by Sandra Hill
Some fishermen love to work sites like this because there’s an abundance of fish; they hide among the nooks and crannies of the grave markers.”
“Eeew!” Tante Lulu interjected, having just come up from the galley kitchen, where it was probably 150 degrees. She wiped the moisture off her forehead and neck with a wet cloth. Her white T-shirt was indeed soiled already, both by perspiration and food. “Who’d wanna eat crabs or fishies what been feastin’ on human remains?”
“The human remains are still in their stone caskets, Auntie,” Rene said. For now, anyhow.
Succulent smells of crawfish etouffee wafted up to them. The crawfish, also known as mudbugs, had been caught by an age-old method just this morning before they embarked on their journey. Maddie had swung a leafy green branch over the water, and J.B. had used a net to scoop up the crawfish that clung to the branches. Raw chicken necks worked just as well, tied to a long string.
J.B. killed the engines and dropped anchor. Using a telephoto lens, Justin was filming like crazy. “This is unbelievable,” he said with excitement. “I can see the letters on some of them, and they date back to the Civil War. In fact, one of them is for a Sergeant Jeremiah Delacorte, who died at Shiloh. God, the historical preservationists will have a field day with this.”
“At one time, not so long ago, either, there was a small town here, and it was twenty miles from the Gulf,” Rene noted. “I remember it well because it was a place where teenagers came to park. In fact, I lost my... oops!” He cut himself off. But too late.
Val flashed him a glare. “Was that before or after our big event... or, rather, non-event?”
“Shhh!” he said. Again, too late.
“What event?” Tante Lulu wanted to know.
“Betcha I know,” Tee-John offered, a wide grin on his face.
“See, the thunderbolt was already doin’ its work on you two long ago. It’s a sign.”
“The thunderbolt was definitely not involved back then. And it is not a sign.” Just then, he noticed that Justin was filming their ridiculous conversation and Val’s recorder was presumably still on. “I better not hear myself discussing thunderbolts on nationwide TV or losing my virginity in a freakin’ cemetery.”
Justin just smiled.
Tante Lulu made a tsk-ing sound at his language.
He decided to change the subject. “Back to this watery graveyard. The townspeople left, but they couldn’t take their dead with them. Eventually this area will probably be part of the Gulf itself, totally underwater, if nothing is done to save the coastline.”
Just then, some egrets rose from the marsh grass in a white cloud, like ghosts rising to the sky, or angels. A mystical silence overtook the scene. They were all stunned by the beauty of it. Luckily, Justin got it all on tape.
During the rest of the morning and afternoon they passed some small towns, often only a bait shed, a couple of trailers and fishing camps on stilts near the water, usually with patched tin roofs. Aside from those meager signs of habitation, it was mostly a solitary journey. Other boats, everything from small outboards to large trawlers, were on the water, usually passing them by, since they were going so slowly.
Early in the afternoon, they saw a shrimp boat coming back in. The captain slowed almost to a standstill and yelled out to J.B., who was apparently a friend, that the catch was meager that day, not worth going out for. He tossed over a bag full of freshly caught shrimp packed in ice.
“Do you like sushi?” Rene asked Val and Justin.
They both nodded.
“Try these then.” He cracked open and peeled a couple of shrimp, handing them the meat.
“I don’t know about this. Eating raw shrimp,” Val said, scrunching up her nose.
“Sushi,” he reminded her.
Justin tried his and made a swooning sound. “Mmm-mmm. That is delicious.”
Val tentatively tried hers. She, too, said it was wonderful, just the right amount of salty taste.
J.B., Maddie, Tee-John, even Tante Lulu, were partaking of the delicacy now, as well. There was nothing in the world like shrimp fresh from the water.
Rene used his thumb to wipe Val’s mouth after her third shrimp. Just that small touch ignited something between them. He knew how he felt, deep in his gut, but it gave him immense pleasure to see Val’s dark Creole eyes burn with the same awareness.
It had been a week since their night of lovemaking. They’d both had to go separate ways to get this project going. One night was not nearly enough. And there was going to be little chance of them connecting on this journey with so many other people around.
“I miss you,” he said in an undertone so others wouldn’t overhear.
“I miss you, too,” she said, and dammit, she didn’t keep her voice low.
Unfortunately Tante Lulu overheard. “Of course you two miss each other. The thunderbolt never misses.”
Val looked at him and crossed her eyes.
“Will ya be wearin’ white or beige at yer weddin’?” his aunt inquired sweetly of Val. Before Val could sputter in outrage, his aunt went on. “Charmaine wore red to her weddin’. What a hoot that was. Mebbe ya could wear red.”
“Tante Lulu, there is not going to be a wedding,” Rene said as gently as he could.
His aunt slapped her thigh with glee. “What a kidder!” She was still laughing as she returned to the galley kitchen.
Val arched her brows at him. “A kidder, huh?”
He arched his brows back at her. Let her think what she wanted.
You could say he got a little behind
Supper that evening was a spectacular event, something Valerie would remember for the rest of her life.
They were docked at Stop Off, a small community along the bayou. Rene had told her that Stop Off was one of the towns that would disappear completely someday if drastic measures weren’t taken now.
They would stay that night in a nearby cut-rate motel, the type of place Valerie normally would not step in, let alone sleep in, but the proprietor assured them that there would be clean sheets. And no roaches, since they’d been fumigated the week before. I do not need to hear about roaches. Lordy, Lordy! The only saving grace was that the rooms had air-conditioning and showers.
They’d spread a plastic tablecloth over the built-in table in the middle of the boat, the place where they sorted shrimp from the by-catch. On paper plates, with plastic cutlery and disposable cups filled with white wine, they dined on food that would do a four-star restaurant proud. Crawfish etouffee, a loaf of French bread that had been purchased that morning fresh from the oven, dirty rice, fried okra, sliced tomatoes from Tante Lulu’s garden, liberally sprinkled with salt, pepper and olive oil, and rum-soaked bread pudding for dessert.
The old lady beamed at all the well-deserved compliments tossed her way. Valerie had to give her credit, not just for the meal, but for her healing arts, as well. On several of their stops today, she had regaled them with stories about her herbal remedies as she gathered plants, which she put in labeled Ziploc bags. She would dry and package them when she got home.
Where Tante Lulu got her energy at her age was a wonder. In fact, Valerie had asked her just that.
To which, Tante Lulu had replied, “Me, I only gots so many years left, and I wants to fill every minute.” A good philosophy for anyone.
Justin was having a great time including Tante Lulu in the documentary. She would be a celebrity of sorts if this thing ever aired.
But now they were all replete. Tante Lulu and Tee-John gathered up all disposables and other trash into the tablecloth, which apparently was disposable, too, and went off to a nearby Dumpster. J.B. and Maddie went off to their motel room. Rene was rooming with Tee-John. And Val got to sleep with Tante Lulu once again. Oh, joy!
She and Rene watched the sun set on the horizon. It would be dark soon. He stood behind her at the rail, his arms around her. They were watching a flock of ibises return to their rookeries. These were snow-white birds with black wing ti
ps, probably one of the many species made famous by Audubon.
“I want to be with you,” Rene murmured against her ear, then nipped at the lobe with his teeth.
She shivered, which was remarkable considering the high temperature and humidity. “I want you, too, Rene. But not here. And not without taking a shower. I probably stink.”
Rene laughed and squeezed her tight. “Darlin’, sweaty sex has an attraction all its own. Trust me.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
He ran his hands down her sides from under her arms, over her waist and hips, then back up to rest under her breasts.
“Rene,” she cautioned.
“I jus’ wanna play a bit, chère.”
“No,” she said, pushing his hand down to the more safe territory of her waist. “I am not playing any more of your near-sex games.”
“Hey, I give good near-sex.”
“Too good.”
“Maybe I could slip into your room after Tante Lulu falls asleep.”
“Yeah, right. She probably has a motion detector on the door. She already propped a St. Jude statue on my headboard.”
He laughed. “You’re probably right.”
“I know I am.”
“We could have closet sex. There is a closet, isn’t there?”
She went stiff with horror at the prospect of such a thing. “No closets.”
Her voice must have been shrill because Rene sensed her alarm and asked, “Why no closets?”
“My mother used to lock me in a closet,” she revealed, then wished she hadn’t. She never talked about that. Never.
“Val,” he said sadly. “What could you possibly have done to merit such a punishment?”
She thought about declining to answer, but that was silly. It was a long time ago. “Getting a B on a test, instead of an A. Getting mud on the carpet. Being dishevelled when I came home from school. Once, she locked me in the closet because I got a zit. Oh, and okra, if I failed to eat all my okra. I hate okra.”
“I noticed you didn’t eat any at supper.” His voice was soft with sympathy. Thankfully all he added was, “Poor baby.”
She leaned back to relish the feel of his breath on her skin... and to drop this distasteful subject.
“How about the bathroom?” he tried again.
She smiled. “Give it up, boy.”
“We could go in there and lock the door.”
“Have you seen the size of those bathrooms?” There was barely room to turn around with the sink, toilet, and shower stall all crammed in there.
“I don’t need much room.”
His roaming hands played with her breasts.
She didn’t have the heart or inclination to stop him. Just yet. Instead, she arched her back to give him more of a playing field.
“You are killing me,” he whispered hoarsely.
She could feel against her back just how much she was killing him. Temptation was a potent thing, and Valerie was sorely tempted.
He cupped her mound now and undulated himself against her. “Betcha we could make love with you just standing there. Anyone walking by on shore wouldn’t suspect a thing.” Luckily the side of the boat covered them from the waist down.
“How?” she squeaked out, feeling embarrassed and very much aroused.
“Just hold on, sugar. We’re off to the races.”
Before she could say, “Holy moley!” he had her shorts and undies down to her ankles. Likewise for his own shorts and jockeys. She was about say, “Wait a minute, I changed my mind,” but he already had a finger stroking her down below testing her readiness.
I’m ready, I’m ready, she wanted to scream, but she was still too shy to do that. Amazing that after what she did with him last week she still had any modesty left.
“Are you ready, babe?” he asked huskily against her neck, as if reading her mind, then bit her shoulder, like a stallion about to mount a mare, for goodness sake. She’d read that somewhere in a book.
She tried to tell him that she was more than ready, but it was too late. He’d taken her silence for assent. Lifting her to tiptoe, he bent his knees and entered her from behind. She grabbed the railing tight for balance, and found herself in the vulnerable position of being unable to touch him. But he could touch her.
And, boy oh boy, did he ever!
His hands were everywhere. Her breasts. Her buttocks. Her exposed folds. She was in a frenzy of excitement trying to concentrate on each of the separate places he was setting afire. And the whole time he plunged himself in and out of her. Forget about embarrassment! They both glistened with perspiration and panted with their exertions in this intense heat.
“You folks havin’ a problem?”
Valerie and Rene’s heads shot up to see a man walking from the bar close to the dock, probably heading home to one of those cottages on stilts.
“No, we’re just fine,” Rene said, even as he did something really naughty to her between her legs.
“We’re just enjoying—”
She smacked him.
“—the moon.” Rene was chuckling. The lout!
“Oh, I thought I heard some moanin’.”
Valerie began to climax, and, yes, she did moan.
“Must be the wind,” Rene said. She leaned back against his chest, and he whispered in her ear, “Shhh, he’ll be gone soon.”
“Well, have a nice evenin’.”
“We will,” Rend replied. Then, under his breath, “Guaranteed.”
No sooner did the man pass the boat than Rend began to plunge in and out of her with short hard strokes. When he grunted out his own orgasm, Valerie spasmed around him again.
Once their breathing was back to normal and their shorts pulled back up, Valerie told him, “You have no idea how out of character this is for me.”
“What?”
“Casual sex.”
He shook his head at her. “Didn’t you know? This is not casual sex.”
What is it then? she wanted to ask, but didn’t have the nerve.
But a voice in her head answered for her. You know.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
She wore an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny
The next day they continued down the bayou, out to the Gulf, and Grand Isle, the largest of the barrier islands and the only one still inhabited today.
Rene sat on the beach, alone, just enjoying the view. J.B. and Maddie were doing some motor stuff on the fishing boat. Tante Lulu had forced Tee-John to accompany her to a market, even though he’d wanted to check out a bikini-clad girl he’d spotted on the beach. Justin and Valerie were off interviewing and taping some older residents who had stories to tell about “the old days.”
Rene loved Grand Isle.
In the 1890s Creoles made it a posh resort, complete with fine hotels, bathhouses, gambling halls, an observatory, and a mule-drawn tram. It was the site of Kate Chopin’s famous novel The Awakening. All that ended in 1909 with a hurricane that whipped 150 mph winds and fifteen-foot storm surges, causing the death of 350 people. Even today, it is the benchmark storm to which all other storms are compared. At that time, most of Southern Louisiana was affected by the size of the surge. Rene couldn’t imagine the devastation today if a similar storm occurred because most of the buffers were now gone.
Val and Justin were practically googly-eyed at the first sight of this island, even though they’d both grown up in Southern Louisiana. The contrast was stark between the natural beauty of the island, despite its tacky souvenir shops and modern restaurants, and the numerous oil wells visible out on the Gulf. Many people didn’t realize there were several thousand oil platforms and drilling rigs out there, serving more than twenty-five thousand wells. They represented money and power.
Only cottages and motels existed here now, used by fishermen, bird-watchers, and sun worshipers. It could no longer continue as a fancy resort island with high-priced hotels due to the many lashings by hurricanes over the years. But there was a charm in this battered survivor of tim
es past.
Val came up and dropped down to the sand beside Rene”. She wore her hair in a knot atop her head, sunglasses, a Trial TV T-shirt, and white shorts. To him, she looked sexier than hell.
He leaned over and gave her a brief kiss. Funny how natural that came to him! He was getting awfully comfortable with Valerie Breaux, and that made him uncomfortable.
Justin was standing a short distance away making conversation with a twenty-fiveish woman who worked in one of the shops. The body language between the two of them was clearly man-woman.
Val took off her sunglasses and turned to look at what he was staring at. “Still think he’s gay?”
“Could be. You never know today,” he said obstinately. “Did you and Justin get everything you wanted?”
“More than! This one old guy could remember his grandfather talking about the big hurricane here, and he has pictures he’s going to let us copy.”
“Good for you!” Her enthusiasm was a joy to watch.
She gazed out over the water, taking in the not-so-scenic view of oil platforms on the horizon. “Do you hate the oil companies?”
“No, of course not. Oil is a necessity. And, to be honest, nobody knew decades ago how devastating the effect would be on the environment. It’s almost like the cigarette companies in that they fight tooth and nail over paying to correct their prior acts, and they have to be watched constantly or they revert to old ways. Actually, much of the coastal erosion is due to honest human error. In particular, the levees.”
She cocked her head in question.
“For centuries people have been trying to tame the lower Mississippi River, which we now know was a mistake. They built levee after levee to prevent flooding when, in fact, the annual flooding and alluvial depositing is what created the coastline. Some scientists say that it took seventy centuries to build up the Louisiana we had in the nineteenth century, but in the past hundred years we’ve depleted one-third of that.”
“So, if you—meaning the scientists and environmentalists— know about this massive erosion, why isn’t something being done?”
“Money, pure and simple. There are good plans to correct the problem, but it would cost millions. That means matching funds from Congress, which is having a hard enough time paying for the war on terrorism, social security, and other social ills. We need to stand in line... usually at the end of the line.”