Bayou Secrets

By J M Liner

This book is a romance between two people who meet after a tragedy. The forces that try to keep them apart and the love that draws them together. They are not certain what attracts them to the other. They had no love in their lives but were drawn to each other almost as a compulsion. How do you love when you have never been loved? Can destiny really make a difference? When love comes when you least expect it, does that mean its not true love? This romance is set in the backdrop of New Orleans with its culture, food, and its people. Why don’t you stop on by and see for yourself how the adventure of Erik and Kat, lead to the reality of dreams coming true and love like you always wanted it for yourself. Hot, all consuming, and so very good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728329895

J M Liner

I was born and lived in New Orleans for most of my life. I have one sister and graduated high school in New Orleans. I found a job that currently takes me all over the world and leave New Orleans. However, I found that many people that I met along the way in my career, had always wanted to visit New Orleans and had hear so many wonderful things about the place. I am a lover of the Mardi Gras, the New Orleans creole and Cajun food, and the history of the city and its peoples and politics. I don’t consider myself an expert, by no means, but I lived there and love it. I hope to return to New Orleans and the surrounding area as soon as I retire from my government job, currently in Washington, DC. I miss New Orleans so much.

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© 2020 J M Liner. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiousl

Published by AuthorHouse  02/27/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2988-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2987-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2989-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020902408

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1     The DuPont Family Tree

Chapter 2     The First Meeting

Chapter 3     The Family Tree of Erik Lindstrom

Chapter 4     The Reading of the Will

Chapter 5     LLER

Chapter 6     Lindstrom Investment Properties

Chapter 7     Back at LLER

Chapter 8     A Lunch Meeting

Chapter 9     Café Degas

Chapter 10   Erik’s Birthday

Chapter 11   The Move

Chapter 12   A New Apartment

Chapter 13   Lunch at Commander’s Palace

Chapter 14   For Sale Properties

Chapter 15   The Cotton Mill Building

Chapter 16   The Big Game

Chapter 17   Frustration Sets In

Chapter 18   The Blue Room

Chapter 19   She Cooks

Chapter 20   A Misunderstanding

Chapter 21   Dealing with Jack

Chapter 22   A Spontaneous Visit

Chapter 23   The Ball

Chapter 24   Hugo Lindstrom

Chapter 25   Family Is a Beautiful Thing

Chapter 26   Thanksgiving

Chapter 27   The Big Decision

Chapter 28   The Morning After

Chapter 29   Christmas

Bayou Lives

About the Author

Chapter 1

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The DuPont Family Tree

Kat

New Orleans is one of the most fascinating cities in the country, home to a unique melting pot of culture, food, and music. I have always loved the city of New Orleans. Maybe it’s the mixture of past and present. Visitors tell me all the time that this city—with its vivid history and so many interesting changes since New Orleans was discovered—is unlike any other city in the country in so many ways. It’s a place where jazz music is still played in many clubs throughout the day. As it has been since the beginning of the jazz era. Tourism is the moneymaker that spreads the love around and fills so many coffers. I love New Orleans and have lived here all my life.

Sure, we must worry about crime, hurricanes, and flooding. We also have the enjoyment of the Mardi Gras, football, and my favorite food and music festival in the springtime, the Jazz and Heritage Festival. These differences outweigh the similarities of this city to all others. You can’t find Mardi Gras anywhere else in this country—not like here in New Orleans. It’s my city, in my blood, and the secrets that make this city prosper will seduce you too.

I was born Katherine Adele Angelique DuPont, but everybody calls me Kat. I don’t know if it’s because of my almond-shaped green eyes or my long, tall body, but that nickname is the only one I can remember ever being called. I made my entrance into my city on Sunday, October 18, 1991; it was a cold and rainy day. My parents were not expecting me so early—they thought I was going to stay in the oven for at least two more weeks—but I was ready to be born.

My momma’s name is Marie Adele Hebert DuPont. People have told me that Momma resembles Monica Bellucci, the Italian model and actress. Momma was a local beauty queen, Cajun, and a lifelong resident of New Orleans. My daddy’s name is Joseph Maurice DuPont Sr., but everybody calls him Joe Sr. Daddy is a big, tall hunk of a man, and as handsome as Liam Neeson.

Daddy is a transplanted from the French and German stock of northern Louisiana, Shreveport to be exact. Daddy played football on a scholarship to Tulane University and earned a double major in finance and business administration. He is a member of the National Honor Society, loved numbers, and thought school was like a game that he played to win.

Momma is interested in the arts and earned her degree in art history. Her loves are ballet, theater, and classical music. She is not as book smart as Daddy, but they both love to read and absorb their favorites, mainly mysteries and fiction.

Up until I was in first grade, Daddy was making his fortune and we lived in many houses. The last house we finally came to call home was the biggest. Magnolia Mansion had belonged to many different people and had many different purposes since the Civil War. By the time we acquired the place, it was run-down, but Daddy said all it needed was some love, a lot of love. That house is located on Saint Charles Avenue near State Street, right on the Saint Charles Avenue streetcar line. The area is so beautiful and is surrounded by swaying grand oak trees on both sides of the avenue.

The home was purchased two years before we moved in, and Daddy ordered a full renovation, almost a totally new house. The complete interior and exterior needed renovation, as well as all the plumbing and electrical. By the time the renovations were completed, the house was a much statelier mansion and had a comfortable modern interior. The exterior fit the era in which the house was originally built. The house was just magnificent, like a replica from Gone with the Wind.

Daddy worked very hard at bringing back the beautiful grounds and flowerbeds as well as a huge wraparound porch, and he made sure that many of the rooms had huge chandeliers. The house stands at 10,516 square feet, with seven bedrooms, six full bathrooms, and two half baths. I was always very comfortable living there as a child. Growing up, I had lots of places to hide and climb around and play. My brothers and sisters did not all grow up in Magnolia Mansion, but it was the final move we made as a family. Magnolia Mansion still stands today as a monument to Daddy’s love of southern homes.

Daddy was determined to be involved in land sales, property development, and oil and gas exploration. At the time, it was an interesting concept, and he flourished in the business. With a lot of hard work, he started his own company, Louisiana Land Energy Resources (LLER), and became CEO. In actuality, the business is more of a real estate agency for the sale and purchase of property, with attached mineral rights bound up in one business. So much of Louisiana is tied up in land and oil and gas rights that buying or selling property can be a legal nightmare. When Daddy sells land, he makes sure that any mineral rights stay with the owners, so they can decide on options for further development or leases if there is ever any discovery of oil, gas, or other minerals.

The whole idea was confusing to me at first, but then I realized that Daddy had a really good idea. I began to understand why he was so involved in the daily research and discovery of property titles. It became a game to him. Daddy was very successful, and he never looked back at his poor upbringing. The company now has offices in Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi, Alabama, and Arkansas and is branching out to Oklahoma too. The business boomed even more after Hurricane Katrina on August 23, 2005. After the hurricane, most people were so afraid of bad weather that they abandoned their property. Never to return. My daddy bought the abandoned land and mineral rights cheap, after the discovery of the actual owners’ release of the property. Then sold those rights for double or triple the purchase price. My daddy is a self-made millionaire.

My momma and daddy met at the Bacchus Mardi Gras ball, the local debutante coming-out dance of the season, when they were both students at Tulane University. Momma was just nineteen at her first ball. Daddy was twenty-two and had attended several balls, but this one was special: he fell in love at first sight with my momma. Momma was one of the Mardi Gras Ball court maids and wore a wonderful white designer gown of the times. She was escorted by her cousin Claude Hebert when she met Daddy.

Momma and Daddy were inseparable after that and would meet up with friends and fellow students going to varsity games and studying together. They dated for over four years before they finished college, married, and started a family. As Daddy became a more successful and wealthier businessman, they moved to better and better houses. Momma and Daddy soon belonged to many political and social organizations and had their hands in lots of pots and knew a lot of well-connected people. They acquired information on others, and it was easier to be in the know, so to speak. They then used the knowledge they gained about other people’s lives and businesses to further their own future, and the lives of our growing family. Gossip rules New Orleans like a slow dance in a jazz club, and just like any other town, secrets can contribute to greater power.

Momma’s family is from New Orleans and has been for many generations. My maternal grandfather, Walter Joseph Hebert, determined that the only way to make a good living for his family was to become a doctor. His scholarship paved the way to his education. My maternal grandmother, Pearl Christina Boudreaux Hebert, took a job at the New Orleans Post to pay the bills, and many years later, she wound up owning the newspaper—she did well for herself independently of my grandfather. Grandpa Walter made his money as an ob-gyn, keeping the rich women of New Orleans healthy and pregnant only when they wanted to be and no sooner. If they had a little accident, he would help them take care of it while lining his wallet with those mistakes. Right or wrong, Grandpa Walter did what he needed to do for his family. My whole family all worked hard to get where they are and would never let anyone or anything take that away from them.

Momma used to say that growing up poor was why she watched every dime. While she was not a miser, she knew how hard my father worked for his money and that money would go out the same way, slowly. Unlike lots of other wealthy parents who made a fortune after working hard at making a living, Momma did not indulge any of us kids. We all learned the value of a dollar and had chores to earn spending money or just found a job because that would be easier than having to ask Momma for any amount of money, no matter how small. My momma loved to shop, but everything she bought was on sale. She never, ever paid full price for anything, and she taught us well. I still look for sales or don’t buy anything when I need to shop for clothes.

Because Daddy’s family is from Shreveport, my momma never really mixed with the DuPont’s much. My paternal grandfather, Philippe Robért DuPont, of French-Canadian heritage, started off as a truck driver and built a small transportation empire. He had his hands in trucking, shipping, and a few airlines as well. My paternal grandmother, Lena Marie Laborde DuPont, was a mover and shaker in Shreveport politics. Her long blonde mane, a mark of her German descent, was as recognizable among the dark French locals as any famous politician or movie star. As their children all grew up and left the nest, Grandfather DuPont’s company was doing well and kept the money rolling in. Control of their little area of Shreveport was making the DuPont’s’ lives full, and secrets helped them keep that control.

Momma did not really get on well with Grandmother Lena. Momma said that Grandmother Lena always seemed to look down her nose at Momma and made her feel like she was not good enough for Daddy. I recall spending some summers there visiting my grandparents in Shreveport when I was much younger.

Grandmother Lena taught me how to dance so that I could be ready for school dances, all the Mardi Gras parties, balls, and the occasional friends’ and family weddings. She used to say, There are specific ways to behaving like a lady. It does not happen overnight. One must learn these things. Kat, I am going to teach you the right way.

Life in Louisiana revolves around family, and Mardi Gras is the only traditional celebration still in existence in the United States after more than three hundred years. While both my parents’ families—the Hebert’s and the DuPont’s—started off poor, they became two of the wealthiest and most politically powerful and influential families this side of the Mississippi. While I no longer have both sets of grandparents living, that does not mean their secrets died with them. Secrets have a way of getting out or being passed down to the next generation.

My daddy’s company was always in the news for selling and buying property and making more and more money. Daddy was well-known in the state as a good old boy, a hard worker, and as smart as a whip. People used to come from far and wide just to work with and for my daddy. Especially after the past few years, he was making more and more money. You would swear that he was running a race or something; as soon as one property came in, two or three others went out. My daddy became the man to go to in order to sell or buy high-end properties for a fair price. He was a famous local celebrity, and my parents became the couple to know if you wanted or needed to be on the inside of money, growth, and politics in Louisiana.

I am the fifth daughter and seventh child in the DuPont family. My family consists of Joseph Maurice DuPont Jr., the eldest of all the children. He is devilishly attractive and smart, just like Daddy. He is currently a deputy district attorney and working his way toward becoming the district attorney of New Orleans. He says that being district attorney of New Orleans is his dream job. Joe Jr. is married to Lynette Duplantis, and she was homecoming queen at Tulane University the year they met. They have been together for nearly fifteen years and have three boys. They seem so much in love, and I envy them for their happiness.

Next is Chadwick Marcus DuPont—or Chad to his friends. He is my baby brother, and he is a young single doctor at New Orleans General Hospital in the downtown area. He is following in Grandpa Walter’s footsteps, becoming an ob-gyn, and Chad is screwing as many nurses as possible along the way. Chad has no time for marriage and is not looking forward to being married, but Momma has other ideas.

Nicole Adele DuPont, our oldest sister in the group and a divorced university professor, was married to Ronny Broussard of the well-known New Orleans interior designer company of Broussard Interiors for three years. They had a lengthy divorce, even though they had no children, and they were married less than the time it took for them to divorce. They still have a love-hate relationship; they can’t live together but can’t seem to live apart either.

Celeste Nicolette DuPont is the next sister. She is sweet as can be and more like Daddy than Momma. She is a housewife and mother, married to a financial consultant Robert Lykes of Lykes and Lykes Financial Consultants. They have five daughters. Before Celeste married Robert, she was a window dresser at D. H. Holmes department store for several years until the store shut down operations. She loved that job but wanted a family more, and the job just sort of got in the way of that.

Adelaide Madeline DuPont is the only nurse in the family, and she works at the same hospital as Chad. She is enjoying some of those nurses too—just like Chad. Momma stopped trying to get Adelaide married when rumors about her lesbian activities made Adelaide a hard sell for Momma to find her a husband, and she stopped trying. I don’t know about that, but her life is her own, and I love her too much to care. If she is happy, then so am I.

Colette Chantel DuPont, our family artist, is as opinionated as my dear sweet momma. Even so, we are closer than the other kids in the family. Her paintings support her life’s passion, and she’s got a temperamental artistic streak to go along with it. Her current love interest is Russell Farnsworth. Russell is a blackjack dealer at the Mystic Casino and Resort on Canal Street. Colette is divorced and currently has eyes only for Russell—for now anyway.

And then there is me: Kat. I am single and have no job, no prospects, and no boyfriend. I completed my PhD in English literature at Tulane University, and I am currently looking for a job, any job, but my little quirk of mind reading is hindering the process. Momma is trying desperately to find me a husband. It seemed that marrying me off was one of her ongoing projects for years; she is just so determined to continue to push. As her last daughter, it seems like I am her last chance for a big, fancy social wedding—or so she keeps reminding me.

All my brothers and sisters are so much older than me. Momma and Daddy had a child almost every year of their early marriage until Colette, and then, ten years after Colette, I came along. My brothers and sisters are all blonde-haired and blue-eyed just like Daddy, but I have black hair with green eyes just like Momma.

Momma has her own little secret. You see, I was not fathered by Daddy. Only no one knows that but Momma—or so she thinks. So many secrets, but I had to keep them all and my place in the family I love so much. Why would I hurt them—even if they thought I was strange? They are all the family I have, and I have kept those secrets and never shared them with anyone. I collected them and put them on a shelf in my brain to keep safe from others. Knowing who my biological father is won’t make anything easier for me, and I will not hurt my daddy, so I don’t want or need to know who that person is right now. Maybe it will be necessary at some point, but for now, I don’t care.

When I was a toddler I learned to walk, talk, and read early. As a matter of fact, I walked and talked long before any other kids my age. Then, when I was about three years old, Momma started noticing that I would speak and answer questions before other people would ask the questions. I would just say what they were thinking, and that scared the hell out of her. She wanted me to be normal and act like other children, but that did not happen. I suffered with severe headaches from trying so hard to stay out of other people’s thoughts.

Momma began to slowly distance herself from me, not wanting to be with me, and she would find excuses to get away from me and be away from home. She always had an excuse and needed someone to take care of me. She was always looking for a babysitter and asked the cook/kitchen helper, a pretty young black beauty by the name of Sally-Mae LeBlanc, who worked with Mrs. Octavia Baudeaux, our cook. Momma asked Sally-Mae if her Aunt Clara LeBlanc would mind watching me from time to time while Momma did other things during the day: like going to the ladies’ luncheons around town, meetings at the Southern Yacht and Carnival Club with her Mardi Gras Krewe of lady friends, or just shopping. In the evenings, sometimes one of my sisters—Nicole, Celeste, Adelaide, or even Colette—would watch over me. Momma always had someone take care of me, so she did not need to be home with me. It was sad in a way that my own mother didn’t have time for me. I felt like my momma didn’t love me for such a long time, but I tried to understand how she felt about my mind reading.

Aunt Clara LeBlanc was a lovely black woman with beautiful chocolate brown hair and huge doe eyes. She was a wonderful mother to me, and now that I think of it, she reminds me of Oprah Winfrey with her nice smile. Aunt Clara was a natural witch, and in New Orleans, that was not unheard of. She would sell her love potions and secret spells to those who had no faith in their lives and wanted immediate justice and results. Who was Aunt Clara to set them straight if they paid her money for imagined relief? She also discovered my ability to read minds, but unlike Momma, Aunt Clara encouraged me to use it. She also helped me master it—if only for my own peace of mind. She would tell me that God gave me this gift for a reason. I needed to use it and practice so that I could use this gift to the best of my ability. She taught me that I did not have to say out loud what I learned. I needed to protect myself. Plus, I found that if I used it and practiced, then the training would help me keep out thoughts when I really didn’t want to listen in, especially with my family. When I concentrated on keeping the thoughts out, the headaches lessened and were not so severe. Listening to all those thoughts could make a person go crazy. So, without any help, crazy is where I would be if I continued the way I was. I did not know what I was doing or that I could not say what people were thinking out loud. Instead, I learned to quiet the noise.

Aunt Clara took it upon herself to give me the encouragement she thought I needed. We would train on focusing on one brain at a time or listening to one or two and store whatever thoughts were needed for later. I was learning how to sort through the urgent ones or discover how to not listen when touched, but that was very difficult. Touching just seemed to amplify the voices in my head. I would learn how not to go crazy with all those thoughts running around in my brain.

Aunt Clara helped me learn to block or contain other people’s thoughts—even though neither one of us really knew what we were doing—but with patience and perseverance, I learned what worked for me. With Aunt Clara as my guide, I learned how to focus on my homework with my telepathy. Calming the noise took more focus and concentration, but I learned to do just that.

I loved Aunt Clara as if she was a member of my own family. She was sweet, gentle, and kind to me, and Aunt Clara learned to love me as well. Why else would she babysit me for no money and just let my mother leave me with her anytime she wanted to go be somewhere else besides being with me? Aunt Clara told me that listening to other folks was necessary because my daddy was a rich and powerful man—and anyone could think that they could take me away from home and make Daddy pay money to get me back. That really scared me, so I learned and practiced every day and got better and better. Aunt Clara taught me so much about people and how to survive in this melting pot called New Orleans. She taught me how to cook, sew, and be a better person. She made me feel loved, unlike my own mother. Then, when I was sixteen, Aunt Clara died of a heart attack. I was devastated; it was like I had lost my own mother. I loved her so much and will miss her for as long as I live.

While I respect my mother, there are no real feelings between us. I am not my mother’s favorite child—not only because of my mind reading abilities, but because I reminded Momma of what she did against her marriage and against my daddy. I was not going to tell Daddy; he loved me, and he was the only father I knew. Daddy gave me everything I could ever want or need. Mostly, Daddy gave me his time. He would tell me stories about the old days when he was a kid, growing up poor in Shreveport. He said that now that he didn’t have to work so hard at his business, he could spoil me like he couldn’t do with the other kids when they were young. He taught me how to play his favorite game, chess, which I learned to enjoy so much. It was our game and special to us. We had personal time together as I grew up, and we would talk all the time about so many things while we just played chess and relaxed together.

I became Daddy’s precious little girl, and I cherished the times I spent with him. He would call me his princess all the time. Daddy would help me and encourage me to read and let my imagination wander. I would go on adventures and just be a little girl for as long as I could. I gained confidence with him, and while I no longer spoke of others’ thoughts out loud, that didn’t mean I didn’t hear them. Keeping a straight face while hearing all those thoughts was sometimes difficult, but I got stronger and always listened for my own safety. I had better focus in school as I got older, applied myself to my studies, and made above average grades. I listened with a poker face while hearing some vile and disgusting things at times and did not say what I heard to others. I kept them to myself. I could easily remember exactly what I saw of the thoughts I heard from others, and I learned how to keep them filed in my own organized brain to call them up when needed. The only real problems I had were the social problems that come from interacting with others and from being touched, which only increased others’ thoughts for me because touching made the thoughts clearer and stronger in my mind.

Around age thirteen, I started to fill out into a slender, tall, young adolescent with a womanly shaped body for my age. Momma would say that I took after Daddy for being so tall. I was tall and skinny, and my hair grew very long—with lots of body and shine, which I had never seen on other girls.

One of the mean girls at school would constantly ask me what shampoo I used to get such shiny hair, but I did nothing special. At night, before bed, I would wear my hair in a soft braid, and in the morning, I would comb out my hair and wear it straight or in a high ponytail or a braid for school. My school had regulation uniforms as well as hairstyle restrictions for all the girls, and I could only do so much with the style during school. Out of school, I had a variety of hairstyles to choose from and changed my look after school, on weekends, and during the summers.

I felt weird being so much taller than all the girls and most of the boys my age. Clothes did not fit me right, and even though my momma had a tailor adjust my clothes, they did not really fit well. Everything I tried to wear was too tight around the top area of my boobs, too short in the legs, or too short in the waist or arms. I used to compare myself to those thin lingerie models in magazines and noticed I was similar in appearance to most of them. I was tall, skinny, and curvy—all at the same time.

Finding real friends was very hard because most girls did not like me—no matter how hard I tried. My sisters helped me as much as they could, but by the time I was in elementary school, my brothers and three of my sisters had already left home for school or work. When my brother and sisters began starting their own families, I was still just their baby sister and really a kid next to them.

Having a boyfriend was difficult enough during my teenage years, but hearing their thoughts always produced confusing responses from me. I did not really want to know what they were thinking, but it just seemed strange. As a matter of fact, throughout most of my early high school years, I only had two or three real dates. I remember the first boy who ever tried to kiss me vividly because I was just so embarrassed. His name was Bill Campo, and he was the cutest and most popular boy in school. When he tried to kiss me, I got the strangest thoughts from him. It is the first time any boy had approached me in that way, and it was difficult to understand what was happening. At first, he was just in my personal space, but then he put his right hand on the back of my head and sort of pulled my head toward his face to kiss me. As I turn my head, I bumped his nose so hard that I broke it. There was blood everywhere. I almost cried, but it scared me more than it hurt me. Bill never tried to kiss me again. After one date, he never asked me out again either.

Dances were often worse due to the large crowds and the music, which made everything seem so much louder and even more intolerable. I would get terrible migraine headaches. After a few years, I stopped going to the Tulane University football games because of all the noise. I could not stand it. As I got older, I learned how to control my abilities, and then I gradually came out of my shell. I was still shy about some things, but I was getting better and being more open with people.

By the time I was out of high school, I could face a classroom without the thoughts of others bombarding me as severely as before. They would not interfere with my lessons, conversations, or my own thoughts. I continued to practice my control.

However, dating remained difficult. I was terrified of the boys who were interested in me. They would think about trying to find out if my boobs were real—and really that large—or if I looked good naked. I was not accustomed to dating and was very naive about what life was like with men besides those in my family. I began to cringe whenever a guy would ask me to go out on a date. As I got older, guys asked me out more and more—to my frustration and annoyance. I did not want to feel like an outcast, but I would respectfully decline because it was just easier that way. That is why I am still a virgin at twenty-seven years old. Touching was so hard for me because I could hear what a guy wanted to do to me way before he tried. It was hard to deal with sometimes, and it was gross to realize that someone could have those erotic kinds of thoughts about me.

Early in college, almost within our first meeting, I became best friends with Jack Trepangnier. Jack was a few years older than me, your classic sports star throughout school, but he was kind, sweet, and as gay as the day is long, which did not bother me at all. It was the person he was that appealed to me. He was as much of an outcast with his family as I was with my momma. Jack did not care what other people thought of him. Sometimes I forgot he was gay, and I always treated him like my best friend or brother because he was so kind and easy to talk too. I could confide in Jack, and he would tell me what he really thought so I could sort things out or make decisions with views from his perspective.

A few weeks into my first semester, we decided to room together. Jack had a small two-bedroom apartment off campus that was near student housing on Saint Charles Avenue, and we protected each other. Jack’s physical good looks always reminded me a lot of Richard Armitage, that British actor. He was tall and handsome with dark hair, killer ice-blue eyes, and the body of a god. At least he looked that way to me. I could look at him and admire the man he was, but I did not touch him in any way. My friendship with Jack was based on our need to belong to someone other than just ourselves, and we were determined to belong to each other as pals and best friends. Jack never made fun of me and was always there if I needed him. All I had to do was ask him, and whatever I needed, he was there with the answer.

Jack taught me how to dress better to accentuate my best physical features, which he thought were my long legs, and I thought was my ample chest. I learned how to walk gracefully in sky-high heels, and how to use makeup to bring out my eyes and my lips and not to conceal them. He taught me what other guys would look for in a girl they would want to date.

I helped Jack find other guys since I could hear and see their thoughts and anticipate who was more than willing to be with Jack when he might not have been aware of it. We enjoyed our friendship and had so much in common. We liked watching action movies, solving puzzles, and playing chess. Momma did not like seeing the two of us together—she thought it would hurt my chances of finding a good husband—and she wanted me to move out of our apartment. I kept to my studies and worked any part-time job that fit my school schedule. I would finish my education, and that was the most important thing to me. My life was not interesting at all; it was very boring and normal.

After a while, I was comfortable enough to tell Jack about my telepathy. He acted like it was no big deal, but I never tried to read his thoughts. I wanted to give him his privacy. He really cared about me and not what other people thought of me. He never tried anything physical with me; that was not what our relationship was about. We were more like brother and sister, and it was no one else’s business anyway. We never discussed our