Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,108

her son is dead and I’m the one who took his life. I need to apologize for that.

“If I can look her in the eye and tell her I’m sorry, get her to see how much I regret what I did and that I understand where her pain is coming from, I feel like maybe I could finally think about finding some peace in my life. I know she won’t forgive me—I mean, how could she, right?—but maybe it will help her to know that I get it and that I wish I could take it all back.” I smile sadly. “Or maybe it’ll just piss her off. I don’t know. But I can’t know unless I try. And if she spits in my eye and tells me to go to hell, I’ll walk away. I promise I will. I won’t do anything physical against her, even if she says what’s on her mind or slaps me across the face.”

I lay my hand on my belly. I haven’t even seen these babies yet, but I could almost imagine what it would be like if someone were to take one of them from me with violence. I’d kill them, plain and simple. Hopefully, Charlie’s mother has more forgiveness in her than I do. She was always going to church, and she sure forgave her own husband enough of his violence over the years. Maybe she won’t decide to take an eye for an eye.

Movement catches my attention, so I look up. Across the cemetery there’s a group of people gathering around an open grave. Their body language is stiff, their heads tipped down. Most of them are wearing black. A few of the older women in attendance have fancy hats with veils.

I didn’t go to Charlie’s funeral; I was in the county jail. But I can imagine what it was like. He had a lot of friends and family. Most of them are now in jail themselves. I read in the news that his mother was there and that she threw herself on his coffin, screaming his name. When I asked my brother for details, he refused to give them to me. He told me I had to walk away and let it go.

Sorry, Thibault. Can’t do it.

I get up from my spot on the ground and place the handful of grass I picked on Charlie’s headstone. I stay there until the wind has blown away the last blade. “I’m so, so sorry for what I did to you, Charlie. You didn’t deserve to die. There were a hundred other better ways I could have handled our disaster of a relationship, but I failed. I snapped, and I’ll never not feel terrible about that. But I’m going to try to do something for your mom. I want her to know how sorry I am. She deserves to hear that from me, at least. Maybe it’ll make a difference to her.”

I walk away, headed for work. I’m going to execute my plan tonight, after I leave the port and before I head home to make up with Lucky. For the first time in too many years, I feel like I’m on the cusp of moving forward instead of falling backward or running in place.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

May comes in late, looking almost green when she sits down in the cubicle next to me. I pause the recording I’m listening to and look over at her.

“You look like crap.”

She unwraps a lollipop and sticks it in her mouth, dropping her purse on the ground next to her chair. “Thanks. I actually feel like doo-doo warmed over, so that’s perfect.”

“And a lollipop is going to help that?”

She nods, pulling it out and holding it up in front of me. “These are ginger lollies. Jenny bought me a huge bag of them. She said they’ll help with the morning sickness.”

“Ginger ale helped me, so I guess that makes sense.”

May nods her head and sticks her lollipop back in her mouth as she boots up her computer. “I can’t keep anything down, and I have no appetite either. Everything smells gross.”

“Yep. Been there, done that.”

May looks over at me. “When is it going to end? The nausea.”

“Very soon. How far along are you now?”

“Sixteen weeks.”

I shrug. “Any day now, you’ll be fine. At least that’s what my books say.”

May goes back to her computer. “I guess I should just thank my lucky stars I’m not having twins.”

I don’t have anything to say to that. She’s right. She is