The Road to Bayou Bridge

by Liz Talley

  He’d wanted nothing more than to run away, sans Shelby, but he knew he owed the woman he’d been dating an explanation. And maybe rehashing the details would help him figure out exactly what he was explaining. Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket—which was an odd saying—but that’s where he was. Watching his life go to hell.

  So after Renny had driven away with a squeal of tires, he’d asked Shelby to take a ride with him, for no other reason than he didn’t want to have the conversation anywhere near his mother.

  For the first ten minutes or so, Shelby had been silent, but after he’d taken her into Bayou Bridge, she’d perked up and asked a few questions about the two bridges spanning the bayou and the charming storefronts lining the streets. He’d pulled in and parked in front of Scoops and Lattes, thankfully avoiding the after-school crowd, and treated Shelby to the one good thing he could give her at the moment—an ice-cream cone.

  He started at the beginning with his finding the marriage certificate, while Shelby licked her ice-cream cone like a woman who really liked mint chocolate chip. Or a woman drowning her sorrows in high-calorie therapy.

  Shelby wrinkled her nose. “So you’re saying this boat captain was an ordained minister? That’s incredible bad luck.”

  Or not.

  After all, if “Rev” hadn’t been a legit minister, Darby wouldn’t have had reason to seek Renny out again. That wasn’t bad luck. It was karma, or something like that. “Yeah, so we’re legally married.”

  Shelby put both elbows on the table and contemplated her cone. “So, this is why you’re confused? Why you canceled the interview at my father’s firm?”

  “How could I move on to a new life when I still had an old one to deal with?”

  She shrugged. “Why didn’t you tell me in the first place? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

  She had a point, but how does a guy tell the girl he’s been seeing that he has a wife, and what’s more, he was falling back in love with her? “I don’t know.”

  “So you’re getting a divorce. That’s not that complicated, and you’ve had success with your sister, right? I’d say things are looking good for you, so why are you putting me off?” Shelby laid her cone in the empty dish he’d set aside. Her blue eyes seemed to peer into his, probing for the answer she wanted.

  “Ever since I came home to Bayou Bridge, things haven’t gone the way I planned. For one thing I didn’t expect to feel anything for Renny.”

  “But you do?”

  Moment of truth. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Well, our minds are tricky. They make us believe all kinds of things are possible when they’re not.”

  “They do, but our hearts are ten times harder to decipher.”

  “Your heart?” Her mouth twisted. “I think I see where this is going.”

  He shook his head and glanced away. He was fairly certain if he led with It’s me, not you, she’d upend her unfinished ice cream on his head. Even if it were the truth.

  “I could give you platitudes, but what it boils down to is I left my heart here in Bayou Bridge,” he said.

  Shelby swallowed and he saw the raw pain in her eyes before she shifted her gaze to the front of the shop. “Well, at least you’re speaking honestly to me.”

  “Well, I got nothing left but honesty sitting right alongside uncertainty.”

  “About me?”

  He shook his head. “No, not about you. I wanted to make things with you work because you’re beautiful, accomplished, and fun to be with. My head chose you and Seattle with this whole idea of a clean slate. But what my head didn’t realize is my heart had chosen a road long ago. A road that led me here. To home. I just never realized it.”

  “But you were a kid,” she said, spreading her hands apart. “How can you trust what you felt when you were eighteen? When I was eighteen, I tried out for American Idol wearing a Carmen Miranda costume. We’re nuts when we’re eighteen.” Something in her expression shifted and he’d have sworn recalling when she was eighteen meant more than a silly costume.

  “Carmen Miranda, huh?”

  “Seriously. I thought I could sing. Randy Jackson destroyed the dream quickly, though Paula liked my fruit bowl.”

  He actually laughed. He was in the middle of purgatory and Shelby was making him laugh. This woman would make some man truly happy one day—he just wasn’t that man.

  “So you want me to go?” she asked quietly.

  “You just got here.”

  “I already feel like an idiot. I don’t need salt in the wound.”

  He nodded. “You do what you wish. I hope you’ll always consider me a friend, and there is no one at Beau Soleil who would make you feel like an idiot. That’s not the way we’re wired.”

  “That’s what I always liked about you. You have this sincerity that radiates off you. Too bad you’re not in love with me.”

  “Things would be so much easier if I were. You’re an awesome girl—everything a man could want. But—”

  “You’re in love with your wife.”

  Darby averted his gaze because admitting it felt too naked. “Maybe. I don’t know. Everything’s been so confusing, and not just for me. Renny’s world got tipped upside down when I walked back into it last week and she’s trying to figure all this out herself.”

  “She’s a lucky girl even if she doesn’t know it. Now, I think it’s time for my exit.” Shelby shoved her chair back and scooped up her purse, one of those expensive ones he’d seen in boutique windows with huge price tags dangling, and glanced down at him. “Unless there’s anything else?”

  The silence sat between them like a pregnant sow.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tossing her blond hair over her shoulder, she gave him a mysterious smile. “So am I. I had thought... Well, you were good on paper. I tried.”

  Shelby seemed to be talking more to herself than to him, and some prickling awareness penetrated the fog in his head. “Wait a sec, you’re not really all that upset about this. Were you trying to make me fit?”

  “I’ve been trying to find my way, too. That’s what the teaching assignment and Spain were all about. Avoidance of things better left behind. Somehow, when you were so interested in me and Seattle, it felt like this was meant to be, like you might help me get over some of my past mistakes. I thought if I took you home, you might fix... Uh, you know what? I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  He had no idea what Shelby was talking about, but it sounded as if she had her own motivations behind pursuing him. And somehow knowing she’d also tried to force a relationship made him feel better about dumping her.

  Dumping her. Hmm. Not a nice euphemism for choosing another path. But either way it was what it was.

  “We’re good?” he inquired, scared of the answer.

  She nodded. “As good as it gets right now.”

  And so they’d climbed back in his car, come back to Beau Soleil with a tentative peace between them. He knew Shelby felt raw from their conversation, but was glad she’d accepted his mother’s invitation to a home-cooked meal.

  Dinner that night was just him, Shelby and Picou. His brother and sister-in-law had gone to a friend’s house for a cookout. Would have been easier if Nate, Annie and little Pax had dined with them. More boisterous, less awkward. But they were doing okay.

  “I’ve heard so much about Louisiana that I’ve decided to spend tomorrow and Friday driving around the area and experiencing the culture. I saw they have a place nearby where you can dance to Cajun music, and I’ve never been to New Orleans or even Baton Rouge.” Shelby said, taking a bite of the peas. “Mmm, these are good.”

  “Salt pork flavors them up,” Picou said. Shelby set her fork down and studied the peas.

  “You know, Darby’s sister, Della, is coming and it would be fun to go to Mulates. Why don’t we plan to meet there when she gets in?” Picou asked, offering Shelby another piece of hot water corn bread.

  Shelby waved the plate off. “Tomorrow I’m t
ouring some nearby plantations. Oak Alley doesn’t seem too far, and then there are many more along the river, but I can make it back this way by dinnertime.”

  His mother clapped her hands. “You’ll love Oak Alley, and touring plantations is so interesting.”

  “But isn’t your house a plantation?” Shelby asked.

  “Technically, yes and no,” Picou said, taking a sip of wine. “It’s the right size and architecture, but was never used as a plantation. My ancestors were in shipping, not agriculture, though there was some sharecropping, I’m sure. Oh, and my great-grandfather tried to grow rice, but the land wasn’t as fit as it is west of Lafayette and it never did well.”

  “Oh.” Shelby said, refilling her wineglass. A nice flush had settled on her cheeks and she seemed to be warming up to his mother. At least something would come of her trip to Louisiana.

  “Now, dear, tell me about your hometown.”

  Darby ate mindlessly as his mother and Shelby discussed the West Coast and the coastline. Seemed his mother knew an awful lot about Washington State.

  All afternoon, when he’d had time to think, his mind turned round and round the conversation he’d had with Renny. Her words had sliced him. We’re not meant to be.

  The hell they weren’t.

  Wasn’t that what he’d found out over the past few days? That was the main reason he’d suggested dating—to give them both time to adjust to what was absolutely true. So why didn’t Renny already know they were meant to be?

  No good answer. And what if she were right?

  What if they loved each other, but it wasn’t enough?

  The doorbell rang just as Picou cut into the apple-walnut cobbler, ripping Darby from his thoughts.

  “Oh, goodness,” Picou said, setting the silver thing she used to scoop cobbler on her plate. “I wonder who that could be?”

  “I’ll get it,” Darby said, fully expecting Renny to be standing on the porch, ready to fight for her man.

  But it wasn’t Renny.

  It was Della, holding a bag and carrying a bakery box.

  “Darby,” she said, giving him a nervous smile. “I know I said I’d be here tomorrow, but something told me today would be better.”

  He took her bag, amazed he felt relief just by seeing the sister he hadn’t known in over twenty-six years standing on the welcome mat. “I think there could be something to this twin thing. It’s been a rough day.”

  “Really?” she said, stepping into the foyer and looking around. Like she was afraid their mother might jump out and chain her to the banister.

  “Glad to see you,” he said, dropping her bag at the foot of the stairs.

  “Glad to see you, too,” she smiled, rising on tiptoe to give him a brief hug

  He jerked his head toward the dining room. “I’m living in a soap opera—a Southern-fried soap opera—with a secret—”

  “Darby, who’s at the door?” Picou was heading for the foyer and Darby felt his sister brace herself. “Oh!”

  His mother stopped in the middle of the foyer, lifting her hands before dropping them to her side. She looked shell-shocked, hungry and hopeful all at the same time. Her eyes ate Della up, but she didn’t make a move toward her daughter.

  “Hi,” Della said, walking toward their mother, holding the bakery box like a shield. He knew they hadn’t spoken at all since Enola Cheramie’s funeral, which had been almost a year ago. Della had refused all contact, ignoring the family that she’d tumbled into like a hatchling felled from the safety of her nest. “I brought some bread from Boudreaux’s Bakery. I know you liked it last time.”

  His mother took the box, but didn’t make a move toward his sister. “Thank you, dear. I think it’s the best French loaf in the state.”

  For a moment, no one said anything.

  Finally, Picou smiled. “I’m glad you came for a visit, Sally. It’s good to see you, darling.”

  Della opened her mouth, but closed it as Shelby appeared in the doorway of the dining room. He stepped toward the woman who’d fallen into his world, not like a fledgling, but like a...a...salmon? He didn’t really know what Shelby had come like, but it had set him sideways. “Shelby, this is my sister. My twin sister.”

  Della held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Della Dufrene.”

  He didn’t miss his mother’s intake of breath. Something about the way her mouth fell slightly open and her eyes widened at his sister using a name she’d never used before made his throat feel raw and achy—a feeling he hadn’t felt since he’d laid that carnation boutonniere on his father’s casket.

  “I’m Shelby Mackey, a friend of Darby’s from Spain.”

  “Wow, you came all the way here from Spain?” Della asked, a smile on her lips but questions dancing in her blue eyes.

  “No, Seattle.” Shelby dropped Della’s hand and looked at him like she wanted him to give further explanation.

  Instead he gestured toward the dining room. “Why don’t we have cobbler and coffee? Del, did you have dinner?”

  Della shook her head. “I’d love a little something. If it’s not too late?”

  His sister followed Shelby back into the dining room, but his mother didn’t move. She stood there, holding the bakery box, looking as if she’d won the lottery.

  “Mom?”

  “How did you do it?” she asked, wiping the moisture from her eyes before tears spilled down her cheeks. “She called herself ‘Della.’”

  He moved toward his mother and curled an arm around her. “I didn’t do anything but show up. God’s been working on her, and she’s finally found her way.”

  Picou shook her head. “No, this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t gone to her. You did this.”

  “If you want to think that, but whether I’d gone to talk to her or not, she would have come back to you, Mama.”

  Picou looked at him. “Maybe it’s that whooping crane.”

  “Whooping crane?”

  “The prophecy,” his mother whispered, with a reverence in her tone.

  “Mom, you’ve got to stop with that whole mambo thing. Even if there’s a ‘big bird’ on the property. Come on. You’re realistic enough to realize that the bird is a fluke. Now, let’s go have that cobbler.”

  Picou smiled. “Let’s do that.”

  He watched his mother walk back into the dining room with lightness to her step, and his heart warmed at the thought of his mother’s happiness. Sure, they had some gaps to bridge with his sister, but they were on the right road—the road that led back to Bayou Bridge and the yellow house where his family had lived, loved and laughed for over a hundred and fifty years.

  Yes, on the right road with Della.

  But what about him?

  He’d thought when Renny calmed down she’d come to him.

  Maybe she would.

  He’d give her some time, but if his blackberry girl had gotten turned around, she might need a nudge in the right direction.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RENNY KEPT HER EYES STRAIGHT ahead as her mother pulled onto the highway and headed toward the nearest gas station. Why had she called her mother and not AAA? Maybe she needed something concrete to grab hold of or maybe she wanted to bash Darby or maybe she wanted to continue the fight. She wasn’t sure. All she knew at the moment was she felt like a wayward teenager who’d been busted for doing something absolutely boneheaded.

  And that’s because she had done something absolutely boneheaded. Like fall in love with her soon-to-be ex-husband who had a girlfriend and a new life thousands of miles away.

  But she was no longer going to think about the man she’d left behind at Beau Soleil.

  The man she left behind. Period.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t ask, but since I’m your mother—”

  “Then don’t,” Renny said, setting the bag with the camera between her feet and fastening her seat belt. Her mother’s car smelled like leather and perfume. She rolled down the window.

  Bev delivered a wry laugh. “Oh
, Ren, this is about more than gasoline. I can read your face like a novel. You went and did it again, didn’t you?”

  “What are you talking about? I came out to sign the papers and take the stupid pictures of that stupid bird.” Her throat ached with tears that threatened to make another appearance. Something about having Bev close made her want to both curl up in her mother’s lap and pour forth all her disappointment and open the door of the moving car ready to tuck and roll.

  “Mmm,” her mother said, winding through the dense woodlands that covered the ten miles into Bayou Bridge. Bev looked over at her. “I am your mother.”

  What did she want Renny to say. “So?”

  “So I know you. I know your body language. Your facial expressions. I see through those pretty brown eyes into your mind and heart. So you can’t really hide from me, darling.”

  “You sound just like that crazy hack Picou Dufrene with her prophecies and ghosts, which by the way aren’t ghosts. Giving birth doesn’t give you insight.”

  “And you would know this how?” Bev smirked with that know-it-all-mom lift of the brows.

  Renny snapped her mouth shut because she didn’t know, and at the rate she “didn’t” progress through relationships, her ovaries would be prunes by the time she found a man to procreate with. Not that she even wanted children. Or a man. Much.

  Her mother turned the knob on the dashboard, and the sound of the Supremes and their declarations about hearing symphonies died. Then Bev pushed gem-studded sunglasses on her nose that blocked the blinding sunset. “If I had a small fortune, and I do, I would bet it all on the notion you’ve jumped back into bed with Darby, and not only that, but you’ve opened yourself up for heartbreak. Again.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Like Renny was going to admit history had repeated itself. No flippin’ way.

  “I know this because you’re a lot like me,” her mother said, sliding a glance at Renny she couldn’t read because the glasses covered half her mother’s face. She only knew Bev looked at her from the way her head tilted like a dog.