Running Out of Rain

by Lori Leger

“Yes—and so is the entertainment. It’s the reason we have to get here so early.” He parked his truck before grinning at her. “How do you feel about listening to Cajun music from a live band while we eat?”

  She clapped her hands and shrieked with excitement. “Please tell me you dance, John Michael. I don’t think I could bear it if you told me no.”

  His rumble of laughter reverberated around her, but he’d only commit to a slightly cryptic reply. “I guess you’ll have to drag me out on the dance floor to find out.”

  As he stepped from his truck, Cynthia tried to recall if she’d seen a spare panty liner in her purse—unless he had two left feet she planned to keep his good looking butt out on that dance floor. Amazing how time shifted a girl’s priorities when it came to the contents of her purse.

  He opened her door and she stepped onto the parking lot, paused to observe the sprawl of a neatly painted wooden structure that spoke of more than one expansion throughout the years. “Seems like I’d know about this place, but it could be because I spend most of my days in stuck inside a Lake Coburn hospital. How long has it been in business?”

  He gave a low whistle. “I want to say the actual restaurant has been running since sometime in the late 80’s, but I can remember going to eat boiled crawfish in their barn a decade earlier. Five bucks for all you could eat—and let me tell you, I did on quite a few occasions.”

  She looked at her watch. “It’s only a little after five o’clock. Are you sure they’re open?”

  He chuckled as four other vehicles drove up simultaneously. “Trust me. We’re right on time.” He walked her up the steps to the wooden porch and ushered her inside. A young woman greeted them at the entrance.

  “Hey Mr. John, it’s good to see you. We have your table ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Danette.”

  They were seated in the section nearest the open dance floor. One look at the wooden floor slats, worn slick and smooth from decades of dancing, told her everything she needed to know. This was Cajun country—when the music is good, people dance. She was in for a fabulous night.

  “I’ve never danced to Cajun music, but I’m a good student if you’re willing to teach me.”

  “You’re in luck,” he said. “I hadn’t danced in years until my son’s wedding last year, but it all came back to me.”

  “Kind of like riding a bike?”

  He nodded. “Only, I need at least one beer in me to get the nerve to step out there. Not a good idea on a bike, I’d imagine.”

  She watched the band starting to move their instruments to the raised platform. “I may need at least a couple to loosen up.” She shook her head. “I’ve been away far too long.”

  He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers, brushed his thumb lightly over her knuckles. “All that matters is you’re back.”

  Her heart skipped. Drawing in a deep breath, she picked up a menu with her free hand, without pulling her other hand out from under John’s. “So what’s good to eat here? Everything looks delicious.” Including you.

  “I’ve had nearly everything on the menu. It’s all good. The crawfish are still in season, so I’m having the crawfish platter. You can’t go wrong with the fried tails and etouffee.”

  “Do they taste anything like fried shrimp?”

  “Nope. Get the shrimp and you can try my crawfish tails. I don’t mind sharing with you.”

  She nodded and studied her menu.

  “You can keep looking, but I doubt you’ll find anything that looks as good as you do tonight.”

  She closed her menu and stared at him. “For someone out of practice at dating, that’s a pretty good line.”

  John Michael’s face broke out in a huge grin. “Did it work? Pop gave me a whole list of them to try on you. I said it as a joke. I figured you’d fall out of your seat laughing at me.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I am absolutely serious.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, pointing to one in particular. “What do you think of this one? Apparently, it’s his creation.”

  “You look as hot as a Mexican tamale?” She burst into laughter. “Your dad is such a trip.”

  “You have no idea. Every day is a new adventure.”

  “So you don’t really think I look as good as anything on the menu?”

  He ducked his head sheepishly. “Well, as it turns out, that one’s kind of true. Pop lucked out, but I’m not sure I want to tell him.”

  “Oh God, this is hilarious. I can’t wait to tell the gang at the hospital on Monday morning.”

  “You mean everything I say and do tonight will be scrutinized by your co-workers on Monday?”

  “Sure. It’s the female version of kiss and tell.”

  “But we haven’t kissed yet.”

  “No, but there’ll be plenty to whet their appetites. Bee practically had us married off once she discovered we knew each other. She’s the nursing staff’s version of one of those little old Jewish Matchmaker ladies—except she’s not Jewish.”

  “Bee—is she the one with the …” His voice trailed off as he pointed to his hair.

  “Yes, Bee’s the owner of the silver wig that always seems to be on slightly crooked. She calls it Tonto, says it’s her sidekick so it deserves a name. As a matter of fact—” She held up her phone to take a picture of him. “Smile for the camera so I can prove to her I actually got out of the house this weekend. She won’t leave me alone, otherwise.”

  He sat still long enough for her to snap the picture. “She seems like a character. So tell me about the rest of them.”

  “The other two RN’s assigned to our wing are Nan and Maggie, both sweet girls. And then there’s Kevin.”

  “What’s up with Kevin?”

  “Everything but his height, apparently. He’s not much taller than me and has asked me out at least once a day since I’ve been there.” She sipped at her water as John grunted his disapproval. “He reminds me of one of those irritating little dogs …”

  “What?”

  She tapped her nails on the table top. “I don’t want to say. You’ll get the wrong impression about me.”

  He laughed. “Are you serious?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Thirty years around firefighters tends to jade a lady.”

  “Just say it, Cyn.”

  “Okay, Kevin reminds me of one of those little dogs you can’t get to stop humping your leg.”

  He grinned and nodded. “My wife’s best friend had this huge golden retriever. Anytime he was in the vicinity, he’d try to sniff at Bethie’s—you know.”

  “Oh, I hate that!”

  “So did Beth. It irritated her so bad, she threatened to stop going for visits. I taught her how to lift her knee into the dog’s chest when he approached and got him to stop.”

  “Gene kicked our friend’s dog into the swimming pool for the leg humping thing several years ago.”

  Their laughter subsided by the time a waitress came to take orders. Cynthia smiled at John. “I think I’ll try the small crawfish platter, with a baked sweet potato, plain, and light vinaigrette on the side for my salad.”

  “I’ll take the large platter, loaded baked potato, bleu cheese dressing with my salad. Oh, and a bottle of Coors, please.” He pointed to Cynthia. “What’ll you have?”

  She rested her arms on the table. “Sounds good to me, but make mine a light.”

  Their waitress made her exit but came back immediately with two beers.

  John twirled his beer bottle on the table. “So, I don’t have to worry about this Kevin fellow putting the moves on you at work?”

  “I can’t promise he’ll stop trying, but I can tell you it’ll never happen.”

  Laughter accompanied his nod of approval. “Frankly, I’m shocked you don’t have guys clambering after you, Cyn. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  “Well, thank you, sir. But I could argue the same about you. With your looks and being on the market a lot long
er, I can’t believe the ladies haven’t plied you with their womanly charms all these years.”

  He grinned. “A couple of years ago, this woman kept sitting by me in church. I mean, even if there were entire pews available around me, she’d sit right next to me.”

  She giggled. “Blatant stalker tactics. Anyone I know?”

  “No. Hell, I didn’t even know her. I mean, she was a good looking woman, but frankly, she bugged the hell out of me. I skipped a couple of Sundays in a row, hoping she’d get the message.”

  Cyn sipped from her beer bottle. “Did it work?”

  “Sure did. Next time I went, she sat somewhere else. I was thrilled.”

  “So, it’s been, what, fifteen or so years for you? Why did it take you so long to get back into this ‘dating’ thing, John Michael?”

  He rested both elbows on the table, his gaze piercing in its intensity. “Honestly, after Beth died, I threw myself into working at the feed store and Zachary to keep going. Between the two, I was busy enough to keep from thinking about it too much. Zach needed me at home and he was so involved in everything. Football, baseball, basketball, track, and FFA, you name it and he was in it.”

  She nodded. “Sounds like my oldest son. It can keep you hopping.”

  “Yes, and it did. His mother had always been the one to attend all of his games. I mean, I made most of the home games and track events, but only a few of the away ones. After she passed, I made it a point to be at every event until he graduated high school. He played baseball in college, too. He stayed in the athletic dorm, so four more years of attending his games. Dad broke his hip a few months after Zach’s college graduation. There were complications and a long recuperation period. As soon as he got better, we discovered Mom had cancer.”

  “Oh God …”

  “Yeah.” He released a long drawn out sigh, as though about to tackle the hard part. “A four year stint of surgeries, chemo treatments, radiation therapies, remissions, reappearances, and the final remission, thank God. A hard fought battle but she won. A year or two later she started having mild episodes of dementia, and eventually we got the Alzheimer diagnosis. I don’t know, Cyn—I guess there was so much going on all the time I got used to going through it alone. Or …”

  “Or what?”

  “Or maybe I was waiting for you to move back home.”

  She smiled at his lopsided grin and reached out her hand. “Let me see your dad’s list again.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not gonna find that one on there. I just came up with it.” His smiled and slapped his hand over his chest. “Comes straight from the heart.” He paused before continuing. “Ca c’est bon?”

  She turned her head to the side, giving him a curious look. “Meaning?”

  He laughed. “Was it good?”

  She cleared her throat and made herself sit up straight. “I’ll let you know by the end of the night.”

  They were comparing their parents’ escapades with ladder climbing—Bess’s refusal to stop picking figs, to J.D.’s addiction to cleaning the gutters—when the waitress arrived with their food.

  “Lord, this smells wonderful!” She closed her eyes, savoring the aromas of golden fried crawfish, and rice, covered in more of the crustaceans smothered in a savory, seasoned gravy. The sweet smell of the perfectly baked sweet potato wafted up from her loaded plate. She took a bite of the gravy covered rice and groaned. “Oh, my goodness. This is fabulous. I’m so glad you suggested it.” She was still raving over her first taste of fried crawfish when the band kicked off the first set.

  John Michael pointed discreetly to a middle-aged couple on the rapidly filling dance floor. “Keep your eye on those two. They’re regulars here and both excellent dancers.”

  Cynthia watched, fascinated with the energetic dance moves of a Cajun jitterbug, and then a two-step. When the third song started up, she nodded. “I’m ready to try.”

  By the end of the first song she had it. When they kicked up a waltz she followed his lead easily enough. Soon they were gliding as gracefully around the floor as couples who’d danced together for years.

  She sat down, slightly out of breath. “That was so fun. I can’t believe I’ve never learned before. It’s so easy.”

  “It’s not that easy for everyone, Cyn. You’re a quick learner.” He finished off his last few bites of etouffee while she dug into her fried crawfish.

  She closed her eyes as she chewed and swallowed, savoring the deliciousness. “The best part about eating this here is I get to burn off all these calories immediately.”

  He sat back and seemed to study her. “I don’t know why you’re so preoccupied with calories. You’re beautiful just as you are. For whatever no-good reason your husband did what he did, I promise it wasn’t because you lacked in the looks department.”

  She put her fork down, wiped her mouth with her napkin. There it was again, the sure-fire constriction of her heart every time she thought of Gene and Tamara. “I never had a problem with my looks before, John Michael. Lately, since seeing you, the vision of that woman—” She still had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat at the thought of her. “That twenty-five year old young lady, with her perky breasts, tiny little waistline, and no stretch marks on her belly from carrying three ten pound babies—”

  He reached out to grab both her hands. “Stop! I mean it. She may have been twenty-five, but to do what she did, I guarantee she was no lady. You are beautiful, Cyn—inside and out. Don’t let the actions of two selfish people make you doubt yourself.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Thank you. I had no idea you’d be so good for my ego.”

  “Besides, have you stopped to consider I may have the same doubts about my own body?” His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “Since Zach took over the family business I haven’t done nearly as much heavy lifting.” He leaned back in his chair and patted his belly. “I’m afraid I’ve gone soft.”

  She lifted her brow, but bit down on her lower lip, attempting to hold back the threatening grin.

  He sat forward suddenly, obviously catching her hidden message. “Oh, uh, not there. That’s-uh-not what I was talking about. I mean …” He gave up on the explanation and groaned.

  She burst into laughter. “I’m sorry. I tried to tell you I’ve been jaded from thirty years of being around firefighters.”

  He joined in and held out his hand. “Shut up and dance with me?”

  “Absolutely.” She pushed back her chair and took the hand he offered. She stood, crooked her finger. When he leaned in she pulled him close to speak over the sound of the drums and accordion kicking up the melody. “Just so you know. You have no reason to be concerned about your looks. As for the other issue—”

  He cut her off quickly—spoke over the music into her ear. “Just so you know—you have no reason to be concerned about that.”

  She pulled back to study him, her lips pursed. “Is that a fact?”

  He nodded and gave her a wink. “Absolutely.”

  After three hours of dancing, Cynthia finally sat down and confessed. “My feet are killing me. If you ever bring me here again, please remind to wear comfortable shoes.”

  John grinned, thinking he’d definitely make a return trip to D.I.’s with Cyn anytime she was willing. “I will, on both counts. You ready to go?”

  “I think I am.”

  He escorted her through the dining room, still crowded with customers, and people seated on benches near the entrance and waiting for a table. They stepped outside where, despite the humidity of an early June evening, it was still slightly cooler than inside the crowded building, even with its continuous blast of air conditioning so necessary in the south.

  “It’s so quiet out here.” Cynthia stopped suddenly on the porch. “You don’t realize the noise level until you get out of it, do you? My ears are ringing.”

  “It’s a rocking little place.” He placed his hand on the small of her back as they hit the steps. His boot had just landed on the con
crete walk when they came face to face with an old classmate of theirs.

  “Johnny Ferguson! What are you doing here?”

  “Robin? Are you Robin White?”

  Cynthia’s question had the woman leaning so far forward on her too-tall heels John was afraid she’d topple over from sheer momentum. He groaned inwardly as Robin stuck out one of ten long fingernails, all decorated with zebra stripes and studded with rhinestone sparkles. Three of her five fingers on the one hand were loaded down with bling—huge, gaudy looking rings—no doubt booty from the two husbands she’d taken to the cleaners.

  She squinted at Cyn. “Yes, but who are you?”

  John was glad to make the reintroduction. “You remember Cynthia Robicheaux, Robin. She’s Cynthia Ellender now. She hasn’t changed a bit since high school.”

  Robin cocked her head, fluttered fake eyelashes before pursing blood red lips. “I vaguely remember the name. Did you get knocked up and drop out senior year?”

  Cynthia frowned. “I did not. I graduated. Moved to Oklahoma, and became a pediatrician.”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “One of those women who chose a career over a family?” Robin spit out the comment like a poisoned dart.

  “Well, I did marry and have three children along the way. My husband died eighteen months ago.”

  “Oh.” Out of ammo for the moment, Robin turned her attention to John. “So, are you two a couple now? I must admit, if I’d known you were on the block again, I’d have called you.”

  “This is our first date.” John focused his gaze on Cyn. “Hopefully not our last, though.” He turned to Robin again. “We were just leaving. You take care, Robin.”

  “Likewise, Johnny.” She pulled him close for a hug, taking full advantage of the chance to mash her boobs up against him. Pulling a card from the side pocket of her purse, she slipped it deep into the pocket of his jeans and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

  John jerked back from the feel of her teeth scraping his ear lobe and urged his date along. “Let’s go, Cyn.”

  She waited until he’d helped her into the truck before speaking. “What the hell was that about?”