Beau

1

Beau wrenched herself awake and out from the dark tendrils of sleep. Her eyes slammed open to the glaring twilight. Her arms flew out to ward off the cloying shadows. Her chest heaved in shallow pants and her fingers curled around the empty air. Her eyes took long to adjust to the darkness that shone bright in the room.

Bile on her tongue mixed with the metallic tint of iron. She reached her cold, shaking fingers to her lip. They came away wet. She eyed the contrast of the dark blood on her pale fingertips, and then glanced up at her surroundings.

Nothing looked familiar.

Where was she?

She took a deep breath, but her tight chest protested, only allowing one tiny puff of air at a time through its constricted channels. It left her dizzy as the four walls crushed in on her with the ever-growing darkness.

This was wrong, her mind whispered. Her restless legs tingled; eager to get up and run. Her churning stomach insisted she wasn’t supposed to be here in this place; this cold, dark place.

A hand snaked out to grab at her. She wrenched away from it, skittering to the far side of the bed.

Bed? She was in a bed?

Beau? A deep voice, muffled with sleep, called out into the night. Baby, it’s me.

Who?

The voice sounded irritated, annoyed. Beau wasn’t certain she wanted to get any closer to the owner of the voice. She peered down into the darkness until the face attached to the voice came into view. She couldn’t make out the man’s features. His face was shrouded in the shadows that surrounded them both. But there was something familiar about him.

He reached out again. This time he caught her. His fingertips left cold spots on the underside of her wrist, causing her pulse to jump. She stared down at the cold spots as her pulse kicked at his thumb.

She balled her hand into a fist, meeting another cold shock. It was a piece of metal. A band; a thin golden band. Her thumb snaked between her middle and fourth finger and met the sharp point of a stone.

It’s okay, baby. The words came as though from a record player that had worn out this particular song. You had the nightmare again.

Nightmare? Had she had a nightmare? She didn’t remember any pictures in her mind, only darkness. She’d been lost inside of darkness. Darkness from all around her; in her head, and now in reality.

She’d been looking for something? Or maybe for someone? She wasn’t sure? It had been so dark. She shivered at the memory of it. Opening her eyes, she shivered again at the reality of it.

You’re home, baby, he said.

Beau looked around the dark room. This was her room, in her home. But why would she have a room so dark if she hated the darkness? Even with her eyes open, she felt the dense shadows crushing her still.

You’re with me, he said.

That sounded right. She moved closer to the voice, to him.

She knew this man, had known him for much of her life. She’d known him back during the time when sleep came quietly and peacefully to her. When dreams had whispered secrets to her. When waking had been a delight. Before nightmares of darkness kept her from her dreams and stole a little piece of her soul every time she closed her eyes.

Everything’s fine. The man with the familiar voice sighed heavily. The bed creaked as he turned over onto his other side. Go back to sleep. He settled into the sheets. Within a minute, he was softly snoring.

Beau took another deep breath. Her chest now calm enough to allow clear passage for enough air to fill her lungs. Her heart slowed. Her stomach settled.

She closed her eyes, but the darkness waiting beneath her lashes crawled over her eyelids. It taunted her like a schoolyard bully, goading her to try and escape its wrath. She opened her eyes, but the shadows rang loud from their place in the corners of the room. She swore she heard them mocking her.

She slid closer to the man on the far side of the bed, seeking out his warmth. She ran her hands over his strong bicep.

He jerked away from her. Babe, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.

He turned to her, and gave her a quick kiss at the corner of her mouth. Then he turned away, scooting to the edge of his side of the bed. He gave her his back again.

Beau scooted away from him, back to her side of the mattress, which was colder, darker. She shoved the fear down. She pushed away thoughts of being in the wrong place. This was exactly where she was supposed to be. Lying beside the man of her dreams, in the house of her dreams, with the life of her dreams.

She had everything she’d ever dreamed of, and when she woke in the morning it would all be here to greet her. She pulled the covers up to her chin, then over her eyes.

She willed herself to sleep. But the darkness hovered, waiting to make its next attack.

Beau decided to stop fighting. She tossed off the covers and got up to greet the day, even though it was still the dead of the night.

2

G reen means go, Mommy.

Beau blinked her eyes awake. She jerked in the driver’s seat at the blare of the horn behind her telling her to move forward. She’d closed her eyes for a split second while being stopped at a stoplight on a residential street. At least, she hoped it had only been for a split second.

Are we gonna be late again, Mommy? In the mommy-mirror Beau’s five-year old daughter, Flora, clutched at her pink, Disney princess backpack. Blue-gray eyes blinked back, moistened from anxious tears. The precious girl pulled a lock of jet-black hair into her mouth.

No, sweetie, Beau soothed, flicking her own light-gray eyes up to the car’s rear mirror. She pushed a lock of her own jet black hair behind her ear. We’re almost there.

Beau pulled her lower lip into her mouth at the small fib. They were almost to the children’s school, relative to where they were five minutes ago. She took her foot off the brake and tapped the gas. Turning one-handed into the next lane, she took the opportunity to take a healthy gulp of her second cup of coffee.

The dark roast sent a liquid shot of adrenalin into her blood stream. Unfortunately, the caffeine from her first cup still lingered in her veins and the newest sip from her second cup fizzled on impact. The insomnia was killing her. She had to keep alert. If not for herself, then for the precious cargo she carried in the backseat.

Mommy, I said I wanted a strawberry cereal bar. A face identical to Flora’s, but with cropped curls, filled the mommy-mirror. Her son, Faun, screwed his face at the blueberry cereal bar.

The children were having backseat breakfast again, because Beau missed her alarm clock. After waking in the middle of the night, she’d putzed around the house, finally venturing into her home office, which was a floor away from her bedroom. She’d picked up a file from work and had begun making notes. She didn’t remember exactly when she’d closed her eyes.

The next time she opened them was to the slam of the front door, which had been her husband, Philip, leaving for the gym. He couldn’t start his day without a good workout. Back in the home office, Beau had taken one look at the computer’s clock and realized she and the children would be late starting their own day, which meant she didn’t have time to make them a healthy breakfast from scratch.

Faunie, you already ate yours.

But Flo has one now, Faun kicked the back of the driver’s seat.

Beau glanced at Flora. The little girl took the lock of hair out of her mouth and pulled it over her shut eyes. The unopened cereal bar lay on her lap.

I want another one, whined Faun.

Here, Flora handed hers to her brother. You can have mine. I don’t want it.

Faun smacked the food away. I don’t want yours. I want my own.

Flora tried again to hand the unopened bar to her brother, but he pitched an even bigger fit, kicking up a storm that Beau felt along her spine.

Flo, if he doesn’t want it then stop teasing him, Beau admonished. The last thing she needed this morning was her son to have one of his meltdowns. When he got riled up it was almost impossible to calm him down.

Everyone told her that having twins was a full time job in and of itself. Not only did Beau have two children whom she loved, she also had a full-time job that was her life’s passion. A job she would be late for, if she didn’t get it into gear and get the kids to school on time.

Finally, she rounded the corner to Parish Academy with a moment to spare before the first bell. It was a straight path to the front of the school, as the drop off lane was empty of cars. The majority of parents had already kissed their kids and ridden off to make it to work on time. Only the moms of the shame-squad lingered, chatting in their Lulelemons and designer jeans. Since Beau couldn’t escape the late-walk-of-shame, she pasted on a bright smile as she put the car in park and hopped out to unload her children.

Hi, ladies, she sing-songed.

Hi, Isabeau, rang a chorus of falsettos.

What I wouldn’t give to have the luxury of sleeping in on a school day, one voice broke off from the pack.

It was Chantelle, the leader of the pack. The dark-skinned woman wore a size zero yoga pants with a matching crop top that hinted at a flat, stretch-mark-less belly. Her artfully messy ponytail swished across her shoulder blades and her smoky-shadowed eyes cast shade at Beau.

Beau couldn’t pass her puffy, encircled eyes off as a new makeup craze. She would love the luxury of sleeping in herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept longer than a stolen nap during the day.

Traffic was a nightmare, Beau offered as an excuse.

They all knew she only lived a couple of miles from the elite private school. They all lived in the same neighborhood. Most of them jogged here with their tricked-out jogging strollers, with designer tennis skirts hugging their perky asses. Beau didn’t have time for jogging. She also didn’t have time for small talk in the kiss-and-ride lane.

She unbuckled the twins and they hopped out of the car. Faun barely spared his mother a glance as she leaned down to kiss him goodbye. He ducked and sprinted for his teacher, Mrs. Knighting, giving the older woman a hug.

Mrs. Knighting straightened and gave Beau an enthusiastic wave. Beau had known Mrs. Knighting when her gray hair was still a lush brown and her name was Ms. Clark. Twenty years ago, the night after her first day of Kindergarten, Beau had seen Ms. Clark in a dream. She hadn’t understood what it meant that her teacher and the school crossing guard were holding hands as they walked in a meadow. Mr. Knighting had held Beau’s hand that morning when she’d crossed the street to school. The next morning Beau told Ms. Clark about the dream. That afternoon Beau saw the two adults talking. Within the year they were married.

Flora waited patiently for her mother to lean down and kiss her forehead. Love you, Mommy, she said, before skipping off to join her brother.

Beau took a moment she didn’t have to watch the two children disappear into the school with their teacher. They were the last two children to do so. Then she turned to head back to her car, but she knew better. The Mom Squad swarmed on her.

We’ve been looking for some parents to come and talk with the children next week for Career Day. Chantelle’s ponytail swished hypnotically as she sized up Beau.

Oh, I... Beau fell under the spell of the dark mane and didn’t get an excuse out in time.

We have a lot of fathers coming in, but not many women work outside of the home. You’re one of the few. Lindsey stood at Chantelle’s side, coordinated from her jean belt to her earrings, to her nail polish. Beau wondered what time the woman got up in the morning to affect such a look?

We were hoping you’d get more involved this year, like you promised. Kathryn pulled up on Beau’s other side. They’d effectively boxed her in. There was no way to escape.

They’d not only boxed her in physically, they also cut her at her Achilles’ heel. Beau came from money; lots of money. She never wanted to be accused of being entitled —even though just about every woman whose kids were enrolled in this prestigious and expensive private school was connected to money and rarely worked a day in their lives.

Three pairs of eyes regarded her, looking down on her even though she had a couple of inches, and a few more zeros in a trust fund, on each of them. Chantelle’s ponytail swished back and forth in anticipation of Beau squirming out of yet another school function, as she’d done in the past.

It wasn’t that Beau didn’t want to help out. She just didn’t have the time to. Her philanthropic enterprise, aimed at educating girls in the Middle East so they’d have options other than arranged marriages, and rescuing boys taken to soldier wars in Africa, always interfered with the involvement in this high-priced, exclusive, private, primary school.

Chantelle’s gaze broke from Beau’s. She cocked her head, ponytail swishing like a lion scenting easy prey. Uh oh, look out. Charity case incoming.

Beau turned to see an old-school Chevy pull up. The muffler grunted as the car pulled to a stop. A woman Beau didn’t recognize hopped out of the car. She wore loose-fitting jeans and a sweatshirt with a stain at the collar.

The woman opened the car door with a squeak of metal and three kids paraded out. It was a Benneton of Color ad. One child was Asian, another black, and a third... Beau couldn’t quite distinguish the third child’s ethnicity, but he had pale-skin and European features.

They’re here on scholarship. Chantelle crossed her brown arms beneath her perky breasts. The board is trying to get into Affirmative Action.

I heard her husband left her after the second child came out Asian, said Lindsey.

The woman in question had skin the color of milk with a teaspoon tipped with chocolate, and bright orange-red hair. The combination of her skin and hair was stunning. Beau wondered if the woman was an albino.

The mom opened her arms and each child came willingly into her embrace before heading into the building. When the red-head straightened and turned, her face did not read excitement at the prospect of a face-off with the Mom Squad. In fact, she tried to side step them altogether.

Beau let out a small sigh for the woman. That move never worked, she wanted to tell the newcomer. Best to just face the pack head on and soldier through.

Duchess, Chantelle sing-songed across the lot. She leaned into Beau and whispered, Can you believe that name?

Duchess didn’t venture too close. Hello, everyone. It’s good to see you all.

Chantelle stepped in front of her, cutting off Duchess’ exit. You know that part of enrollment in Parish Academy is that every family has to do community service hours. We were hoping you could come in next week for Career Day. You’re one of the only working moms in the school. And we want to show the little girls that there are a few other options than an MRS degree.

Duchess cocked her head like a bird, unsure if the landing was safe. I don’t know. I work during school hours. Duchess took another step towards her car.

Oh, it won’t take much time at all. You’d be speaking along with Isabeau, here.

Duchess took one look at Beau in her pressed suit and pumps and winced. For all of her wealth and popularity Beau had never been a mean girl. She broke off from the herd and extended her hand to Duchess.

I’m pleased to meet you, Beau said. I think it would be fun to speak with the kids, and I’d love if we did it together.

Duchess blinked at Beau’s genuine smile. Then she took her hand. Duchess’ grip wasn’t firm, but it was warm.

You headed in to work? Beau asked.

Duchess nodded.

Me, too. Beau commandeered them towards their cars and out of the way of the Mom Squad.

Thanks, said Duchess.

No, thank you. I really do have a meeting to get to. They would’ve kept me there all day. I’m Beau, by the way.

Duchess cocked her head to the other side in the same bird-like motion. Yes, I know.

Right, Chantelle had said her name. Well, Duchess, maybe we could get together sometime on a weekend to get to know each other?

You want to hang out? she said. With me? She pointed her thumb to her chest. It landed at the stain on her shirt.

Sure, said Beau. Maybe make a play date out of it with the kids?

Yeah... okay. Duchess’ smile was wobbly with uncertainty, but it wasn’t fake.

They exchanged numbers and then the two women hopped into their cars and left the school, and the Mom Squad, behind.

Twenty minutes later, and with truly horrific rush hour traffic, Beau pulled up to her office. The Rosen Foundation was a small non-profit, only three years old. Unlike the Charmayne Foundation run by Beau’s family, which focused on the sick and the needy, the Rosen Foundation focused its efforts specifically on children.

The office occupied what used to be a flower shop in the market district of Saint Anne’s parish. The shop had belonged to Mr. Matthews. Mr. Matthews had been a widower when he bought the shop. One night in high school, Beau had seen him arranging black and white flowers for her brother’s music teacher.

By this time Beau had come to understand her gift, and was sure to tell the music teacher about the flower shop. The flowers at the wedding were beautiful. Beau’s brother, Guy, never forgave her for butting into the life of his favorite teacher, who became pregnant within a year and never went back to teaching after the first, then second, and third child was