Under the Cajun Moon Read Free Page A

could get there. Once I hung up, I tucked my phone away, gathered my things, and waited what felt like an eternity for the plane to be secured at the gate and the doors to be opened.
    Thanks to Jenny who had booked me in seat 1C, I was the first one off the plane. The airport was quiet, and I was able to move quickly up the hall and into the main area, which was lined with empty restaurants and darkened gift shops. Taking the escalator, I reached the first floor and strode briskly past baggage claim to the rental car desk at the far end of the hall. As I got closer, I was relieved to see that there was only one person in line. When it was my turn, the young man at the desk processed my rental quickly, and by the time I got back to baggage claim, the buzzer was sounding and the conveyor belt was just kicking into action.
    Watching for my bags, I thought about my relationship with my parents. Things were complicated, but I did love them. Just knowing what they were both going through had knotted up my insides like a fist. I kept hearing my mother’s voice saying
We need you, Chloe
. I wasn’t sure if I had ever heard those words from either of my parents before.
    We need you.
    The physical trauma of a gunshot wound would be hard enough on anyone, but it didn’t help that my dad was getting on in years. I was a late-in-life baby for him, so it was easy to forget that by now he wasalmost in his eighties. He had always seemed so healthy and vibrant, especially when he was with my mom, who was still stunningly beautiful and younger than him by fourteen years. But I had to remember that he wasn’t as young as he seemed, not at all. Even if he survived this, it was definitely going to take a toll on him.
    My bag had been one of the last to come out, but after a quick shuttle ride I had claimed my rental car and climbed inside. There, I had forced myself to sit quietly for a moment, take a few deep breaths, and try to gather my wits about me.
    I hadn’t been back home in a long time, longer than I wanted to admit. Had it been two years? Three? All I knew was that if my father died before I had a chance to see him and say goodbye, I would never forgive myself.
    What kind of daughter was I, anyway?
    My cell phone rang just as I was about to start the car, so I waited, answering instead. It was my mother returning my call, saying that she had been in the recovery room with my father when I had phoned from the plane.
    “How’s he doing?”
    “He’s hanging in there. But he needs you to do him a very big favor, Chloe. I know you want to come straight to the hospital, but he desperately needs you to handle an important business matter for him first. You’ve got power of attorney, you know, so you’re the only one who can do it.”
    I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. My father and I had signed power of attorney papers a good ten years ago, when I was in my early twenties, just out of college and embarking on my career. At the time I hadn’t understood why he had chosen me for such an important role, so afterward I had gathered up the nerve to ask him why he had designated his daughter rather than his wife. What my mother didn’t know and would never know was what he said to me in reply.
You’re a smart girl, Chloe, not like your mom. She may be the most beautiful gal in New Orleans, but she’s also one of the dumbest. You know how much I love her, but if anything ever happens to me, I need to know you’ll be handling my affairs, not her.
    At the time, I was offended on my mother’s behalf but deeply flatteredon my own. Mostly, I was shocked by the rare vote of confidence coming from a man who constantly found fault in those around him, especially me. He was right about my mother in the sense that certain things confounded her, particularly things that involved paperwork or finances. I, on the other hand, had taken after my father, who was born knowing how to do business. His trust in me was well placed, but