Crossing Lake Pontchartrain

Arthur Byrd

Description

A tequila debacle leaves a forty-year-old Mississippi man sorting his mid-life mess of unemployment and a collapsing marriage. But after a beautiful Argentine painter calls out Larry Winstead’s inner artist then a new job in the fast-paced janitorial services industry zips him to post-Katrina New Orleans, a cadre of artsy, worldly strangers help him discover who he is, and who he isn’t.
A father’s mysterious disappearance and a tossed writing dream still trouble Larry even after twenty years. But in the creative renewal of a big city pulse, a hobbyist clairvoyant and an iron sculpture expose his uncertainties while a philosophical maintenance worker teaches him to Chop Wood, Carry Water. Yet, Emma, an inspiring clear-eyed yoga instructor grasps what Larry has overlooked in his search for the fulfilled life he yearns for yet has denied himself.
A serendipitous discovery will scramble the fates of Larry’s new web of friends. But sometimes when things fall apart, they fall together again.

Sujets

• Romance
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 12 juillet 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663246073
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Previous Publications by Arthur Byrd:
What the River W ants
CROSSING LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN
 
 
 
 
 
ARTHUR BYRD
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
CROSSING LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN
 
 
Copyright © 2023 Arthur Byrd.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
 
 
 
iUniverse
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www.iuniverse.com
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4606-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4608-0 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4607-3 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022917889
 
 
 
 
iUniverse rev. date:  06/20/2023
Contents
Acknowledgments
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part Two
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Three
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Part Four
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Part Five
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Part Six
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
For Pat and Davie
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
“Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father’s heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone? . . .
O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.”
Look Homeward, A ngel
Thomas Wolfe
Acknowledgments
I want to thank my dear wife, Sally, for patiently enduring my reclusive work. Her brilliance and spiritual core inspire me every day. My best friend, and daily companion of choice.
Special gratitude to my editor, Avalon Radys, who helped me find a path through this wilderness of words. As well, much appreciation to David Goodman for insights about New Orleans and to James Lubas for yet another author photo.
And finally, to my departed parents, Rubye, and Arthur Jr., deep appreciation for providing me the youthful latitude to make mistakes and flounder with responsibility even before I was ready. Now that I’m a parent, I see now how difficult it is both to hold on and get out of the way all at the same time.
PART ONE

HATTIESBURG, MISSISSIPPI, 2013

 
“Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves.”
Uly sses
James Joyce
Chapter 1

Hours of silence hatched the noise of urgency. A pleasant Saturday watching baseball without my wife around would soon become a performance of pretense at her friend’s party, where surely four years of my unemployment would be a reliable conversation starter.
With a swoop of my jacket, I slammed the door with accomplishment, but there it was, as always, the loose post at the end of the front porch. Three steps later, I leveled my best suburban karate kick, leaving the desultory pole dangling over the edge, clinging to the ceiling but without purpose. For my wifely status report, I had indeed addressed a home repair project.
The dry leaves of September reminded me of camping with Dad, back when he existed, and I so wanted to drift into those lost weekends. But searching through memory reruns had to wait as I was off to the christening of a nouveau riche mansion. My Saab dashboard clock glared 4:08, already an hour late. Janine would be mad, but I needed to pull into the Good Stuff convenience store for a Barq’s root beer. The fifteen bucks she gave me for gas turned into eight dollars and a brisket panini, Ray Curry’s smoker delicacies again too bewitching to resist.
A few back roads, then my last Newport before the long driveway up the highest hill within ten miles. Near the top, a switchback slowed me when a black poodle darted from behind a row of azaleas tucked into the steep drop-off. A skid saved his hide, but when I pushed the accelerator, my tires spun on the gravel surface. Car in neutral, drifting slowly backward, I punched into first gear, leaving the fake wood housing around the shifter cracked from front to back.
“Crap,” I said, then spit my gum out the window and prayed for at least one good tread.
Up top at the far end of the circular drive, a BMW backed out, so I pulled into the slot, hoping the leaping concrete porpoises in the driveway fountain had camouflaged my entrance. The delusion melted as a perfect crowd gathered. Surely, I’d impressed the onlookers with my skillful driving, especially my six-foot-six host, Eric.
“Nice job there, Winstead; that last push to the peak is deadly, isn’t it? Tell me, did you have to use oxygen, or did you just suck up the thin air? I bet you just sucked, right?” I stared into the distance, pretending not to hear, my trustworthy sarcasm apparently left at home.
From behind the porpoises, Janine flushed a pale smile, and before I could speak, she announced, “Larry has two good job prospects lined up, management jobs; isn’t that great, Eric?” My God, if only I’d brought a cyanide tablet.
He looked at Janine as if she’d ordered a double laxative on the rocks and then almost seemed to acknowledge his rudeness, but instincts were stronger than civility.
“Well, well, that’s good news, Larr; the little woman seems proud. And I didn’t even know Taco Bonanza was hiring. Heck, with your driving skills, you got home delivery all to yourself.”
This moment is why people should not carry hand grenades to parties because I’m fairly sure I would have hurled one at Thor. But the crowd parted as if someone had broken a bottle of red wine, then Eric seized me by the neck. “Only kidding there, sport. You know that.”
The thought flashed to kick him where his primary brain sags, but Janine’s bloodless expression insinuated restraint. Then she disappeared into the crowd. Talk about alone—even the gossipers had rushed for cover while Janine sought asylum in the ladies’ room. Not even the dog wanted a sniff.
My lifelong skill at faking the truth had mysteriously disappeared, so to avoid the isolation of arrival, I plowed through the crowd, making loops through different rooms, trying to lose among the chandeliers and marble floors my trailing scent of sobriety. Washing my face helped, then I melded into the swarm of people guzzling tequila shots from a line of silver platters atop a white piano. At last, I didn’t feel different, so I focused on my excellent new idea of how a roadkill skunk might end up floating in Eric’s pool.
After an hour, Janine and I couldn’t avoid each other any longer, and at the dessert station, we shared stares of survival. A language of wedded indifference carried us through cheesecake and strawberries, and as the sun burned down, we inched towards the car, skulking behind a Gatsby cluster all leaving together. Clara, Janine’s old high school friend and hostess, was not fooled.
“Oh, Larry, hold up a moment, please. I want to thank you for coming. I realize you don’t know many people here, but I appreciate your making the effort. We all adore Janine so; it’s nice to see she has such a loving husband to support her.” My eyes rolled back as the tequila continued pickling my brainstem, but resident charm seized control.
“No problem, Clar, enjoyed the hospitality. Your husband already made me feel quite special.” Those words slipped from my mouth accidentally as I thought I was only talking to myself, but with rescuer’s res