I Will Remember You
Remy hated going into Westchester; New York City was more his speed. Westchester was geared toward rich socialites and weekend antique shoppers, not thieves with a need for excitement. But, New York City was an hour away, even by motorcycle, Westchester was only fifteen minutes away, and Remy was out of smokes. It would serve his purpose.
He parked his bike at the corner and unfolded his long, lean frame. He was not the usual sight in yuppy-ville on a lazy summer Saturday and he knew it. Dressed in a white tee shirt, faded, form-fitting jeans and a pair of dark shades, his shoulder length, dark auburn hair was held back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck; he smiled at the disapproving glances of the weekend shoppers passing him by on the shaded sidewalk. He smiled more at the very approving glances of the young women who passed him by. Remy stepped onto the sidewalk and strolled lazily toward the drugstore, enjoying the warm sun and the cool breeze. It was a blessing to actually have a day in which he could simply sit back and relax. There were no madmen threatening to destroy the world, no scary ex-wives promising vengeance, and no accusations from his teammates. It was a day full of promise.
His thoughts turned to Rogue and his bright mood was temporarily darkened. He had truly loved Rogue, but the stresses of his past and her inability to be touched had driven them apart. He was fairly certain that this time they meant it. They had decided that they would always count on each other as friends and teammates, but that was as far as it could go. The strain of wanting to be together and never being able to was simply too much. His gait slowed as these sobering thoughts crossed his mind. Rogue had been, to his mind, the love of his life. Losing that was one of the hardest things he had ever been through.
He gave himself a mental shake and quickened his step toward the drugstore. It was a one of those old fashioned places, the kind that was still decked out in its Victorian era dark wood and brass. The sort of shop that still sold ice cream, soda, and knick knacks to the tourists along with the usual modern day necessities. He stepped through the door with an accompanying jingle of bells. He had long since made a habit of surveying the faces of people when ever he entered a room, a habit that had saved his life on various occasions. One never knows when an enemy might be lurking around an innocent corner.
This time he saw no enemy, but what he did see sent a rush of cold blood through his veins. What the hell was she doing here? The lady in question seemed to be thinking the same thing; her dark green eyes were as wide as saucers and she had frozen in place with a spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth. He had a sudden flash back to the first time he had seen her. She had been eight years old, all skinned knees and ponytails. He had been eleven that summer, tall and gangly, with a chip on his shoulder nearly as big as he was. Her family had moved into the garden district just down the street from his father's home. She had shown up at the house one day, simply standing outside looking up at the house in wonder. Remy had been annoyed by her presumption and banged his way out of the front door to tell her exactly where she could go.
"You dere! What you starin' at?" As eloquent as ever, he marched his way to the little twit and stood over her by a good eight inches. "You deaf? I said scat!"
She simply put her hands on her hips and stuck her tiny, pert chin in the air. "No, I am not deaf… as you so eloquently put it. I was simply admiring your house. It has to be one of the oldest in the garden district. Look at those columns!" She pointed at the columns in question and then replaced her hand on her hip. Remy looked over his shoulder at the house and then back at this tiny, odd creature.
"How you know so much 'bout mah house, anyway?"
"When my mom told us we were moving to New Orleans, she gave us books on the history and architecture." Again, the proud little chin came up. "My mom's a historian, she's going to be teaching over at LSU this fall. She makes us learn about all kinds of history."
He simply stared at her in disbelief. Most of the kids he knew were children of the Guild. They played games that taught them the craft of thieving or they might all head out to the swamps to catch fish or snakes, but this little piece of fluff took the cake. She was staring right back at him, a puzzled expression on her face.
"What's up with your eyes?"
"I's a freak, you got a problem wit dat?"
"Nope. My folks are freaks. Me and my sister will probably be freaks too. But I'm not suppose to talk about that."
"You talk a lot, you know dat?"
"And you talk funny, 'you know dat'?"
He cocked his head to the side and considered her for a second. "You wanna come in for some lemonade?"
"Thanks, I'd love some. By the way, my name's Jesse." She brushed past him and waited by the front door for him to open it for her. She had followed him around the rest of that summer, pointing out obscure historical trivia and learning what it was to be a Southern Louisiana kid. He learned a lot about her, mostly because she seemed to never stop talking. Her mother was a historian who had been doing a summer of archeological work on a Sioux reservation in South Dakota and her father was a full blooded Oglala Sioux who was protesting the digging up of sacred burial grounds. This very mixed heritage gave both Jesse and her twin, Krys, very exotic looks. They both had long, black hair, olive complexions, and high cheekbones with delicate sprays of freckles across their noses. Jesse's eyes were a deep, emerald green while Krys's were a bright, vibrant blue. Krys did not seem to share Jesse's fascination with all things Remy. She generally stuck to herself that first summer, unless they were all headed out to the swamps.
Remy shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs Jesse reappearance in his life had caused. This was no eight year-old kid. She was not even the eighteen year-old she had been the last time he saw her. No, she was a woman fully grown. She set her spoon down and seemed to be setting her shoulders for battle. She wore her long, curling black hair pulled back from her face with a simple clip and a long, button down the front dress that hugged her curves. Time had been kind; he smiled and changed direction to stop by her table. Was it his imagination, or did she seem to flinch at his approach? She picked her chin up in that all-too-familiar fashion and gave him her bravest smile.
"Remy, long time no see…" Her was voice stiff and formal. Ouch. He knew they had not parted on the best of terms, but did he deserve that icy tone?
"Jesse, indeed a very long time, non?" His eyes flitted across the table to notice a short little pixie just about the age Jesse had been the day they met. She also wore long, dark pigtails, though hers were of a lighter, chestnut hue. Her big, green eyes gave away the fact that she was her mother's child. The child arched her brow and gave her mother a curious look. Remy returned his gaze to Jesse and took note of the absence of a wedding ring. "An' you're a Momma! I'm happy for you, I know dat's what you always wanted." He had put on his best happy tone, but the idea of any other man putting his hands on her still gave him that knotted feeling deep in his gut.
"Yes, well, it was lovely to see you again. Glad to see you are doing well, now if you'll excuse us…" She nearly launched herself from the table, grabbing her purse and shopping bags in haste and reaching out for her child's hand. She headed straight for the exit without looking back. The girl, however, did look back. She shrugged slightly and waved, giving him her biggest, brightest grin.
It was then that Remy's world dropped out from beneath him. The little girl with the chestnut curls and her mother's eyes had just flashed him his own grin.