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“How do you feel about taking a little trip?” Howie asked Lyric one morning.

“Where to?” she asked as she updated a file on his computer.

“New Orleans, I’m looking into a business prospect there.”

“I left Louisiana when I was six, haven’t been back there since,” she said with a sigh. “It would be nice to see it again.”

“Good, go ahead and book us both first class for the 15th of next month, to return late on the 18th,” he said, looking at an email for confirmation of the date. “Two rooms at the Ritz-Carlton, for 3 nights.”

Lyric opened the hotel’s website. “Deluxe room or a suite?” she asked.

“They don’t have two bedroom suites. Get two deluxe rooms on the club level, if they have any available.”

Lyric booked the rooms and then booked their flight. “Ok, all done, boss.”

“Thanks. I gave us an extra day there for some sightseeing, I thought you might want to look around.”

“That would be nice. I don’t remember much, we lived in a poor parish outside the city, I only remember going into the French Quarter once. My mom took me down to watch the Mardi Gras parade when I was six, right before we left.”

“There’s nothing like Mardi Gras in New Orleans, “ Howie sighed, obviously remembering some wild times.

“My mother said it’s a sinful place,” Lyric laughed.

“Oh yeah,” Howie agreed with a grin. “Not a place to take a child, that’s for sure.”

******
Lyric was nervous as they boarded the plane. She tried to appear nonchalant about the whole thing, but Howie could see through the charade.

“Never been on a plane before?” he asked.

“No. I’m a little anxious,” she admitted.

“It’s ok,” he assured her. “Everyone is nervous their first time. You can hold my hand if it makes you feel any better.” He was trying to be serious but his grin gave him away.

“No, I’ll be ok,” she assured him, wanting to be brave. But as soon as the wheels left the ground and Lyric had that momentary weightless feeling in her stomach, she grabbed his hand and held on for dear life.

“Once we’re done climbing, it will be easier,” he said. He had to try hard not to laugh at the look of panic on her face. “You better get used to flying because we’re going to be doing a lot of it.”

“I’ll be fine after this time…I just didn’t know what to expect.”

Howie was thankful the non-stop flight was uneventful and with very little turbulence, he wasn’t sure Lyric could’ve handled that very well. As they were getting ready to land, he took her hand to reassure her. Lyric felt that jolt of electricity that ran between them any time they touched.

Howie rented a car and drove them to the Ritz-Carlton, located on the edge of the famous French Quarter. Lyric gaped at the luxurious lobby, modeled after the elegant French mansions of the previous century.

“Wow, look at the view!” Lyric exclaimed, checking out the window in her room as Howie tipped the bellboy.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He came to stand next to her. “Even after the hurricane, there is no place like this city.”

“The parish where I lived was wiped out, a lot of the houses are gone,” Lyric said, her voice sad. “I don’t know what happened to the Thibodeaux family, the people that took my mother and I in after I was born. I tried to find them, but didn’t have any luck.”

“There’s not much telling where they went. I remember reading that families were bused into Texas and many ended up staying there - you might check around in the Houston and Dallas areas if you’re still interested.”

Lyric thanked him for the information. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” It was just after noon, they had taken a morning flight out of LA.

“My meeting isn’t until tomorrow morning, so I thought we’d have dinner tonight in the French Quarter. I know a nice little place to eat where the food is amazing.” He turned and walked to the door. “Then maybe catch a little jazz at a club?”

“Sounds great to me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. I booked you a manicure and pedicure in the spa for this afternoon at 1:45 and then we both have a massage at 3:30.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Howie. But it sounds wonderful, I’ve never had any of those before.”

Howie grinned. “You’ll enjoy them, trust me. I thought you deserved a little treat, you’ve been working hard.” He paused as he opened the door. “Down the hall is the club lounge, they have food and drinks available all through the day or you can order room service for lunch. Just put everything on your room tab.”

Lyric felt like a queen in her luxurious room, with the floor to ceiling windows and a king sized bed. She gasped when she entered the bathroom – it was all marble, with an oversized tub and separate shower.

She always booked Howie into 5-star hotels, she’d assumed they were luxurious but didn’t have any idea just how lush they could be. Lyric flipped through the room service menu and nearly fainted at the cost of the food. She knew Howie was paying for it all, but she couldn’t bring herself to order a $25 hamburger and French fries, so she wandered down to the club lounge and found some snacks to tide her over until dinner.

Lyric sighed, she felt completely relaxed for the first time in a very long time. The manicurist had clucked over the sorry state of her nails and insisted that she get a full set of fake nails, and then gave her a French manicure. She’d been worried about the massage but had enjoyed it immensely. Howie had looked pretty relaxed after his massage as well.

She glanced at the clock, it was time to get ready for dinner. She’d spent an hour on her hair and makeup, taking special care to look her best. Lyric took the dress from the closet and eased it over her head. It had been a special purchase right before they left, a splurge she couldn’t resist.

The silk dress slid over her hips and settled snugly into place. The color matched her eyes, hand-painted watered silk that reminded her of the many blues found in the ocean. The girl in the boutique had helped her find a bra that would make the most of her generous assets, and the dress certainly didn’t conceal them at all.

Just as she slipped on her high heeled sandals, there was a knock at the door. She laughed softly, Howie was actually on time for a change. When she opened the door, Howie’s eyes widened.

“Wow! You look…amazing,” he said, his eyes taking in every detail.

Lyric blushed. “Thanks.” She picked up her purse, checking to make sure she had her room key, and they left the room. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Howie was dressed in Armani, all in black with a beautiful silk tie. She was used to seeing him in jeans, this was a nice change.

“It’s a bit of a walk to the restaurant, do you want to catch a cab?” he asked, eyeing the height of her heels. Lyric agreed, and gratefully climbed into the cab hailed by the doorman.

“Maybe we can walk back,” she said, not wanting to miss out on the party atmosphere of one of the most famous sections of the city.

The Bombay Club was elegant with dark woods, leather armchairs and fine portraits hanging on the walls. A live jazz band played, reminding Lyric of her parents, who had often listened to jazz recordings at home.

“How about a drink?” he asked as they perused the menu.

“No thanks, I don’t drink,” Lyric replied.

“Aw, you can’t come to New Orleans and not have a drink. How about just a little one? I don’t want to drink alone,” he added with a grin.

“Ok, but not anything very strong.”

“This club has wonderful martinis, I’ll order one for you.” When the waitress came back, she brought Howie an old fashioned glass with a deep amber liquid and a martini glass filled with a dark red concoction.

“What’s this?” Lyric asked, taking a sip. “It’s very fruity.”

“That’s a metropolitan, made with strawberries. But I’d go slow with it, if I were you,” he advised, watching her take a large swallow of it.

Lyric nodded, pushing the drink away for a moment. “What are you having?”

“This is a sazerac, the official cocktail of New Orleans. It’s made with rye whiskey and it’s the best drink there ever was,” he said with a smile. “You have to sip it really slowly so you can taste all the different flavors in it.” He took a sip and closed his eyes, Lyric could see the pleasure in his face as he swallowed.

“Must be pretty good.”

“New Orleans is the only place I ever order one, no one else knows how to make them right.”

Lyric enjoyed an exquisite dish made with wonderfully fresh seafood and Cajun spices, it reminded her of growing up just outside the city. The Thibodeaux family was dirt poor, the house barely big enough for three people let alone nine, but they always put fresh, home cooked food on the table.

“How do you feel?” Howie asked as they finished their meal. He had ordered a second drink but didn’t for Lyric, he could see she was already feeling the effect of the alcohol.

“I’m not drunk,” Lyric insisted, slurring her words a little bit. “I just feel really good right now.”

“Trust me, honey, you’re drunk.” Howie paid the bill, then took her hand and led her from the club. “Maybe some fresh air will help.”

They walked down Bourbon Street hand in hand, the street was filled with people – most in various state of inebriation. Lyric almost fell when a man bumped into her, Howie pulled her close and put an arm around her waist to steady her.

Lyric giggled as they passed one place of business. “What’s so funny?” Howie asked.

“There’s a lot of strip clubs here,” she whispered loudly. “No wonder Momma didn’t want any of us to come down here.”

“Yes there are,” he agreed, glad that he had kept Lyric from seeing the seedier parts of the area. He knew that the strip clubs were just a small part of the sex scene of the city. He knew she’d be shocked at what went on in some businesses – it had shocked him too the first time he’d been to the city.

“It’s starting to rain,” Lyric said as a drop landed on her nose, making her giggle again.

“Maybe it’ll hold off until we get to the hotel,” he said, looking around for a place to duck into in case the rain began to fall in earnest.

“It’s just sprinkling,” Lyric said. “Come on, keep walking.” She pulled him along, dodging people as they headed west towards their hotel.

Howie could tell by the smile on her face that Lyric was enjoying watching the people in the street. Every walk of life was represented, and many different countries as well. Just two blocks from their destination, the skies opened up with a drenching downfall.

“Oh damn,” Howie said, there was nowhere for them to hide out until the rain quit.

“It’s just a little water,” Lyric said, pulling out of his grasp and turning her face to the sky. Water cascaded down her body, plastering the silk dress to her skin. Howie couldn’t help but stare, she had curves just where they needed to be and plenty of them.

Lyric started singing ‘Drowning’ at the top of her lungs, Howie hushed her. “Crazy drunk girl,” he muttered. Lyric slipped off her shoes and they ran to the hotel, laughing the entire way.

The doorman stopped them before they entered the lobby. “Stay right here, I’ll be back,” he admonished and then disappeared inside.

“They don’t want us dripping all over their nice floors,” Lyric giggled.

“I don’t blame them, we’re soaked.” The wet silk hugged every curve and Howie felt a little stir of desire but pushed it immediately out of his head – he didn’t need that complication in his life.

Lyric eyed Howie in his wet clothes too and liked what she saw. The shirt plastered to his chest showed that he spent time in the gym. She also saw that his hair was naturally curly. Her hair hung in a wet mass down her back, she twisted as much water out as she could.

The doorman returned with an armload of towels, they dried off the best they could before he allowed them to enter the lobby. As they passed the front desk, one of the employees called out to them.

“Mr. Dorough, if you’d like to have your clothes dry cleaned, I’ll send someone up in about 30 minutes to pick them up. I can have them ready for you by morning.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” He took Lyric’s hand and led her to the elevators, he could feel her shivering. “I’m sorry, you must be cold.” He wrapped a dry towel around her shoulders.

“No more than you are,” she replied, teeth chattering. It was a warm night but chilly in the hotel.

“Hurry and get in a warm shower,” he advised her. “I don’t need you getting sick on me.”

“Now who’s acting like a mother hen?” Lyric said with a smile. Howie grinned apologetically and ducked into his own room.

It was difficult to get out of the wet silk dress but Lyric finally managed to fight her way out of it. She heard the water start up in the bathroom next door, their rooms were back to back. Before long, she too was in the shower and finally getting warm again.

When her thoughts strayed to Howie standing naked in the shower just feet away, she shuddered but pushed the thought from her head. “No musicians,” she said aloud. “They lie, they cheat, they break your heart.”

After her shower, Lyric wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped on her silk nightgown, another splurge prior to the trip. Although it had been a long day, she couldn’t settle down. The alcohol was still in her system and she felt restless and still a little giddy.

There was a soft knock on the door. Lyric checked the peephole as Howie had instructed her. She opened the door when she realized it was her boss standing there.

“Brought you some goodies,” he said, slipping inside. “Something warm to drink.”

He set the tray on the small table, Lyric could see two cups and a plate of cookies.

“Yum,” she said, coming out from behind the door. She had no qualms about him seeing her in her pajamas, she often spent the night at his house when driving home late at night was impractical.

“Hot chocolate and cookies – a little late night snack,” he said with a grin, which disappeared when he turned and got his first glimpse of Lyric. He hadn’t seen her when he entered.

“I could use a snack, I’m starving,” she said. As she passed him, Howie had to swallow a groan. He could smell the clean scent of her, the fragrance of her shampoo. This time there was more than a stir to his manhood.

“You might want to put on a robe,” he suggested softly.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. Her nightgown was a soft lilac color, a shimmering silk with a lace bodice that left little to the imagination. The side was slit to the hip, revealing Lyric’s leg, and almost more, as she moved.

“No, its beautiful but…” Howie was used to seeing her in pajamas around his house – but she always wore shorts and a t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed, rushing into the bathroom and returning with a hotel robe wrapped around her. Howie heaved a sigh of relief, the sight of her in that nightgown was more than he could take. He had convinced himself on more than one occasion that he wasn’t attracted to his assistant.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said as they finished off the hot chocolate and cookies. “And for everything else today.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said.

Lyric pulled the towel off her head, her hair cascaded in a tangled mess down her back. She picked up her comb and began working it through the tangles.

“Need some help?” Howie asked. “I was the baby of the family with three older sisters – they made me play hair salon with them. I used to comb out their hair all the time,” he laughed.

Lyric handed him the comb, he led her to the bed and sat down behind her, cross legged on the king sized bed.

“I’ve never had anyone comb my hair for me before,” she said with a sigh as his fingers worked the tangles from her hair, enjoying it far more than she should have.

Howie was enjoying it far more than he should too, liking the silken feel of her long hair. The scent of her was driving him mad, he wrote it off to the alcohol in his system.

“We have to be up early tomorrow,” he said, suddenly standing up and handing her the comb. “I’ll see you at 7:30 for breakfast.”

Lyric wondered at his abrupt departure, she hoped she hadn’t said anything to upset him. She locked the door, turned off the lights and climbed into the huge bed. She was sure she’d dream about him again tonight, she did nearly every night.

Howie groaned as he quietly closed the door to his room. He wished he could take a cold shower without Lyric hearing. He knew it was going to be a long, sleepless night.

************

The next morning Lyric met Howie for breakfast and they drove together to the business meeting. They met in the man’s downtown office and then drove out to an empty lot on the east side of town.

“Dat over dere is where medical center be built,” Monroe said, pointing across the street where a long line of empty, half destroyed buildings still stood. Howie could barely understand him, his accent was so thick. “Katrina wiped out dis area, but developers, they be lookin’ for long time. City council fixin’ to approve da plans for hospital, so dis be best time to invest.”

“Are the other lots on this street for sale?” Howie asked, seeing other signs in lots nearby.

“Most in process of bein’ sold,” Monroe assured him. “Dis area fixin’ to explode, good to get in now before all best lots sold.”

Before Howie could answer, Monroe’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and answered, then walked a few steps away for privacy. He spoke in a quick jumble of slang, using words of English, French, and Creole.

“I can barely understand him,” he whispered to Lyric. “I don’t usually have trouble…”

“Shh,” she hushed him. “He’s talking about you.” Lyric opened up the internet on her Blackberry. Howie watched as she pulled up recent articles about the medical center development.

Lyric looked over her shoulder to make sure Monroe wasn’t close by. “This article dated two days ago says the city council has pretty much decided against this site for the medical center on the advice of the Army Corps of Engineers, who says the ground is too unstable and is too vulnerable to another large hurricane. They are close to agreeing on another site, about 10 miles from here.”

“So the bastard is lying to me?” Howie asked.

“Yes,” Lyric said, slipping her Blackberry back into her purse. “And he’s bragging about it to his friend on the phone.” She didn’t want to tell her boss exactly what Monroe was saying, she didn’t want to embarrass him any further.

“Let’s just try to get out of here without making a scene, ok?” He glanced over at the real estate broker, who was just hanging up his phone.

“Sorry bout dat,” he said. “Mr. Jones, he anxious to meet wit you, to discuss our business plan.”

Before Howie could reply, Lyric grabbed her stomach and groaned, doubling over as if in great pain.

“Ms. Walters, you be ok?” Monroe asked, obviously concerned.

Howie took her arm, supporting her. “She hasn’t been feeling well since dinner last night. I’m afraid the food is a little too rich for her.”

“So sorry,” Monroe said. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” she said, agony in her voice. “I’d just like to go back to the hotel, if that’s ok? I don’t want to disrupt your business deal…”

“Oh, no problem,” Monroe said as Howie helped her back to the car. “I call you later, Mr. Dorough? Maybe we get together tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ll talk to you later,” he said, climbing into the driver’s side and shutting the door. A moment later they pulled away, leaving the bewildered agent at the side of the road.

“That was some great acting,” Howie laughed.

“I thought so too,” Lyric said, giggling. “And quick thinking on your part too.”

“How did you know what he was saying on the phone? I couldn’t understand a word.”

“You forget I grew up in the 9th Ward, everyone speaks yat.” She looked out the window at the city she barely knew. “After we moved to California, Mama was constantly correcting my speech, she didn’t want anyone to know where we had lived.”

“There’s no shame in growing up poor in New Orleans,” Howie said softly as they drove back to the hotel.

“No, of course not. But people looked down on you if you couldn’t speak proper English. The kids bullied me, called me names. I quickly learned to copy their speech patterns so I could fit in.”

“Thank you for warning me, about the scam. Scott Jones came highly recommended by someone I know in Florida.”

“Probably Monroe isn’t a regular scammer, otherwise he wouldn’t be bragging about it, that’s just too cocky. People have had it tough here since the hurricane, they resort to things that they normally wouldn’t do.”

“You’re right. But I am going to call Scott and let him know what Monroe tried to pull on me.” Howie pulled into the hotel. “Let’s go have some lunch and then we can spend the afternoon sightseeing if you want.”

Ninety minutes later, they were back in the car driving east towards the 9th Ward.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Howie asked. He could see the tension in Lyric’s face.

“Yes, I need to see it,” she said. Nothing could prepare Lyric for the devastation still apparent in the neighborhoods, even though it had been five years since the hurricane.

“Not many people have returned,” she said as they drove along the streets. Some lots were bare, some lots had homes that hadn’t been touched since the storm. A few new homes had been built and people sat on the front steps and watched them drive by.

“Left on this street,” Lyric guided him to her old home. “It’s still here,” she said with a sigh. But the home was devastated, only half on its foundation, the building in ruin.

Howie pulled the car over and parked. Lyric climbed out and he followed her as she approached the house.

“So many memories,” she whispered.

“How many people lived here?” Howie asked.

“Nine, including my mother and I. Mama and Papa Thibodeaux had five children, all under the age of 10, when we lived here with them.”

“The house can’t be any more than a thousand square feet. How did ya’ll fit?”

Lyric laughed. “They slept wherever there was room. Mama and I were lucky, we shared a tiny bed in the back bedroom, three kids slept in the other bed in there. The two youngest slept with their parents in their room.”

“Sad to see that so little has been done here to rebuild,” Howie said, shaking his head.

“This area has always been neglected by the rest of the city,” Lyric said. The house on one side of her old home was completely gone, the house to the other side looked like it was being rebuilt.

A woman came out of the house next door, stood on the front porch with her hands on her hips. Lyric squinted in the bright afternoon sun.

“Mama Baxter, is that you?” she called out.

“Who dat?” the woman called out, coming down the steps.

“Lyric Walters, do you remember me? I used to live here with my mama, many years ago.”

“Course, child. You dat skinny white girl, yore mama brought you when you jus’ tiny baby.” She met Lyric at the bottom of the stairs. “Lookie you, all dressed purty. You done good fer yerself, child. And good lookin’ man wit you too.”

“That’s my boss, I’m his personal assistant,” Lyric said, smiling.

“How’s yore mama, child? She a kind lady wit a big heart.”

Lyric swallowed hard. “She passed away, Mama Baxter.”

“Oh, sorry to hear dat. She done lot to help da Thibodeaux’s, sent money for years after ya’ll left.”

“I didn’t know that. But that sounds like Mama, she loved those kids like they were her own.” Glancing at the house next door, she mustered the courage to ask the next question. “Do you know what happened to the Thibodeaux family? I’ve been trying to find them ever since Katrina.”

The elderly woman shook her head. “They don’ make it, honey. They gone, all gone.” Howie flinched at the look of sadness on her face. He moved next to Lyric to support her if needed.

“They moved?”

“No, child. They died in the flooding, all of dem. Dat Mama T, she be stubborn as an ole army mule! Dem water start to come in, she won’ go, no sir, she won’ go. Children come get her and Papa, they get caught in da water.” Mama Baxter wiped the sweat from her brow with a dirty tissue she pulled from her blouse. “I smart, I leave soon as dey say storm coming. I go north, stay safe. Come back home, find so many dead. I cried for days, child, not ‘nuff tears for dem all.”

Howie took Lyric’s hand and held tight, he could feel her trembling. “Thank you for telling me.” She started to turn away and then stopped, fumbling in her purse. She pulled out all the cash she had with her and handed it to her old neighbor.

“I can’ take yore money, child.” She tried to hand it back.

“Please, Mama Baxter. I want to help, I just wish it could be more but that’s all I have with me.”

The elderly woman hugged her, wrapping her skinny arms around Lyric’s shoulders. “Jus’ seeing you, child, is worth all da money in da world.” She took the cash and put it back in Lyric’s hand. “I have all I need, I get by.”

Lyric seriously doubted the woman had what she needed, judging by the look of the house and the state of her clothing. “Please, Mama Baxter…”

“No, child. My family, dey take care of me plenty fine. I gotta go see ‘bout my beans. Good to see you, take care now…” The woman turned and slowly walked back into her house, climbing the stairs to her porch with difficulty.

“Howie…”

“It’s ok, Lyric. Are you ready to go?” He gently steered her towards the car. She took one last look at the house and then climbed into the front seat.

Howie wisely decided that Lyric had had enough sightseeing for the day and headed back towards the hotel. Lyric could only stare out the window, the sight of so much devastation brought tears to her eyes.

Howie pulled into a park and stopped the car. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked softly, Lyric nodded. He came around and helped her out of the car. Taking her hand, he led her toward the quiet green space, the towering trees finally regaining their lushness after the storm.

“Mama Baxter is a proud woman, Lyric, that’s why she wouldn’t take your money. It was nothing personal.”

“I know, but I wanted to help her…I couldn’t help the Thibodeaux’s.”

“We’ll find a way to help her that won’t embarrass her, ok?” He gave her a hug when she nodded. They were walking along a shaded path, where it was much cooler than out in the late day sun.

“I never told you how I came to live here,” Lyric said softly. “Do you want to know?”

“Only if you want to tell me,” he said, squeezing her hand gently.

“Mama lived in a tiny rural town in Alabama, on a farm that had been in her family for generations. One day a tent appeared in the downtown square – a traveling preacher man and his small entourage. It was a big deal because nothing ever happened in that town.” Lyric sat down on a bench, Howie sat down next to her, still holding her hand. “Mama took one look at the guy playing the organ and was smitten, he was ruggedly handsome with a killer smile, she always said.”

“Gotta watch out for those musicians,” Howie said with a laugh, which died when he saw the look on Lyric’s face.

“James saw her too, Mama was the prettiest of the three daughters. After the prayer meeting was over, he got her away from the crowd and urged her to share some beers with him. He convinced her to go back to his hotel room. He made her big promises he never intended to keep, he was what we now call a player, but Mama didn’t know that.”

“What a jerk,” Howie said sympathetically.

“But neither one counted on Auntie Marie telling father where Mama was. Papa Boyd showed up with his shotgun and caught them in bed together. He gave James a choice – marry Mama or wind up in jail for rape.” Howie whistled softly. “James woke up the preacher and he married them right then and there. Mama went back home just long enough to gather up some clothes and say goodbye to her family. It was heart wrenching for her, her entire life changed in just a few hours.”

“Wow, that must have been hard on them all. How old was she?”

“Almost 18, but already graduated from high school. She was the oldest of six children, and quite the hell raiser, I understand.”

Howie laughed. “No wonder her father was so anxious to get rid of her.”

Lyric agreed. “Life on the road wasn’t what Mama thought it would be – living in dirty, insect infested motel rooms, never having enough to eat, and the countless miles in the cab of the truck. It wasn’t the tidy house and white picket fence that she’d always dreamed of.”

“I guess not. Life on the road is hard, although much easier when you have money,” he added.

“Not long later, Mama discovered she was pregnant. James wasn’t happy about it, he had enough problems feeding the two of them let alone a baby. He wanted her to go back home to have the baby but Mama wouldn’t go, she was humiliated enough with her shotgun wedding. And she had the feeling that James would never come back for her.” She stared out at the trees, trying to put herself in her mother’s shoes and failing. “They had intended to be in New Orleans by the time I was born, but Mama went into premature labor. I was born in the truck on a dirt road outside Hattiesburg, Mississippi.”

“In the truck, really?” Howie was incredulous.

Lyric nodded. “We were fortunate that a doctor happened to be on his way home and stopped, he arrived just after I was born. He said we needed to go to the hospital but James didn’t have the money so we didn’t go, it was back on the road again. Mama got sick, she couldn’t take care of me by herself so James had to help. Mama said I cried all the time because she never had enough milk to nurse me properly.”

“Probably because she was malnourished herself,” Howie said softly.

Lyric agreed. “I was only a couple weeks old when we got to New Orleans. The preacher set up his tent in the 9th Ward, he had a huge crowd that night. Mama and I were in a motel next door. James came home late but left before dawn, leaving a note for Mama that he couldn’t take it anymore. She went to the preacher but he wouldn’t let us stay with them, he couldn’t afford to take care of us.”

“What did your mama do?” Howie asked, thoroughly engrossed in Lyric’s story.

“The manager kicked us out at daybreak, James hadn’t even paid for the room. Mama wandered the streets until she heard singing – she followed the voices to a church. She went inside, the parishioners could see how sick she was.” Lyric started crying, tears rolled down her cheeks. “A doctor took Mama to his house, gave her some medicine. Mama Thibodeaux had just had a baby, so she took me and nursed me until Mama was well enough.”

“No wonder you were so upset over losing that family! Mama T was your mama too.” Howie hugged her and held her tightly until her sobs eased.

“We lived with them until I was six. I came home from school one day and there was Mama on the porch with a strange man. Next thing I know, Mama packed me into a car and we left. I remember Mama T standing next to the street, crying her eyes out, waving. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her.”

“And that strange man was James?”

Lyric nodded. “He convinced her that he had been looking for her for years, how much he had missed us. He told her he had a good job in California and a house waiting for us. Mama wanted to believe it, she wanted something better for me so we went.”

“And was James lying?”

“No, he had a good job and a house so we stayed.” Howie could see Lyric was thinking about her past, about her life so long ago.

“And…?” he prompted.

“And I don’t really want to talk about it anymore,” Lyric said, standing up, unable to meet Howie’s eyes.

Howie reached out and wiped the tears off Lyric’s cheeks. “Thank you, Ricky, for sharing that with me. It means a lot that you trust me.”

Lyric looked up at him, a quizzical look on her face. “Why did you call me Ricky?”

“Everyone needs a pet name, right?” He hugged her tightly. “Everyone calls me Sweet D. I think you look like a Ricky to me. Is that ok?”

Lyric blushed and nodded. “Although sweet isn’t what I would call you most of the time,” she said with a sly smile. “Smart ass is more like it.”