by Hill Sandra
When Justin got to the blanket, he set Adèle on the sand, and the two of them shook their bodies like wet dogs, spraying her with cold droplets.
She laughed. The cold spray was welcome in this ninety-degree heat.
“Is anybody hungry?” she asked as the two of them toweled themselves dry before dropping down to the blanket.
“Ahm so hon-gry Ah could eat an alligator,” Justin said, giving a gator-like roar.
Adèle giggled and looked up adoringly at Justin, her new best pal. “Ahm so hon-gry Ah could eat a skunk,” she added.
“Eew!” Louise remarked as she opened the metal ice chest she’d brought with them and began to lay out a picnic feast of fried chicken, buttered biscuits, potato salad, wedges of watermelon, and sweet tea.
An hour later, all the remaining food had been put away, and Adèle was sitting in the sand, hard at work with bucket and shovel, while Justin leaned back on the pillow he’d made of several rolled towels, an open Advanced Physiology book propped on his chest.
“I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said. “Anyone want to join me?”
Neither Justin nor Adèle were budging. So, Louise took off on her own, which was fine. She preferred this alone time to think, even pray, and what a place to meditate! Just as Louise loved her bayou home and its surroundings, she also had a fondness for Grand Isle, where she and her family had spent many summer days as they were growing up. While Louise and her much older brother Frank played in the waves, and their mother sunned herself on the white sandy beach, her father, a shrimp fisherman, went off on a busman’s holiday, fishing off the famous four-hundred-foot pier that led out onto the Gulf of Mexico, for the more than two hundred species of fish that reportedly abounded there. They always returned home with their metal ice chest filled with fish, fileted on the spot, to be enjoyed over the next few days. Red and black drum, flounder, sac-au-lait, lots of specks, or speckled trout, and a dozen other types, depending on the season or the time of day caught. Once her father had caught a twenty-pound Big Bull Red, so large it wouldn’t fit in the ice chest. They’d eaten fish “five ways to Sunday,” in her mother’s words, over the summer months, even after sharing half with a neighbor who’d been laid off from his factory job.
In a way, Grand Isle was symbolic of the Cajun inhabitants of southern Louisiana. Survivors. The barrier island had been hit repeatedly by destructive hurricanes over the centuries, including the one made most famous by Kate Chopin’s scandalous book, “The Awakening,” and it always came back. Just like the Cajuns, or Acadians, who had been kicked out of several countries and forced to live in the supposedly uninhabitable swamps of Louisiana, where they not only survived but developed their own foods, music, and culture which quickly matched their Creole competitors. In fact, just like Louise herself, who’d suffered through her Big Grief over the loss of Phillipe, the birth of an illegitimate child, the death of her father, brother, and mother, poverty, and the struggles with running her own business.
But now what? That’s what Louise wanted to ponder as she strolled the beach. Until Justin brought up his plans for the future, Louise would feel uncomfortable making plans of her own. But it was hard not to be hopeful. He’d told her last night that they would discuss Dr. Clovis’s offer later. But so far, nothing.
What was Justin waiting for anyhow?
While she walked and enjoyed the scenery, she was apparently the scenery for some people on the beach…men, in particular. She had to wonder if it was her recently adopted Cajun Sass that was apparent, in attitude more than anything else. It couldn’t be her bathing suit. It was no more revealing than any other one on the beach. And it couldn’t be her body, either, which was fine, but nothing overtly sexual, in her opinion. But maybe a combination of all three. Who could figure out the male mind?
A thought occurred to her suddenly. Can men sniff out a woman who is sexually active? Do they have a built-in radar for easy girls? Lordy, Lordy, do I give off a certain slut scent?
The first one who approached her looked about sixteen, freckles and all. “Hey, darlin’, don’t I know you from somewhere?” His voice cracked in the middle of his sentence.
She smiled and continued walking. He fast-walked to keep up with her, which wasn’t difficult with her being so much shorter.
“Seriously?” she said. “Don’t you need to go do your homework or something?”
“I don’t have homework in the summer,” he replied before he realized what he’d admitted.
Louise didn’t want to embarrass the kid but she also didn’t want him tagging along. “Listen, sweetie, you’re cute and all that, but my husband’s a dock worker, and he gets real jealous. Broke the jaw of the last guy who winked at me.”
“Wi-wink?” he stuttered.
Then, there was the guy leaning against a sign announcing the hours that the beach was open to the public. A lot older than her first Lothario. Maybe thirty-five, or even forty. Arms folded over an impressive chest, ankles crossed, he wore dark sunglasses, which he slid halfway down his nose to give her a better scrutiny. He was the epitome of Cajun rascal; she could tell that even before he opened his mouth and drawled, “Chère, you look good enough to eat. Lak a Christmas candy cane. Lak sweet beignets at Café du Monde.”
She laughed. “Does that line work for you, cher?”
He laughed back at her and shrugged, “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no.”
“Well, this time it’s a ‘no’. Good luck, mon ami.”
He gave her a smart salute and no doubt watched her behind as she turned and walked back the way she’d come. She gave her hips a little extra wiggle just because she was feeling sassy.
She heard her next “pursuer” before he spoke.
“Hey, baby,” pant, pant, “where you been,” pant, pant, “all my life?” pant, pant, pant, pant.
She stopped walking, fearing the short, fat, sixty-if-he-was-a-day gentleman tracking her would have a heart attack on the beach. That’s when she got a look-see at the old guy’s attire. One of those stretchy men’s bathing suits that barely covered their you-know-what or the crack in the back. His belly hung halfway over what pretty much looked like a sling for a banana. And he had enough gray hair on his chest and arms to knit a sweater.
Is this what I’m coming to? she wondered.
Then she answered her sassy Cajun self, Heck, no!
“Sit down, Pops, and rest on your ‘laurels’,” she advised and continued on her way, chuckling.
When she got back to her blanket, she found Justin fast asleep on his back, the book still open on his chest, probably at the same page. And Adèle was asleep as well, her face on Justin’s shoulder, her little pink ruffled bottom in the air, his hand resting on her mop of still-damp curly hair. They could have been father and daughter. In fact, for a brief second, it almost looked like Phillipe lying there.
Is it possible that Phillipe sent Justin to me? That he wants me to find another love? That he chose a father for his child?
Whaaat? Forget Cajun Sass. I’m going Cajun Crazy.
Bless my heart!
* * *
And then the other shoe dropped…
Justin was not being fair with his silence. Not to Louise, not to his parents, and not to Doctor Clovis, all of whom had an interest in his future plans. But, dammit, he was waiting to hear about something important. It was a longshot that would probably never pay off, but, man, it could be so life-altering that he had to give it a chance.
In the meantime, he was studying almost full-time for his medical boards which he would take in ten more days. He’d already tied up the loose ends of his residency at the hospital and only had a few more shifts to handle before he was done.
It was almost two weeks since the wedding and his day at Grand Isle, but he’d only been able to get back to Houma a few times for in-and-out visits…literally, in Louise’s case. With his parents, it was usually a quick dinner before he was off. His brother and his bride would return soon from their extended hone
ymoon to Europe, which was already recovering from the war. It had been a wedding gift from the Fortiers.
In mid-afternoon, there was a knock on the door of the Creole cottage he shared with his roommate, Barry Chauvin, a fellow resident at the hospital from LSU. He heard the knock from his small bedroom upstairs, but didn’t bother to go down since he knew Barry was at home, studying for his own exams. Within minutes, Barry called out from the stairway, “Yo, Boudreaux! You got company.”
To his shock, it was his mother. All dressed up in her Sunday clothes—on a weekday—a pretty floral, belted dress with low-heeled white pumps. Minus the usual white butcher’s apron that she wore in the store. Her gray-streaked brown hair was done up in the neat Victory Roll hairstyle made popular during the war; she must have come here directly from the beauty parlor.
After giving her a warm hug, he said, “Mama, what you doin’ here? Doan tell me you were just passin’ by. I have your car here. Is Daddy with you?”
“No, no. Jist me. Drove Leon’s car. Did a little shoppin’ at Holmes Department Store, then decided to come visit you. Cain’t a mother visit her oldest son without askin’?”
There had to be more than that.
“Are you sick? Is Daddy sick?”
She shook her head as he settled her onto the upholstered davenport in the small living room while he sat beside her.
“Would you like something to drink? Sweet tea? Lemonade? There’s probably coffee, too. I’ve been drinking so much coffee while I study that I’m ’bout to turn into a coffee bean.”
“You work so hard.” She patted him on the knee. “No, nothin’ to drink.” She stared around the room then and remarked, “You know the history of these Creole cottages, dontcha?” He nodded, but still she went on to explain, “Back before the Big War,” (to Southerners, the Big War referred not to World War I or II but to the Civil War), “the white plantation owners would go to the Quadroon Balls where they would pick out mixed race young women to be their placèes, or common-law wives. All legal and accepted. They bought them houses, jist like this one, and signed contracts to raise their children and provide for them for life, or until they got tired of them. Tsk, tsk, tsk! A horrible practice, plaçage was! Use ’em and lose ’em, as you young folks say today. Those poor women!”
Justin frowned. He had no idea what this visit was really about.
“I’m worried about Louise…and that niece of hers.”
Whaaat? That was the last thing he’d expected. “Why?”
His mother raised her eyebrows at him. “Men! Yer brains are different from women’s, thass fer sure.”
That was true, to some extent, but not in the way his mother probably meant. Justin decided not to give her an anatomy lesson. “What does that have to do with Louise or Adèle?”
Instead of answering his question, his mother veered off in another direction. “Such a sweet chile, that Adèle. I allus wondered why she didn’t live with her mother, Patti Rivard, or why her mother never came to visit, even if she did give her baby up. Some women jist ain’t motherly, I guess.” His mother shrugged.
“I didn’t know Adèle’s mother was around.”
“Oh, she’s not. Lives in Mexico, I think. Has ever since she jilted her husband Frank while he was in a prison camp during the war and ran off with some soldier who went AWOL. That was before Frank died. Such a scandal it was at the time.”
“Mama! Where do you hear all these things?”
“The ladies of the Altar and Rosary Society. We meet fer lunch every first Friday of the month after low mass.”
Ah! The bayou grapevine. Gossip central.
“Patti’s second cousin, Simone Sonnier, who lives in Biloxi, has a great-aunt who lives in Houma.”
“And that great-aunt belongs to the Altar and Rosary Society,” Justin guessed.
“Oh, no! That great-aunt’s third cousin is the one I know. Beulah Ann Sonnier. Remember her? She has a hairy wart on her chin the size of a cherry. You kids allus thought she was a witch.”
Justin rolled his eyes at the convoluted relationships on the bayou which were perfectly understandable to Cajuns, but no one else.
“Mebbe you could meet up with Beulah Ann, kind of accidental, and mention that you, bein’ a doctor and all, could cut that big ol’ wart off, lickety-split.”
He looked at his mother with horror. “First of all, how in the world do you imagine that I could just run into Beulah Ann Sonnier?”
“At church?”
He ignored that suggestion and went on, “Secondly, I am not quite a doctor yet. And third, you don’t just cut off a wart that size. We’re talking anesthetic and stitches, and—”
His mother waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll be a doctor in a couple weeks. Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?” She beamed at him.
“Mama! Can you stop changing the subject? You started by saying you’re worried about Louise.”
She nodded and gave him a look of disapproval.
So much for her motherly pride.
“I’m afraid you’re going to hurt Louise.”
“How?’
“Justin, it’s obvious to me, if it’s not to everyone else, that you do not want to come back to the bayou.”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
“Is it Dr. Clovis that’s put you off? I know he’s a lot to handle.”
He shook his head. “I like Dr. Clovis, despite all his warts.”
She didn’t even smile at his joke.
“It’s family medicine that I’m not sure about,” he explained.
She tilted her head to the side.
“I’m thinking about specializing.”
“In what?”
He shrugged, as if uncertain, although he was more than certain.
“Oh, good Lord! That would mean more schooling, wouldn’t it?”
He nodded. “Possibly three more years.” At the expression of worry on her face, he patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do it unless I got a scholarship. I wouldn’t ask you and Dad for more help.”
“It’s not that. We’re happy to help when we can.”
“And you’ve done plenty. Anyhow, Mama, nothing is decided.”
“Does Louise know about all this?”
“Hmm. Not exactly.”
His mother blew out an exhale of disgust. “See, Louise is going to be hurt. Do you love her?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“And does she love you?”
I think so. “Yes.”
“Does she think you’re going to settle here in Loo-zee-anna?”
“She probably hopes…as you have.”
“Well, consider how disappointed I am and multiply that by a hundred for Louise.”
“Stop worrying, Mama. Nothing is settled yet,” he told her when she finally left after gaining a promise from him to return on Sunday for a Welcome Home dinner for his brother Leon and Lily Rose. He wasn’t looking forward to the event, which would probably involve a slide show of all the sites they’d visited in Europe, but he’d do it to please his mother.
Later that day, there was another knock on the door.
Who could it be now?
Since his roommate was out now, he took the stairs two at a time, and opened the door to find a mailman standing on the porch, holding a special delivery. Justin signed for the oversized envelope.
“Hope it’s good news,” the man said.
“Me, too,” Justin replied.
Once back inside, he stared at the envelope for a long moment. It was addressed to Dr. Justin Boudreaux. A bit premature, that, but who was he to complain? The return address was a hospital in Chicago, as he’d expected.
At first, he was afraid to open the envelope. As long as it remained closed, he still had hope. But wait, why was he being so negative? He tore the envelope open and quickly scanned the contents.
Slowly, a smile emerged on his face, and he let out a whoop of happiness. His future was sealed! Sol
id gold!
Now, to convince Louise that she should share in his future.
Chapter 9
Stormy weather…
Louise was making Adèle’s favorite Cajun spaghetti and meatballs, a mix of andouille sausage with ground beef, and a dash of tabasco in the sauce, when she heard a car crunch over the clamshells in the driveway. Looking out the window, she saw Justin emerge from his mother’s DeSoto. She hadn’t expected him today. And what was it with the huge bouquet of flowers he was carrying in one hand and a bottle of what looked like champagne in the other?
What does it mean?
Oh. He must have accepted Dr. Clovis’s offer and he’s come to celebrate with me.
She smiled and did a little dance in place.
“Tante Lulu! It’s Jus-tin,” Adèle yelled from the porch where she’d been playing with her Mr. Potato Head.
By the time Louise turned down the heat on her sauce and got to the door, Justin was standing there with a big grin on his face and Adèle’s little arms wrapped around his thighs. Despite the two or more days of whiskers on his face, and his wrinkled shorts and T-shirt, he looked hotter than a movie star. Like that James Dean, but better. Rebel with a cause.
He handed her the bouquet and the bottle and leaned down to give her a kiss…a kiss that lasted a little longer than it should have, considering the bundle still hanging on his leg.
“Adèle, sweetheart, let Justin go. Give him a chance to catch his breath.”
“Okay,” Adèle said, scuffling her shoe on the porch floor.
“Hey, Short Stuff, here’s a little present for you, too.” He handed her a book that apparently had sound effects. As Adèle flicked through the pages, Louise heard a cow moo, and a cat meow. “Let me talk to your aunt for a few minutes, and then we can read the book together. Or else I can help you with Mr. Potato Head. I make a swell Sweet Potato Head.”