Redivivus

"Wait," he said. "Remy Delacroix has been dead for 36 years. He was my great grandfather. He died in 1967, the day before I was born."

"No, no," I stammered. "I saw him last night. I spent the night with him. He was here."

"Where did you find that?" he asked, pointing to my necklace.

I closed my hand around it, as if to hide it from his gaze.

"He gave it to me. Last night."

"That necklace is very old. It's a family heirloom that has been lost for years. I've seen pictures of it."

I knew he was right. Hadn't Remy told me nearly the same thing? I also knew Christian was just as confused as I was. I took off the necklace and handed it to him and spun around, heading for the door again.

"Wait!" Christian called.

I kept going, so he grabbed my arm.

"Wait a minute," he said.

I turned to face him.

"What's your name," he asked.

"Casey," I replied. "Casey Flynn."

"You're not from around here."

I shook my head.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"The Place D'Armes. Please, let me go."

"You don't look well at all, let me drive you."

I protested, but it didn't do any good. Christian insisted on driving me in his pickup truck, a large, shiny GMC with "Delacroix Construction" emblazoned on the side. He'd said it was too far for me to walk, especially the way I was dressed, and I'd realized he was probably right. We didn't talk during the short trip. When he pulled up outside the hotel, he turned to look at me.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

He had a kind face, and it was so like Remy's. The general shape of it was very similar, but Christian's hair was a riot of short, dark ringlets. His nose was different, longer, and his eyes weren't the warm, velvety brown of Remy's. They were crystal blue with Remy's fringe of black lashes. Christian's mouth was different too, the lips not quite as full, but when he smiled at me, the same dimples creased his cheeks.

"No," I said. "I'm not sure of anything. I'll be fine to walk inside by myself though. Thank you for the ride."

With that, I opened the door and hopped out of the truck. Christian was saying something to me through the open window, but I pretended not to hear and kept on walking. I felt sick. I'd honestly thought I wouldn't be coming back here. I thought I was going with Remy, wherever it was that he'd gone.

And he was gone. Completely. I could feel it. That electricity had gone out of the air. That dreamy sense I'd had of not being alone was...gone. New Orleans was just a place. A place where I didn't belong.

I returned to my room, turned up the air conditioning, and stripped out of my clothes. I sat on the bed in only strapless bra and panties.

"Remy?" I said. "Where are you?"

As soon as I'd stepped inside the elevator, I started to cry and kept right on crying for a long time. Finally exhausted, I fell asleep. Late in the afternoon, the phone rang, jarring me from deep sleep into a disoriented stupor. It took me a moment to remember where I was and another moment to answer the phone with my sleep-thickened, sticky voice.

"Hello?"

"Miz Flynn?"

"Yes?"

"This is Christian Delacroix. Uh, we met earlier today?"

"Yes."

"I wondered if we could talk for a bit." He paused and cleared his throat. "I mean, about what happened this morning."

"Look, I gave you the necklace. I don't have anything else. I..."

"Oh! No, no, ma'am. I know, and I—I'm sorry. This is awkward. I just wanted to talk with you. I won't take up a lot of your time. Please. I wasn't accusing you of any...uh, anything wrong."

I don't know why I acquiesced. I was going home the next morning and needed to pack, and I'd much rather have been alone; but we agreed to meet in the hotel lobby in an hour.

I found Christian sitting in a wingback chair, staring out the window. He was wearing a sport jacket over a polo and khakis, which didn't suit him quite as well as the rugged work clothes he'd worn that morning. There's just something about a man wearing a tool belt. He stood as I approached and smiled his sweet, dimpling smile.

"Hey there, Miz Flynn. Thanks so much for coming. You look a lot more comfortable now," he said, taking in my simple pale blue dress and sandals.

"Thank you. Please call me Casey."

"Casey."

He seemed to be trying it on for size, and I liked the way he said it with his slight drawl.

"I'm Christian." He pronounced it the American way, which surprised me, as when he'd said it before, he'd pronounced it with more of a French accent.

Despite my sadness, I couldn't help smiling back at him. There was something infectious about that smile, those sparkling blue eyes. We shook hands, and his felt big and warm and slightly damp and somewhat callused on the palm. I sat on a loveseat across from Christian's chair and crossed my legs. His eyes traveled the expanse of my legs and back up to my face as he sat again. He leaned forward with his elbows leaning on his thighs.

"First of all, Casey, I wanted to apologize again. I don't think I handled the situation very well this morning."

I shook my head.

"No, it's fine. I don't know how else you could've handled it."

"I was shocked, seeing you there. Do you know, ol' Remy had a masked ball there every Halloween when he was alive? I remember the old folks talking about them when I was a kid. So, there you were all dressed up with your mask. I thought maybe you were a ghost.

"And the necklace! That necklace was supposed to have been my granny's on her wedding day in 1942. It was lost though, or so she and Granddaddy were told. It had belonged to Granddaddy's mother, and on back. There's a painting of Remy's mother, Annabelle, wearing it. So, anyway, when Granny didn't get it, there were some ugly arguments. She always believed that Remy had hidden it because he didn't approve of her. Well, then Granny refused to live in the family home, Remy's house, and so Granddaddy bought his own house, where Granny still lives. When ol' Remy died, he left his house to my father, his grandson, and nobody's lived in it since. My father was never interested in it, and then it came to me when he passed away last year. My plan is to renovate it and then sell it."

"Oh, no!" I gasped. "Don't sell it."

"Now, what would I do with that big ol' house, chère?"

"It was so charming when..." I trailed off, not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

Christian didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, but look at it now, and I'm having a hell of a time getting my crew to work on it. They keep saying it's haunted, and then when we found you today..." He rolled his eyes. "I don't believe we got a lick of work done for the rest of the day." He laughed at that and then continued. "So, back to the necklace. I took it to Granny today. She was shocked, to say the least. At first she thought I'd found it hidden inside one of the walls in the house or buried in the garden, but then I told her about finding you. She was horrified and said, 'Christian Louis Delacroix, you take that right back to that girl! Comme il faut.' Refused to even touch it. She said if ol' Remy gave it to you, then he meant for you to have it. Then she went on to pray that the old devil would go back where he came from and leave folks alone. I tell you, it was quite a scene."

His fond smile at the memory charmed me, and his mimicry of his grandmother's voice allowed me to almost see her.

"She believed me?" I asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't she?"

"Well." I shrugged. "A dead man gave me a necklace and invited me to a party and...it's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Christian asked. "This is New Orleans, chère. Many ghosts roam these ancient streets."

I thought about the old woman in the cemetery and shivered.

"Aren't you afraid?" I asked.

"No. I think they're mostly harmless. They don't usually meddle in human affairs."

Reaching inside his jacket, Christian retrieved the leather jewelry box and held it out to me.

"It's yours," he said.

"No, I couldn't." I shook my head. "It belongs to your family."

He reached over and laid it in my lap.

"It belongs to you, Casey," he said. "Besides, if you don't take it, Granny is convinced our family will be cursed forever."

I smoothed my fingers over the leather, which was warm from Christian's body.

"I don't know what to say," I murmured. "Thank you." I realized I'd said those same words when presented with the necklace the first time.

"De rien."

We sat in silence for a moment, me looking down at the leather box and Christian watching me. Finally, I opened it, and there was the necklace, its diamonds and emeralds winking back at me from its velvet bed.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Christian asked in a soft voice.

I did tell him—all of it except for the most intimate details. It occurred to me that I was telling my personal business to a complete stranger, but it didn't feel that way. When I got to the part about my tarot reading and my fright afterward, I became a little upset, and Christian came to sit beside me on the loveseat but didn't interrupt my story. When I'd finished, he thanked me for sharing it with him.

"Well, it's been some honeymoon, huh?" Christian grinned. "I could sure use a drink, chère. How about you? Have dinner with me?"

"Oh, I really should pack, and you don't have to..."

Christian laughed. "Come on, Casey. I know you must be hungry. I'm starving, and I want to talk with you some more. Have you been to Felix's?"

I shook my head with a tentative half smile.

"Well then, let's go."

Felix's, that noisy oyster bar, was just what I needed, and the time I spent there with Christian is my favorite memory of the whole trip. He made it so easy for me, and I don't think I'd laughed so much in years. I'd never had oysters before but forced myself to try. Christian served me the first one on a cracker with his own concoction of sauce made from ketchup, hot sauce, lemon juice, and I don't know what all mixed together in a cup at the bar. The second one I slurped directly from the shell and let it slide down my throat, just like he showed me, while he and the shucker cheered me on. The ice cold Abita beer helped wash it down, no doubt. After that, I just watched as Christian downed about a dozen oysters, while the shucker kept them coming, entertaining us with stories and jokes. We shared some fried shrimp and some more Abita and then decided we needed to walk it all off.

As I walked with Christian, I realized being with him was different from being with Remy. The sharp edge of reality was always present with Christian; whereas, my times with Remy were always dreamy and vague, and time seemed to shift and change, so that I never knew quite where or when I was. Christian felt very solid, very much in the present.

We talked and laughed as we walked along in the purple dusk. The heat had broken, and the air was cooler and not quite so laden with humidity. We walked down toward the river and into Woldenberg Park.

"You're a good walker, Miz Casey," Christian said with a grin.

"Well, thanks. I've been doing it for a long time."

He laughed and nudged me with an elbow.

"You know what I mean, chère. Some women don't like to walk very far, especially in the heat here."

"I like walking with you Christian," I said, trying my best to use the French pronunciation of his name and failing miserably.

He laughed, Remy's deep, rumbling laugh. Something must have shown in my face, a tiny bit of discomfiture at that wonderful laugh, because Christian sobered up, as well. He leaned his elbows on the iron railing and looked out over the river.

"He was a rum runner, you know. Ol' Remy." He glanced over at me.

Stepping closer, I leaned against the rail and gazed at the black water and the purple sky. It was almost dark now.

"People say I'm a lot like him," Christian said, still watching the water. "Am I?"

Half of his face was illuminated by the glow from a streetlamp as he turned toward me, looking very much like Remy, but a slight shift, a gentle, questioning cock of his head, and he was all Christian again.

"There is a resemblance."

I shivered as the cool breeze over the water kicked up. Christian shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. He held onto the lapels, pulling me closer. Enveloped in his warmth, I closed my eyes for an instant.

"Casey," he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. "I'm so drawn to you." His breath fanned over my face as he sighed. "Do you really have to leave tomorrow?"

I nodded, breathless, aching with desire.

Christian pressed his lips to mine in a soft, lingering kiss, then pulled me into his arms.

"Don't go." His voice was soft against my ear. "Please don't go."

*******

Christian and I were married on New Year's Eve by candlelight in our house, Remy's old house, with all our family and close friends surrounding us. A year later, our son, Remy Christian Louis Delacroix was born.

I returned to the voodoo shop one day, but Jessie wasn't there. The dark man, the one who'd returned my hat, was there and almost seemed to be expecting me. I asked him about the Death card, the one at the end of my reading that had upset me so. He explained that the Death card does not literally symbolize death. It is more of a shedding of the old, embracing the new.

A new beginning. Yes.

~Fin~

*******

Many thanks to my fabulous editor. What would I do without you, dear friend?

To LA for the gift of NOLA and her kind words of encouragement, merci, mon amie.

To 3113 and LadyCibelle (who probably don't even remember helping me because it was so long ago), many thanks for their help with tarot and French, respectively. Any mistakes in those areas are mine alone.