Chapter 18 - The Sound of the River
Two days later, the morning sun broke over New Orleans with breathtaking, golden brilliance.
The rain had finally cleared, leaving the air fresh, sweet with the scent of blooming jasmine, and warm with the promise of spring.
The grand master suite of the Cain estate was filled with light.
The massive French doors were thrown open, allowing the gentle breeze from the Mississippi River to billow the sheer linen curtains.
Josie sat propped up against a mountain of plush velvet pillows in the center of the king-sized bed.
Her head was wrapped in a neat, clean medical bandage covering the surgical incision behind her right ear.
Dr. Marcus Vance knelt beside the bed, holding a small digital tablet connected wirelessly to a tiny, flesh-colored processor nestled against the side of Josie’s head.
Fay sat on the edge of the mattress, holding Josie’s left hand tightly in both of hers.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Standing right beside Fay, his hand resting firmly, protectively on her shoulder, was Rafferty Cain.
He was dressed in a simple white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his cold gray eyes glowing with an emotion that had never been seen in the criminal underworld: pure, boundless hope.
On the bedside table sat three objects:
The fragile, yellowed paper boat from twenty-five years ago.
The blue paper boat Josie had folded.
And a fresh drawing Josie had made that morning—three figures now holding hands beneath the giant crooked sun: a mother, a daughter, and a tall man with a silver scar on his jaw.
"The neural telemetry is fully calibrated," Dr. Vance announced softly, looking up at Fay and Rafferty.
"The impedance levels are optimal.
Are you ready to activate the processor, Mrs. Delacroix?"
Fay looked at Rafferty.
He squeezed her shoulder, nodding with quiet certainty.
"We are ready," Fay whispered.
Dr. Vance touched the screen of his tablet.
A soft, digital chime sounded from the device.
For the first three seconds, nothing happened.
Josie sat motionless, blinking in the bright sunlight.
Then, her entire body stiffened.
Her pale gray eyes went wide as saucers.
She turned her head rapidly toward the open French doors.
Far out on the river, a paddlewheel steamboat sounded its deep, resonant horn—a low, booming HOOO-OOOT that echoed across the water.
Josie gasped.
A tiny, sharp sound caught in her throat.
She had never experienced a sensation that didn't travel through the bones of her jaw or the skin of her palm.
She was experiencing the world through the air itself.
Fay began to weep, tears streaming freely down her face, but she didn't look away.
She leaned in close to her daughter’s face.
She didn't place Josie’s hand on her cheek.
She kept her hands at her sides.
"Josie," Fay whispered.
Her voice was soft, trembling, and full of five years of unspoken love.
"Can you hear me, my darling?"
Josie turned her head away from the window.
She looked at her mother’s lips, and then her eyes widened with profound, miraculous comprehension.
She heard it.
She heard the timbre, the sweetness, the melody of her mother’s voice.
Josie reached up, not to touch Fay’s cheek, but to touch her own right ear.
A smile of blinding, impossible beauty spread across the little girl’s face.
"Mama," Josie said.
The word was clearer than it had ever been in her life.
It was sharp, bright, and ringing with pure music.
"Mama!"
Fay threw her arms around her daughter, sobbing uncontrollably as Josie buried her face in her mother's neck, giggling with sheer delight at the sound of Fay's weeping and her own laughter.
Then Josie pulled back slightly.
She looked up at the tall man standing beside them.
Rafferty was trying to maintain his composure, but tears were running silently down the silver scar on his jaw.
Josie reached out her small hand.
She didn't place it on his cheek this time.
She pointed to the open window, where the wind rustled through the oak trees and the river water lapped against the stone levee.
"River," Josie whispered, testing the new sound on her tongue.
Rafferty dropped to his knees beside the bed.
He took her small hand in his large, scarred palm and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
"Yes, little sailor," Rafferty said, his deep voice filling the room with warmth.
"That is the river.
And it belongs to you now."
Josie giggled, throwing her small arms around Rafferty’s neck.
The most feared mafia boss in Louisiana closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the child and her mother, holding them both as though they were the only treasures that had ever mattered in his life.
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On the bedside table, the morning breeze caught the two paper boats.
They shifted slightly against the polished mahogany, turning together toward the open window, ready at last to sail into the sunlight.
