Free The Gates of Evangeline by Hester Young Page B

least, I can get quotes for the book—an insider’s view of the family.
    I slip on a jacket and step into the night. The moon is just a sliver as I follow the dirt path back toward Evangeline’s distant lights.
Why couldn’t Hettie spring for some outdoor lighting?
The garden, with its tall and spindly shrubbery, has become a jungle of strange shapes and unidentifiable shadows, and the solemn cherub who presides over the empty fountain looks better suited to a headstone. I can feel the swamp not so far away, ready to swallow up anything, anyone. I quicken my step. Whoever took Gabriel probably stood in this very garden, watching the house that night, waiting. That person could still be out there. Could still be close.
    I weave along the path, eyes darting around for some unknown danger, and jump when a low-lying plant brushes my ankle. At the height of my paranoia, I hear something. A male voice, almost immediately to my right.
    â€œDo you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?”
    I freeze. There’s a figure, partially obscured, standing on the other side of a hedge. I think that my heart will fly out of my chest.
Who the hell—
    â€œThree weeks. It’s been almost three weeks now. So don’t tell me to be patient.” It’s Jules, I realize. Jules is talking, but not to me. He must be on a cell phone. “Yes, I am aware of your busy schedule, thank you. You reminded me of it both times you canceled our plans last week. Are you aware of the sacrifices I make to keep our relationship even remotely functional?”
    I’m about to continue walking when he steps into the path ahead of me, still absorbed in his conversation. I stand in the darkness of the hedge, not six feet behind him, debating whether or not to reveal my position. Will it look like I’ve been spying on him if I burst suddenly from a bush? Is it worse to
look
like I was eavesdropping or to actually eavesdrop?
    â€œNo, you listen. I lie for you, I sneak around like some guilty teenager, I change my plans for you at a moment’s notice—” Jules paces around, tilting his chin up to the sky so I get a good look at his perfectly proportioned silhouette. If he turned around, he’d see me lingering in the bushes. But he doesn’t.
    â€œSo you’ll be here? That’s a promise?” His voice sweetens when it appears he will get his way. “Good. Don’t forget my cuff links this time. They should still be on your dresser.” He pauses. “No, the Louis Vuittons. They’re black.” He pauses again, then chuckles as if the caller has said something amusing. I wonder what kind of joke one can make about designer cuff links. “Right. I’ll see you this weekend, then.” He takes off for the house, too pleased with his domestic victory to notice me, thank goodness.
    I give him a couple of minutes, idly imagining what kind of beautiful, high-powered woman has chosen to tolerate Jules—a married one, if they’re sneaking around—and then head for the warm glow of the kitchen.
    Through large French doors, I can see a young black family seated in the breakfast nook. Employees of the estate, I guess, since they aren’t being served in the dining room. It hadn’t occurred to me that families might live on the premises, but there they are: a mother, a father, and a small girl on bent knees who frowns suspiciously at her food. I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to interrupt the scene, but Leeann, the cook, spots me and hurries over to let me in. A large, old, rust-colored dog follows on her heels, waiting for handouts.
    â€œWell, hey there! I was wondrin’ if you were goin’ to stop by.” She’s a hefty, fair, apple-cheeked girl who barely fits into her massive chef’s shirt, and she’s even friendlier now than when I met her with Jules. Again I’m struck by how young she looks. If I saw her on the street,