Acadian Waltz

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Thanks.” Jean Marc looked down at his half-naked body. “I’ll just finish dressing.” He quickly departed the room.

  “I thought we might need to talk,” John clarified as soon as he saw Jean Marc leave the living room.

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Maybe you need to apologize.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “For what?”

  “For over-reacting.” I proceeded down the hall to the kitchen.

  “What was I suppose to think, Nora?” John followed me into the kitchen. “I walk into the ER waiting area and see you holding hands with the same man you went on and on about to Father Delacroix. Then I find him here, half-naked, in your living room.”

  I went back to the cooktop and picked up my spatula. “He’s my friend. Am I not allowed to have any male friends once I become your wife?”

  “No, you’re not,” John affirmed as he stood by the breakfast table. “You’re going to be my wife. What would you need to associate with another man for?”

  I pointed the spatula at him. “I never realized it until now, but you’re an asshole, John Blessing.”

  Jean Marc entered the kitchen right at that moment. He had put on his white dress shirt and black shoes. He glanced nervously from me to John. “Smells good,” he commented as he clapped his hands together.

  I motioned to the breakfast table with the spatula. “Have a seat.”

  Both Jean Marc and John sat down at the same time, facing each other. I turned back to the cooktop and began piling scrambled eggs, bacon, grits and toast on two plates. After I had crammed each plate with food, I carried them to the table.

  “Thank you, Nora,” Jean Marc commented as I placed his plate before him.

  “Yes, it looks great, Nora.” John examined his plate. “Nora’s a great cook,” he enthusiastically added.

  Each man picked up a fork and began eating. I stood by the table and watched the ballet unfold. They filled their forks, and as they were about to place the utensils into their mouths, they glared at each other.

  “How’s the eye?” Jean Marc inquired as he chewed on his eggs.

  “Better,” John replied. “You pack quite a punch.”

  “You learn how on the bayou, especially with a brother like Henri.” Jean Marc shrugged. “We were always fighting.”

  John picked up a slice of toast. “What did Binder say?”

  I relaxed, somewhat confident that the two men were not going to lunge at each other from across the breakfast table. I went back to the cooktop and picked up a piece of bacon from the plate of leftovers.

  “He says he’s going to start him on physical therapy, and then we can take him home. But he will need more care once he’s back in Manchac, nurses, and a therapist to help him recover.” Jean Marc paused as he swallowed his eggs. “The police are still waiting for the toxicology reports. In the meantime, I’ve called the family attorney to handle things from a legal standpoint.”

  “A lot of work ahead for you and your family,” John remarked as he began to butter his toast. “Nora knows some nurses. Maybe she can find someone to help with your brother.”

  Jean Marc’s eyes scrutinized John. Then for a split second I thought I saw something resembling a smirk crawl across the man’s thin lips. “Actually, Nora has already volunteered to come to Manchac and help with Henri after he’s discharged from the hospital,” Jean Marc announced as he sat back from the table.

  John almost dropped his knife. “Has she?” His eyes immediately flew to me.

  I put my bacon down on the plate and wiped my fingers on a nearby towel. “I’m not sure yet if—”

  “But we have a wedding to plan, Nora,” John cut in. “We have things to do here in New Orleans. How can you spend all of your time in Manchac?”

  “It’s only forty minutes away,” Jean Marc argued.

  John hesitated for a moment and then he asked, “What about your job at the hospital?”

  I folded my arms and scowled at John. “I thought you wanted me to give up my job at the hospital.”

  “Nora, that’s not what I said.” John’s tone of voice dropped as if he were disciplining a child.

  Jean Marc picked up his fork again. “See, she’s going to take some time off, just like you wanted.”

  “You just can’t go off to Manchac, Nora. I will not—” John was interrupted by the page of his beeper in the living room. “Aw, hell,” he muttered and got up from his chair. He went down the hall to the living room.

  I glared at Jean Marc. “That was dirty. I never said anything to you about going to Manchac, and you know it. Are you purposefully trying to destroy my relationship with John?”

  He gave me a cocky grin. “That idea had crossed my mind.” He looked me up and down as I stood by the cooktop. “Are you sure you want to marry this guy?”

  When John returned from the living room, he was wearing his white coat.

  “I’ve got to get back. One of the residents called in sick, and I need to cover until eleven tonight.”

  I walked up to him. “All right.”

  “See you later, John,” Jean Marc called from the table. “Thanks for everything.”

  John took my hand and dragged me from the kitchen. We made our way down the hallway to the living room.

  “He will be gone when I come back tonight, right?” John demanded.

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  When we reached the front door, he let go of my hand. “We need to talk about this Manchac business, Nora. I think it is time we straighten out a few things between us.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead.

  But before he could pull away, I put my hands about his face and pulled him back to me.

  “What are you doing, Nora?”

  “Just kiss me, John.”

  He pressed his lips against mine, and in an instant he was done. Putting his fingers to his swollen lip, he headed out the front door and down the walkway to his pristine automobile, waiting by the curb.

  “I bet if I was a fine German road machine, I’d get a better kiss than that,” I mumbled as I watched him climb into his car.

  When I stepped back into the kitchen, I found Jean Marc still sitting at the table, picking at his food.

  I leaned against the kitchen doorway and pointed to his plate. “I thought you were hungry?”

  “I am, but you’re a lousy cook, Nora.” He laughed as he stood from the table and brought his plate to the sink.

  I frowned at him. “Thanks a lot.”

  “He really likes your cooking?”

  I nonchalantly shrugged. “He’s never complained about it.”

  “He has a key to your place?” Jean Marc probed without looking up from the sink.

  “Yes.”

  “He stays here at night?”

  “I’m not a nun, Jean Marc,” I defended from the doorway.

  He turned to me. “You’re not in love with him, either.” He snapped his fingers together in the air. “No spark, Nora.”

  I took a step into the kitchen. “So what? He’s dependable, practical, and he’s a doctor, for Pete’s sake.”

  “He’s also an arrogant ass who is definitely wrong for you.”

  “And who is right for me, Jean Marc. You?”

  Jean Marc came across the room and halted before me. “Admit it, Nora; I’m the one with the spark,” he whispered next to my cheek.

  The warmth of his breath against my skin sent a chill down to my toes.

  “Just remember that,” he added, and then he walked down the hall toward my guest bedroom. I jumped when I heard the bedroom door slam.

  I grabbed the doorframe and tried to steady myself against the onslaught of emotions bombarding my mind. When my head finally cleared, I glimpsed the mess of dishes in my kitchen. While heading to the sink, it struck me that the disarray in my kitchen mirrored the chaos beginning to envelop my life. Unfortunately, a little warm water and
soap was not going to put my life back in order. I would need a deep cleanser to purge my growing feelings for Jean Marc from my heart, but I was not sure if I wanted to be rid of those emotions just yet. Perhaps I needed some time to discover if he was the man for me, and to get away from John, my mother, and the burdens of my life in the city. I recalled Jean Marc’s comment about my volunteering to go to Manchac to care for Henri, and as I considered the idea, a speck of sunlight from my kitchen window made the diamond on my left hand shine.

  “Oh, crap,” I murmured as I peered down at my engagement ring. “John is going to be so pissed.”

  Chapter 17

  “You can’t go to Manchac!” John roared four days later as he stood in my bedroom. “You call me out of the blue and tell me you’re going to Manchac for two weeks. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I walked out of the ER and came right home to talk to you about this.”

  “You didn’t have to leave work,” I calmly assured him as I packed some underwear in my suitcase.

  “What did you expect me to do? You can’t go running off to Manchac just because the Gaspards need your help.” He began pacing back and forth in my bedroom. “Nora, I thought we already discussed this, and you promised you would talk to me before you made up your mind about going.”

  “I don’t have much of a choice. Jean Marc called and told me Henri is going to be discharged tomorrow morning. The hospital has only arranged for a physical therapist to check on Henri three days a week. The rest of the time the Gaspards would be left to care for Henri without assistance. Someone needs to be there to help out day and night. Ms. Marie and Uncle Jack aren’t exactly young, and they may not be able to handle Henri.”

  He stopped pacing. “What about Jean Marc? He can care for his brother.”

  “He has to run Gaspard Fisheries.” I took in John’s angry countenance and sighed. “John, I owe him. He bailed my uncle out of trouble; he gave him a job at the house when he could no longer work as a shrimper. I can’t say no.”

  “We still have to get married in September,” John insisted as he sat on my bed. “I will not postpone the wedding because of Henri Gaspard. Do you understand, Nora?”

  I smiled weakly for him. “We won’t postpone, John. It’s only for two weeks. After that Jean Marc’s cousin Ethel can help out. She’ll be back from her cruise by then.”

  “What about your job at the hospital?”

  I picked up a T-shirt by my suitcase and began folding it. “I told them I had a family emergency and needed to take two weeks of vacation time.”

  “What about your mother?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  I turned back to my suitcase. “I’ll call her from Manchac.”

  John shook his head. “All right, Nora. I can’t stop you, but do me one favor. Be careful. I don’t like what I have heard from the police about Henri, and I don’t want you near that Jean Marc character.”

  “Why, because he got in a lucky punch?”

  “No.” He paused for a moment and lowered his head. “The way he looks at you. It’s like he owns you or something. I don’t like it.”

  I raised his head with my hand. “No one owns me, John. No one ever will.”

  He removed my hand from beneath his chin and inspected the engagement ring on my finger.

  “When you’re my wife, will you still feel the same way?”

  I took my hand from his. “Marriage is not about ownership, John. When I give myself to you as a wife, it’s as a partner and not a piece of property.”

  “Of course, Nora.” He leaned back on my bed and glared at me. “But when you get back from Manchac, you are to be completely mine. I will not share you with anyone. And I will never allow you to leave me, ever again.”

  The acid inside my stomach began to churn.

  He stood from the bed. “I have to get back to the hospital.”

  As his prized BMW pulled away from the curb, I began to dread the moment when I would have to return from Manchac to my life with John. To come back to the chaos of our wedding and to the life he had planned for us. For the first time, I began to wonder why I was marrying a man who made me feel so anxious. Then, I thought of Jean Marc and the possibility of seeing him everyday for two weeks. Instantly, the unsettling sensation within me receded.

  After I shut my front door, I rested my forehead against the cool wood. “Steve was right. You’re in trouble, Nora Theresa Kehoe. Big trouble.”

  * * *

  The following morning I was heading down the interstate with the rising sun shining through the numerous bald cypress trees in the swamps surrounding me. The water glistened with the early morning light while elegant white cranes and blue herons, perched along the expressway railings, searched for their morning meal in the water below. The air was warm and filled with all the promise of another ruthless summer day in the swamp, but I did not care. Feeling in tune with the hum of the life around me, it was as if I belonged among the cypress stumps and stagnant water. The world was alive with possibilities as I sped toward Manchac, eager to leave my cares behind me.

  I pulled into the driveway of Gaspard House and heard the howl of the two old Catahoula hounds as they ran up and greeted my car. I climbed out of my little Honda and stretched my back. Napoleon and Nelson were all over me, eager for a friendly pat on the head. Once they were appeased, they happily trotted away. I took in the Spanish moss-laden oaks and smelled the rich scent of magnolia in the air. Everything appeared so much greener in the swamps, a sort of living green a painter could never hope to recreate on canvas. I felt the tension inside me disintegrate as I wrapped my arms about my body.

  “You made it,” a man’s smooth voice called out.

  Then I noticed Jean Marc standing a few feet away from me.

  “I didn’t see you there,” I admitted with a nervous smile.

  He moved closer to me. “I was just heading to the house when I saw your car pull up.”

  I searched the long driveway for another car, but did not see one. “Where did you come from?”

  “My house.” Jean Marc pointed to a narrow path in the brush. “The old caretaker’s cottage we used to play in when we were kids. I fixed it up after I moved back from Texas. I live there now.”

  “Why don’t you live in the main house?”

  He shrugged as he looked down at his brown loafers. “A lot of reasons, the main one being Henri. He and I could never stand to be together under the same roof, so I moved into the cottage when I came home. Been there ever since.”

  “I didn’t realize Henri stayed here that much. He gave me the impression New Orleans was his home.” I walked to the back of my car and opened the trunk.

  “It was, but now he’ll be here for a while. Mother called me at the cottage. She said Henri arrived about twenty minutes ago,” he added as he came up beside me. He grabbed my suitcase from the trunk.

  “I can carry my own suitcase, Jean Marc,” I insisted.

  “I’ve got it. I’ll take it into the house for you.”

  I shut the trunk. “Thanks.”

  “Save your thanks until after you’ve spent a few days with my brother, Nora. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  I sighed as I remembered Henri seizing in my arms. “I don’t think Henri is going to give me any problems, Jean Marc. He’s never going to be quite the man he once was.”

  “Don’t let his docile behavior fool you. A dangerous tiger still lurks inside him. It always will. It would take more than a near death experience to change Henri.” He directed his gaze toward the house. “I owe you one, Nora. You don’t know how much this means to my family…and to me. It will be nice having you around.”

  A zing of excitement quickened my heart. “I’m happy I could help.”

  He smirked at me. “Are you?”

  I smiled back at him. “Yes, Jean Marc. I am.”

  * * *

  After greeting Uncle Jack and Ms. Marie, I immediately went to check on my patient. I entered Henri’s makeshift
bedroom in the small parlor and found a frail man sitting on a hospital bed. His round, dark eyes were almost hollow as they stared out the window next to him. His cheekbones protruded from under his sickly, yellow skin, emphasizing his gaunt appearance. He was wearing a blue knit short-sleeved shirt that revealed numerous bruises up and down both of his forearms. His baggy khaki pants only enhanced his sudden weight loss, and he seemed to be but a shadow of the man I had seen in Lou’s store just a few weeks earlier.

  “Henri?” I walked up to his bed. “Henri, it’s Nora Kehoe.”

  A thin smile eased its way across his pale lips, but he never said a word.

  “Why don’t we get you out of those clothes and into some pajamas?” I suggested.

  I went to the chest of drawers beside the bed and began searching for his pajamas. Most of the furniture had been removed from the room, and except for the bed, chest of drawers, nightstand, and a pale blue high back chair, the only things left from the original décor were the assorted paintings of boats hanging on the pale blue walls.

  “Why?” a weak voice asked from the bed behind me.

  I turned from the chest of drawers and faced Henri.

  “Why you…here?” Henri went on, struggling with the words.

  I sat down next to him on the bed and patted his left hand. “I’m here to help you. You’re not completely well yet, and I thought I would come by and help you until you get better.”

  “You…can’t help…me.”

  “Henri, you will get better. You cannot give up. You have to work at this. I’ve seen patients do amazing things after going through what you’ve been through. You’ll recover, just be patient.”

  His eyes curiously explored my face. “You were…there. You saw. I re…member.”

  “I thought you told the doctors you couldn’t remember, Henri?”

  He kept his black eyes on me. “Silly…Nora. I’m sm…smart.” He nodded slowly to the parlor doors. “They…know about…me? The…family?”

  “Yes, your mother and Jean Marc know. The police know as well, Henri.”

  He grinned, looking thoroughly amused. “My…brother must…be…pi….” With a grunt of frustration, he punched his left hand into his left thigh. “Pi…pissed about every…thing.”