Chapter 7 - The Climax at the Camellia Room
Friday afternoon arrived with heavy storm clouds rolling over the Mississippi River. Rain lashed against the tall French windows of the Camellia Room, where Rosalind and I sat at the small corner table—the exact table where Andre had proposed to me forty-five years ago.
It was four-forty-five PM. Fifteen minutes before my deadline.
Rosalind poured two cups of hot chicory coffee. "Are you sure he’s going to show up, Evelyn?"
"He’ll show up," I said, watching the rain streak down the glass. "Beauregard inherited his father’s pride, but he also inherited his father’s eyes. Once he saw that video, he couldn't unsee who Heather really was."
"And if he chooses her?" Rosalind asked gently.
"Then I lock the trust," I said, my heart aching slightly at the thought, but my resolve firm. "And I let him learn the hard lesson that enables boys to finally grow into men."
At four-fifty-two PM, the heavy mahogany doors of the Camellia Room opened.
A tall figure stepped into the room, drenched from the rain, wearing a dark suit. It was Beauregard.
He walked across the polished wooden floor, his shoes making a quiet squeaking sound against the wood. In his right hand, he held a thick black leather accordion folder.
He stopped at our table. He looked exhausted, pale, with deep dark circles under his eyes, but his posture was different today. The slumped, defeated posture of the past week was gone. His shoulders were set, and his jaw was tight.
"Mom," he said quietly.
"Beauregard," I replied, gesturing to a chair. "Sit down."
He pulled out the leather chair and sat down across from me. Rosalind silently stood up and walked toward the kitchen portal, giving us our privacy.
Beauregard set the black folder on the table between us. He unbuckled the brass latch and pulled out a stack of legal documents stamped with a red court clerk seal.
"It’s done," he said, his voice flat but steady.
I looked down at the top document. It was a petition for Dissolution of Marriage, filed in the 22nd Judicial District Court at two o'clock that afternoon. Attached to it was an emergency temporary restraining order freezing all joint marital bank accounts and revoking Heather’s access to his credit lines.
"Marcus helped me file it this morning," Beauregard said, staring at his hands. "When I showed him the security footage and the video of her screaming on your driveway yesterday, he said we had enough grounds for an expedited filing based on fraud and financial misconduct."
I looked up at my son. "Where is she now?"
"She’s at our townhouse," Beauregard said, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "Or rather, what’s left of it. When she realized I had locked the joint account where her catering loan payments were drawn, she went wild. She smashed two TV screens, packed three suitcases, and left with her sister."
"Did she say anything to you?" I asked softly.
Beauregard looked up at me, his brown eyes—so much like Andre’s—filling with quiet pain. "She told me I was nothing without your money. She said she only married me because she thought your estate would back her business growth."
He swallowed hard, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with his thumb.
"She didn't care about me, Mom," he whispered, his voice breaking. "She never cared about me. She just wanted the Vance name, the status, and the money. You were right. You were right about everything, and I was too blind and weak to see it."
I reached across the table, took my son’s cold, trembling hands in mine, and squeezed them tightly.
"You were not weak, Beauregard," I said, my voice rich with warmth and motherly fierce love. "You were in love with the image of a woman who didn't exist. That isn't weakness; it’s a mistake. The only real weakness would have been staying in the dark once the light was turned on."
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Beauregard leaned forward, pressing his forehead against our joined hands, and finally let out the deep, heavy sobs he had been holding inside for three long days.
I held his hands tight, listening to the rain beat against the Camellia Room windows, feeling the heavy, suffocating cloud that had hung over our family finally begin to lift.
