Twist to Remove

"Of course," George laughed when the Weather Channel App on his phone showed him that the depression had stalled, then fizzled out that morning.

But, seeing the legal declaration that his marriage had ended did little to buoy his spirits. George sat glumly reading the legalese and wondered for just a moment how Samantha had felt when she'd received her copy of the decree. George poured himself a few fingers of Chocolate flavored Iron Barrel Whiskey into a small glass and somberly toasted his failure as a husband.

George was off-shore when William grumbled and complained and drove Samantha to St. Elizabeth's Trauma Center. After eleven hours, the last two with only Dr. Peleur and a nurse assisting in the delivery room; William had wandered off to the cafeteria, Samantha gave birth to Cynthia Barbara Luquette. William was incensed that the child had 'that son of a bitch's' last name and not his own.

"We're not married; why would I name her 'Carter,'" Samantha wearily said. "But isn't she beautiful?"

"Uh huh," William agreed, not even looking at the wrinkled and bruised mess in Samantha's arms.

Cynthia had all her fingers, all her toes, beep brown eyes and flaming red hair. At six pounds four ounces and nineteen inches long, she was a good size and weight for a fully developed infant.

George gave a nod of satisfaction when he received the message of his daughter's birth. Barbara had been his mother's name; he wondered if good old William knew that little bit of information. Cynthia had been Samantha's mother's name, but it had also been the name of George's beautiful, sweet, loving sister.

George wondered if Samantha remembered that little fact when she'd named her baby Cynthia. George wondered if Samantha remembered Cindy's happiness at finally having a big sister. George wondered if Samantha remembered them taking Cindy to the petting zoo in Lafayette, taking Cindy to the Bowl-O-Rama. George wondered if Samantha remembered holding Cindy's hand as Cindy's congenital heart defect took their special little sister away from them.

Arriving on dry land again, George immediately bought a Raggedy Andy and a Raggedy Ann dolls for his daughter. Apparently, Samantha had a new phone number; he got the message that the number had been changed or was no longer in service. George did not want to just show up unannounced, so called Polly Chastaine's office. Polly promised to call Samantha.

Samantha called George less than three minutes later. She agreed that now was a good time to come by and see the baby.

George rankled when he saw William's Mercedes-Benz in the open garage; the message was loud and clear. William had left the door up so that George would see it, see that he had been replaced by a better, richer, more handsome man. William smirked from behind Samantha when she opened the front door to let George into the house.

Samantha smiled happily as George presented the two dolls to the sleeping girl. He perched the pair of dolls at the foot of the crib then squatted and just gazed with wonder at the beautiful infant. He ignored the posturing, preening William and focused his attention on his daughter.

"Oh! Almost forgot," George said and handed Samantha a small package. "I, this is for you."

"What is it?" William demanded to know.

"When she opens it, you'll see," George said and again squatted to look at the beautiful baby.

"Oh, I, George, this, this is, is..." Samantha choked up at the sight of the sterling silver five by seven picture frame with Cynthia's name and date of birth engraved at the bottom.

"You put her baby picture in that," George said and snapped a picture of Cynthia with his cell phone. "Hi Sweetheart. It's me. Hi. It's Daddy."

"Uh, excuse me? Uh, she'll be calling ME Daddy," William stated.

"Maybe," George said easily, even as his blood was boiling. "I'm sure she'll have names for both of us."

William again interjected himself into the conversation when George politely asked for Samantha's new phone number. When she had called him, all the screen would show was 'Private.' George's statement that he only wanted the phone number because of their shared daughter did not still William's snarling declaration that George didn't need Samantha's phone number.

"Oh. Okay," George said. "I can always call Polly, I guess."

George was three blocks away when his phone buzzed. He looked and smiled; Samantha had texted him her phone number with the header of 'Cynthia.'

The day before he went off-shore again, Cynthia was awake. And, better still, William was not present. Getting to sit in the new rocking chair and hold the precious girl in his arms had George sobbing happily. When the baby let out a cry for a clean diaper and some of Mommy's boob, George was reluctant to relinquish his hold on the girl.

"I, sorry but, uh, you need to leave," Samantha said softly, but firmly as she began to unbutton her blouse.

Thinking of William being allowed to see his wife, his ex-wife breast-feeding his daughter again had George's blood boiling. He nodded with resignation and left the house. He laughed, though when he saw William's Mercedes-Benz round the corner. William would come in, would see Samantha breast-feeding Cynthia and most likely would not believe that George had not been allowed to witness the beautiful, simple act. He smiled widely and waved at William as their vehicles passed one another. The tinted windows obscured George's vision, but George was sure William had not returned his friendly wave.

Trevor had to get involved when Samantha balked at George having his daughter at his apartment. Samantha panicked when she realized she would not have Cynthia in her home, in Cynthia's crib for the foreseeable future. She insisted on coming to check out the apartment, verify that her baby would be in a safe environment.

"Hi! Hi! I'm your Aunt Denise! Hi!" Denise Charmers prattled excitedly when George carried the infant from his truck to his front door.

"George? Who is this?" Samantha demanded, concerned as a short, stocky woman gushed over her daughter.

"Hey, Willie, you believe them Saints drafted Jameis Winston? I mean, yeah, I know Brees retired, but, hey, what about Taysom Hill, huh?" Foster demanded as William shadowed Samantha, glaring at everything and everyone.

"I, what? Uh, dude, its William, all right? Not Willie," William postured.

Reluctantly, Samantha approved of the cast iron crib, which matched the cast iron queen sized bed. She was not surprised to see that the bed was neatly made. She was not surprised to see that Georg had a small wash bin that he would put into the sparkling clean bathtub when it was time to bathe his daughter. She was not surprised that there was baby soap, baby shampoo and baby lotion.

"And I told him get that A&D Ointment ® 'cause it the best she gets her that diaper rash," Denise showed Samantha the tube of ointment in George's medicine cabinet. "Now, you use cloth diapers or them disposable ones?"

"Disposable," Samantha said, still not sure about this 'Aunt Denise' woman.

"Hmm," was all Denise would say about that.

Samantha found that William and Foster had bonded, not over a shared love of the New Orleans Saints, but over George's Chocolate flavored Iron Barrel Whiskey. Stoically, Samantha held out her hand for the keys to William's car.

"What? Jesus! I, I only had two, two or three," William hotly declared.

"Foster," Denise said, letting her husband know she was none too pleased with him pilfering their neighbor's booze.

"Man! We got get, what this is? Iron Barrel, oh, hey! Chocolate? I, Denise, you know whiskey come in flavors?" Foster happily, drunkenly said as Denise herded him out of the apartment.

"Keys. Or I can take an Uber," Samantha demanded as William staggered from George's comfortable couch.

With one more kiss to Cynthia's cheek, Samantha pulled William to the car. George watched Samantha's bubble butt walk away, then shut the door.

Samantha made sure to schedule Cynthia Barbara Luquette's christening on a Sunday George would be in. At the christening, Richard Chastaine, Samantha's father let George know he was very disappointed in his daughter's actions. Richard and George had always had an awkward, stilted relationship; Richard was sure his daughter could do better than marrying a roughneck. Even after George was promoted to shift supervisor, her father was convinced that she could do better.

But now, even though William Carter was one-third of Tri-Carter, an oil field services provider, Richard was not so sure his baby girl had traded up. And, seeing the way George winced when Cynthia cried as the water was poured over her head, but William just looked bored, Richard was sure his daughter had not traded up.

"Wasn't my doing," George defended as they nibbled on finger food at Samantha's house after the christening.

"Yeah, I know. She, at least she was pretty honest about that," Richard grudgingly agreed. "That woman keeps calling herself Aunt Denise; that your girlfriend?"

"No, she's married to the goofball in the Saints shirt over there," George laughed, pointing to where Foster stood, eating the piping hot meatballs and whistling because they were too hot.

The party soon wound down. Foster and Denise left; the Saints were battling the Carolina Panthers and Foster didn't want to miss the second half of the game. Some of Samantha's coworkers from Casa Ole Mexican restaurant left as soon as it was apparent that the alcohol would not be coming out.

"She'll be calling me Daddy," William taunted George as George sat, rocking the baby.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll have a name for you," George said, meeting William's eyes.

"William," Samantha said, lips tight.

"And if she doesn't? I have some suggestions," George said and smirked as Richard laughed.

"George," Samantha said, lips drawn even tighter.

"Bye Sweetheart, bye," George crooned softly to the sleeping infant. "Daddy misses you already."

"Thank you," Samantha said quietly as George put his hand on the doorknob of his daughter's room. "The, the cross and chain is beautiful. I'm sure, as soon as she's old enough, she'll wear it with pride."

"I'm sure she will," George smiled.

Monday afternoon, George was coming from the laundry room of their apartment building when he saw a small girl standing in front of Denise's door. The girl had thick brown hair that nearly touched the sidewalk in front of the door, even though she had it pulled back in a high ponytail. When she turned to see who might be coming up behind her, George was struck by her clear green eyes.

"I, they're usually home 'bout five thirty, six o'clock," George offered.

"Oh, okay," the girl said, now turning fully.

George saw that she was not a girl, but a very short woman. Her pretty face was a small, round face on a slim neck. Her torso was slim, which made her 27C chest look quite substantial. George was sure his hands would fit easily around her waist, and her hips looked good in her short gray skirt. George guesstimated that the young woman was four feet ten inches, maybe four feet eleven inches; her shoes appeared to have a three or four inch heel.

"Hi, I'm George," George said as he unlocked the door of his apartment. "George Luquette."

"Oh! You, you're George? The one with the real pretty baby?" the girl chirped, pretty face splitting into a wide smile.

"Yes ma'am, that's me. And let me tell you, ain't none prettier than my Cynthia," George proudly agreed, putting his laundry basket down in front of his door.

George dug his phone out and showed the young woman the most recent photos, taken at Cynthia's christening.

"Aw!" the young woman sighed.

"Hey! See you met Cha-Cha," Foster said.

Charlene Charmers' face immediately morphed from adoring smile to unhappy scowl. She looked from Foster's laughing face to George's slightly curious face.

"And I see you met my second favorite brother," Charlene snapped.

"And how many brother you got?" George asked, pretty sure Foster had only sisters in his immediate family.

"One," Charlene snapped.

George put his laundry into his apartment, then stepped into the Charmers' apartment. Foster was making a pot of coffee; George could not understand how Foster and Denise could consume that much caffeine and manage to sleep.

"Foster says you work off-shore?" Charlene said.

"Yeah, fixing go out tomorrow," George said. "Why I was doing the wash."

"I'm an Administrative Assistant," Charlene said with pride.

"She works right up the street there," Foster said, his pride evident.

"Where you work?" George asked, thinking the girl looked very young to be an AA.

"I'm with Vickers, Vickers and Dumas; they do investigations," Charlene said.

"Maybe they need investigate where the rest of you is?" Foster suggested. "Hey George, might have noticed? She ain't but 'bout three feet there?"

"George, you got coffee next door? I ain't sitting here 'til Denise gets home," Charlene said, jumping out of her kitchen chair.

"I can make us some quick," George said. "Hey Foster, need see they can investigate why you a butt head, huh?"

"Yeah!" Charlene agreed, proceeding George out of the apartment.

"Coffee just about ready," Foster protested.

"When Denise gets here, tell her your sister's next door," George said.

In his apartment, George found out that Foster's sister's name was Charlene. Charlene Paula Charmers. Because of her name being Charlene Charmers, her family had given her the hated nickname of Cha-Cha.

Charlene was nineteen years old and had gone to the St. Ann Vo-Tech for Administrative Assistant training. The Nicole King Scholarship had paid her tuition and now she planned to donate five percent of her paycheck back to the Nicole King Scholarship until she'd repaid them her debt.

"My cousin Michelle went to U.L.D for four years, got her a degree in what that is, literature? And she's an AA over at St. Elizabeth Water," Charlene said and sipped her coffee. "I like your mug. Where's Isle of View? That in the Gulf?"

"Say it a little slower," George suggested, pouring his own mug of decaffeinated coffee.

"Isle of View," Charlene enunciated.

"Well, even though we just met? I love you too," George smiled.

"Isle...Oh!" Charlene said, then laughed a happy, musical laugh.

"My butt head husband says you're over here," Denise said, barging into the apartment. "George, you show her some pictures of that beautiful baby?"

"Sure did," Charlene said, jumping down to hug her four foot eleven inch sister in law. "Foster tell you I'm working right up there? Right in Vickers, Vickers and Dumas?"

"Lopez Square? Right there?" Denise verified, pointing toward the squat, ugly building.

"Uh huh," Charlene said proudly.

George found himself being dragged back to the Charmers' apartment while Denise fixed their supper. George decided he would buy Charlene her very own sixteen ounce mug with 'Isle of View' printed on it. Finding that her favorite color was pink was easy enough; Foster, Charlene and Denise all answered that question in unison.

Somehow, between the meal and George finally dragging himself out of the apartment, George found himself promising to take Charlene to Vermillion for a night of dancing the next time he was in from his shift. Aunt Denise immediately volunteered herself to be baby sitter to Cynthia Luquette.

"Hey, listen, my sister? My baby sister? She's only nineteen, hear?" Foster snarled menacingly at George.

"And? How old we was?" Denise yelled at her husband.

"Oh. My God, I, could you be more of a butt head?" Charlene yelled at her brother, blushing hotly. "We going dancing. Dancing. That's it, all right?"

When he returned from his fourteen day shift, George insisted on picking Charlene up at her parents' home. He insisted on coming in and meeting Hank and Debbie Charmers. Charlene looked on in amazement as George and her overprotective father swapped tall tales about deer seasons in the not too distant past. The two men promised they'd try to get together to hunt this coming deer season.

"Course, this one? 'Ew Daddy I don't want eat no deer,'" Hank embarrassed his daughter, giving her an affectionate slap on her compact buttocks.

"Hank," Debbie smiled, shaking her head.

"Daddy," Charlene whined.

The Zydeco band was a good band with an annoying singer. The blind guitar player sang every song through his nose, giving everything a nasal twang that just did not suit the music or his voice very well. But the band itself ground out some lively music to stomp around to.

The make out session in his truck in front of her parents' home fogged up his windows. Charlene was more than eager to have George play with her breasts, but in front of her parents' home, she didn't dare bring them out of her blouse.

"When you getting Cynthia?" Charlene asked as George walked her to the front door.

"What y'all was talking 'bout parked in that truck for last ten minutes?" Hank asked, jerking the door open as Charlene stepped onto the porch.

Charlene let out a squeal. George saw the amused twinkle in Hank's eyes when Charlene squealed. George smirked at the man.

"We was wondering how long it take you come out here and beat my butt," George said easily. "Good night, Charlene. Good night, Hank."

"Uh? That, that's Mister Hank, young man," Hank said, pulling Charlene into the house.

"Yes sir, Mr. Hank," George smiled. "Plan to take her to Sweet Pea's for dinner tomorrow night. That all right?"

"What they having?" Hank asked, chuckling as he heard his daughter complaining bitterly to her mother.

"It matter? You know it's going be good," George smiled and got into his truck.

The stuffed pork chops were excellent. Charlene surprised George by managing to polish off her plate. But neither one of them had a bit of room for dessert.

By now, Samantha was not only accustomed to Denise's overbearing nature, Samantha was comfortable around the woman. To a degree, Samantha decided she and Denise were friends. So, demands to see any new pictures of the baby were met with smiles. George was not surprised to see two women and a baby on his doorstep when Samantha and Cynthia came to his apartment.

William elected to remain in his car. Other than drinking, William and Foster had nothing in common and Samantha had laid down the law; William was not to drink at George's apartment. He gave a polite little nod of his head when George's weird neighbor gave him a friendly wave.

"I, okay, I, well, you got this? Yeah, I know, you got this, Samantha babbled, giving Cynthia another kiss. "I, you need anything, you just call, okay? I, bye Sweetheart. Bye Cynthia. I, Mommy misses you already. Bye."

Within five minutes of William and Samantha pulling away from the parking lot, Charlene was knocking on George's door.

"Hi, she here? The baby here," Charlene demanded, barging into the apartment.

George put on a pot of decaffeinated coffee as Charlene squealed and fussed over the infant. Then he put his green 'Isle Of View' mug and her brand new pink 'Isle Of View' coffee mug onto the table.

"I can hold her?" Charlene asked, already holding Cynthia as she carried the infant into the living room/dining room.

"It do any good I say no?" George smiled.

"Nope," Charlene said, sitting on the comfortable couch. "Hi Cindy, hi Sweetheart, hi."

George felt the sting of tears as Charlene softly sang some Cajun songs to the infant. His mother had sang those songs to him and he remembered hearing her sing those same songs to his sister Cindy. Even when his sister was fifteen years old, Cindy demanded their mother sing those songs to her.

"Cindy would have loved you," George thought, looking at the beautiful nineteen year old girl as she held the infant in her arms.