by Sylvie Kaye
In the cheery kitchen, red valances billowed at the window while red apple prints scattered the papered walls. Jilly took a seat at the pine table while Ann whipped up hot, frothy drinks.
"Wow, it's as sleek as the red and chrome classic Mustang convertible I saw parked at the mall earlier,” Jilly said over the whirring.
As the shiny machine spat out cappuccino, the aroma of coffee and cinnamon filled the small kitchen along with a choking sound coming from the corner.
"Hello, Waldo,” Jilly cooed to the coughing parrot, sitting on its perch.
"Hello, Hello,” Waldo squawked. “That's all I ever hear."
"Ignore him. He's in a bad mood.” Ann placed two steaming cups on the table. “A slice of peach crisp,” she tempted. “I baked in case you showed up."
"Yes, please.” Jilly sipped at the foam on her cup while Ann served up two desserts.
"We never have enough of a chance to chat at work.” Ann sat across from her.
"I know, and I've been meaning to ask you something about your mother. Was her name Greta?"
"Yes, why do you ask?” Ann picked at the dessert.
"There was an incident at the church bake sale with my aunts and Matilda Mouey, who I gathered had too much to drink. She accused Aunt Adele of stealing her boyfriend over thirty years ago and of taking her best friend Greta's man as well. I remember you saying your mother and my aunt were best friends."
Ann put down her fork. “Greta was my mother and, yes, both of our mothers dated my father. But trust me, Gordon wasn't worth stealing. The women remained fast friends after my mother married him, straight up until the day she died."
"Gordon's a rat. Gordon's a rat.” Waldo ruffled his feathers and cocked his head.
"Have some respect for the dead, Waldo, and mind your manners. There are ladies present."
"Ladies of the evening!” He puffed out his chest.
"Waldo,” Ann threatened, waving her fork at him. He paced his perch, laughing and then finally hushed up, probably to eavesdrop on the conversation.
"The women from the church had a silly spat over baked goods,” Jilly continued. “Matilda got vicious and said some unsettling things about my aunts."
"Matilda rants when she's sober let alone when she's not. I wouldn't put much store into any of her drivel."
Jilly nodded and forked up a peach.
"Forget about the past,” Ann said. “Let's talk about the future. Yours. Tell me everything about Zack and don't leave a word out."
"Zack called Eric, and he wants to take me away on a private swampfest for the entire weekend, aunts permitting. I gather it's a bayou version of dinner-for-two and dancing."
"Sucking crawfish heads while stomping to a Cajun beat.” Ann chuckled and tasted her coffee.
"The bad news is he's not as fired up with the idea of dating in secret as we are.” Jilly shrugged, feeling this might be his farewell excursion with her.
"His invitation sounds like he is."
"He told Eric he isn't."
"I'd take that as a splendid sign, not wanting long-term clandestine meetings. I'd say he likes you a lot.” Ann winked over the rim of her cup.
"I like him a lot."
"Oh?” Ann's ears perked.
"I said like. I like you, too, but that doesn't warrant an oh."
"You're not intimate with me.” The lines around Ann's eyes crinkled.
"Next question.” Jilly went back to eating her dessert. She'd given out enough details of her love life for one night.
"What are you going to do about the weekend?"
"I can't leave my aunts alone overnight. I wouldn't enjoy myself for worry so I'll settle for a day trip."
"I can help you out there. It's about time I visited. I'd even sleep over if need be.” Ann tucked a stray strand back into her bun.
It stayed. Jilly took that as a good sign for the weekend and swallowed her mouthful of cobbler. “I couldn't impose upon you like that,” she said, still willing to let Ann off the hook.
"It's no imposition. I have nothing better to do. I'm taking a break before I start my next quilt."
"I really appreciate this, Ann."
"Appreciate this.” Waldo puffed out his chest again and strutted across his perch like a randy rooster.
"Sometimes I think I should've left him at the pet shelter.” Ann shook her head.
Jilly chuckled. “Reminds me of one of my macho uncles."
"Uncle Philbert. I remember him.” Ann laughed. “It's been too long since I've seen your family. Your aunts and I will have a long chat, and then I'll take them to the Quilt Cottage while I look for material. Cafe Luna is right across the street. Sandwiches on European bread, French pastries, latte or iced coffee. Your aunts will love the verandah."
"I warn you. They're a handful."
"Cafe Luna sells good-karma voodoo dolls."
"Maybe you should buy yours before you pick them up.” Jilly sipped the last of her coffee. “When are you going to show me the quilt you finished?"
"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. I haven't forgotten that shiny black box imprinted with purple lips."
Ann led Jilly into her cozy living room where the quilt was draped across the dark brown sofa for display.
"It's gorgeous,” Jilly said. “May I touch it?"
"Of course. I plan on using it, especially on nasty, rainy winter nights.” Ann stepped back and eyed the quilt with an artist's critical eye. “It's called Weeping Willows."
"The willows look dimensional.” Jilly ran her hand over the cotton fabrics. “So many tiny stitches. You have to have the patience of a preschool teacher for this kind of work.” Jilly turned and hugged her friend. “Ann, you're so talented."
"Thank you.” Ann hugged her back. “Now show me the new dress."
Jilly fetched the box from the foyer, opened it, and shook the fabric out. “I know I can trust you to give me an honest opinion. Shopping with those two guys can distort any woman's viewpoint.” She held the dress up against her shoulders. “What do you think? Too much, not enough?"
"The color is perfect for you, which I'm sure you know."
"What about the style? I've never bought anything so retro or trendy before."
"The slight flare of the hem will move to the beat of Cajun music quite nicely.” Ann nodded knowingly. “Let's see the back."
Jilly flashed Ann a peek at the low back of the dress.
"The carpenter doesn't stand a chance."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nineteen
"Jilly Boo, Eric's here.” Aunt Adele rapped on Jilly's bedroom door on Saturday morning before making her way down the hall toward the kitchen.
Jilly snapped her overnight bag shut and snatched a wide-brimmed straw hat from a peg on the wall. When she entered the parlor, Eric was sitting on the settee sipping lemonade at nine in the morning. “Our business conference is in Baton Rouge,” he told her aunts, keeping the details vague.
Their alleged conference. Jilly shook her head. Only Eric with his flirtatious charm and smile could pull off the high jinx.
Aunt Adele in her chambray cleaning apron gushed over his every word. As did Aunt Vinny, who'd chosen a drab, gray jog suit for shaking out dusty doilies. Aunt Gloria wore her usual navy skirt and white blouse, but colorful parrot ornaments adorned her hair and matched the bright-hued feather duster she used. In the background the stereo played Mozart.
Over breakfast, Jilly had begged, “Please let the cleaning wait until next week when I'm home to help."
Aunt Gloria declared, “Not with company coming this afternoon."
"My stove needs a wiping,” Aunt Adele insisted.
Aunt Vinny nodded. “What will Ann think?"
She'd think what she sometimes said...that Jilly's aunts were too set in their ways.
Aunt Adele looked up from refilling Eric's lemonade. “Oh Jilly, you look lovely."
"Blue becomes you,” Aunt Vinny said while Aunt Gloria nodded her agreement.
> Jilly smiled her thanks as Eric slugged back his drink and stood up.
That's when Aunt Gloria spoke up. “We were hoping to get in touch with Zachary. Vinnia's rocking chair has taken a turn for the worse and the wrought iron balcony needs support. Is there a phone number where he can be reached?"
Just what she needed, her aunts calling the hotel to find out that by some odd coincidence Zack was out of town for the weekend, too.
"Why don't I stop by the job site on my way to work Monday morning and take care of it.” Which wasn't really a lie. She could stop by the work site instead of discussing repairs with Zack during their weekend together. “In the meantime, please, don't go near the rocker or the balcony.” Jilly gave Aunt Vinny a stern but concerned look. “No shaking doilies over the rail and no watering the flowers either. Promise."
"I promise,” her aunt said.
Aunt Gloria chirped up. “I'll keep my eye on her."
"I gave my word so there's no need for you to follow me around. It's bad luck if you should happen to step on my shadow.” Aunt Vinny turned her back to her sister.
Poor Ann. Who knew what she was in for by the time she arrived later that day? Jilly hoped her aunts were spit-and- fired out by then.
"You have Eric's cell number.” Jilly checked her bag to make sure she had the phone he'd lent her for the weekend, then waved as Eric hustled her along.
"Have a nice time.” Aunt Adele hurried over to kiss Jilly on the cheek.
"Goodbye,” the dueling duo muttered.
Once in the BMW and on their way, Jilly let out a long sigh. Too bad she couldn't be open with her aunts, but they would've concocted a reason for her not to go.
"Where are you and Ken spending the weekend?” Eric had decided to leave the city, too, instead of hiding out from Hannah.
"To a bed and breakfast where someone else does the cooking.” Eric chuckled. “There's a great place in Natchitoches Parish. Safe for me and a break for Ken."
"Safe? Is he still threatening to poison you?” Jilly couldn't imagine why. Ken had both her and Eric boogying to his demands.
"Not at the moment. But he won't have any leverage for two full days.” Eric gave the horn an enthusiastic toot.
A half-mile later, they spotted the black Saab, Zack, Ken, and a pile of shiny aluminum luggage waiting under the apartment carport. The sight of Zack halted her heartbeat. He was handsome, tall, and wearing a pulse-stopping smile.
He strode over to the car, opened the door, and held out his large, callused hand. “Hi."
"Hi, yourself.” She took his hand, his palm warm and rough, which flashed potent reminders of what he was capable of doing and having her do. She smiled up at him, bracing for his time-plummeting touch. Today, she didn't care. She had all weekend.
Her world moved as if in slow motion as he helped her out of the silver BMW and into the Saab convertible. The top was up. She wouldn't need the wide-brimmed straw hat she clutched in her other hand.
Eric tossed her overnight bag onto the backseat. “I wish Ken could travel this light.” He nodded toward the pile of shiny suitcases glinting in the sunlight. “You two, be safe.” He winked, closed the door, and stood aside.
Zack didn't pull right out. He leaned toward Jilly, draping his arm across the back of her seat. He touched her hair every so slightly with his fingers. “You look gorgeous.” His voice was soft. His gray eyes softer yet.
All that softness flooded through her. But before she outright melted he put the car in gear and pulled away.
Jilly waved out the window to her two friends. “Behave, but have fun."
As she powered the window back up, Ken's fading shout followed the car down the driveway. “Can't do both."
As soon as they were out of town, Zack steered across the Mississippi River, heading toward the bayous, swamps, and marshes in the southern part of the state. “My client has a place on this side of the river. I've got a sample of the hotel's lighting fixtures in the trunk for his final approval."
"I remember him.” Jilly ran her hand over the sleek black dash. “He's the man with great taste in convertibles."
"Yes, and an old school crony of Big Al's. But that's not why he's getting my preferential treatment. I want everything perfect on this project. It's my last job."
"So the budding hotel magnate is a friend of your father's. That explains Big Al's constant concerns.” She smiled to show she understood and sympathized.
"My father is ironhanded on all of his sites. I'm only in charge as long as I do things his way, so he thinks. This time I'm doing it my way. It's a tricky wire to walk. My brother Stan refuses to try. That's why he's Big Al's gofer instead of running the show by taking on the Houston job."
"Either way sounds difficult.” Jilly reached over to pat his hand.
"It is. That's why I'm quitting. There are other things more important to me.” He clasped her hand. Time and her heart did a lurch. She hoped she wasn't included amongst those things. She didn't want to hurt him, but her life didn't have room for a permanent male, regardless how hot and handsome. “My aim's to craft furniture and hopefully make a living at it."
Her heart thumped, relieved to be left out of his plans.
"You have a knack for woodworking. I'm sure you'll succeed.” She shifted on her seat so that handholding wasn't such a stretch now that their future was clearer. “Stan shouldn't give up either. Change takes time. Right now, I'm not much more than a glorified babysitter at the preschool. But night course by night course, credit by credit, I'm going to become a certified public accountant."
"A successful one, too. I see the way you balance your responsibilities.” He squeezed her hand. “If you're interested in an upstart small business, I'll take you on."
Her body was heating up again, and from mere handholding. “It's a deal.” She slipped her hand from beneath his strong one, resting it on her lap.
It was just like Zack to offer her help. He was always understanding and caring. Henry at the preschool still talked about how he rescued him. Zack watched out for her aunts, too, even though they so obviously disliked him.
"What's on our agenda for the next two days?” she asked to escape wanting what she couldn't have. His plans didn't include her. Hers didn't include him. As it should be.
"Big Al's crony has a house on the bayou. We'll have the run of the place after he leaves for Houston when the crawdad boil is over. Whatever that is."
Crawdads are crawfish, or even more appetizingly known as mudbugs.” Jilly laughed at the skewered up look on his face. “They really are tasty."
"Mudbugs, huh? Wait until Bob hears this one.” He shook his head.
Shortly, Zack pulled into a private docking area where he parked the car. After transferring their luggage and the carton containing the light fixture onto the landing, the captain of the Bayou Belle called, “Welcome aboard."
Humidity closed in as soon as she left the comfort of the air-conditioned car for the swamp boat. Sun spilled across the seats despite the canopy so Jilly donned her straw hat. Zack put on sunglasses.
He looked good in the dark glasses. Mysterious, sexy, hot. As if she weren't warm enough already.
Before launching, the boat pilot with skin as weathered as an old baseball mitt greeted them. “I'm Max, your Captain and guide.” He gifted them with a welcome-aboard bottle of mosquito repellant. “A little lagniappe for your trip."
Jilly and Zack sprayed the ‘little something extra’ on their arms, legs, and necks, twice. Forget the sweet scent of magnolia she'd dabbed on at home. The pungent spray killed perfume as well as mosquitoes.
Once Captain Max had the boat underway and sliding through the cypress snags, he said in his Cajun accent, “Would you like to hear about the time I wrestled with an alligator's tail."
"Sure.” Zack sat on the bench seat next to Jilly, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head. Heat had dampened his shirt. His face was flushed, the gray in his eyes intense as he listened to Captain Max's ex
ploits.
In French patois, the captain regaled them with a tale about marshmallow-eating gators, finishing up with a shrill sound he used to attract the alligators. All three of them stared toward the crowded bank overhung with willow and tupelo branches for signs of teeth-bearing life.
"Over there.” Zack pointed to movement on the shore. When a grayish-brown shell of a toothless snapping turtle slipped into the glimmering, dark water, they laughed.
Zack liked the sound of her laughter. Her thoughtfulness toward others. He liked her too much. Hell, he might very well love her. He ached to become a part of her and her family. The downside being he had a dread feeling he was temporary to her.
As the boat glided along, the network of swamps, marshes, and bayous hummed with unseen life. Insects buzzed and fleeting, exotic birds rustled through the leaves of the trees.
"We're nearly there,” Captain Max said, “so I'll not start another rahdoht."
"Oh, no,” she said before translating for Zack. “A rahdoht is a boring, never-ending conversation."
"I could go another story,” Zack said with sincerity.
"Then I will tell you about my encounter on a dark, moonless night on the bayou.” Max's deep voice held an eerie ring to it.
Zack felt Jilly shiver next to him.
"A big spotlight I use for night fishing was plugged into my truck. As fog hugged the marshes, a sound like cracking branches and heavy footsteps echoed from the opposite bank. I shined the lamplight across the swamp, through the bushes and trees onto the other side."
"Who was there?” Zack asked when Max's pause stretched on.
"He goes by many names.” Max's voice lowered. “The swamp ape, wookie, the thing, Bigfoot."
"You actually saw Bigfoot?"
"He was at least seven feet tall and weighed about three-hundred-fifty pounds. Orange-brown hair covered his body. I tell you, padna, his smell clung to the swamp.” Max pinched his nose with his fingers. “Puer. He stunk worse than a thousand dead, rotting nutrias."
"Nutrias?” He looked from Max to Jilly.
"Swamp rats,” she said. “Beaver-sized rodents that eat away and destroy the marshes and levees."
"Public enemy number one, huh?” Zack asked.