The Road to Bayou Bridge

by Liz Talley

  A couple of people drew in sharp breaths.

  “I didn’t know you had a brother,” the man said.

  “I have three.” His sister cast a glance at him before refocusing on the man. “Actually, I have a mother, too.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed and it was as if he saw something neither one of them could vocalize. “Okay, then. So shall we all go back inside and leave Sally to her relation?”

  Several of the people shuffled toward the door.

  “Wait. Reverend Howard?”

  The graying man turned back at the sound of Della’s voice. “Yes?”

  “My name isn’t Sally. It’s Della. Della Dufrene. And I’m not a Cheramie.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

  “No. I’m not. I wanted you to know. All of you to know because you’re like my family and I’ve been hiding from who I am for a long time.” She looked back at Darby. “But I guess I’m done with hiding. Seems my brother won’t let me just slide away again.”

  A smile flirted with the stern Rev. Howard’s mouth as he seemed to think about her words. Finally he nodded. “You’ve been running and hiding, huh? Well, many great men and women of the Bible tried to hide from God. Tried to deny who they were meant to be. I don’t know the particulars, and I’m sure you will tell me, but I sense this is something the Good Lord meant you to experience, Sally. I mean Della. We’ll leave you to your brother. Come on, everyone. My stomach’s growling.”

  The people standing on the walkway made their way back into the building, leaving Darby and Della alone again on the playground.

  “Why did you do that?” Darby asked.

  “What?” She turned back to him with a lift of an elegant eyebrow, looking so much like his mother it was freaky.

  “Tell everyone about who you are like that.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Silence sat between them for a few seconds.

  “I think it’s been a long time coming. These past few months I’ve felt like a criminal hiding in the midst of normalcy, praying I’m not discovered, but scared I won’t be, afraid nobody would bother to look for me.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the small iron bench situated in the corner, benefiting from the shade of a thick crepe myrtle tree. Sinking down, he patted the spot beside him. Della walked over and sat down. “I’m happy to see you.”

  Her eyes jerked up and her gaze measured him. For a moment she merely took him in. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  He inched his hand over to hers, linking his pinky with hers. Her finger curled around his as natural as breathing.

  “Why’d you tell Mom you didn’t want anything to do with us?”

  She shrugged. “I know I’ve been a pain in the ass. I do. I couldn’t seem to help running. I—I think maybe I need a psychiatrist or someone to talk to, to help me deal with the way I feel. Each of my feet are in a different world and straddling them has been—” She threw her head back and contemplated the pale blue sky. Her hair was silky and black, her jaw square and her skin tanned from the sun. His heart swelled with pride. Della. Here beside him. Something inside him squeezed hard and that lost piece of himself that had swirled like a cyclone inside him year after year since she went missing clicked into place. Peace settled deep inside his soul. “Exhausting.”

  For a moment he’d forgotten what she’d been talking about. Straddling two worlds. Wasn’t that what he’d been doing ever since he’d left Bayou Bridge? Existing in one world while knowing a part of him remained elsewhere?

  Remained in the dark bayou soil, the graceful trees, and the foundation of that old house built long ago by his forefathers. Remained in the heart of a girl who’d loved him, unknowingly married him, and then survived without him.

  Straddling two worlds... He knew what that felt like.

  “I understand.”

  She turned toward him. “Maybe, but I doubt it. I’ve spent twenty-six years being someone else. Picou wanted me to toss that away. I can’t.”

  He shook his head. “No, but you can’t cheat yourself out of a family who would love you. You can’t pretend us away.”

  She cast her gaze across the playground and grew still. “What if I’m less than all of you expect? What if you wish you’d never found me? I’m not a Dufrene no matter who my parents are. I grew up on the bayou. I’m rough. I don’t know how to set a table or decorate a mansion. I don’t know fine materials from cheap ones. I don’t even like wine. I wouldn’t know a good pair of shoes from ones I’d bought at Dollar Darla’s. I can bait a hook, clean a deer and skin a gator. I’m not one of you.”

  Darby started laughing. “Who do you think we are? Mom is about as far as you can get from the Queen of England. Have you seen what she wears?”

  Della chuckled. “Yeah.”

  Darby wrapped his arms around his sister and kissed the side of her head. “You are ours, Della. That’s all that really matters, darlin’.”

  He expected her to feel uncomfortable with his affection. Actually, he wasn’t sure why he felt such comfort around her other than the fact he just did. Della didn’t pull away, she merely sighed. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  She pulled back and looked at him. “Okay, I’m willing to try again. I can’t make any promises, but I think I’ve finally grieved for my grand-mère and all that I lost long ago. I just didn’t know it until you pushed me on my ass and—why did you do that anyway?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest. Guess I was mad at you for being such a little shit.”

  “Shh—we’re at church.”

  Darby stifled a smile. “Sorry. It hurt that you weren’t happy to see me. Guess I reverted back to where we left off?”

  His sister laughed. “It felt kinda good. I was mad, too. And I’ve never wrestled with a boy.”

  He arched a brow.

  “Oh, my gosh, that’s sick.” But she laughed again.

  “I know what you mean. I’ve beaten the sh—mess out of Nate and Abram, but I never got the chance to fight with you. Guess we’re making up for lost time?”

  She nodded. “Lots to make up.”

  He slung a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “So let’s start with lunch. Y’all having a potluck or something? I’m starving.”

  “Just like that? We’re starting over right here, right now?”

  Darby nodded. “No better time.”

  Della shrugged. “All right. Let’s start with lunch. Tongues are already wagging, I’m sure.”

  They rose together. Together again for the first time in twenty-six years, and somehow rather than feeling awkward like wearing shoes on the wrong feet, it felt natural and right.

  Maybe, finally, Della had come home—miles away from Beau Soleil.

  * * *

  RENNY STUDIED THE WILTED flowers in the beds surrounding her back stoop and wondered whether it was still too hot for pansies. Well, she’d have to do something. All her summer flowers looked faded and gasping for breath.

  Plus she needed a better reason for missing her mother’s birthday lunch than she was still pissed about what had happened years ago. Bev would be hurt, and some part of Renny felt really lousy at disappointing her mother. The other part of her felt validated.

  Would doing yard work count as an excuse?

  No, but she’d give it anyway. Funny how having Darby back in her life had her already blurring the lines again. She was nearly certain it was further proof that Darby wasn’t good for her. Or maybe it was something she made up to keep her heart at arm’s length. What did Darby have to do with her not going to her mother’s birthday lunch?

  Maybe something like she hoped he’d come by or call.

  Stop being a fool, Renny.

  So she stopped thinking about her mother, Darby and the past, and started pulling the dead marigolds out of the bed, knowing it’d be better to have bare beds than ones that looked as if the owner didn’t care about her home and yard. She’d start in the
back and move around to the front before going into Lafayette sometime this week and visiting the home improvement store.

  Pride in ownership—it was definitely something she had for the small gatehouse that had outlived Guthrie House, a large plantation that had burned to the ground over forty years before. The small gatekeeper’s cottage had stayed intact, nestled beneath the three-hundred-year-old oaks, holding vigil over the still-visible foundation nearly half a mile behind it. Renny had bought the cottage three years ago, making the move from Lafayette back to her old stomping grounds when she’d seen the For Sale sign on the road as she passed one random afternoon. She’d never planned on coming back to Bayou Bridge, but after one showing of the house, Renny had fallen in love.

  The place had been in disrepair, but she’d seen the potential in restoring the Creole-style cottage. Luckily the previous owner had needed to get out from under the mortgage, so Renny had made real estate history in St. Martin Parish getting a dirt-cheap price, leaving her with enough money to strip and restore the cypress floors and repaint the entire place a shipshape white, accenting with colors that were period accurate.

  Dirt sprayed all over her as she yanked the dying flowers from their home and thought about Picou’s words earlier that morning.

  Words about prophecies. Words about questions. And then that knowing little smirk.

  “So what did those flowers ever do to you?”

  Renny jumped. “Ahh!”

  She spun around too fast and nearly ended up on her rump. Darby stood silhouetted by the sinking sun. “What is it with you and your entrances? Can’t you toot your horn or something? You scared the pants off me.”

  His eyes dropped to her legs.

  “It’s a saying,” she grumped, struggling to gain a better footing on the stone path, silently cursing her bad leg—a bad leg Darby had kissed his way down, and up, the night before. A blush seared her cheeks at the thought.

  “I know. Just bemoaning the fact it’s merely a saying and not an actual happening.”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Standing.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I wanted to see you again.”

  She tried to suppress the way her heart leaped at those words. Stupid, Renny, stupid. He’s leaving. He’s divorcing you. “I thought you went to see Della. Shouldn’t have been much room for me in that head of yours.”

  “And yet there was,” he said, shoving his hands into his front pockets and giving her the kind of smile that usually charmed pants off. Forget the scaring.

  She bent and scooped up dead flowers. “How did it go? And why’s your collar nearly torn off?”

  “Better than I expected, and the collar was part of it.”

  Renny tossed the dead flowers into a wheelbarrow she’d parked by the back steps and brushed her hands on her old cutoff sweats. “Hmm. By that description you’d think it went badly. So why are you really here? I’m your ex. Thought we’d blown out the candles on the cake and gone our merry way.”

  “Have we?” he said, trailing behind her as she wheeled the barrow around to the front of the house where a truck she’d not seen before sat in her circular drive. “I thought I’d be cool with how we left things early this morning, but the further I drove away from you, the more I doubted what we have between us is over.”

  She stopped and turned to him. “Look, I’ve been doing some thinking, too, and I’m good with friendship. I may be even good with another round or two of experiments, but I really believe I need to stay on the path I’m already on. This reintroduction project pretty much makes or breaks my career and I have to focus. Plus, I’m happy with who I am, even if everyone else in the world thinks I need a man, kids and a golden retriever.”

  “So you’re not looking for love?”

  “Nope. I’m looking for more money for our reintroduction project. I’m looking for some cream drapes that will hang nicely against my robin’s-egg-blue guest room walls, and I’m looking for the new spade I spent eight dollars on two weeks ago, but I’m not looking for love.” She scanned the crabgrass poking out of her flowerbeds. It was easier than looking at Darby. She didn’t want to betray any of her words with eyes that said something else. One day she wanted love, and she might fantasize about having it with Darby. But she wasn’t stupid enough to bet the farm on that happening.

  “Sounds weird coming from a woman,” he said.

  “Well, we can be happy without a man. Go figure.”

  For a few minutes nothing was said. She stooped and tugged at the crabgrass and dandelions, waiting for him to process her words.

  “Okay, cool, so I borrowed Nate’s new truck. Thought I might take a ride, maybe go out to our old stomping grounds.”

  Renny looked at him but said nothing.

  “Wanna go?”

  “I shouldn’t. Got things to do here.” Even as she said it, she knew she wanted to go. It was like wanting peanut butter when dieting.

  “Why not? We’re talking about a ride. Two old friends, laughing, memories—”

  “The more time we spend together, the more dangerous it feels,” she said.

  “You just said you’re not interested in love. You said friends and sex, but not love, so how is that dangerous? Unless you’re lying.” He propped a tennis shoe on the bottom step and cocked his head. “I asked if you wanted to go for a ride. In my brother’s truck. Not on me.”

  “I get that, but why me? Your family’s here. Shouldn’t you be riding around with one of your brothers? Or fixing stuff at Beau Soleil for your mother?”

  She glanced at him but he wasn’t looking at her. He stared off into the distance, looking as if he were trying to figure out the answer. For a moment nothing but the wind made sound.

  “I don’t know. Today Della said she felt like she straddled two worlds, and I feel that way, too. But when I’m with you, I feel like...” He paused. “Like I’m home.”

  His words rocked her, and she looked away from him. She couldn’t look into his eyes, because those visceral words were the kind that made her fall in love with him, and she really didn’t want the heartache of loving Darby and watching him leave her. Again.

  “Ren, come with me. I need you to sit beside me. Give me clarity. Give me comfort.”

  Finally she lifted her eyes to his.

  “I need to be with someone who knows the true me.”

  But did she know the true Darby? Not anymore. He was different, yet the same. Like the Darby of old, the man had charm and sex appeal in spades, but this was no boy with dreamy eyes and tempting suggestions. Here stood a man, a military lawyer with straight bearing and an occasional hard smile, a man who had a career that would take him far from the bayou...far from his roots. A man she didn’t know anymore even if she’d shared in a most intimate act with him the night before. “I don’t think I should.”

  But when she looked at him again, she saw something glitter in his eyes. It wasn’t lust or anything resembling what she’d seen so far. No, this was a need every human had, a sort of desperate desire for someone to listen, to share in his world for a brief moment.

  He blinked the emotion away. “Okay, you’re right. It’s stupid that I came here.”

  “Wait.” She rose from her stooped position and stuck her hands on her hips. “Just a ride?”

  Relief showed on his face. “Just two old friends taking a ride through the autumn beauty of the Louisiana countryside.”

  “I can tell you’re an attorney. You know how to spin things.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows in a very non-lawyerly way and it made her smile. “Okay, let me grab some shoes and put on something that doesn’t have dirt all over it.”

  “You don’t need shoes. I like the way you look. Very cute in a farm girl sort of way.”

  “Suave,” she said, trotting up the steps. “Let me wash my hands and put Chauncey out.”

  Not giving him a chance to protest, she left Darby and her good intentions for staying aw
ay from him outside. Three minutes later, after a swipe of the hairbrush, a scrubbing of her hands and a rummaging through her closet for cute polka-dotted flip-flops, Renny reemerged to find Chauncey rubbing up against the man sitting on her front steps.

  Smart cat.

  She liked the profile of his back—wide shoulders stretching a worn T-shirt, tapered waist, firm butt—all very nice. Darby’s hair was short and didn’t even reach his collar. She could remember a time when its shaggy length curled beneath her fingers like silk ribbon. He’d worn it longer than most guys because why would anyone want to lop off gold streaks painted by the sun? She wondered if he would grow it longer again...and if the sun in Seattle was strong enough to bring the light gold highlights back.

  Why the heck did she care?

  “I’m ready.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “Perfect, though I like you barefoot. Those are pretty toes.”

  She looked down and wriggled those ten digits. “Um, pretty? Nah. Feet are really ugly when you think about it.”

  His gaze slid down her body and landed on her feet. It felt like his hands on her body rather than a leisurely perusal and she felt the same energy of the night before stir within her.

  Danger, Will Robinson.

  Not going there.

  “You’re so weird, Darby.” Easier to draw his interest away from her feet...or any part of her body.

  “So you say,” he said, walking toward the truck. Like the boy his mama had raised, he went to the passenger side first and opened the door. Renny obliged and walked toward him, but before she could climb inside, he set a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for going with me, Renny.”

  She nodded, knowing this was likely as much a mistake as the “closure” she’d given him last night—three times. “Sure.”

  He loped around to the driver’s side, turned the ignition and started around her curved driveway. Music blared from the radio, an old John Cougar Mellencamp song about small-town life and dreams of something bigger. She tried to keep her eyes trained on the road in front of her, but couldn’t help glancing toward Darby as he turned out of her driveway and headed west.

  A ghost of a smile haunted his mouth.