by Sandra Hill
“Rachel, honey, I’m going into town. Beau’s driving me,” Granny said. Rachel was sitting at the rug loom on the front porch, performing some rudimentary exercises which her grandmother had taught her. With her clumsy fingers, it would probably be no more than a potholder. “Is there anything you want me to pick up?”
She glanced up to see her grandmother more dressed up than usual. She wore a long black skirt and matching belted tunic blouse, both edged with fine, multi-colored embroidery. On her feet were black sneakers that matched her outfit. Her gray hair was pulled back into a sort of bun at her neck. And there was no tobacco bulge in her cheeks. Geesh, she almost looked like a real grandmother.
“No, I’m fine. This rug is going nowhere for me, though. Guess I’ll go inside and copy some more recipes. I’m going to try jambalaya tonight.” Rachel had been copying the Fortier family recipes from an old journal which had been passed down in the family to Granny. Some of Granny’s— or her predecessor’s—comments in the journal were politically incorrect to say the least. For example, Rachel had learned that every Cajun dish started with a roux, the best roux being made with lard and cooked to just the right color. In the journal, it stated that the roux should be “brown as an Indian’s butt.” Rachel had been experimenting with the actual cooking, too, mostly with good results.
Granny nodded, but hesitated, even though Beau was already waiting for her in his rusted-out sedan. “Honey, I don’t want you heartaching any more over that Remy LeDeux. You’ll get over him in time. I’m gonna make sure of that today.”
Rachel turned around on her stool to get a better look at her grandmother. “What do you mean?”
“I’m gonna sell the skunk those ten acres of land he craves so much. Got a meetin’ at his shyster brother’s office in an hour to sign the papers. Doan you be worryin’ none, though, I don’t need that bit of swamp anyhows. I still got forty acres left.”
“Why? I don’t understand. How would selling him your land make me get over him?”
“Well, you see, honey, I agreed to sell him the land on one condition. That he would never see you again.”
Can my heart break any more? Oh, my God! “And he agreed?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“When? When did he agree to this?”
” ’Bout two weeks ago, before you went away on that emergency, but we kept havin’ to postpone the settlement.”
Rachel’s head suddenly drained of blood, and tremors shook her body. She had to hold onto the porch rail to prevent herself from falling. Remy made this agreement before we went to the cabin. He made love to me there, knowing he was going to sign this agreement when we came back. When will I ever learn not to trust a man?
“Now, honey, dontcha be upset. Mebbe I shouldn’t have tol’ you this, but I thought you had a right to know.”
“No, Granny, you were right.” About everything, including the skunk.
Well, this had to be the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. The corpse had been dead for weeks, she just hadn’t been willing to admit the fact. The casket was sealed and the whole mess buried, once and for all.
That’s what Rachel told herself.
You’ve got some nerve, buster
Remy had a plan.
Beware of men with plans.
“Shut up, Jude. This is going to work.” Please, God, let it work.
God is busy right now with a celestial choir recital. . . or was it an Angels Against Wild Flyers meeting? In any case, He sent me in His place.
“I’m doomed.”
Ha, ha, ha.
“Your sarcasm is not welcome. A litte encouragement would be helpful, though.”
Go get her, big boy!
“Is that the best you can do?”
I’m praying, I’m praying.
Good ol’ Gizelle and Mullet Man Beau were back in Luc’s Houma office getting the news that Remy had changed his mind about the land deal. Remy figured he had one hour tops to get Rachel alone and plead his case before those two came galloping back here to her rescue. He hoped he and Rachel would be riding off into the sunset by then, or at least to his houseboat.
He knocked lightly on Gizelle’s screen door which was open to the combined kitchen/living room area. Rachel stood at the sink, peeling vegetables or something. Good heavens! Could that be okra she was about to cook? She hated okra.
Rachel turned her head, and her mouth dropped open. With shock at his nerve, or consternation at his nerve, or amazement at his good looks, he wasn’t sure. But before she could say a word, he stepped inside.
“Rachel.. . honey?”
“Get lost.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’d say you lost that golden opportunity about two weeks ago, give or take a day or two.” She continued to peel the okra, ignoring his presence behind her, on the other side of the table.
“Your ex-fiancé was here. I wanted to give you a chance to make up with him, if that’s what you wanted.”
“Bull!” She was peeling the okra down to a nub. Next she would be peeling her forefinger.
Stepping up beside her, he took the paring knife and okra out of her hands and set them in the sink. “Look at me, please.”
“Remy, there’s nothing more to say.” She did look at him then, but there was such hurt and anger in her eyes. “By the way, why aren’t you in Houma signing the legal documents to get your precious land?”
He sucked in his breath. So, she knows. I hoped to tell her myself. “I’m not signing the papers.”
“Oh? Sudden burst of guilt?”
She is not going to make this easy. “I don’t think I ever intended to sign them, not if it meant agreeing to never see you again.”
“Well, too bad for you, because I’m leaving, and we’re not seeing each other again. So, you might as well get the land. If you hurry, you might still get there before Granny leaves.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want her land. Not even if I can’t have you. It would always represent something to me that was, well, less than honorable.”
“First of all, there is no longer any question of ’if I can’t have you.’ You can’t. Second, I’m sick to death of your honorable decisions because, frankly, I’m always the butt of that stupid male ethic of yours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He bristled at the implied insult.
“It means that you couldn’t tell me you were involved with the DEA because you were ethically bound to secrecy. It means that no one in the bloody world can know that you have a sperm shortage because, God forbid, it would be less than honorable to be unable to clone yourself. It means that you thought it was honorable to step aside for David, without giving me a choice in the matter. Those are just a few examples. Given the time, I could probably come up with a dozen more. Bottom line: your male pride is monumental, and you’re too blind to see that it’s affecting your whole sad life.”
Well, when you look at it like that. . . “I love you, Rachel.”
“Well, as a not-so-wise man—you—once said, ’Too bad love is not enough.’”
“I can change.”
“Bluebirds can polka.”
“Are you saying I can’t change?”
“I’m saying it’s not in you. For example, would you mind if I discussed our problems with Tante Lulu—including your sterility?”
“Oh, no!”
“See, you are not ready to change.”
“Do I have to take flying leaps all at once? How about a few baby steps at first?”
“Remy, baby steps aren’t going to do it at this point.”
“Speaking of babies,” he said, and gulped a few times over the sudden lump in his throat, “I would be willing to adopt babies . . . or big kids . . . if that’s what you wanted.”
That got her attention. She turned around and leaned back against the sink, arms folded over her chest. “You’d be a father to freaks?”
“Rachel! You know I didn’t mean that.”
“You mean, come in a bottle and have them insert it in you?” He cringed at the prospect, but bravely offered, “Yeah, I probably would.”
“I’d like to see that,” she said with a laugh.
“You’d like to see me come in a bottle? Hey, whatever yanks your chain, baby.”
“You are a piece of work, LeDeux.” She was more serious now. Apparently, humor wasn’t working.
“Give me a chance to make it up to you, Rachel?” He reached for her, but she backed up and moved to the other side of the table. Was it a good or bad sign that she needed that much space between them?
“Remy, I am extremely fragile right now, and I can’t take much more. I realize now that I was a walking glass heart when I arrived here. I never should have gotten involved with another man so soon. It was crazy.”
“Crazy isn’t always a bad thing, chère.”
She shook her head sadly at him. “I’ve been hurt a lot the last few months . . . mostly by you. I don’t even know for sure if I want to have children. I just don’t trust you anymore. I never did, actually. It’s over. It really is.”
“No! I won’t accept that.”
“You’ll have to. I’m leaving on Monday.”
This was Tuesday. That meant he had only six days at most to win her back. Could he do it? With a little help, maybe. Oh, no! Was he really going to . . . ask his family for help?
She walked up to him and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Goodbye, Remy.”
No way was he going to accept that. He yanked her back, gave her a real kiss on the lips, one which left her breathless and gaping at him. Glass hearts be damned! Then, he flashed her the slow, lazy grin that she loved/hated.
“See you later, sugar. Best you batten down the drawbridge, m’lady, because this knight is getting ready for battle.”
Chapter 21
A family affair
“Tante Lulu, sit down for a minute. There’s something I need to discuss with you.” It was the day after his meeting with Rachel, and Remy hadn’t made much progress so far.
His aunt looked up from the pot of jambalaya she was stirring on the stove. Seeing the serious expression on his face, she immediately set aside her wooden spoon and sat down at the table with him.
Outside, Luc and Tee-John were setting up tables for the picnic supper. Charmaine was spreading out tablecloths. Sylvie was chasing the three little ones down by the stream. René, who was home for the week, was sprawled out on a self-supporting hammock, sunning himself.
“I can’t have children,” he told her without any preamble. Somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, he’d convinced himself that he needed to bring his secret out in the open, with his family at least. It was liberating, really.
“So?”
“So? What do you mean ’so’?” Remy was shocked that his aunt wasn’t shocked.
“I already knew that.”
“Huh?”
“I cornered your doctor way back after your tenth operation—or was it the eleventh?—and asked him if those burns near your privates were gonna keep you from having babies.”
“Tante Lulu! You’ve known for more than ten years and never said anything?”
She shrugged. “What was there to say?” She patted his hand gently. “Thass not the worst thing in the world, honey. Marry a nice Cajun girl what has chillen. Or adopt some little ones. Or doan have none at all. Yer alive. You gots all yer limbs. Yer healthy. Praise the Lord!”
He sighed deeply.
“Okay, why are you so unhappy, boy? Betcha it involves that Yankee gal. Oh, well! Tell me all of it.”
He did. He told her. All of it, including his many mistakes with Rachel.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk! Never thought I raised such a dumb one. Well, there’s nothing to do but get her back.”
Don’t I wish! “But how?”
“We’ll all put our heads together.”
“No, no, no! Don’t blow this up into a huge family affair.”
“Sweetie, it’s already a family affair. What happens to one of us happens to all of us.”
Sometimes his aunt cut right to the heart of the matter. Family. Even so, he didn’t need his family fighting on his behalf. “I don’t think—”
“Shhhh. Don’t you be worryin’ anymore. Help me carry this pot outside. Food’s ready. We gots to fill our stomachs. Never make plans on an empty belly, thass what I allus say.”
Plans? Ooooh, boy!
After the meal was over and they all sat about the tables outside, and the kids were inside taking a nap, and they’d discussed in way too much detail Remy’s pitiful actions with regard to Rachel, Charmaine stood up and said, “I have an idea.”
They all looked at her suspiciously. Charmaine’s ideas usually ranged from outrageous to bizarre.
“Have you all seen the movie, An Officer and a Gentleman?”
Everyone nodded hesitantly, except Tante Lulu who asked, “Is that the one with that Richard Gere fellow? They even showed his bare tushie in that movie. Whoo-boy, he was hot!”
“Tante Lulu!” Tee-John said, as if shocked, though he grinned.
“What’s your point, Charmaine?”
“You still have your Air Force dress uniform, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Remy answered slowly.
“Oh, Charmaine! I know where you’re going with this,” Sylvie said. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“How about explaining it to us dumb menfolks,” Luc grumbled.
“Well, remember that final scene where Richard Gere comes to the factory for Debra Winger. He’s wearing his Air Force uniform, and—”
“That was a Navy uniform,” Remy pointed out.
Charmaine waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Navy, Air Force, what’s the difference. Women go apeshit over men in uniforms.” Charmaine always did have a way with words.
Luc and Tee-John and René smirked at him.
Like there’s any way in this world I’m pulling that uniform out of moth balls. Forget about it!
“Anyhow, Richard Gere is walking through this factory to go get his gal, and that song, ’Up Where We Belong’ is blasting in the background . . . you know, ’Love lifts us up where we belong . . . ’ lyrics. Well, he scoops her up in his arms and carries her out while everyone is chanting, ’Way to go, Paula.’ What do you think?”
“You have got to be kidding,” Remy said, his mouth agape.
“Hmmmm,” Tante Lulu said.
“It has possibilities,” Sylvie said.
“I can’t wait to see this. Can I be one of the chanters?” Tee-John said.
“Apeshit, huh, Charmaine? Maybe I should buy me a uniform,” Luc said, winking at his wife.
“You’re plenty sexy enough without a uniform,” Sylvie told Luc.
“Good answer,” Luc responded with a quick kiss to his wife’s lips.
“I think you’re all nuts,” René said.
“Thank God, someone here agrees with me.” Remy slapped his arm around René’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Nope, what we need here is a revival of The Cajun Men. Remember that time, Luc, when we did a Cajun version of The Village People so that you could win Sylvie back? We called ourselves The Village People of Southern Louisiana.”
“I remember,” Luc said with a groan.
“I remember, too,” Sylvie said wistfully.
“No!” Remy said forcefully.
No one even looked at him.
“Can I be in the act?” Tee-John asked. “I wanna be the carpenter guy. The one that wears a tool belt.” He waggled his eyebrows as lasciviously as a fourteen-year-old kid could pull off.
“No!” Remy repeated.
“Maybe I could wear my accordion and nothing else,” René said. He glanced over at Tante Lulu, then added, “Maybe not.”
“Do I get to do a striptease in my lawyer suit again?” Luc inquired, with another sly wink at his wife. “Sylvie loves it when I do a striptease for her!”
Sylvie jabbed him in the ribs, but she blushed prettily.
Man, oh, man, I have a wacko family. Then he remembered to say “No!” again. He thought of something that might change their minds. “You do know that The Village People were gay, don’t you?”
That gave his three brothers pause. But only for a second.
Luc beamed at him. “We’ll be the non-gay Village People.”
“Sylvie and I could be the mistresses of ceremony,” Charmaine interjected. “I still have my slinky minidress from that last time. Did you save yours, Sylvie?”
It appeared that Sylvie did, which seemed to surprise Luc.
“Best of all, Remy will come out wearing his Air Force uniform,” Charmaine announced in a ta-da manner.
Everyone clapped. The dumb twerps, all of them, including Tante Lulu.
“No!” Remy shouted. Even that didn’t stop them.
“Where would we have this event?” René asked.
“Swampy’s would be too obvious, and their stage isn’t big enough.”
“I know,” Tante Lulu said. “Our Lady of the Bayou Church is having a picnic this Sunday. You could do it there as part of the entertainment.”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” Luc declared. “We are way too risqué for them.”
Risqué? I am not being risqué. Not even for Rachel. Well, in private I might, but not in public.
“I know, I know.” Charmaine jumped up and down with glee, which was something to see with her in a braless T-shirt which proclaimed, HAIR I AM. Her hip-hugging jeans defied gravity. “The Dixie Women’s Club is having a bachelor and bachelorette auction on Saturday. I’m sure they would welcome us as additional entertainment.”
“Sounds good,” René said.