Hot Touch

by Deborah Smith

  “He hadn’t had a drink in ten years,” someone said.

  Caroline knotted her hands together tensely. “I don’t understand why you bothered to come see me when you hadn’t tried since I was a child.”

  “Those damned Fitzsimmonses told you a bunch of lies!” Jacque said, his face flushed with anger.

  “Of course you’d say that.”

  “They took you off to Connecticut and wouldn’t let us see you! I went up there!” Jacque waved a hand toward the crowd behind him. “François, Annie, Sebastien—they went too. But your daddy’s people had a judge in their pocket and he said us backwoods Cajuns weren’t good enough for you, no!”

  A stout older woman came forward and shook Jacque’s arm. She looked at Caroline somberly. “The judge, he says your daddy’s people can give you a better life. He says seeing us would only upset you, ’cause you had brain damage.”

  Caroline gasped, “I never had brain damage! And your story doesn’t make sense, because my father’s people didn’t want me! Why would they fight you for custody?”

  Jacque shook his fists in the air, the gesture so much like her own fist-shaking tendencies that Caroline was stunned.

  “They just didn’t want a bunch of Cajuns to raise a Fitzsimmons!”

  “Can you blame them after what my mother did?”

  Jacque’s mouth worked vigorously before he mastered enough control to get words out. “Your maman’s only crime was loving an Américain who had more pride than sense!”

  The woman beside Jacque frowned in reproach. “Johnny was a good boy. Don’t you tell his daughter nonsense.” She looked at Caroline. “I’m your cousin Riva.”

  “He had to have everything perfect!” Jacque insisted. “He had to have money! He didn’t know what was important!”

  “He wanted Michelle to have the best, Grand-père,” Riva corrected him.

  Caroline hushed them with impatiently raised hands. “She had an affair. She deserted him. I heard that story all my life.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s true,” Paul interjected hopefully.

  Caroline trembled with the need to restore order to her beliefs. “Then why would my father’s people hate her so much?”

  “ ’Cause she spoke her mind and she knew what was best for her husband,” Riva replied.

  “She chased other men,” Caroline said hoarsely.

  “She liked to talk and she never met a stranger, man or woman,” Jacque admitted. “But any man said she was flirtin’ with him, he was just doin’ some wishful thinking.” His eyes flared. “Her only fault was that she was faithful to her crazy husband!”

  The crowd of Ancelet relatives had been growing agitated as they listened to the debate. It was obvious that they had words to contribute to the discussion and they couldn’t be politely silent any longer. They swirled off the porch to surround Caroline and Paul.

  “I’m your uncle François. Your mama and daddy loved each other. You believe it.”

  “I’m Clarisse, your great-aunt. We always wondered how you were. We thought you had it good, that you probably didn’t want anything to do with us.”

  Another chimed in, “Why didn’t you come see us before now?”

  Caroline faltered, feeling trapped by their fervent attention.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head, clearing it. “I mean, I was taught to hate my mother and her people. Why would I want to see you?”

  “Don’t think we desert our own! We wanted you!”

  “We heard that you could get better surgeons for your face in Connecticut.”

  “We heard your daddy’s people gave you everything a little girl dreams about.”

  “Oh, God,” Caroline said weakly.

  Paul tightened his arm around her and eyed the crowd with reproach. “Go easy. You can’t change her feelings by overwhelming her.”

  Caroline jerked her sunglasses off and flung them on the ground. She pointed to her scar and watched everyone’s stunned reaction. “Why do I have this? If my parents were so damned wonderful, how did this happen?”

  “Oh, petite,” Jacque said hoarsely. “My poor petite-fille.”

  “I don’t want your sympathy, I want explanations! Did my mother get drunk and drive head-on into a tractor-trailer, or not? Explain that!”

  “Your maman had just one beer!”

  “The road was slick. It was raining.”

  “It was an accident. She was upset; she was driving too fast.”

  Caroline gritted her teeth in frustration. “Why was she upset?”

  “Your daddy wanted her to leave him!”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Caroline swayed, feeling like a dazed boxer trying to dodge a knockout punch. “He wanted What?”

  Her grandfather grasped her hands. Without thinking, she clung to his gentle, calloused fingers. His eyes were full of tears.

  “That boy said he was no good for her because he lost all his money in some sort of get-rich-quick deal.

  Had to sell their big house, jewelry he’d given her, everything, and take a cheap apartment. He drove her away because he didn’t want her to see him poor. She came back here with you, but she begged him to come too. Finally he came out to see her and you. They—” He stopped, swallowing hard.

  “They cried and they argued,” Riva continued. “I was here. Your grand-mère Ancelet was alive then, too, and we both heard. Your maman says you and her are going back to N’Orleans with him. He says no—he had so much pride, your daddy—he says she can’t come back until he can give you two all the nice things you had before.”

  Jacque cleared his throat roughly. “She says she’s going to the apartment where she belongs and he can’t stop her. So she got in the car with you and left. Your daddy went after her.”

  Caroline felt her grandfather’s grip tighten. She realized abruptly that Paul had both arms around her and that she was crying. “And he found us in the accident.”

  “Oui.”

  “And later, he … felt so guilty …”

  “He loved you both so much,” Riva said in a trembling voice. “He just couldn’t take what he’d done to you.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I can’t believe any of this. It’s too much, too soon. You can’t expect—”

  “There’s plenty of time, Caro,” Paul murmured, kissing her temple. He sounded enormously relieved. His lips brushed over her scar. “It takes time to heal.” After a second he added, “And to forget about alligators.”

  Jacque tugged on her hands. “Come inside. See my scrapbooks. I’ve got pictures of your maman.” He paused, then added reluctantly, “And your papa.”

  She was so unnerved by all the claims she’d just heard about her parents, she knew nothing she said would make sense. “What do you want me to do?”

  Paul shook her gently. “Just go inside and sit down, chère.”

  “You don’t know us very well yet,” Riva told her. “And we don’t know you. But we want you to be part of the family. It’s a good family. You’ll see.”

  Caroline looked up woozily at the man who still held her so protectively. “I have you.”

  He nodded, his eyes reassuring her with their strength and calmness. “And now you’ve got a whole bunch of other Cajuns, too, eh? Let’s go see some scrapbooks.”

  Caroline sat stiffly on an old divan with Paul next to her. She kept turning her flushed face toward the cooling breeze from an open window nearby. She felt like the center of attention at a celebrity roast.

  Only she was the stand-in for the real guests of honor, her mother and father, and the speeches were being given by relatives who told loving anecdotes, not jokes.

  But it did no good. She felt hollow, a breathing, nodding, listening mannequin whose only clear thought was that the scene and the words couldn’t be real. The stories she heard didn’t register because the shock was still too great.

  Her parents were distant, blurred figures who’d lost their well-defined shape in her imagination. She kept trying to rearrange them
into believable new images—her father brash, proud, and ambitious but also incredibly decent and loving, her mother impetuous and naive but favored with a special sort of warmth that compelled devotion from everyone who knew her.

  It couldn’t be done. They were lost to her by too many years of anger and pain.

  Caroline looked wearily at an uncle or cousin or something—she couldn’t keep track anymore—who was talking about her father’s attempts to learn Cajun French just to please his new wife. She concentrated as hard as she could, but his words had no effect on her shell-shocked emotions.

  Jacque, who sat majestically in the middle of the crowd, his lanky body folded into a creaky chair, suddenly pounded the armrest. “What you doin’?” he shouted, frowning. “Get away from that window!”

  Caroline glanced distractedly over her shoulder. All her senses snapped back to life.

  Apples? the old mule asked, his grizzled gray lips flapping comically as he tried to nibble her sleeve. Apples? I missed you. Where have you been?

  “Get out of that window, Otis!” Jacque got up and strode over, flapping his arms. Otis snorted and withdrew quickly.

  Caroline held her breath and twisted on the divan to peer after the mule. Otis? How do you know me?

  He stood outside, looking up at her with huge, hopeful dark eyes. Apples, he repeated firmly. When I was small. You know when I hurt. You know when I sad. You give apples.

  Caroline dimly realized that her grandfather was wiping mule saliva off the sleeve of her dress.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “He hasn’t done that in years. Your maman taught him to stick his head in the window.”

  Caroline latched onto the divan’s armrest with one shaking hand and turned to look at Paul. He straightened anxiously when he saw the expression on her face.

  “Caro? What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes never leaving Paul’s, she asked her grandfather. “Did my mother feed Otis apples?”

  Jacque chuckled, obviously relieved by her lack of annoyance. “All the time. I got him the year before she married your papa. He was just six months old, and she treated him like a baby.” His hands halted on her sleeve. “How did you know about the apples?”

  Understanding came into Paul’s gaze. His lips parted in a stunned smile. “Tell them, Caro.”

  She turned slowly to look into Jacque’s bewildered expression. “Did my mother have a … a way with animals?”

  His mouth dropped open. Caroline heard gasps from others in the room. Suddenly Jacque grabbed her arms. “You’ve got it too! You’ve got la touche chaude. The hot touch. She could touch an animal or even just look at it and tell you what it was thinking!”

  Caroline looked at her relatives’ excited faces. “You all believe that? Really? You didn’t think she was making it up?”

  “I saw her tell ’gators which way to crawl, and they’d do it!” one said.

  “Wild birds would land on her hands!” another added.

  Riva stood up proudly. “When Michelle went to Connecticut to meet your papa’s family, she got in a terrible fight with somebody who was mean to a cat. I’ll never forget how upset she was when she told me about it. She said the cat told her awful things about being pinched and stuff.”

  Caroline clutched Paul’s hand. “That was Grandmother Fitzsimmons’ cat.” She looked at her grandfather again. “What did you call it? Her talent?”

  “La touche chaude,” he repeated hoarsely, smiling. “The hot touch.”

  Breathing raggedly, she turned toward Paul. He leaned forward and kissed her. The love in his eyes released tears that slid down her face and over her bittersweet smile. “I’m not alone,” she whispered brokenly.

  There were tears in his eyes too. Around them people were crying openly. Her grandfather put one big, angular hand on her head and stroked awkwardly.

  “You never have been, petite,” he murmured. “You just didn’t know it.”

  The canopy of oaks at Grande Rivage arched over them like adoring friends. Caroline cradled Paul’s hand in hers as they walked up the road. The old mansion sat at the end, looking more beautiful than a run-down place in need of her loving attention had a right to look.

  Caroline laughed softly. “Wonderful.”

  “Talking to some animal I don’t see?” Paul teased. He put his arm around her and drew her to him.

  Caroline looked up into his face and didn’t speak for a moment, enjoying the rush of pleasure she felt when she lost herself in his eyes.

  “Thank you for indulging my need to walk,” she whispered. They’d left the Corvette near the end of the driveway.

  Paul caressed her face tenderly. “It’s been a long, strange day. The walk feels good.” He cupped her chin in one hand and studied her face. “How are you, chère? The truth.”

  “Better,” she said in a thoughtful tone. “Much better than I’ve ever been in my life. And peaceful.”

  “Bien.” Stepping back, he took her hands in his and looked at her with a quiet intensity that sent tingles up her spine. “Mademoiselle Caroline, will you marry a Cajun veterinarian who doesn’t care about being rich or living fancy but who’ll love you like no other man on the face of the earth?”

  Caroline squinted at the trees overhead as if thinking. “I believe I’m as smart as my mother,” she said finally. “I know what’s important.” She looked at Paul so raptly that he began to smile.

  “Say it,” he whispered.

  She brought his hands to her lips. “I’ll marry you,” she answered, kissing them. “You’re my lifemate and I’ll never want anyone else.”

  They stood in the driveway a long time, just holding each other. Long golden shadows slanted through the oaks when she and Paul finally walked into the yard, savoring every moment of a glorious fall sunset.

  Wolf and Lady rose from a cushion on the veranda. They crossed the lawn, tails wagging, and Lady pranced a little. Caroline gasped softly and began to laugh.

  “What?” Paul asked.

  She stopped and took his hands. “We’re going to be godparents.”

  “Bien!” He looked at Wolf and Lady with an approving smile. “You’re trying to set a good example for us to follow, yes?”

  Caroline smiled through tears of joy. “It’s their way of giving us an engagement present.”

  Paul put his arm around her, and together they watched Wolf come forward alone. He stopped in front of them and gazed from Paul to her, his dark silver eyes gleaming with a contentment that spoke to the center of her heart.

  No more sadness. Welcome home.