come on,” and she could hear the tiredness in his voice.
    He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, hastily thrown on perhaps. He wasn’t even wearing his glasses. Michelle, standing in a half-dark kitchen in silhouette, wore a satin robe that showed Talba something she hadn’t known. She was so taken aback she gasped instead of making her manners.
    Corey was trying to calm an overexcited dog. He looked up, alarmed. “What is it?”
    Michelle took a step forward into the light, and the curve Talba had seen straightened a bit. She was smiling. “I think she thinks I’ve put on weight.”
    “Oh, that.” Corey smiled back at her, a caressing, intimate smile that made Talba feel as if she were peeking in their bedroom. He strode