Chapter 56

Luc burst into the waiting room, saw Julie, and ran to her. “I got here as fast as I could.”

Unlike before, he hadn’t been able to find a quick flight.

“Oh, Luc, thank God you’re here.” Clarice rushed to him only to be pulled up short by Michel’s hand on her arm.

Luc barely glanced at her, thinking irrelevantly that pregnancy didn’t agree with Clarice at all.

Her face was puffy and swollen as were her feet and hands, her wedding ring cutting into her finger. The beautiful blond hair was lackluster and straw-like, with a wide line of black showing at the roots. Clarice’s body was retaining so much fluid, she looked to be nine months pregnant already.

“What in God’s name happened?” Luc looked at Michel.

“We don’t know.” Michel glanced at his wife. “Clarice found him in the study. Win says he’s had some kind of shock, enough to bring on a coronary. They have him in ICU.” His hand tightened on Clarice’s arm. “I’m taking Clarice home. This has been a shock to her, too.”

He started out. For once, Clarice went with him without protesting.

“I’m going home, too,” Julie said.

“Do you have a way?”

“I drove your car. James followed so you can take the car and he’ll drive me back.”

“You should’ve come with him so we could ride together.” He sounded disappointed.

“I wouldn’t be good company. I’m too upset.” Standing on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “Dr. Wallace wants to talk to you. I’ll see you at home, later.”

Luc watched her walk down the hall. She was moving very slowly, almost a waddle.

She shouldn’t have driven.

He supposed he could’ve demanded she ride back with him but at the moment, it seemed everyone was better off being alone.

He left the waiting room in search of Win.

* * *

As Julie walked past the drawing room, she saw the door was open. From inside came the sound of ice being dropped into a glass. She took two steps toward the door and peered in.

“Clarice? Is that you?” Surely, she’s not drinking. Not now.

“Non.”

As she came in, she saw Michel sitting on the couch. He was holding a glass filled with ice and an amber-colored liquid. There was a decanter of whiskey on the coffee table.

“Michel? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m drowning my sorrows.” He raised the glass and drained it. While Julie watched, he seized the decanter and filled the glass again.

“You know you shouldn’t drink.”

“Is that supposed to make me stop?” He sounded as if he didn’t care.

“How much have you had?’

“How much is left?” Raising the decanter, he squinted at it. “Not enough, it looks like.”

As he picked up the glass again, Julie tried to take it away from him. Whiskey sloshed onto the carpet as he pulled it from her and drank half its contents in one gulp.

“Why are you doing this? Are you that worried about Gran’père?”

“Gran’père…” It was a soft slur. Setting down the glass, he looked up at her. “Do you know wha’ Gran’père was doin’ when he had his ’tack?”

She shook her head.

“He was gettin’ ready to sign a paper givin’ San Souci to Luc. Thass right. Lock, stock, an’ barrel.” Michel shook his head. “An’ I was to be th’ po’ white trash overseer, workin’ my butt off so Big Massa Luc can spend th’ profits.”

Picking up the glass, he finished it with a defiant gulp.

“It isn’t fair, Julie. Luc always gets everything.”

The same thing he’d said to her that day by the river.

“You know that isn’t so…”

“Yes, it is,” Michel exclaimed drunkenly. “Th’ plantation, my wife, my child. He’s got it all!”

“Luc hasn’t taken Clarice and the baby from you, Michel.” She spoke gently, trying to reason him away from the decanter. How much has he had to drink? How much can he drink before his body reacts to the alcohol?

“Poor li’l Julie.” He laughed but the sound was more like a sob. “You don’ know wha’ I’m talkin’ ’bout, do you? You’re so sweet, Julie.” He caught her hands, giving them a shaky pat. “So trustin’. You really believe that li’l bun in Clarice’s oven is mine, don’ you? Well, it’s not!

He shouted it at her.

“I’m sterile, Julie. This condition o’ mine, as you so quain’ly call it, has seen to that. Luc’s th’ one…Luc…he got to her.”

His picked up the empty glass, filling it again. His hand shook. It took several tries before he stopped spilling the whiskey.

“You’re drunk.” Julie’s voice was too quiet. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m drunk al’ right, but I do know wha’ I’m sayin’.” A wet gleam appeared in his eyes. “I saw them, Julie…inna garden…Clarice with her skirts ’round her waist an’ him ruttin’ at her like one o’ th’ stallions.”

There was another desperate gulp, another gasping sigh.

“I wan’ to kill them both, but I didn’t…couldn’t…an’ you know why?” Michel closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out something only he could see. “’C-cause in spite o’ everythin’ I still love her. Damn me…I’m such a loser.”

The glass tumbled to the floor as Michel put his hands to his face and began to sob. Julie sat beside him, putting her arms around him, cradling him against her shoulder. That made him cry even harder.

“Well, isn’t this touching?” Silhouetted against the light in the foyer, Luc stood in the doorway. “Was this why you were in such a hurry to get home?”

She didn’t get a chance to answer. Raising his head, Michel lurched to his feet, pulling out of Julie’s arms. “You son of a bitch.”

Luc looked at him disdainfully. “What are you yammering about this time?”

“Shut up, Michel.” Julie clambered off the couch, stepping between them.

Surprisingly, he obeyed, dropping onto the couch again, head in his hands.

“He's drunk, Luc. Don’t pay any attention to him.”

“Drunk or sober, I never do.”

“I think we need to talk.” She walked past him.

“My sentiments exactly.” Turning his back on his brother, who’d was trying to retrieve the dropped glass, Luc followed her from the room.