“Bettina told me she called to tell you, but you said you weren’t going to back down on an obligation that was rightfully yours. That you insisted on seeing it through to the end—I have to say I was impressed.”
I felt myself being carried off in a tidal wave of blushing that was no longer from embarrassment. Instead, its source was fury and I realized I was flushing and not blushing. Bettina hadn’t called me. We had never even exchanged numbers. It had never seemed appropriate to suggest it. This was an outright lie on her part, and it was at my expense.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on you since then and you were true to your word. Thanks again, son. You can get your things together and take off. Your obligation has been fulfilled.”
I must have said “thank you, sir” or “thank you, Mr. Diaz” again before he walked me to the back where he opened the sliding door, so I could get to the orchard by crossing the pool area and the lawn. I must have said that, but I don’t remember anything. Except I remember my heart pounding in my ears. I remember feeling totally betrayed and bewildered. I remember my legs carrying me along the now familiar path toward Bettina, legs that moved by rote but didn’t feel a part of me.
And I remember the expression on Bettina’s face. She knew, of course she knew. That’s why she’d been quiet all day. That’s why she’d asked me how I could be certain she wasn’t really The Beast. And now I wasn’t sure I could answer that question.
“What . . . ” My lips moved, struggling for words to summarize and neutralize the betrayal and anger and confusion I was feeling at that moment. But the words didn’t come easy. My emotions were outpacing any rational thoughts, if there were any left by that point. “What were you thinking?”
“Beau . . . ” she said, before words failed her too.
“Do you think my life is a game? Do you think I’m a toy? Why weren’t you just honest with me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said pitifully. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Lose me? You can’t lose something you don’t own.”
“I know, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “Please just let me explain.”
I noticed she was still wearing her work gloves and she really did have a dirt smudge on her face. But it wouldn’t have been funny to point that out to her. Not anymore.
“This ranch has always been my safe place,” she said. “It’s always saved me. But when I met you, I knew I didn’t need the Ranch like I did before. I didn’t need to hide, because a person could be a safe place too. I was in a safe place when I was with you.”
“I’m sorry, Bettina . . . I can take almost anything except lying. I can’t take lying. If you’d just been honest with me I might have stayed . . . I would have stayed. But it would’ve been my decision, not yours. You understand?”
And when she didn’t say anything, I knew she did understand. And I knew she’d understand what I was going to do next.
I walked to the gate and picked up my cooler. Then I opened the gate one final time before latching it behind me. We hadn’t finished building the snake fence. But we’d come so close.
Thirty-Nine
By Monday, Masie was back in my life again. She and Ethan had split up over the weekend and this time she really believed what Krissy and I once told her about being too good for Ethan. Only I wasn’t so sure I believed it anymore—Ethan had never wronged me in any way, nor anyone else I knew for that matter. And yet, it was nice to have the distraction of Masie’s company at a time when I couldn’t clear the gloomy cobwebs from my brain. With the wedding only a week away, all the better. Maman had invited Masie, and Masie hadn’t forgotten.
“Mr. LeFrancois, I could paint that cast for you to dress it up a little for the wedding.”
“Wha?” Papa was horrified. “No, I don’ tink so.”
Papa wasn’t one to have anything to do with fanciful things like painting casts. But in the end, Masie worked her magic and convinced him to let her do it. She did a pretty realistic depiction of making it look like a black pant leg with a fancy black shoe at the end. Even Papa thought it looked cool and the twins were spellbound watching Masie do her thing.
“Masie is Beau’s girlfriend,” I heard Claude whisper in a way too loud voice.
“No, she’s not,” said the ever-perceptive Del. “They don’t make googly eyes at each other.”
I know Masie heard because she kind of smirked. But at that point, I didn’t care if she heard or not because Del was right. It wasn’t true, and it never would be.
Friday night, Masie had a bunch of us sitting around the table making flowers from colored construction paper because we couldn’t afford the real thing. We had three kinds of paper flowers: Masie’s, which looked pretty good, although nothing like real flowers; mine, which looked something like tomatoes someone threw against the wall; and the twins’ flowers, which looked like . . . well, not really like anything at all, but you could tell they’d once been construction paper.
At the same time I was making paper flowers, I was helping Maman out in the kitchen slicing vegetable sticks, keeping an eye on the pulled pork in the slow cooker, and stirring the jambalaya that Maman made under Papa’s strict instructions and suspicious eye.
“No tomatoes,” he’d holler out from time to time. Not that we had access to most of the other genuine ingredients his family cooked with back in Louisiana. The most important thing for him is that we didn’t sneak in any tomatoes.
“Otherwise, it’s Creole jambalaya,” Maman whispered to Masie.
“And what’s the difference?” Masie whispered back.
“I heard ’dat!” Papa hollered. “Big difference.”
And then came the history lesson of the Acadians from what’s now called Nova Scotia in Canada and how they got their butts kicked in the French and Indian War and basically had to get out of town, so they moved to Louisiana. Les Acadians—that’s French for the Acadians—Cajun . . . get it? Anyway, the most important thing to remember, according to Papa, was “no tomatoes in the food.”
While all this was going on we heard a car drive up and I went to the door to see who it was. Angie was out with friends and Jason was home sleeping off his bachelor party, so I wasn’t sure who was behind the wheel of the minivan. Leaving the rest of the family to monitor the cooking and paper-flower creations, I walked outside just as a woman was getting out of the van.
“By any chance are you Beau?” she asked.
“Yep, that’s me.”
By then Maman had joined me and I could hear Papa calling out, “Who is it? Who’s d’ere?”
“It’s a van, Mr. LeFrancois,” came Masie’s soothing reply.
“I’m Diane Gooch,” the lady said. “Ray’s wife, from the Diaz Ranch.”
I froze for a second and the look on Maman’s face was one of extreme concern.
“Is everything alright?” she asked, probably waiting for some of that LeFrancois bad luck to rain down on us the night before Angie’s wedding.
“I’m making a delivery,” she said. “To Beau.”
I could see two young girls through the windows of the van and they looked pretty excited. One of them was struggling to open the door from the inside. Diane turned around and beeped open the sliding side panel door with her remote key.
The girls hopped out of the car, their arms filled with bouquets of flowers—splashes of brilliant colors that exuded clouds of luscious scents that took me back to the days in the orchard. Diane leaned into the van and started hauling out more and more. Maman’s arms were loaded and so were mine. And still there were more. By then Masie had come outside to help, and her eyes lit up like she’d been transported to the moon.
“These are amazing,” she said. “They’re sooo beautiful.”
“We can’t afford to pay,” Maman said, her face already crumpling a little at the thought of losing all this beauty if it should come to that.
“It’s a gift,” Diane said, “for Angie. Pick
ed and arranged by . . . at the Diaz Ranch.”
She looked at me meaningfully like she had something else to say but was holding back. Maybe it was Maman and Masie being there . . . Claude and Del too. There was no way I was going to send the flowers back and ruin everyone’s day. But there was no way I was going to pump Diane for any information either. If the flowers were from Bettina, which I knew they were, then she should’ve brought them herself in that big new truck of hers. She should have the courage to come apologize in person. Not to send some flunky to do her dirty work.
“Thank you,” I said, “for bringing them.”
Diane gave me what I thought was one overly long last look before she said her goodbyes, leaving us with a houseful of the most awesome flowers Angie could ever dream of.
I truly believed I recognized every last one of them.
FORTY
(Happily Ever After?)
Who can help but enjoy themselves at a wedding? Even I was having fun. Masie and Khalil were the only ones of my peers there. Papa invited Khalil the day he nursed us all back to health after getting us all sick in the first place.
The flowers were a huge hit and they transformed that otherwise gray and generic public facility into a real venue where magic could happen. Angie looked beautiful, but she always did. That day, though, she looked even more beautiful with a smile that wouldn’t quit. Even Jason looked okay in his rented tux. And he was actually pretty nice to me, even during the times there wasn’t anyone else around to witness it.
Papa conducted the ceremony from his wheelchair. It was a good one, which he fortunately toned down at the end by leaving out the unlucky part of the LeFrancois legacy. He only mentioned the good part about how we were lucky in love. And he made sure to remind Angie that one never puts tomatoes in the jambalaya—just in case she should forget after a lifetime of being reminded.
After that Papa danced with Masie, which consisted of a roll around the floor, with Masie more or less pushing his wheelchair. The most recent estimate from the doctor was another two weeks in the cast and then a whole lot of physical therapy. But slowly we were getting there.
Khalil danced with Masie more times than I could count. It was a good thing I wasn’t jealous, and I also had a few dances with her myself. But in spite of the food and the flowers and the music and dancing and general happiness of the occasion, I still had a nagging, lingering sadness that wouldn’t go away. Every once in a while, I had to push it down deep and then I was good to go again, for a while at least.
There wasn’t any alcohol at the event, it being a public facility, but I don’t think anyone missed it. We all felt drunk with happiness and with life by the time it started to get dark and the caretaker showed up to throw us all out. We pretty much had everything packed up and ready to cart out by then anyway.
Masie and Khalil and I were making trips back and forth to the truck, carrying all the stuff we brought that wasn’t being thrown away. The night had already turned cool but the room was hot from the sweating bodies and all the dancing and energy. It felt good to be outside. Khalil dumped a garbage bag full of whatnots into the back of the truck and then took his cellphone out of his pocket. The glow lit up his face, transforming it from a normal face to an omigod face as he stared at the screen.
“Whoa!” he said. “Beau, take a look at this.”
“What is it?” I asked, but I honestly wasn’t expecting to be amazed at anything Khalil had to share on his phone, unless the world had come to an end or something I didn’t know about while we’d been busy partying. I wanted to finish up and go home. I was beat. Angie and Jason were long gone, and Maman already had Papa in the back seat of her car. The twins had left earlier with friends who were having them for a sleepover to give the rest of us a break after the monumental task of putting together a wedding. I’d already made a note to self—elopement when it was my turn to get married.
Khalil looked up from his phone. “It’s Bett,” he said. “She’s blowing up on Instagram.”
That got my attention and got me over to Khalil’s side in about two seconds flat.
“I wanna see too.” Masie squeezed in between us.
I grabbed the phone from Khalil which is something I’d never normally do but patience and good manners were out of the picture just then. The look on my face must have kept Khalil from objecting.
I scrolled through the comments one by one.
Beast is bit, said the original post, an image of a big old rattlesnake’s fangs dripping with venom. My gut clenched at that awful nickname and the thought of what might have happened. Bettina was bitten. By a rattlesnake. She was in the hospital if Instagram could be believed, and I, for one, was going to believe it unless and until I heard something different. I scrolled on.
I honestly thought I was going to be sick. What kind of people were these? But I needed to know what happened to her, so I kept reading.
And then the further I scrolled, a funny thing started to happen. The tone of the comments was changing before my eyes. Good people were finally chiming in. Good people were speaking out.
And then . . .
I took a few screenshots, texted them to myself, and pushed the phone back into Khalil’s hands. “Let’s go. If there’s anything left here I’ll come back for it tomorrow.”
Masie and Khalil squeezed into the truck beside me without uttering a single word, but I could see Khalil bent over his phone catching up on what I’d just read.
It was only because the truck was so old that I didn’t speed on the way to drop off first Masie and then Khalil. Because my foot was saying go, go, go but the truck was saying shift first, shift second, shift third . . . groan.
Nobody said much, or maybe they did but I wasn’t hearing anything except the roar in my ears. At one point, Khalil mentioned a picture of the hospital someone posted along with the caption Get well, Bett.
When I dropped Masie off, she turned and took my face in both her hands, looking me right in the eye.
“This is so romantic, Beau. Like a fairy tale. Let me know how she’s doing, okay?”
It didn’t feel romantic. It just felt like I needed to be with Bettina.
I parked the truck at the hospital and ran to the information desk at the main entrance. The guy behind the counter warned me that visiting hours ended in ten minutes, so I’d have to hurry. He gave me Bettina’s room number and it seemed like forever before the elevator doors opened. I jogged down the hall, slowing to a fast-walk when I saw someone in scrubs coming toward me. When I got to her room, the door was open. I could hear Mr. Diaz and see the back of Nana’s gray head. And I heard Bettina’s voice loud and clear, which was a huge relief. I knocked. Once. Twice. And then stepped inside.
“Well, Beau,” Mr. Diaz said. “Good to see you, son.”
I glanced at Bettina and her normally dark complexion looked pale green under the fluorescent lights. Her eyes were wide and dark and silent—full of secrets.
“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Diaz said. “We’ll leave you two alone since visiting hours are almost over. I’ll see you tomorrow, Honey.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Come on, Mother.”
Nana Diaz was uncharacteristically quiet. She wasn’t doing any of that hopping around like she usually did—the finch movements. She went to the head of Bettina’s bed and smoothed her granddaughter’s hair a few times with fingers crooked from age.
“We’ll see you bright and early, Bettina dear,” she said and smile-grimaced. I thought I detected moisture on her sharply jutting cheekbones.
It seemed clear that neither Mr. Diaz nor Nana Diaz had any idea what had gone down between Bettina and me on my last day at the Ranch. Once they left, I walked to the door and pushed it as closed as I thought would be acceptable in a hospital setting. Bettina was in a double room, but fortunately the second bed was empty.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “How did you know?”
“Khalil.”
>
“How did he know?”
“He saw it on Instagram.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “My dad ran into the mom of a girl at my school. She’s a nurse here. So, word travels fast, I guess.”
“I guess.”
What was wrong with me? I usually had no trouble talking to people, especially Bettina. But I was tongue-tied, as they say. So many thoughts were racing around my head. Had I failed her by not finishing the snake fence? Stupid thought, I know, but it occurred to me. Had I just failed her in general? As a friend?
“What happened?” I asked. “The flowers . . . ”
“I wanted that for Angie,” Bettina said. “You told me she couldn’t afford flowers and I was thinking everyone should have flowers for their wedding and we have so many.”
“Did you cut them yourself?” I knew at that moment she had.
“I planned it all out in advance . . . the arrangements. Which ones I would pick. I waited until Friday, so they wouldn’t wilt, and I started right after I got home from school. I wanted them to be perfect for . . . Angie.”
“And then?”
“I had everything picked. All of them arranged in vases. I was going to pack them up and deliver them to your house because I had your address from the day of the accident. But I thought of one more thing I wanted to add to the bouquets. It’s this type of geranium that smells like peppermint. Do you remember it?”
I remembered the scent of peppermint from the first time I walked through the orchard. It came from a huge cluster of geraniums that seemed to spread like weeds. I’d passed it a hundred times and each time I did, I always breathed deeply.
“I had my headphones on, and when I reached down to take some cuttings, it felt like a hot knife sliced through my hand. It was a baby snake . . . maybe a teenager, I don’t know. Not too big though, maybe just a foot or two.”
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