Page 367 of Phobia

Maman peered at me quizzically, almost like she’d seen through my lie. I wasn’t a person who was attached to material things, let alone a Bible. Religion was her passion, not mine. In fact, she had to drag me out of bed every Sunday just to make it to service on time.

However, the key to lying effectively was commitment, so I committed like I was Judas selling out Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.

“It’s just that I ear-marked the page I left off on, and I can’t remember which psalm it was.”

“What does it matter? Just start from the beginning,” Papa croaked out. “Can’t ever read the Good Book too many times, I always say.”

I wanted so badly to roll my eyes.Yeah, I bet you say that while chugging a whiskey like it were a mouthful of communion wine.

Instead, I offered a meek smile, took the damn book from Maman, and plopped back down onto my seat. “Thanks,” I gritted out.

***

I waited three more hours, until everyone had fallen asleep, to slip from my bed.

He was already there. I could smell his cigar smoke before I even saw his large frame cloaked in his signature top hat and coat against the tree.His tree.

My feet moved quicker than intended to close the space between us, recklessly crunching twigs and grass.

Bastien looked up when I inadvertently kicked a pebble in his direction, raking over my body with his eyes just like he had the night before. Tonight, I had come prepared with a robe over my nightgown and shoes on my feet. I had also stuffed my covers at home to make it seem like I was asleep in case Maman and Papa roused in the night.

“Back again, little songbird?” The amusement in his voice was unmistakable. I noticed a bottle of rum sitting next to him on the ground as he sucked on his cigar. “Yeh runnin’ again tonight?”

I shook my head. “No. Things were surprisingly quiet this evening.” I stepped closer to him than I had last night. For some reason, this stranger made me feel more at ease than my own parents did. I didn’t feel self-conscious around him like I did with other people.

“Well, that’s good. Take a load off, then.” He patted the ground next to him.

I raised the hem of my gown above my ankles and eased myself down. The moisture of the grass seeped through my robe and to my bare ass cheeks. “Did your friends show up last night?”

His lips spread into a smile as he took a swig of rum and then looked off into the distance again. “They did.”

His tight lips stoked my curiosity for more information. Far be it for me to think someone was acting peculiar when the same could be said about myself, but he was holding back. “Did you have a good time?”

He shrugged. “Sure. As good of a time as one could have ’round these parts.”

It was like pulling teeth, but I wasn’t going to let it go. It was far too strange for a group of men to be out here after dark. At least my reasons for coming here were valid. This place was my escape from my crappy home. Except tonight, I wasn’t escaping from anything. My motivations for being here lay elsewhere.

“So, what did you guys do? Have a party?” I propped my chin on my hand, listening intently.

His brow furrowed. “Too many questions, little songbird. Is this an interrogation or a conversation?”

My hand dropped into my lap. I hadn’t meant to irritate him. I often spoke like this without meaning to do so. Sometimes my questions were poorly spaced and didn’t follow social etiquette for proper conversation. “I was just curious,” I said, blinking away my embarrassment.

After a beat, he spoke. “I didn’t mean to hurt y’er feelin’s.”

“You didn’t,” I responded, trying to lighten the mood.

“I did.” He fisted the long neck of the rum bottle with his big hand and passed it to me.

I shook my head. “I don’t drink.”

“Neither do I.” He brought it to his mouth and chugged before holding it out to me again.

It was amazing how he wasn’t yet drunk from the mammoth size of his gulps. They were certainly large enough to take down a horse—if horses drank liquor, of course.

“Alcohol is bad.” It was the cause of all my troubles at home. I couldn’t remember a time when Papa had gone more than a week without getting drunk, and as a result, nasty.

“No need to make wide judgments like that when yeh ain’t even tried it.” Bastien’s tone wasn’t defensive, just blunt. “Go on. I won’t tell anyone.” His teeth glimmered in the sliver of moonlight. I could see more of him tonight thanks to our proximity. His dark skin was smooth like a black pearl from the sea. I had to fight the urge to reach out and run my fingers over it.