I grew up here in Louisiana and it was my home. There are days that I’m angry at myself for not leaving and just going to a big city somewhere, or moving back to New Orleans. There are days that I regret not marrying Reed who went on and made something of himself in California amid the palm trees and Pacific Ocean beaches. And there are days I hate myself for not being able to go to Julliard and study music and just getting out.
But Beverly is a part of me, and I am her. It was what my mother named me and when she died while we were living in New Orleans my Grandfather thought it best that I move back to the town of my name sake.
Eli had been in Beverly for all of three months when I met him. Ray Warren owned the local gas station and repair shop and it had been in his family as far back as Beverly had needed one. It was a surprise to everyone when this unknown from up north brought up the old Louisiana Mutual building over on Temper Road on the outer part of the town proper and turned the first two floors into a garage and repair shop. For three months just about no one saw him, and no one was going to his shop. I’m not even sure if anyone knew he was still in business.
It was the end of August and it was so damn hot that I felt like I could melt if I stayed out in the sun for too long. It hadn’t rained for a month and the guys on the television were saying that it could turn into the worst drought in some time.
It was six in the morning and the sun was already too bright and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky save for a wispy little bit of a thing that was all alone. My Grandfather died five years before and the only thing he could leave me was his Dodge Charger that he had restored. I’ve never been much into cars, but even I can admit that was one sexy car. Beside s the emotional value, however, it was also a necessity of life down here. You don’t have a car you’re pretty much persona non-grata because the public transit was pretty much non-existent.
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