clean and I’m sober, but I’m terrified of falling off the wagon again. The doctors told me that my fears were normal, and that after a few days on the outside, I’d get better. I do plan to get my own place as soon as possible, but I need somewhere to stay besides on the street until then. I know I have no right to ask you this, but could I please stay with you—just until I find my own place?”
More tears filled Joyce’s eyes and spilled over, but Charlotte steeled herself against the pity she felt and reminded herself that Joyce had proven to be a habitual liar…and a consummate actress.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone…. Judge not, lest ye be judged….
When the Bible verses popped into her head, Charlotte knew in that moment what she had to do. Faults or no faults, she couldn’t turn Joyce away, but try as she might, she couldn’t stem the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Just because it was the right thing to do didn’t mean she liked it.
Before she could change her mind, Charlotte forced herself to nod her head, and though the words were like chewing nails, she said, “Yes, you can stay here for a couple of days, but just until you find your own place.”
The look of relief on Joyce’s face was heart-wrenching. “Thank you, Charlotte,” she gushed. “I promise I won’t be any trouble, and I promise you won’t regret it.”
Yeah, right. Famous last words….
Ignoring her inner voice of doom and gloom, Charlotte nodded again, then turned and stepped over to the front door of her half of the double and unlocked the door.
The moment that Charlotte entered the living room, her little parakeet, Sweety Boy, began to squawk. “Missed you, squawk, missed you.”
Charlotte grinned. “Good boy,” she crooned. “And I missed you too.”
Joyce closed the door behind her, and upon hearing the exchange between Charlotte and the bird, she stopped in front of his cage and frowned. “Never have liked birds,” she muttered. “Especially in the house.” After a moment, she faced Charlotte. “Why on earth would you want to teach that wretched thing to talk?”
Oh, boy, here we go. Not only was it a rude thing to say, but it amazed Charlotte that Joyce would be so…so…inconsiderate of her feelings about her pet. Charlotte never had been the type who liked confrontations, so she counted to ten before she tried to speak. Then, swallowing back the sudden spurt of temper she’d felt, she chose to change the subject, instead of answering Joyce. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the guest room. And by the way, I hope you like red beans and rice. That’s what I was planning on eating for supper tonight.”
“Oh, anything’s okay with me, especially after that awful hospital food. One thing, though, you wouldn’t happen to have some garlic French bread to go with the beans and rice, would you? I love garlic French bread.”
Usually, Charlotte fixed her plate at suppertime, then went into the living room to watch TV while she ate, or sometimes she’d sit at the table and read, if she was into a good book. Since she had company, she decided they should probably eat at the table.
“That was delicious,” Joyce told her after they had eaten and were clearing the table.
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Charlotte said as she unloaded the dishwasher. “It’s the recipe that my mother always used.”
While Charlotte began stacking the dishwasher with dirty dishes, Joyce seated herself at the table. “Is your mother still living?”
“No.” Charlotte shook her head. “She and my father both died in an accident while I was in college.”
“You went to college?”
Joyce’s astonished tone put Charlotte immediately on the defensive. Ever so carefully she closed and locked the dishwasher, when what she really wanted was to slam it shut. As she rinsed and dried her hands, once again she made herself count to ten to calm down. Finally, she faced Joyce. “Yes, Joyce,” she said evenly. “I went to college—Tulane University, in fact. But I never finished. After my parents were killed, I had to quit and go to work.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”
Charlotte shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“I never went to college,” Joyce confessed as Charlotte seated herself across from Joyce at the table. “But I did go to beauty school and became a cosmetologist. At first, that’s how I made my living when I moved to California. I actually worked for one of the big studios for a while.” Joyce sighed, then bowed her head. In a voice barely above a whisper, she added, “But all the glamour in the world can’t take the place of family.” She raised her head and looked Charlotte in the eyes. “Leaving Louis and Stephen was the worst mistake I’ve ever made in my life—that, and drinking. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret what I did.”
Charlotte could almost believe that—for once—Joyce was telling the truth. But then she remembered how convincingly Joyce had played the part of a dying woman.
“I don’t know just how much Louis told you about me,” Joyce continued, “though I’m sure that none of it was good, but I want you to know that I’m not all bad. You’ve been really kind to me—much kinder than I deserve or could have expected.” She paused, then, with a tight-lipped smile and a shrewd look, she said, “Especially considering that you’ve got the hots for my ex-husband.”
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open, and all she could do was stare at Joyce speechlessly. Her immediate reaction was to deny Joyce’s crude words, but the denial seemed to stick in her throat. How could she deny Joyce’s accusation when, deep down, on a level she’d rather ignore, she knew it was true.
“Oh, don’t look so outraged,” Joyce told her with a laugh. “Lighten up. I can’t say as I blame you. My ex is a good-looking man for his age. And if you can get past the male-chauvinist side of him, he’s also pretty nice. Besides, as much as I regret what I did, I’ve tried to move on with my own life, and I can hardly fault Louis for doing the same.”
“I guess not,” Charlotte finally said, for lack of anything better to say.
Joyce shrugged, then sighed. “There’s also something else I need to tell you.”
Great! Just wonderful. It took every bit of self-control Charlotte could muster to keep from groaning aloud. Why me, Lord? she wondered. The last thing she wanted was to be Joyce’s confessor.
“I tried to tell Louis, but after…” Joyce’s voice trailed off, then she took a deep breath. “After he found out that I’d lied to him about dying, he wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say.” She twisted her mouth into a grimace, then shrugged. “Anyway, when Louis found me in California, I wasn’t really a homeless drunk then. Oh, I’d been a homeless drunk before, but that particular time happened to be one of my sober periods.” Joyce suddenly leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I was actually working undercover as a snitch for a police detective and just pretending to be a drunk.”
Charlotte frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand. If you were working with the police, then why on earth would you lie to Louis to begin with?”
“Because the only way I could know for sure that he would bring me back to New Orleans was if he believed I was dying. You see, my cover got blown, and some really
