Jewell (A Second Chance Novel Book 2)

by Tina DeSalvo

  “No. I bought these in New Orleans.”

  “I gotz me some pink ones with daisies on ’em. But I like da raccoons and cypress trees you got dere.”

  “Thank you,” Jewell said, then extended her hand. “I’m Jewell Duet, Miss Isaure. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  Izzy threw back her shoulders, stood as tall as her five-foot delicate frame allowed and narrowed her eyes as she looked up at Jewell who was at least eight inches taller. It was like green ice freezing her soul. “And here I waz startin’ to like you.” She shook her head. “Fer somebody with good fashion sense, you sure don’t know nuttin’.” She harrumphed. “Who told you to call me dat?” She snapped. “Someone who don’t value dey’z ears.”

  “Don’t you talk to ma sucrée that way. I thought you were a nice lady. That’s why I gave you my prettiest ring,” Mignon snapped, her voice firm. “She might not know nothing about some things, but she knows a lot about other things. She’s smart. She’s a doctor.”

  “A doctor?” Izzy seemed to give that some thought a moment. “Well, I guess I can forgive you dis one time. Last time I went to da doctor was when I was malade in 1999; he used my given name, too. Dat is, until I set him to straights. He’s never made dat mistake again and I’m betting you won’t either.” She nodded again. Then smiled. “You da new doctor dat took our Dr. Camille’s place while she’s on her month-long vay-cay-tion?”

  “She’s not a medical doctor, Tante Izzy. She’s a professor. A Ph.D. doctor of Louisiana history,” Beau said.

  “A good one, too.” Mignon added. Then sat in her chair. She eased back and lifted her feet back onto the footstool.

  Tante Izzy looked at Jewell a minute. She was studying her, but it didn’t make her uncomfortable or uneasy. She was looking at her as she had seen Mimi looking at someone she wanted to get to know better, only Izzy’s eyes were sharp and clear. “Nobody tole me you was here. Why didn’t you call me on my cell phone, Beau? Oh, dat reminds me. My phone is broken again. But it did work earlier dis morning, so youz could’ve called me before.”

  “She just arrived yesterday. Where’s your phone?” She reached into her sweat suit pants pocket and handed it to Beau. He leaned against the wall behind him and looked at the phone and smiled. He tapped on the screen twice and handed it back to her. Jewell noticed he still held his head lamp in his hand. “Fixed, darlin’.”

  “How’d youz do dat?” Tante Izzy looked at the phone.

  “You had it in airplane mode.” He smiled. There was a kind, amused expression on his face.

  “Again?” She harrumphed and Jewell remembered with longing of the many times she had to reset or reboot Mimi’s phone because of the countless things Mimi had done to mess it up. Now, she was incapable of using one unless she had a lot of prompting. A lot. “I don’t knowz why it keeps doin’ dat. Hmm. Don’t looks like you called about da Doctor,” she said, looking at the screen.

  “I thought she’d be gone by now,” he said.

  Jewell looked at him. “Not until I’ve finished my job.”

  “Boots is determined to clean the barn and sell off all that old junk upstairs.”

  “It’s what I was hired to do. It’s my job, and you know it.”

  “You sell old stuff?”

  “Nobody does it better,” Mimi said.

  “Actually, I’m an…”

  “I like to hire da best,” Izzy said, now speaking directly to Mimi. “How much does she charge?”

  “She’s not cheap. Not like Suzette Simoneaux.”

  “God rest her soul,” Izzy and Mimi said at the same time.

  “Hmm.” Izzy mumbled, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. “I ain’t cheap either.”

  “Tante Izzy,” Jewell said, deciding it was best she took control of this conversation. “You should know that I have a specialized expertise in…”

  “I haz an oil well on my land. And I just had a run of good luck at da casino. I won blackout bingo two times.”

  “Two times?” Mimi clapped her hands. “That is lucky.”

  “I’ll take her.” Izzy extended her hand to Mimi and the two elderly women shook. “I need a good fall cleaning in my houz. And if’n I can make a few dollars on sellin’ my old stuff, I can go back to da casino and play blackout again.”

  “You can sign the contract after my nap,” Mimi said, enjoying herself.

  “Wait, you should know that…” Jewell began, but Izzy spoke right over her as if she didn’t know she was speaking. She probably didn’t since she was so focused on Mimi.

  “I prefer to do business after my nap, too. Does she do windows?” Tante Izzy asked.

  “Nope, but apparently I do,” Beau said, laughing.

  Jewell turned to Beau. “What in the world just happened?”

  “I think you got a job with another Bienvenu family member,” he said, his voice deep, his expression suddenly strained. “But don’t spend your paycheck, yet, Boots.”

  “Dat is a pretty footstool,” Izzy said to Mignon. “Do you do needlepoint?”

  “Not lately. I just darn socks, hem pants, repair seams.” She pointed to the sewing basket next to her with a few items of clothes and socks. “Ma sucrée is always ripping a seam or tearing a hem. She’s a little rough on clothes.” Jewell noted that there were only three threaded needles left in the pincushion in the side pocket. “My momma did this needlework on the footstool. Isn’t it manifique?”

  Izzy nodded. “My momma was good at needlepoint, too. She loved to embroider flowers on pillows and cushions. I’z good at hand sewing, too. You know, I’m vice-president of da Cane Ladies Quilting Club. I was president, but it was interferin’ wit my nap too much.”

  Beau moved from the wall and walked to stand next to Tante Izzy. “Have you ever seen this footstool before, Tante Izzy?”

  “No. But da flowers sure look like my momma’s.” She nodded and moved closer to the footstool. “I has a framed piece in my dinin' room that my momma did. It looks a lot like dis, but wit bright spring colors.”

  She looked at Mimi, and Jewell thought by the wide expression in her cloudy green eyes that maybe she would tell her grand-mère something that was revealing about the footstool. Something that might help clarify why Mimi thought her mother had embroidered it, or dispel the belief that her mother had.

  “You know,” Izzy began, looking at the footstool again. “Dis is sure a pretty footstool but I likes spring and summer colors best.”

  “Goes with your hair better,” Mimi offered easily.

  “You like my hair color?” She smiled and patted the tight short permed blue-gray hair with her narrow palm. “Margie put in a new Fanci-Full rinse for the casino trip.”

  “It’s a pretty, cool silver color. I bet you’d look good with one of those new colors the young girls are using. I told Jewell she should put some purple or pink in her hair.”

  “I’d like pink in my hair, me.” Izzy said. “I heard you can use fruit punch to gets a pretty color, too.”

  “I like fruit punch,” Mimi said smiling. “Don’t we have fruit punch in the camper, Jewell?”

  “Uh…Beau?” Jewell turned to face him and mouthed the word, Help.

  “If she doesn’t, Mignon, I’m sure Elli has some,” Beau said with a smile.

  Jewell turned to fully face him. “You don’t know what fire you are stoking here.”

  A horn blew from outside the barn. It sounded deep and heavy, as if it belonged to a big truck. “That must be Steve with the bucket truck,” Beau said to Jewell as he walked away.

  “Oh, good, I need some branches trimmed at my house,” Tante Izzy said, walking toward the door.

  “I thought he was coming after lunch,” Jewell said, following them. “I need to get lunch for Mimi. Do you think he would mind waiting while I fix her a sandwich?”

  “I think he’s here early to mooch a lunch,” Beau said.

  “I’m hungry, too,” Tante Izzy said, just before she walked outside to talk to Steve.
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  “And, Mignon, you may be in luck,” Beau said, mischief in his voice. “Steve might have one of those big five-gallon containers strapped to the back bumper of the bucket-truck filled with a fruit punch sports drink. Isn’t that what is put in most of those five-gallon containers for their heat-exhausted workers?”

  “Do you think the sports drink works as good as fruit punch?” Mimi asked.

  “No,” Jewell nearly shouted. “No.” she repeated, controlling her tone. “Mimi, if you want color in your hair, I’ll bring you to the salon you’ve gone to for the last forty years. Please, don’t dip your head in a vat of fruit punch.”

  Nothing had happened as she’d expected or planned since coming to Cane and Sugar Mill Plantation, Jewell thought as she spread mayonnaise on slices of wheat bread for the seven sandwiches she was making for five people. It started with the awful estate sale at the Simoneauxs’ and continued now to playing chef and hostess to this impromptu lunch. If she was to complete her job to Elli’s needs and satisfaction and still carve a little time to search for the possibly nonexistent Twinnie, she had to get to work in the barn.

  Jewell looked out the window as she reached for sliced ham. In the shade of a couple of mature crepe myrtles, Mignon and Izzy were seated in lawn chairs pointing up to Beau in the lift bucket cleaning the barn window. She couldn’t hear them, but she knew they were directing him to the task, which he’d jumped right into without being asked.

  Such a nice gesture.

  Or was it? Did he have an ulterior motive? She felt small and petty thinking that, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t trust her and didn’t want her around. Yet, here he was cleaning the upper barn windows for her. She supposed he probably reasoned if she was going to stay until the job’s completion, providing more light to do her job would speed things up.

  She hated to admit it, but the handsome man in the bucket cleaning the barn window was proving to be a big help. He not only was getting more light into the barn for her to work effectively, but his strength had come in handy when moving furniture around. He might be a paper-pushing lawyer, but his cut muscles straining against the high-performance exercise shirt and sweat pants indicated that he pushed and lifted heavier weight around. The man was fit, lean and in every way…gorgeous. Ugh, tall, dark, handsome, successful and smart. On top of that he smelled good, too. He was just the kind of man that her momma warned her about…warned her to not let go of.

  “If he’s all that…has an expensive car and a great job, marry him. Do whatever it takes to get him, Jewell.”

  Yeah, Beau was exactly the kind of man her momma wanted for her daughter and especially for herself. Jewell shook her head. Not her type. The best man for her rode a bicycle to work, or took public transportation. He spent hours with his nose in books researching an obscure fact that no one had ever heard of nor ever would care about. He’d wear duct tape on his glasses because he didn’t want to take the time away from his research to spend in the mall getting his glasses fixed. He would be excruciatingly boring and nothing like the man her mother told her to go after. Like the men her mother had chosen for herself even when her mother was a rebellious sixteen-year-old. Jewell sighed, her hand paused over the unfinished sandwich she was assembling.

  God help her, but the man she’d been searching for was the man she created to be the antithesis of her mother’s desires. What if the truth was that she actually wanted what her mother wanted? Jewell shook her head.

  No. Impossible.

  Another car pulled up, a red Cadillac, and a petite, squarely-built woman in her forties with fluffy red hair got out. Jewell was grateful for the distraction. The woman wore burnt orange Capri pants with shamrock green polka dots all over them. Her button-down blouse was the same color as the polka dots and her four-inch high heel mule shoes were tan leather. Her movements were large and energetic as she rushed up to Izzy and Mimi. Mimi was frowning and her eyes were a bit bewildered. She knew her grand-mère well enough to know that a new face could confuse her and cause her anxiety. When it belonged to someone who was hyper, it was a given. When Mimi was anxious, she often became defensive and offensive. Jewell rushed to finish the sandwiches, placed them on a platter she’d already arranged with bags of chips and grapes, grabbed a handful of napkins and hurried outside.

  Steve waved to her as she rushed past. He stood at the back of the truck, near the rear controls and a five-gallon container with God only knew what inside of it. “It’ll cost you, is all I’m saying,” she heard Mimi tell the redhead. “Supply and demand.”

  “I gots her first,” Izzy said with a nod. “She ain’t cheap. You cain’t afford her. You don’t have an oil well on you property.”

  “Hello, ladies.” Jewell pasted a smile on her face. The redhead swung around, a huge smile on her face.

  “A garden lunch, how nice,” she said, her Cajun accent smooth, her voice friendly. “Let me help you with that.” She grabbed the platter from Jewell’s hand without her affirmation and placed it on Mimi’s TV tray, which was set between the elderly women. “Hi, I’m cousin Ruby. Ruby Bienvenu. I love your shrimp boots.”

  Jewell laughed. “Nice to meet you.” Jewell shook her hand. Never had her rain boots been referred to as shrimp boots before coming to Cane. She shouldn’t be surprised, she supposed, considering the number of shrimpers who lived in the community.

  Jewell handed Mimi a napkin, then gave one to Izzy. She told them to help themselves to the sandwiches.

  “Please, help yourself to a sandwich, Ruby.” She handed her a napkin. “There’s plenty.”

  “Why, thank you.” She smiled and reached for a sandwich. “You know shrimp boots were the talk of Cane a while back. My husband’s second cousin twice removed who lives down the bayou has a shrimp shed. He told me that when Forrest Gump was filmed, the props and wardrobe people sent out a call to collect as many used shrimp boots as they could get their hands on. They wanted them for Tom Hanks to wear in the movie. For every pair they received, they replaced it with a brand new pair.” She laughed and waved her hand with the sandwich in it. “The dirtier and rattier it was the better. Shrimpers were coming out of the woodwork bringing in their old seafood-smelling, disgusting boots to the shrimp sheds down the bayou. Most had tucked notes inside for the star, too.”

  “Jewell’s boots are not smelly and disgusting,” Mimi snapped. Her lower lip jutted out in a frown. “She keeps them clean.”

  Ruby looked at Jewell, her eyes wide. “I wasn’t insinuating she had dirty boots, Miss Mignon.” She waved the sandwich again as she spoke. “In fact, I like her boots. A lot.”

  “Are you going to eat that sandwich or wave it around like a rag swatting flies?” Yep, Mimi was definitely anxious. Her comment wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been but her tone certainly was impolite.

  “She doesn’t usually play with her food,” Izzy offered. “She cleans her plate nice and good.”

  Ruby rolled her eyes. Looked at her sandwich like she thought about not eating it, then she took a bite. Jewell liked her. She was a cliché. She looked exactly as she would have expected a woman named Ruby to look. She was straightforward. Uncomplicated. Nothing confusing there. Not like Mr. Wonderful in the bucket washing the barn window. She glanced up. He was giving the window a final wipe, his arm stretched high over his head. The muscles in his back bunched with each movement. Muscle and sinew. When he finished, Steve started lowering Beau in the bucket.

  “You know, you don’t look like Mila Kunis at all. You have the same coloring and sensual aura but, I would never mistake you for her.” Ruby said. “Of course, I am a bit of an expert on the subject of celebrities. I subscribe to People Magazine.” She nodded, like that explained it all.

  “I gets dem when she’s done,” Izzy added. “Da pages are nearly worn t’in, too.”

  “You do have a familiar face, though,” Ruby said staring at her. “I can’t put my finger on it. My blood sugar must be low. I had a light breakfast.” She took a second sandwich.
“Are you going to eat with us, Jewell, or are you an organic like Elli?”

  “I eat healthy and I eat organic food whenever possible, but I’m a New Orleans gal. I mostly just enjoy eating good food.”

  “Did I hear someone say food and eat?” Steve asked as he and Beau walked up. He reached for a sandwich. “If I had known there was going to be a party, I would’ve brought my wooden paddle and cast iron pot to make a jambalaya.”

  “Dat would’ve been good,” Tante Izzy nodded. “Better yet, we can tailgate under da oak for da LSU game. Dey’s is playin’ in dat special out of town game on T’ursday. Bring you radio.”

  “We like Tulane. Never cared much for LSU,” Mimi announced, leaving Steve staring at her with his bottom jaw hanging open. “Sorry. I know it doesn’t seem right to be a Louisiana voting citizen and feel that way but there you go.”

  “Tulane is a Louisiana college at least,” Tante Izzy said, jumping to their defense. “Better dan dat fancy Texian Yale law school Beau went to.”

  “You went to college in Texas? Wait, she said, Yale. That’s in New Haven, Connecticut,” Jewell said, offering the tray of sandwiches to Beau. He took two.

  “Tex-i-an, sucrée, not Texan,” Izzy corrected, using Mimi’s pet name. Hearing someone say it other than Mimi tickled Jewell and she laughed softly.

  “A Texian is anyone who isn’t from here. A stranger. An outsider,” Beau explained. “It was an expression that started when the Texans first came into South Louisiana to begin working the oil fields. Pretty much the only outsiders back then were from Texas or so it seemed to the locals.”

  “And Oklahoma, too,” Jewell added. “I guess anyone who wore cowboy boots and spoke with a western drawl sounded Texan to the locals.”

  “Elli used to be a Texian before she married Ben,” Tante Izzy clarified. “She’z from Hollywood. You two is from New Orleans, and that ain’t Texian. Y‘all is city girls.”