“Your mom always sees the good in people.”
But not in me.
And that was what always kicked him hardest. Stone, the idiot bully, was perfect. He, the ever dutiful son, was defective.…
The injustice stung so deep that it left a bleeding wound inside his soul. What would he have to do to make his mother realize that he wasn’t …
What?
A demon?
Something born to destroy everything?
A tool for evil?
Capable of murder?
His stomach churned even more as he realized that he was exactly all of that. And more.
You’re destined to destroy everyone you love.
Maybe his mother saw more than he thought she did.
“Is she right, Kody?” he asked, needing to know the truth about himself. “Am I really going to flip out one day and become my father?”
She pulled him to a stop. “We all have choices, Nick. Even if it’s nothing more than the choice between lesser evils. No one can take away your free will. Not even the gods. It’s the one gift that can never be returned, stolen, or revoked. We can blame others for our bad decisions. We can say that we had no choice. But it’s always a lie. No one puts your hand on the gun but you. Only you can decide if you pick it up or leave it alone.”
“What about silkspeech?”
“That’s the power of influence, Nick. It’s not mind control. If the person is strong in their convictions, they can’t be controlled. You cannot compel a pacifist to murder.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that. “You don’t think that with the right motivation, you can make someone do anything?”
“What I think is if someone held a gun to your head and threatened to kill you, your mother would do anything they asked to keep you safe. But that is her freewill decision that she, alone, makes. You see what I’m saying? She could choose to let you die. We know she won’t, of course she won’t, but that’s because of the decisions she makes every day to put your life above hers. You can motivate someone to action, but in the end, they are the one who makes the ultimate and last decision to either do or do not.”
His little Yoda sage made sense.
She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. “I don’t know if you’ll turn evil. Only
you
can decide which side of this fight you’re going to support. But I believe in you. I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. And I definitely wouldn’t be protecting you. All of us have darkness inside us, and at times it possesses and seduces us in ways we never thought possible. Gives us promises that if we give in to it, it’ll make things better. I’ve not always done the right thing for the right reason, either. And I’m ashamed of some things I’ve done. We all are. Mistakes don’t have to define us. They’re how we learn and grow. They show us who and what we don’t want to be. It’s why they’re mistakes. And you, my love, are such a stubborn, stubborn boy, I can only imagine how much more obstinate you’ll be as a full grown man. I honestly can’t imagine you doing anything you don’t want to. So, no, I don’t believe for a second that you’ll simply snap a wheel and turn evil. And I can’t imagine you
ever
being like your father. No matter what.”
He took her hand into his and kissed her knuckles. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kody.”
“Remember that the next time Jill or Casey talks to you.”
He smiled at her. “I always do.”
She gave him a quick hug, then let him go so that they could check in with Mark.
Nick opened the door to The Triple B and let Kody enter the store first. The moment they were inside, he paused as he heard Bubba and Mark arguing on the other side of the curtain.
“Get your hands—”
“Did I not tell—”
“You don’t know—”
“I know. You’re—”
“Stop. Just stop. You—”
“Me, stop You’re—”
There was an attractive lady on the other side of the glass cabinet, leaning against it with one hand propped against her cheek, looking oddly bored and amused all at the same time. An impressive feat really. With dark auburn hair that was cut in a chic style, and an elegant navy blazer, she straightened up and smiled as she caught sight of them. “Hi, y’all,” she said in a thick Tennessee drawl that was identical to Bubba’s and Mark’s. “How y’all doing?”
Contrary to misinformation and bad Hollywood attempts—some from people who ought to know better—not all Southern accents were the same. You could easily peg where someone came from by the sound of their accent and the words they used. And nowhere outside of New York City was it more obvious what ward or district you originated from, how educated your parents were, and how much money they had, than here in New Orleans. Even the name of the city itself was pronounced completely different depending on what street you grew up on.
Literally.
Nick’s Cajun accent wasn’t nearly as thick as his mother’s, unless he wanted it to be. And the Cajun version of French was all their own. While they could understand the French and the French could usually understand them, the Cajun way of pronouncing things and altering French grammar could send purists into fits.
Menyara’s Creole accent was as thick as his mother’s jar of refrigerated roux, and he loved the sound of it.
He wasn’t quite as pleased with his own. No matter how hard he tried to hide his accent, it always came out in certain words like “praline,” “etouffee,” “pecan,” and any time he lost his temper. You could easily tell how mad he was by how Cajun he sounded. And if he started spewing all Cajun words, duck.
“Can I help y’all with something?”
Nick smiled as he approached her. “You must be Bubba’s mama, Dr. Burdette. It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am. I’m Nick Gautier and this is Kody Kennedy.”
At the mention of his name, her demeanor changed completely. She went ramrod stiff and arched an irritated brow at him. “Nicholas Gautier, as I live and breathe. Now there’s a name I know well. Explain to me, boy, why you want to go and shoot me in my head when you don’t even know me. What’d I ever do to you?”
Nick sputtered as he tried to come up with an explanation for how he’d shot through her portrait that Bubba kept hung on his wall. “I-I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I swear it.”
She started laughing, then chucked him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m just joshing with you, Nick. Calm down, son. I don’t want to have to put down newspapers ’cause you wet the floor in a panic like my old hunting dog used to do every time Michael blew something up in the house. He had that poor old thing a nervous wreck until the day the Lord took her. I am absolutely not offended … much, that you blew my head off. But that’s all right, I was raised in the middle of four brothers, and with Michael for a son, I’m used to having to dodge bullets. Literally, most days.”
Without pausing or breaking a sweat, she went right into another segue. “Did he ever tell you about the time he was supposed to be napping and instead, he climbed up on his daddy’s gun cabinet, trying to get to the AC vent—whatever he was going to do up there, I don’t even want to know—I never asked. Anyway, poor boy slipped, hit the lock somehow, and popped it off. Next thing you know, his daddy’s 410, of all things, falls out and misfires. I was out in the yard with a friend, oblivious to my son’s stupidity, until a bullet whizzed right between us and shattered my birdhouse. By the time I got in the living room, Michael was trying to hide the gun behind the couch. Like I wouldn’t notice the busted cabinet hanging open and the gun missing out of its slot. Not to mention it was longer than the couch. Point being, don’t think anything about it, Nick. I am not offended,” she repeated.
Whoever said Southerners talked slow had never been around one raised in a big family. Here he’d always thought Bubba talked fast, but he had nothing on his mother.
“Hey, Michael!” she called out, finally interrupting Mark and Bubba’s fight. “You got visitors out here to see you. Stop arguing with your girlfriend and come on now.” Laughing, she winked at Nick. “The way them two carry on, I keep waiting to get a wedding invitation for them to take their nuptials. I ain’t never seen anything like it in my life, and especially not between two straight men. At least not to where it didn’t end up in a fist fight after a couple of minutes.”
“Michael is Bubba?” He felt stupid for asking, but …
His mother screwed her face up. “Oh, I hate that name he uses. Do I look like I’d name my son Bubba?” The way she said the name it sounded like the ultimate insult. “That I would gaze down upon my precious bundle that I had succored for months inside my own body and given all my devotion to and say, ‘Dear Lord, thank you for this wonderful gift. Let me call him Bubba, so that he can grow up and be mocked before he even opens his mouth.’ Did he ever tell you how he got that dang nickname?”
“No, ma’am. I didn’t even know it was a nickname. I thought his nickname was Cheese.”
“Oh, and don’t even get me started on
that
topic. Cheese? Really, Michael? For
that
I sent you to the best private school in town.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Nah, they named him Bubba when he was in tenth grade and had gone up to Ohio State for a summer football camp program. Those snotty brats started calling my baby Bubba because of his accent that they constantly mocked him over. And instead of stomping them into the ground like he should have, he started using Bubba as a joke.”
“Mama,” Bubba said as he came out of the back. “I can’t beat up everyone in the world for being stupid. Have you seen how many of them are out there? I work retail. Trust me. The world’s eat up with it. And aren’t you the one who’s always saying, ‘you can’t fix stupid, son, so don’t try?’ Besides, I got better things to do with my time than fight every idiot I come into contact with.”
She snorted. “Please. It wouldn’t be much of a fight. Have you looked at yourself, boy?
Nick gaped at her words. He couldn’t believe she’d encourage Bubba to fight when all he did was get dogged out by his mother for even thinking about fighting.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
Dr. Burdette shook her head, then met Nick’s gaze. “I don’t know where he gets his gargantuan size from. My entire side of the family is mutantly short. Heck, I’m taller than two of my brothers. They are truly concentrated evil which is why they’re meaner than all get out. And while his daddy is average, his daddy
is
average. Genes make no sense to me.”
Bubba snorted. “You know, Mama, I don’t find that comforting given the fact that you’re one of the top pediatric surgeons in the country, and have written several defining works on genetic links to diseases.” He glanced at Nick and Kody. “It’s kind of like the time she baked me cookies when I was a kid, and then came up to my room to offer them to me while I was getting dressed for Halloween.”
“Oh Lord, not that again,” his mother said under her breath.
Nick was so confused. “What’s wrong with cookies?” His mom tried to bake, but it was not her forte. They were always burnt on the outside and still raw dough on the inside.
Bubba snorted. “Nick, I’m telling you this for your own good. If a woman, even your own mother, comes up and offers you cookies while she’s wearing a black apron with a skull and crossbones on it … decline. Just saying.”
His mother laughed. “It was during Halloween. Good grief. Who knew I’d scar you for life by offering you a snickerdoodle? I can just hear that conversation with your therapist now. ‘Oh, Doctor, it was so awful. There I sat as a little innocent child, playing my video games on my little baby tummy, when all of a sudden, my mean, awful mama, who’d just come off a thirty-six-hour shift at the hospital, who had driven two and a half hours to get home so that she could finish sewing up my Gene Simmons costume for trick-or-treating after my daddy had accidentally sewed the sleeve shut, and bake me some mummy dogs and snickerdoodles, offered me one.’” She held the back of her hand to her forehead. “‘Oh the humanity, Doctor. Oh the humanity I have seen. You just don’t know my pain. You. Just. Don’t. Know.’”
She gave Kody and Nick a droll stare. “I’ll bet if you tried to give him a snickerdoodle today, he’d scream like a girl and run for cover.” She paused and narrowed her eyes. Then a wide smile broke across her face. “I know what I’m making for dinner.” She grinned at Bubba. “You got any cinnamon in your kitchen, Bugaboo? Or is it all half-empty cereal boxes and Snickers like normal?”
“I got a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to insult you.” Her voice shook with laughter and sarcasm.
Nick laughed. “I like your mama, Bubba. She’s a lot of fun.”
“That’s ’cause she’s not busting
your
chops. As my dad would say, she’s like a head injury. Only funny when it happens to somebody else.”
He wouldn’t argue that. No one was immune from the blistering tongue of maternal criticism. But Nick wanted to return to something Bubba’s mom had mentioned that he hadn’t known about Bubba. Something he just couldn’t wrap his mind around. “Did you really play football?”
Bubba shrugged nonchalantly. “For a little while.”
“Little while, my pink patootie.” His mama turned her attention back to Nick and Kody. “Let me tell you about my baby boy, Nick. He was a first-string linebacker. One of the best you ever saw. When he wasn’t blowing stuff up around the house conducting bizarre experiments,” she glanced sideways at Bubba, “like the time he tried to launch the TV into space for the aliens to see—”
“Mama, I was four years old, let it go already. Dang … Do something stupid around your mama, one time, when you’re four years old and you never live it down.”
She ignored his interruption. “… He had a football in his hands and was leaving everybody in his wake. No one could catch him. The people who knew better than to mock him used to call him Battleground Bulldozer Burdette or Trip B for short. He had a full-blown football
and
academic scholarship to MIT, where he was one of their most valued players all four years he was there. He had offers to go pro and I don’t mean one or two teams. He was the number-one draft pick and was promised everything you can imagine if he’d sign. He could have played for any NFL team, anywhere.”