Story Ava (Complete)
- Thread starter Kathy in FL
- Start date
Old Gray Mare
TB Fanatic
Here is a link to Kathy's stories at fictionpress. It appears she is in the process of rewriting some of them. Prepare to become lost for a few days in this website.
As far as I can tell her stories are no longer available on her original blog.
www.fictionpress.com
As far as I can tell her stories are no longer available on her original blog.
MotherHeninFlorida | FictionPress
MotherHeninFlorida is an author that has written 23 stories for Action, Sci-Fi, and General.
www.fictionpress.com
FYI for those trying to read what I just posted in Veta 2. Fiction Press completely messed up the formatting. Having a hard time to replace it so I have deleted the new additions for now. Pain in the tush taking time I don't have to spare. Sorry about the SNAFU, will get it fixed as soon as fictionpress fixes whatever its issue is.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Okay formatting corrected. I will post at least one more chapter (on Veta 2) and then get back to Ava.
You're the best. Thank you very much
Chapter 66
You might want mysteries to be figured out sooner rather than later but that’s rarely how life works. Mysteries are mysteries for a reason and real life – day-to-day real life – comes first.
July in Louisiana. My goodness. I thought it was bad in South Florida, but it was a different kind of hot and humid in Breaux Bridge. Temperature in the 90s during the day and it never got any cooler than 75 degrees at night. At least in Bradenton there was the breeze from the Gulf. In Breaux Bridge there were days on end when there was no breeze and close to 100% humidity. Add to that electric rationing meant some days we were lucky to get enough electric to run the well pump to wash clothes and keep the pool filtered that was being heavily used by more than just officers. Sometimes after lights out there were still so many people in the pool it was hard to see the bottom. I worried we were going to have a drowning and for that reason I told – didn’t ask – that liquor not be allowed around the pool anymore. The Major told me I didn’t make a lot of friends that way. My response to her was I didn’t want to lose the ones that I did have. As word got around that went a piece towards calming what was going to be an out and out fight.
After one such run in with some of the Junior Enlisted I told them, “If you insist on sitting around drinking in your underdrawers – not that any of you are even legal you buncha lunk heads - I’ll build a table and put some chairs out by the gazebo. It is a waste of pay in my opinion but if it keeps people from having accidents around the pool, or wasting time and doing the stupid at the Food-n-Fun, I’ll find the time to get it done.”
A named Tuck tried to take it further and I decided to get some of my own back. “Think you are man enough to take me? How about an arm-wrestling contest? Winner shuts up.”
Zeb warned, “Don’t do it Tuck.”
“She’s just a girl.”
At that Zeb placed a fifty-dollar bet I would win. It made some people think but Tuck the Idiot decided it was a bluff. Did I mention the guy was acting like an idiot? Bets went hot and heavy after that with even some of the junior officers getting in on the action though I wasn’t to know it then.
The guy wasn’t bad, but he had no staying power. Once he couldn’t take my arm down right away it was a done deal.
“What the hall is your awm made of?!” he complained in his thick Boston accent.
“Solid steel.” He snorted at my tall tale. I told him, “I’ve been working one way or the other for a long time. It’s not just my biceps that are strong but my forearms. Train your pronator teres and you’ll get a lot better.”
“My whawt?”
A voice behind me said, “It’s a muscle on the inside of your forearm just below your elbow.”
“Oh, hello Capt. Piccolo,” I said all innocent because I could tell he was trying not to smile. DJ had been a well-known arm-wrestling champion in their age group at one point.
“Hello Granny,” he responded just about causing me to drop my teeth. It had been a loooong time since someone had called me that. So long I had completely forgotten. DJ and some of his friends used to call me that just to irritate me.
I knew that’s what he was doing so I got him one back by saying, “Hello to you too … D’artagnan.”
He gave his own exaggerated wince then grabbed his chest over his heart and said, “Ugh … ya got me.”
“Clown.” I said snorting in no way ladylike form. “You hear for that liniment.”
“Yes. And to deliver a message to Zeb if he is around. He’s invited to dinner on his next day off.”
“Lucky him. I’m sure he’s here someplace,” I said, giving Zeb time to come out of hiding where he’d gone as soon as he must have seen who was on scene.
By the laughter in his eyes he knew exactly what Zeb had done. Big Brother was having him some fun at the expense of the guy coming to woo his sister.
I went to the workshed to see what supplies were to be had to build the bench and found a grumpy Cajun.
“Comment savez-vous le capitaine?”
“Who? Captain Piccolo?”
“Who else would it be? You know a lot of captains?”
Never having dealt with what I thought I was dealing with I slowly gave him a once over. “This is not one of those guy things is it? You know, ‘cause if it is, you don’t have any reason to be having one of those guy things. DJ, Mark, and Zeb’s brother played soccer and stuff together, used to be called the Three Musketeers by their coaches because of how they worked the field. Besides, do you think I’ve lost all sense? Mark is married and has a kid on the way.” I shrugged. “Want some Hibiscus Lemonade? I squirreled some in the freezer so that it would be cold tonight.”
“Er …”
A little cranky but trying not to show it I asked, “Is that a yes or no?”
“It’s a I’m feeling like an idiot and waiting for you to throw something at me.”
I shrugged. “Not my style. Just don’t make a regular habit out of this particular guy thing. It don’t say much for my morals.”
“Or mine.” He sighed then pulled something from behind his back. It was flimsy box then handed it to me. “Here.”
“Uh …”
“It’s not a bomb Ava.”
Well it mayn’t have been a bomb, but it sure felt like it. I opened the box – turned out to be a pastry box – and inside were these pink spritz sandwich cookies filled with white cream. My mouth fell open because someone had drawn a heart on the inside of the box.
I looked at Em and even with the sun going down I could see his face was as red as an old fire truck. My face got to feeling like I had a sunburn as well. “Um … I thought we had a no-teasing rule?”
He gave a small cough. “Wellll … this isn’t teasing. Not exactly.”
“Well, it feels like it. Makes me feel like giving you a kiss on the cheek so … er …”
“You can. If you want to.”
“Should I want to?”
A few minutes later we stepped back … from a kiss that wasn’t on the cheek … and we both looked like we’d walked into a heavy-duty aluminum post. “Okay, you win,” I told him. “No teasing. It’s too dangerous.”
“Good Gawd Lord Almighty,” he whispered desperately before walking over and sticking his head under the shower head.
“Uh …”
“Don’t. Just don’t. A man can only take so much.”
I could help it. I had to know. “Is that a good thing or … bad.”
He looked at me shook his head then smiled. “Just desserts on me. And that means its good and bad and … I’m gonna behave Ava but you’re gonna have to do your part. I get too close from here on out hit me in the head with something.”
“Tu es fou. You make me feel like this again before we’re ready and I won’t hit you in the head, I’ll toss you in the danged Bayou. Got it?”
His smile went from single watt to chandelier. “Got it.”
It’s been a few times I’ve thought about that kiss. Maybe not the first one I’ve gotten, but the first one I’ve given. But for the most part work has taken care of the extra giddyup and go it’s given me. And Em looks like he’s at least as tired.
Add to that some of them goof ball Junior Enlisted have started calling me Granny Ava with even more verve than DJ and his friends had. No, I did not find it amusing. Fabrice thought it was the best joke the first few times he heard it, but it just became part of the landscape after that. For my part I put up with it only because if I had made a fuss they would have probably started calling me something ruder that would set Em or Mr. Julius off, neither of whom found some of the shenanigans “them boys” got up to all that amusing. The female enlisted weren’t much better but they were normally housed in a different place. Gotta say they did make more work that they should have. Even as a Scout or Crew member I knew to always leave someplace cleaner or better than I found it. I know they are soldiering but they screw around a whole lot too. They could have picked up after themselves better that’s for sure. Made them look like jerks and knuckleheads and a dozen times I set out to say something to Major Broadstreet but then pulled back from actually doing it. It was just too dad-blamed hot to make a fuss.
Regular folks get into the bayou to cool off and that has meant more drowning deaths and gator attacks. Fuel came down a few pennies because the stations didn’t have power to the pumps but not much because when there was fuel, people bought all they were allowed to, always putting even more pressure on the availability. There were carbon monoxide poisoning deaths too where people would goof and run their gennies where the fumes would get in the house, usually at night to try and have a few fans blowing. No one realized they were going from sleep to suffocation before it was too late.
For old folks and little kids the heat was the worst. Lots of people dying from it around the country. Around here it got to be where during the hottest part of the day things got quiet all over. Not even the swamp and bayou made noise. I tried hanging a hammock outside so I could nap but the bugs were too bad … and too many other people thought it was public property and took it over leaving me out a place to nap anyway. I gave up trying to sleep the worst of the heat away and simply worked as slow as I could get away with. Momma L also taught me to make something she called switchel. Or that’s what it sounded like she was trying to say. Her bottom dentures broke and needed repair before she could have them reinstalled and she was having to save up her medical ration points to get it done.
The switchel is basically made from honey, apple cider vinegar, ginger, and water. It is what my mother would have called “an acquired taste.” Not bad if you want the truth, because you can drink as much as you want when you are hot without getting sick to your stomach, but I suppose not a rich man’s drink. ‘Course a rich man wouldn’t be grubbing weeds in the heat of the day either.
I told Mr. Maurice about it one day when I was fetching and carrying for Auntie and Momma L and he nearly laughed himself sick. “Lord, Lord … been a while since I thought o’ that.” Well there’s no flies on Mr. Maurice because next time I went by about a week later, what do I see in his cold drink cooler? These bottles of Switchel put out by this company called Superior. He’d found them online and special ordered them in. I bought all three flavors because I’d just gotten paid and … just because I guess. If Em can buy me pink cookies I can buy him something weird like Orange Maple Splash Switchel to keep him from passing out when he has to crawl around in people’s attics.
What I was picking up from Maurice was apples and grapes. By the bushel. I mean really and seriously bushels and bushels of apples and grapes. I won’t even list out what all we made with them but a bunch was put in jars in different ways and I did my own share that is sitting on a gorilla shelf in our storage locker. Since it doesn’t stay cool in there all the time anymore Em and I figured a way to make a kind of cooler with this Styrofoam insulation he pulled out of a job he was doing since it cost too much to pay to recycle it. We took one of the gorilla shelving units and completely covered it in multiple layers and then covered that with this aluminum tape that came from the same job site. It isn’t a perfect fix but it will work for now. We don’t need it to be a refrigerator in there but I don’t want it to be an oven either and by insulating it the temperature stays level instead of going up and down which would be even worse for the jars’ contents.
Trying to save up for the monthly locker fee has meant I don’t have as much Scrip to use even with Em throwing in half. I thought it would mean having to give up other plans but I found almost more crapwork than I could get done every week. Lucky for me Momma L and Mr. Julius put me on to some gleaning work. What that means is that people will pay me in product to clean off their trees, bushes, gardens, etc. Got some Chickasaw plums, gooseberries, blueberries, nectarines, loganberries (raspberry/blackberry cross), and raspberries that way. I cleared out Mr. Julius’ and Momma L’s cherry and pear trees for them. Nearly broke my neck gleaning a fig tree that was going to waste out near the cemetery and fixed up a basket for the Priests to prevent anyone thinking I was stealing from the church. And from the co-op garden as well as the home gardens I got beans, cantaloupes, cucumbers, okra, onions, potatoes, summer squash, and what must have been every variety of tomato known to man. Yellow, orange, purple, red, green, and brown. And every size and shape too … cherry, currant, big, little, round, squashed looking, egg-shaped, you name it. Same for peppers … hot, mild, scald the hair off your tongue, long and skinny, short and fat, red, yellow, purple, green, and on and on. Let me tell you, good thing I have a cast iron stomach because I almost lost it when Zeb got me in a hot pepper eating contest. He knew I could from where I’d done it a few times when we were kids.
“You so did not,” I hissed at him. “Don’t I get in enough trouble without your help?!”
“Tuck is at it again. Just knock him down a little for us? Pleeeeze?”
“Oh for pete … fine. But if I have to have some milk you better have it ready. You know I can’t get into the military pantry supplies. And this is the last time. Y’all need to learn to fight your own battles with that dork.”
“But you get him so good,” Zeb asked, finally happy I had given in.
“Grrr …”
By the time the stupid contest was over I was sweating like I was standing in a downpour and ready to sing, “Chaud, chaud, chaud.” But I kept my cool – appearance wise – while Tuck looked like he was having some kind of conniption while he tried to drown the fire in his mouth and belly with it having the opposite effect of what he wanted.
“I mean it Zeb,” I whispered before walking off. “Last flipping time. And if …”
He chuckled. “Thanks Ava. I swear. Last time. Promise,” he said as he passed me a couple pints of milk.
I calmly walked to the workshed like I was putting away my toolbox. However, as soon as the door was closed I was ripping off the top of a carton and chugging the first container of milk.
“I am a fool, grade A, 100%, and those blasted knuckleheads better do their own dirty deeds from here on out,” I gasped as my hands shook trying to get the second carton opened. “And if they get in the way of me needing the bathroom tonight I’ll just kill ‘em. All of ‘em. Kill ‘em dead. And throw ‘em in the swamp to get rid of the evidence.”
I nearly came out of my skin when Em takes the carton out of my shaking hands, opens it, and gives it back. I didn’t care if he did look like a Tard as he tried to keep from falling over from the laughing he was trying to keep in. He looked like he was having some kind of serious fit.
“Ha … ha … ha,” I finally was able to wheeze out as I finished the last drop of milk.
“You somethin’ else Ava Thibodaux.”
“Yeah. Off my rocker.”
He snickered some more. “Maybe … but I think Tuck finally has had enough.”
“Gawd I hope so. But whether he has or not, them loons are on their own. I’m done. I don’t have the time to make a fool of myself no more. I swear. Them officers just aren’t working those boys and gals hard enough if they’ve still got this much energy to fool around.”
He started snickering again and I heard “Granny” in there some where and the look I gave him for it had him exiting the shed at a fast trot.
You might want mysteries to be figured out sooner rather than later but that’s rarely how life works. Mysteries are mysteries for a reason and real life – day-to-day real life – comes first.
July in Louisiana. My goodness. I thought it was bad in South Florida, but it was a different kind of hot and humid in Breaux Bridge. Temperature in the 90s during the day and it never got any cooler than 75 degrees at night. At least in Bradenton there was the breeze from the Gulf. In Breaux Bridge there were days on end when there was no breeze and close to 100% humidity. Add to that electric rationing meant some days we were lucky to get enough electric to run the well pump to wash clothes and keep the pool filtered that was being heavily used by more than just officers. Sometimes after lights out there were still so many people in the pool it was hard to see the bottom. I worried we were going to have a drowning and for that reason I told – didn’t ask – that liquor not be allowed around the pool anymore. The Major told me I didn’t make a lot of friends that way. My response to her was I didn’t want to lose the ones that I did have. As word got around that went a piece towards calming what was going to be an out and out fight.
After one such run in with some of the Junior Enlisted I told them, “If you insist on sitting around drinking in your underdrawers – not that any of you are even legal you buncha lunk heads - I’ll build a table and put some chairs out by the gazebo. It is a waste of pay in my opinion but if it keeps people from having accidents around the pool, or wasting time and doing the stupid at the Food-n-Fun, I’ll find the time to get it done.”
A named Tuck tried to take it further and I decided to get some of my own back. “Think you are man enough to take me? How about an arm-wrestling contest? Winner shuts up.”
Zeb warned, “Don’t do it Tuck.”
“She’s just a girl.”
At that Zeb placed a fifty-dollar bet I would win. It made some people think but Tuck the Idiot decided it was a bluff. Did I mention the guy was acting like an idiot? Bets went hot and heavy after that with even some of the junior officers getting in on the action though I wasn’t to know it then.
The guy wasn’t bad, but he had no staying power. Once he couldn’t take my arm down right away it was a done deal.
“What the hall is your awm made of?!” he complained in his thick Boston accent.
“Solid steel.” He snorted at my tall tale. I told him, “I’ve been working one way or the other for a long time. It’s not just my biceps that are strong but my forearms. Train your pronator teres and you’ll get a lot better.”
“My whawt?”
A voice behind me said, “It’s a muscle on the inside of your forearm just below your elbow.”
“Oh, hello Capt. Piccolo,” I said all innocent because I could tell he was trying not to smile. DJ had been a well-known arm-wrestling champion in their age group at one point.
“Hello Granny,” he responded just about causing me to drop my teeth. It had been a loooong time since someone had called me that. So long I had completely forgotten. DJ and some of his friends used to call me that just to irritate me.
I knew that’s what he was doing so I got him one back by saying, “Hello to you too … D’artagnan.”
He gave his own exaggerated wince then grabbed his chest over his heart and said, “Ugh … ya got me.”
“Clown.” I said snorting in no way ladylike form. “You hear for that liniment.”
“Yes. And to deliver a message to Zeb if he is around. He’s invited to dinner on his next day off.”
“Lucky him. I’m sure he’s here someplace,” I said, giving Zeb time to come out of hiding where he’d gone as soon as he must have seen who was on scene.
By the laughter in his eyes he knew exactly what Zeb had done. Big Brother was having him some fun at the expense of the guy coming to woo his sister.
I went to the workshed to see what supplies were to be had to build the bench and found a grumpy Cajun.
“Comment savez-vous le capitaine?”
“Who? Captain Piccolo?”
“Who else would it be? You know a lot of captains?”
Never having dealt with what I thought I was dealing with I slowly gave him a once over. “This is not one of those guy things is it? You know, ‘cause if it is, you don’t have any reason to be having one of those guy things. DJ, Mark, and Zeb’s brother played soccer and stuff together, used to be called the Three Musketeers by their coaches because of how they worked the field. Besides, do you think I’ve lost all sense? Mark is married and has a kid on the way.” I shrugged. “Want some Hibiscus Lemonade? I squirreled some in the freezer so that it would be cold tonight.”
“Er …”
A little cranky but trying not to show it I asked, “Is that a yes or no?”
“It’s a I’m feeling like an idiot and waiting for you to throw something at me.”
I shrugged. “Not my style. Just don’t make a regular habit out of this particular guy thing. It don’t say much for my morals.”
“Or mine.” He sighed then pulled something from behind his back. It was flimsy box then handed it to me. “Here.”
“Uh …”
“It’s not a bomb Ava.”
Well it mayn’t have been a bomb, but it sure felt like it. I opened the box – turned out to be a pastry box – and inside were these pink spritz sandwich cookies filled with white cream. My mouth fell open because someone had drawn a heart on the inside of the box.
I looked at Em and even with the sun going down I could see his face was as red as an old fire truck. My face got to feeling like I had a sunburn as well. “Um … I thought we had a no-teasing rule?”
He gave a small cough. “Wellll … this isn’t teasing. Not exactly.”
“Well, it feels like it. Makes me feel like giving you a kiss on the cheek so … er …”
“You can. If you want to.”
“Should I want to?”
A few minutes later we stepped back … from a kiss that wasn’t on the cheek … and we both looked like we’d walked into a heavy-duty aluminum post. “Okay, you win,” I told him. “No teasing. It’s too dangerous.”
“Good Gawd Lord Almighty,” he whispered desperately before walking over and sticking his head under the shower head.
“Uh …”
“Don’t. Just don’t. A man can only take so much.”
I could help it. I had to know. “Is that a good thing or … bad.”
He looked at me shook his head then smiled. “Just desserts on me. And that means its good and bad and … I’m gonna behave Ava but you’re gonna have to do your part. I get too close from here on out hit me in the head with something.”
“Tu es fou. You make me feel like this again before we’re ready and I won’t hit you in the head, I’ll toss you in the danged Bayou. Got it?”
His smile went from single watt to chandelier. “Got it.”
It’s been a few times I’ve thought about that kiss. Maybe not the first one I’ve gotten, but the first one I’ve given. But for the most part work has taken care of the extra giddyup and go it’s given me. And Em looks like he’s at least as tired.
Add to that some of them goof ball Junior Enlisted have started calling me Granny Ava with even more verve than DJ and his friends had. No, I did not find it amusing. Fabrice thought it was the best joke the first few times he heard it, but it just became part of the landscape after that. For my part I put up with it only because if I had made a fuss they would have probably started calling me something ruder that would set Em or Mr. Julius off, neither of whom found some of the shenanigans “them boys” got up to all that amusing. The female enlisted weren’t much better but they were normally housed in a different place. Gotta say they did make more work that they should have. Even as a Scout or Crew member I knew to always leave someplace cleaner or better than I found it. I know they are soldiering but they screw around a whole lot too. They could have picked up after themselves better that’s for sure. Made them look like jerks and knuckleheads and a dozen times I set out to say something to Major Broadstreet but then pulled back from actually doing it. It was just too dad-blamed hot to make a fuss.
Regular folks get into the bayou to cool off and that has meant more drowning deaths and gator attacks. Fuel came down a few pennies because the stations didn’t have power to the pumps but not much because when there was fuel, people bought all they were allowed to, always putting even more pressure on the availability. There were carbon monoxide poisoning deaths too where people would goof and run their gennies where the fumes would get in the house, usually at night to try and have a few fans blowing. No one realized they were going from sleep to suffocation before it was too late.
For old folks and little kids the heat was the worst. Lots of people dying from it around the country. Around here it got to be where during the hottest part of the day things got quiet all over. Not even the swamp and bayou made noise. I tried hanging a hammock outside so I could nap but the bugs were too bad … and too many other people thought it was public property and took it over leaving me out a place to nap anyway. I gave up trying to sleep the worst of the heat away and simply worked as slow as I could get away with. Momma L also taught me to make something she called switchel. Or that’s what it sounded like she was trying to say. Her bottom dentures broke and needed repair before she could have them reinstalled and she was having to save up her medical ration points to get it done.
The switchel is basically made from honey, apple cider vinegar, ginger, and water. It is what my mother would have called “an acquired taste.” Not bad if you want the truth, because you can drink as much as you want when you are hot without getting sick to your stomach, but I suppose not a rich man’s drink. ‘Course a rich man wouldn’t be grubbing weeds in the heat of the day either.
I told Mr. Maurice about it one day when I was fetching and carrying for Auntie and Momma L and he nearly laughed himself sick. “Lord, Lord … been a while since I thought o’ that.” Well there’s no flies on Mr. Maurice because next time I went by about a week later, what do I see in his cold drink cooler? These bottles of Switchel put out by this company called Superior. He’d found them online and special ordered them in. I bought all three flavors because I’d just gotten paid and … just because I guess. If Em can buy me pink cookies I can buy him something weird like Orange Maple Splash Switchel to keep him from passing out when he has to crawl around in people’s attics.
What I was picking up from Maurice was apples and grapes. By the bushel. I mean really and seriously bushels and bushels of apples and grapes. I won’t even list out what all we made with them but a bunch was put in jars in different ways and I did my own share that is sitting on a gorilla shelf in our storage locker. Since it doesn’t stay cool in there all the time anymore Em and I figured a way to make a kind of cooler with this Styrofoam insulation he pulled out of a job he was doing since it cost too much to pay to recycle it. We took one of the gorilla shelving units and completely covered it in multiple layers and then covered that with this aluminum tape that came from the same job site. It isn’t a perfect fix but it will work for now. We don’t need it to be a refrigerator in there but I don’t want it to be an oven either and by insulating it the temperature stays level instead of going up and down which would be even worse for the jars’ contents.
Trying to save up for the monthly locker fee has meant I don’t have as much Scrip to use even with Em throwing in half. I thought it would mean having to give up other plans but I found almost more crapwork than I could get done every week. Lucky for me Momma L and Mr. Julius put me on to some gleaning work. What that means is that people will pay me in product to clean off their trees, bushes, gardens, etc. Got some Chickasaw plums, gooseberries, blueberries, nectarines, loganberries (raspberry/blackberry cross), and raspberries that way. I cleared out Mr. Julius’ and Momma L’s cherry and pear trees for them. Nearly broke my neck gleaning a fig tree that was going to waste out near the cemetery and fixed up a basket for the Priests to prevent anyone thinking I was stealing from the church. And from the co-op garden as well as the home gardens I got beans, cantaloupes, cucumbers, okra, onions, potatoes, summer squash, and what must have been every variety of tomato known to man. Yellow, orange, purple, red, green, and brown. And every size and shape too … cherry, currant, big, little, round, squashed looking, egg-shaped, you name it. Same for peppers … hot, mild, scald the hair off your tongue, long and skinny, short and fat, red, yellow, purple, green, and on and on. Let me tell you, good thing I have a cast iron stomach because I almost lost it when Zeb got me in a hot pepper eating contest. He knew I could from where I’d done it a few times when we were kids.
“You so did not,” I hissed at him. “Don’t I get in enough trouble without your help?!”
“Tuck is at it again. Just knock him down a little for us? Pleeeeze?”
“Oh for pete … fine. But if I have to have some milk you better have it ready. You know I can’t get into the military pantry supplies. And this is the last time. Y’all need to learn to fight your own battles with that dork.”
“But you get him so good,” Zeb asked, finally happy I had given in.
“Grrr …”
By the time the stupid contest was over I was sweating like I was standing in a downpour and ready to sing, “Chaud, chaud, chaud.” But I kept my cool – appearance wise – while Tuck looked like he was having some kind of conniption while he tried to drown the fire in his mouth and belly with it having the opposite effect of what he wanted.
“I mean it Zeb,” I whispered before walking off. “Last flipping time. And if …”
He chuckled. “Thanks Ava. I swear. Last time. Promise,” he said as he passed me a couple pints of milk.
I calmly walked to the workshed like I was putting away my toolbox. However, as soon as the door was closed I was ripping off the top of a carton and chugging the first container of milk.
“I am a fool, grade A, 100%, and those blasted knuckleheads better do their own dirty deeds from here on out,” I gasped as my hands shook trying to get the second carton opened. “And if they get in the way of me needing the bathroom tonight I’ll just kill ‘em. All of ‘em. Kill ‘em dead. And throw ‘em in the swamp to get rid of the evidence.”
I nearly came out of my skin when Em takes the carton out of my shaking hands, opens it, and gives it back. I didn’t care if he did look like a Tard as he tried to keep from falling over from the laughing he was trying to keep in. He looked like he was having some kind of serious fit.
“Ha … ha … ha,” I finally was able to wheeze out as I finished the last drop of milk.
“You somethin’ else Ava Thibodaux.”
“Yeah. Off my rocker.”
He snickered some more. “Maybe … but I think Tuck finally has had enough.”
“Gawd I hope so. But whether he has or not, them loons are on their own. I’m done. I don’t have the time to make a fool of myself no more. I swear. Them officers just aren’t working those boys and gals hard enough if they’ve still got this much energy to fool around.”
He started snickering again and I heard “Granny” in there some where and the look I gave him for it had him exiting the shed at a fast trot.
I got the formatting fixed and it is up to Chapter 114.
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
thank you for the new chapter!
I can still remember picking up the wrong pepper and flames were coming out of my mouth until I chugged some milk!
I can still remember picking up the wrong pepper and flames were coming out of my mouth until I chugged some milk!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you very much.
But the rain is over for a few days so playtime is over for a few days.... Thanks bunches!
AlaskaSue
North to the Future
A rare gem indeed <3
Siskiyoumom
Veteran Member
Ditto, cool beans fur shur!
Chapter 67
“Martin, are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting kinda spazzy.”
He surprised me by snapping, “And you’re just a smart mouth kid.”
I looked at Martin Edgar wondering what his problem was. I decided a little honesty couldn’t hurt. “Smart mouth? Yeah. By your standards anyway. Kid? Not sure about that one but whatever. Either way that doesn’t tell me why you are acting the way you are. What gives? Is something wrong with Miss Yula Mae?”
He snarled, “Don’t talk about her.”
“So … there is something wrong with her,” I said getting a little worried despite my desire to remain emotionally uninvolved. “Is she sick? Something I can do to help? And if you don’t get your hands out of the water that baby gator might just think your fingers will make a good meal.”
“Huh?” He looked down where he’d been washing the fish guts off his hands and then jumped back. He snarled a curse in Cajun, a language that I only rarely heard him use except around Miss Yula Mae. It made me suspicious.
No longer willing to try and use humor to bluff my way through whatever was going on I took a couple of steps back and knelt down at the tree my bow and backpack were leaning against and said, “Spit out what the problem is. If not, I’m out of here and you can find someone else to drown your loneliness with.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Well he screwed up that chance, so I hefted my backpack and stepped over to my skiff and pushed off.
“Wait!”
I turned and said, “Screw you Martin. You want to play games, go play them with someone else. I refuse to waste my time on that kind of stupidity.”
“You … you really don’t know.”
Allowing a little of my irritation to show I asked, “What are you blathering about?”
“It had to be you. No one else knows.”
“Have you been playing crazy so long that’s what you really are? Because I can guarantee you aren’t making any sense.”
He was silent for a moment. “You didn’t tell anyone about Yula Mae.”
Feeling the anger starting to bubble and knowing that wasn’t a good sign, I did my best to have some patience for the struggling man in front of me. “Martin, let me tell you something. Lord only knows why, it’s not like I went looking for them, but I’ve got people that care about what happens to me. If I was to disappear out here in this swamp they wouldn’t know where to look and might actually think I just ran off against the promises I’ve made not to. Despite that, I haven’t said a single thing about Miss Yula Mae or this area of the swamp we’re in. Not on purpose, not on accident. Now you wanna tell me why you are all but calling me a liar? ‘Cause you and I both know I made a promise not to say anything about her.”
Like he was still having trouble deciding he finally told me, “Someone … someone has been crawling around her place. Yula Mae is putting it down to an old Houma that used to have a fish camp in the area. I’m not of the same mind.”
“On old what?”
“Houma. They are a Native American people recognized by Louisiana but not by the Feds.” At my continued suspicion he explained further. “I’m not making it up. The tribe has about 20,000 people enrolled but few of them live in this area. Most of them live in Terrebonne parish. Ol’ Verdin had some kind of falling out with his wife’s family who run him off and he settled in this area before I was born. Thing is, I haven’t seen him in three or four years. Or even heard rumor of him.”
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t need the soap opera script. Long story short … what’s that got to do with what is going on right now.”
He sighed. “You get more and more like Henley every day.”
“No. I don’t. I’ve already discovered the man didn’t really want me and while I don’t hold it against him given his own circumstances, that don’t mean I’m exactly fond of the subject either. However, what I am getting is impatient so spit it out or I’m leaving. I got priorities that need taking care of, one of which is getting these fish and frogs back so they and my time don’t go to waste.”
“Well then it’s genetic ‘cause you’re nearly his twin.”
“Not hardly. I’m not obsessing over that crap we never talk about. Unless you are trying to tell me you think whoever is messing around Miss Yula Mae’s place has something to do with that.”
He made a face and asked me to follow him deeper into the swamp. I was a little suspicious, but I was also curious. And regardless of Em’s opinion, I know I don’t have nine lives and need to be careful of the one life I do have to live. I kept my eyes and ears open but did indeed follow him in. Neither one of us was using a motor – I didn’t have one and his was out of fuel – so it was quiet enough that I could tell there was no one following us unless they were a heck of a lot better than anyone that I’d met up to that point.
He finally tied off at what looked like what was left of a sunken boat. Reminded me of the USS Minnow if you want to know the truth only not big enough to hold more than a couple of people.
The name was just barely legible. Reine des Marais. Swamp Queen. Martin said, “This was my Great grandfather’s.”
“So? You saying it’s him bothering Miss Yula Mae?”
He gave me a look that said he wasn’t caring for my tone. I didn’t bat an eye and he sighed. “Your grandfather killed his brother, my great grandfather.”
“You got proof of that? ‘Cause while I’m not refuting the man pretty much fell off the face of the planet, it doesn’t mean that my Pa-pere is the one that caused it, or that it ended in death.”
“When you were a baby …”
Revealing more of my impatience with the subject I told him, “I know the story Martin. All of it. And no where in that story is proof that Pa-pere committed fratricide. In fact, from what I’ve been able to find out Mason Frechette was scum and liked it that way starting with the fact he never would marry the woman Marisol Edgar. ‘Course she wasn’t much better than that being a prostitute from New Orleans. And, at least in part ‘cause the two of them were like they were, their twin sons wound up choosing to be who they turned out to be. You’re the only one that broke that chain down that line of the family. At least as far as basic evidence shows.”
He paled. “How much do you know?”
“More than I want to. Less than it takes to make me care about it at all. And no one better go out of their way to make me care to know more. It sounds like for the most part we’re a malignant growth on what could have been a healthy family tree.”
Quietly he said, “I used to believe that too. Now I’m more like Henley. Prune the bad so nothing but the good remains and the heart of the tree can grow true.”
“Yeah well that’s melodrama and I doubt, from what I’ve been discovering, that is exactly what Uncle Henley was after.”
Ready to defend his friend Martin snapped, “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“It means that I give Uncle Henley credit for being a man and not a saint, and maybe being part kid that never grew up all the way. Just tell it like it is Martin. Some nonexistent treasure took over the commonsense of way too many people in this family.”
“There’s proof! It exists!”
“Sure, at one point. But you tell me how any treasure is going to last for generations while getting divvyed up amongst all the legitimate offspring of each generation for what, five or six generations? Whatever it was is gone.” Yeah, I was stretching the truth and not revealing all I had, but I wanted to know what Martin knew and he seemed to be in a revealing mood.
“There’s supposed to still be some left,” he whispered like we were sitting around a campfire telling spook stories.
I never was easily drug into that sort of thing. I told him, “Suuure there is. But don’t you think someone in the family along the way didn’t take it all and do something with it? They had decades to do it even if just a coin at a time.”
“There’s hints where …”
I was disappointed and I can’t say exactly why. “Martin listen to yourself. Bayou Chene, the last known location of any of the so-called treasure, is buried under twelve feet of silt and how much water on top of that depends on flooding caused by the spill way. Before that the 1927 flood all but washed the area clear. Whatever might have been left is gone. And if it isn’t gone it might as well be. If what I think happened is what did happen it only proves that the love of money is what is evil in this world. I got kidnapped by your great grandfather to force my grandfather to give or divulge something related to that stupid so-called treasure. And if that treasure is the only reason you’ve been looking after Miss Yula Mae you should be ashamed of yourself.”
He made a face. “Don’t you start. Miss Yula Mae doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Bull. She’s a Levert. For all I know the last one as from what I’ve been able to find on the library’s computers none of her brothers’ families ever seem to make it beyond a kid or two, and those that did live to be adults were all girls that married and moved out of the area decades ago.”
He sighed again and I was getting tired of the defeated sound.
To throw more cold water on his hot fantasy I said, “My family line is the same. I’m it, the last of them. And while you and yours descend from the Frechette’s too, you don’t carry the name and haven’t for three generations. So tell me, is it your brothers that are crazy or is it your Edgar cousins?”
I guess he was shocked that I’d actually ask him straight out like that. “Shhh.”
“They aren’t out here,” I said pointing out to the swamp. “Remy is in Angola as a three-striker. Even assuming that new law passes, he’s got at least another decade before he’ll get to apply for parole because of the robbery in Shreveport where those two armored truck guards were shot and killed. Daniel and that cat Wylene are getting called on the carpet along with rest of the law enforcement around here by that guy from the governor’s office for making him look bad to the Feds who are just about set to turn over that authority to the military reps in this area. Lorelei is something but someone able to follow us this deep into the swamp isn’t one of them.”
“But …”
“So let’s switch over to the other side even though ya’ll don’t claim one another. Your father’s twin Phillipe Deveraux – yeah I know that part of the story too – is a deviant bucket of slime that ran through a pretty big inheritance from his adoptive family before the old man was even cold in his grave. He still has some clout but only because he’s got a little black book of the sins of a good many people that he uses for blackmail. The only reason he isn’t dead on the side of the road or in prison is because his adoptive mother and brother are well thought of and pay the tab to keep the noise down to a minimum. They getting’ tired of it though, or so I’ve heard here and there. And one reason they are is because of the shenanigans of his sons Dante and Dagobert. Phillipe is so fat these days he’d sink any skiff he was in. Dante and Dagobert are both currently serving community service at the pleasure the local military commander … and if they screw it up, they’ll be riding out the next few months on a prison barge. Them two scuts Franc and Francoise? They’re lazy and you have to stand over them with a stick to get them to do any kind of anything that makes them break a sweat. And Fabrice? He’s in church with Mrs. Fontenot. Did I miss anyone?”
“You … you’ve figured it all out.” He was blinking like I’d shined some bright light on him.
I shook my head. “Not by half but in all honesty I’m not really sure I care. DNA doesn’t dictate family in my opinion. So which one of them are you really afraid of, or is it someone else?”
He sat down in his boat and took a moment to come to some sort of decision. “You need to be careful Ava. While you know a lot … you don’t know all you think you do. Remy has a son. Got a girl pregnant and wouldn’t marry her and our stepdad kicked him out of the house for it. It was one of those ‘last straw’ kind of things. That and Remy dared Hymel to try it pulled a knife on him and even threatened Mom, saying he’d go to the cops because he knew she’d killed our father and that’s why he disappeared. I was at college and didn’t find out until it was all done and over with. Daniel and Lorelei were still little kids and were sent to visit family until the ruckus died down. Hymel, my stepdad, might not have been in his prime but he’d been a Merchant Marine and he handed Remy his head. Same night Remy got with some friends and were going to come back to the house and do only God knows what but they wound up so drunk they ran the car they were in into a store front. Judge sent him to detox and then juvenile detention since he’d only just turned sixteen. Mom got sick not long after that and our stepdad forbid anyone from upsetting her. Mom got well and they toughed it out in Breaux Bridge for as long as they could be as soon as Lorelei graduated highschool they moved out to Colorado where Hymel had already been taking Mom off and on for her health. Tried to take Lorelei with them but she refused to go and Daniel promised to look after her and … well I’ve give it to him, he has.”
“I don’t need anymore soap opera.”
“Yeah. Yeah you do. ‘Cause maybe there is something wrong with our family. Remy’s son … there’s something … evil … about him. And I know that sounds crazy but it’s the truth. The boy’s mother OD’d when the boy was still a baby. For all the trouble that Remy would get into he always kept a woman or two that would look after Reazin. But then Remy got sent to prison for a few months and the girls family finally got custody of him. ”
“Reason?”
“Reazin. R-E-A-Z-I-N. Reazin Edgar.”
“Never heard of him.”
"He doesn't live around here." I was getting really tired of him sighing. “Ava … I … I think he may have been the one that …”
“Attacked Uncle Henley? Possibly but I’m not going to convict the guy without proof. But let’s get back to why you think he’d be out in this swamp, and more importantly around Miss Yula Mae’s place.”
“Martin, are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting kinda spazzy.”
He surprised me by snapping, “And you’re just a smart mouth kid.”
I looked at Martin Edgar wondering what his problem was. I decided a little honesty couldn’t hurt. “Smart mouth? Yeah. By your standards anyway. Kid? Not sure about that one but whatever. Either way that doesn’t tell me why you are acting the way you are. What gives? Is something wrong with Miss Yula Mae?”
He snarled, “Don’t talk about her.”
“So … there is something wrong with her,” I said getting a little worried despite my desire to remain emotionally uninvolved. “Is she sick? Something I can do to help? And if you don’t get your hands out of the water that baby gator might just think your fingers will make a good meal.”
“Huh?” He looked down where he’d been washing the fish guts off his hands and then jumped back. He snarled a curse in Cajun, a language that I only rarely heard him use except around Miss Yula Mae. It made me suspicious.
No longer willing to try and use humor to bluff my way through whatever was going on I took a couple of steps back and knelt down at the tree my bow and backpack were leaning against and said, “Spit out what the problem is. If not, I’m out of here and you can find someone else to drown your loneliness with.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Well he screwed up that chance, so I hefted my backpack and stepped over to my skiff and pushed off.
“Wait!”
I turned and said, “Screw you Martin. You want to play games, go play them with someone else. I refuse to waste my time on that kind of stupidity.”
“You … you really don’t know.”
Allowing a little of my irritation to show I asked, “What are you blathering about?”
“It had to be you. No one else knows.”
“Have you been playing crazy so long that’s what you really are? Because I can guarantee you aren’t making any sense.”
He was silent for a moment. “You didn’t tell anyone about Yula Mae.”
Feeling the anger starting to bubble and knowing that wasn’t a good sign, I did my best to have some patience for the struggling man in front of me. “Martin, let me tell you something. Lord only knows why, it’s not like I went looking for them, but I’ve got people that care about what happens to me. If I was to disappear out here in this swamp they wouldn’t know where to look and might actually think I just ran off against the promises I’ve made not to. Despite that, I haven’t said a single thing about Miss Yula Mae or this area of the swamp we’re in. Not on purpose, not on accident. Now you wanna tell me why you are all but calling me a liar? ‘Cause you and I both know I made a promise not to say anything about her.”
Like he was still having trouble deciding he finally told me, “Someone … someone has been crawling around her place. Yula Mae is putting it down to an old Houma that used to have a fish camp in the area. I’m not of the same mind.”
“On old what?”
“Houma. They are a Native American people recognized by Louisiana but not by the Feds.” At my continued suspicion he explained further. “I’m not making it up. The tribe has about 20,000 people enrolled but few of them live in this area. Most of them live in Terrebonne parish. Ol’ Verdin had some kind of falling out with his wife’s family who run him off and he settled in this area before I was born. Thing is, I haven’t seen him in three or four years. Or even heard rumor of him.”
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t need the soap opera script. Long story short … what’s that got to do with what is going on right now.”
He sighed. “You get more and more like Henley every day.”
“No. I don’t. I’ve already discovered the man didn’t really want me and while I don’t hold it against him given his own circumstances, that don’t mean I’m exactly fond of the subject either. However, what I am getting is impatient so spit it out or I’m leaving. I got priorities that need taking care of, one of which is getting these fish and frogs back so they and my time don’t go to waste.”
“Well then it’s genetic ‘cause you’re nearly his twin.”
“Not hardly. I’m not obsessing over that crap we never talk about. Unless you are trying to tell me you think whoever is messing around Miss Yula Mae’s place has something to do with that.”
He made a face and asked me to follow him deeper into the swamp. I was a little suspicious, but I was also curious. And regardless of Em’s opinion, I know I don’t have nine lives and need to be careful of the one life I do have to live. I kept my eyes and ears open but did indeed follow him in. Neither one of us was using a motor – I didn’t have one and his was out of fuel – so it was quiet enough that I could tell there was no one following us unless they were a heck of a lot better than anyone that I’d met up to that point.
He finally tied off at what looked like what was left of a sunken boat. Reminded me of the USS Minnow if you want to know the truth only not big enough to hold more than a couple of people.
The name was just barely legible. Reine des Marais. Swamp Queen. Martin said, “This was my Great grandfather’s.”
“So? You saying it’s him bothering Miss Yula Mae?”
He gave me a look that said he wasn’t caring for my tone. I didn’t bat an eye and he sighed. “Your grandfather killed his brother, my great grandfather.”
“You got proof of that? ‘Cause while I’m not refuting the man pretty much fell off the face of the planet, it doesn’t mean that my Pa-pere is the one that caused it, or that it ended in death.”
“When you were a baby …”
Revealing more of my impatience with the subject I told him, “I know the story Martin. All of it. And no where in that story is proof that Pa-pere committed fratricide. In fact, from what I’ve been able to find out Mason Frechette was scum and liked it that way starting with the fact he never would marry the woman Marisol Edgar. ‘Course she wasn’t much better than that being a prostitute from New Orleans. And, at least in part ‘cause the two of them were like they were, their twin sons wound up choosing to be who they turned out to be. You’re the only one that broke that chain down that line of the family. At least as far as basic evidence shows.”
He paled. “How much do you know?”
“More than I want to. Less than it takes to make me care about it at all. And no one better go out of their way to make me care to know more. It sounds like for the most part we’re a malignant growth on what could have been a healthy family tree.”
Quietly he said, “I used to believe that too. Now I’m more like Henley. Prune the bad so nothing but the good remains and the heart of the tree can grow true.”
“Yeah well that’s melodrama and I doubt, from what I’ve been discovering, that is exactly what Uncle Henley was after.”
Ready to defend his friend Martin snapped, “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“It means that I give Uncle Henley credit for being a man and not a saint, and maybe being part kid that never grew up all the way. Just tell it like it is Martin. Some nonexistent treasure took over the commonsense of way too many people in this family.”
“There’s proof! It exists!”
“Sure, at one point. But you tell me how any treasure is going to last for generations while getting divvyed up amongst all the legitimate offspring of each generation for what, five or six generations? Whatever it was is gone.” Yeah, I was stretching the truth and not revealing all I had, but I wanted to know what Martin knew and he seemed to be in a revealing mood.
“There’s supposed to still be some left,” he whispered like we were sitting around a campfire telling spook stories.
I never was easily drug into that sort of thing. I told him, “Suuure there is. But don’t you think someone in the family along the way didn’t take it all and do something with it? They had decades to do it even if just a coin at a time.”
“There’s hints where …”
I was disappointed and I can’t say exactly why. “Martin listen to yourself. Bayou Chene, the last known location of any of the so-called treasure, is buried under twelve feet of silt and how much water on top of that depends on flooding caused by the spill way. Before that the 1927 flood all but washed the area clear. Whatever might have been left is gone. And if it isn’t gone it might as well be. If what I think happened is what did happen it only proves that the love of money is what is evil in this world. I got kidnapped by your great grandfather to force my grandfather to give or divulge something related to that stupid so-called treasure. And if that treasure is the only reason you’ve been looking after Miss Yula Mae you should be ashamed of yourself.”
He made a face. “Don’t you start. Miss Yula Mae doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Bull. She’s a Levert. For all I know the last one as from what I’ve been able to find on the library’s computers none of her brothers’ families ever seem to make it beyond a kid or two, and those that did live to be adults were all girls that married and moved out of the area decades ago.”
He sighed again and I was getting tired of the defeated sound.
To throw more cold water on his hot fantasy I said, “My family line is the same. I’m it, the last of them. And while you and yours descend from the Frechette’s too, you don’t carry the name and haven’t for three generations. So tell me, is it your brothers that are crazy or is it your Edgar cousins?”
I guess he was shocked that I’d actually ask him straight out like that. “Shhh.”
“They aren’t out here,” I said pointing out to the swamp. “Remy is in Angola as a three-striker. Even assuming that new law passes, he’s got at least another decade before he’ll get to apply for parole because of the robbery in Shreveport where those two armored truck guards were shot and killed. Daniel and that cat Wylene are getting called on the carpet along with rest of the law enforcement around here by that guy from the governor’s office for making him look bad to the Feds who are just about set to turn over that authority to the military reps in this area. Lorelei is something but someone able to follow us this deep into the swamp isn’t one of them.”
“But …”
“So let’s switch over to the other side even though ya’ll don’t claim one another. Your father’s twin Phillipe Deveraux – yeah I know that part of the story too – is a deviant bucket of slime that ran through a pretty big inheritance from his adoptive family before the old man was even cold in his grave. He still has some clout but only because he’s got a little black book of the sins of a good many people that he uses for blackmail. The only reason he isn’t dead on the side of the road or in prison is because his adoptive mother and brother are well thought of and pay the tab to keep the noise down to a minimum. They getting’ tired of it though, or so I’ve heard here and there. And one reason they are is because of the shenanigans of his sons Dante and Dagobert. Phillipe is so fat these days he’d sink any skiff he was in. Dante and Dagobert are both currently serving community service at the pleasure the local military commander … and if they screw it up, they’ll be riding out the next few months on a prison barge. Them two scuts Franc and Francoise? They’re lazy and you have to stand over them with a stick to get them to do any kind of anything that makes them break a sweat. And Fabrice? He’s in church with Mrs. Fontenot. Did I miss anyone?”
“You … you’ve figured it all out.” He was blinking like I’d shined some bright light on him.
I shook my head. “Not by half but in all honesty I’m not really sure I care. DNA doesn’t dictate family in my opinion. So which one of them are you really afraid of, or is it someone else?”
He sat down in his boat and took a moment to come to some sort of decision. “You need to be careful Ava. While you know a lot … you don’t know all you think you do. Remy has a son. Got a girl pregnant and wouldn’t marry her and our stepdad kicked him out of the house for it. It was one of those ‘last straw’ kind of things. That and Remy dared Hymel to try it pulled a knife on him and even threatened Mom, saying he’d go to the cops because he knew she’d killed our father and that’s why he disappeared. I was at college and didn’t find out until it was all done and over with. Daniel and Lorelei were still little kids and were sent to visit family until the ruckus died down. Hymel, my stepdad, might not have been in his prime but he’d been a Merchant Marine and he handed Remy his head. Same night Remy got with some friends and were going to come back to the house and do only God knows what but they wound up so drunk they ran the car they were in into a store front. Judge sent him to detox and then juvenile detention since he’d only just turned sixteen. Mom got sick not long after that and our stepdad forbid anyone from upsetting her. Mom got well and they toughed it out in Breaux Bridge for as long as they could be as soon as Lorelei graduated highschool they moved out to Colorado where Hymel had already been taking Mom off and on for her health. Tried to take Lorelei with them but she refused to go and Daniel promised to look after her and … well I’ve give it to him, he has.”
“I don’t need anymore soap opera.”
“Yeah. Yeah you do. ‘Cause maybe there is something wrong with our family. Remy’s son … there’s something … evil … about him. And I know that sounds crazy but it’s the truth. The boy’s mother OD’d when the boy was still a baby. For all the trouble that Remy would get into he always kept a woman or two that would look after Reazin. But then Remy got sent to prison for a few months and the girls family finally got custody of him. ”
“Reason?”
“Reazin. R-E-A-Z-I-N. Reazin Edgar.”
“Never heard of him.”
"He doesn't live around here." I was getting really tired of him sighing. “Ava … I … I think he may have been the one that …”
“Attacked Uncle Henley? Possibly but I’m not going to convict the guy without proof. But let’s get back to why you think he’d be out in this swamp, and more importantly around Miss Yula Mae’s place.”
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you for the addition.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Apparently not -- never saw this many until my parents put out the Christmas nut tray -- does make for a twisty sort of tale, no?
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Thank you Kathy