Bayou Angel

by Sandra Hill

  “I’m hopin’ it can be done in a month. If they’re settled in proper and have a monthly income ta help out, we kin invite all the government do-gooders ta come see.”

  “I left some college brochures for Lena to look over. Maybe she’ll take us up on the offer to further her education. She might even be entitled to some grants, as well, if she gets her GED first.”

  Conditions were very cramped in her little cottage, but Grace didn’t mind too much. Except for all the reminders Lena posed about—well, things she would rather forget. Like, was her own seventeen-year-old daughter about to start college, or was she a late starter about to enter her senior year? Or was she struggling somewhere, in need of help? Was she pretty, like Lena? Tall? Thin or curvy? Smart? Did she have a boyfriend? Or was she married, God forbid?

  At one time, Grace had considered doing an Internet search, but Catholic guilt was a powerful thing. She really didn’t believe she deserved a reunion with her child, if that was even possible. Besides, she would need to start by talking with her parents, and that she was not prepared to do.

  Grace shook her head from side to side to rid herself of unwelcome thoughts, ones that got her nowhere.

  “What’sa matter?”

  “Nothing. Just bad memories.”

  Tante Lulu nodded. “I gets those, too, but no use dwellin’ over burnt roux. A body’s just gotta move on, and trust in God.”

  “And St. Jude,” Grace offered with a smile.

  “Guar-an-teed!”

  “Changing the subject, you know, it was the oddest thing. I could swear I saw Angel in the back of the tavern tonight.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  The way Tante Lulu said, “Hmmmm,” and her subsequent silence caused red flags to rise in Grace’s head. “It couldn’t have been him, could it?”

  The old lady yawned loudly, then murmured, “Mebbe it was.”

  Uh-oh! “Why would he be here?”

  “Mebbe someone invited him.”

  Those red flags were practically doing the hula now. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “Nuthin’.”

  Grace pulled over to the side of the road and stared at Tante Lulu.

  “What?”

  “Spill.”

  “Doan go havin’ a conniption. We needed someone ta come help us construct a house fer the Duvals real quick. Angel agreed ta supervise as long as the rest of the family, and some of them Starrs, do the hard labor.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “’Cause I asked. ’Cause he’s a good person. ’Cause he saw the need. Jeesh!”

  “Why wouldn’t he have let me know he was coming?” Grace was confused and hurt at the same time.

  “Why should he...after ya clipped his tail?”

  “We were friends for a long time before I—well, before that last night. Friends don’t just sever all ties.”

  “Sweetie, ya cain’t be friends when one of the parties is in love. It’s like tryin’ ta put the crawfish back in the shell once ya sucked it out.”

  “What about his wife? Did she come, too?”

  “What wife?”

  Grace groaned at Tante Lulu’s deliberate obtuseness. “You know very well what wife.”

  “Guess you’ll hafta ask him ’bout that.”

  “Where’s he staying?”

  “I dunno. Wait. I think I heard Remy offer ta let him stay in his houseboat. Ya gonna go talk ta him?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “No. I promised to take the kids to the beach. Grand Isle. Lena is still so weak. Being out in the sun might energize her a bit.”

  “Good idea. Give her more of that lemon-balm tea with St. John’s wort, too.”

  A companionable silence followed as Grace mused on Angel and how she still missed him...as a friend. She was going to give him a piece of her mind. Yes, she was. True friends were hard to find, and he had been unfair cutting her off the way he had. Besides that, she was curious about this woman he had married so quickly after leaving Louisiana.

  “Think I’ll start a hope chest fer Angel.”

  “Why would you do that if he’s already married?”

  “Ya never know what St. Jude has in the works, honey.”

  That’s what Grace was afraid of.

  The best-laid plans of mice and clueless men...

  Two days later, Angel was sitting at the built-in corner kitchen booth of his temporary abode—a houseboat, of all things—drinking a cup of coffee and studying rough drafts for the Duval house spread out on the table before him. The design was one of those standard plans that could be purchased, then modified to fit specific needs.

  He’d spent all day yesterday going over the site with several of the LeDeux men, Tante Lulu, and some woman from the foundation, Samantha Starr. Today he hoped to order supplies, then get started on demolishing the trailer and hauling away the debris. That ought to get rid of some of his excess energy. Cold showers weren’t doing the trick anymore, now that he was back within Grace’s radar. Actually, he was looking forward to this project. A hands-on, instant-gratification kind of thing, he supposed. Especially since he wasn’t getting gratification in any other way.

  And he couldn’t ask for better digs than this glorified houseboat. Once a rich man’s plaything, the fancy vessel had been permanently anchored on Bayou Black, down a ways in front of Remy’s home, several miles away from Tante Lulu and Grace’s cottages.

  Surprisingly large, it had a great room that combined a salon, galley kitchen, and office alcove. A skylight brightened the fine brass trim and the rich patina of old cypress wood paneling. Plush cushions sat on the window seats, and a red-field Persian rug covered the floor. The small bathroom sported a high-tech shower, the kind with water jets hitting you from every angle. Very sexy.

  Added to the boat’s attractions was the lapping of water outside, accompanied by birdsong and that particular floral scent he associated with the bayous. A guy could get used to swamp living.

  Just then, his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and smiled. Tante Lulu.

  “How’s my favorite adopted aunt?”

  “Grace is on her way.”

  “Here?”

  “Yep.”

  “What does she know?”

  “Nuthin’. ’Ceptin that I invited ya here ta build the first foundation house.”

  “Okay...oh, here she is. Hold on.”

  Grace stood on the other side of the screen door, tapping lightly. His heart began racing at just one glance her way. Her red hair was shoulder length now and flipped up lightly on the ends, kind of like Meg Ryan used to wear.

  It was probably still curly as all get-out when it was wet, though.

  She wore a watermelon-colored strappy sundress, with a white belt that matched her sandals, where cotton-candy-pink toes peeked out. Cherry lip gloss completed the look.

  He stood and waved for Grace to enter. Putting his hand over the phone, he said, “C’mon in. I just need to finish this call.”

  To Tante Lulu, he said, “Sorry. A visitor just stopped by.”

  He saw Grace’s head shoot up at his referring to her as a visitor, but then she began to amble about the room, studying the furnishings.

  “Is that Grace?” Tante Lulu whispered.

  “Yes, sweetheart, I had a good time last night, too. What did you say the name of that wine was?”

  “Huh?” Tante Lulu replied. “Oh, right. I get it. Tee-hee-hee!”

  “No, I can’t make it tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, I like jazz. That sounds great. What time should I pick you up?” He murmured something low and husky then—a bunch of gibberish that probably sounded like flirty talk to Grace.

  Once he clicked off, Grace started toward him. He could tell she was going to give him a hug.

  I don’t think so!

  Instead, he held out a hand for her to shake. Formally. Like strangers.

  She looked at it as if he’d offered her a snake, then glanced up at
him in question. Hurt blurred her eyes.

  For a second he softened, but, no, he had to be strong.

  The plan...he had to keep to the plan. “Hi, Grace. Long time no see.”

  “Too long, Angel. I’ve missed you.”

  He arched his eyebrows.

  “As a friend.”

  Shit!

  When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Was that your wife on the phone?”

  “No,” was all he said. Dammit, does she have to appear so blasé at the mention of my having a wife?

  Her face flushed with color. She must have thought he was cheating on his wife by what she’d overheard of his phone call. In the old days, she would have berated him up one side and down the other for his tomcatting. Little did she know how long it had been since he’d done any...tomcatting.

  “I’m surprised that you didn’t call to let me know you were coming back to Louisiana.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  More hurt shone in her green eyes, but she soon pulled herself together and sank down on one of the window-seat cushions. “What’s been going on in your life?”

  Oh, super! Now we’re going to chitchat. If she mentions the weather, I just might puke. He sat down, as well, across the room in an armchair, just outside the desk alcove. “Well, for one thing, the Amber Project was a bust for Jinx.”

  “That happens sometimes. Win some, lose some.”

  He nodded. “Still, it was almost a year wasted.”

  “And next?”

  “I don’t know. Ronnie has a lot of projects lined up for her company. I’m just not sure I want to continue with the treasure hunting. I probably will, but this job here will give me a break to think things over.”

  “So that’s why you’re really here? Not just because Tante Lulu asked you to help with building the house?”

  “Why else would I be here, Grace?” he asked, looking her directly in the eye. “Are you thinking I’m still in love with you, and I’ve come back with my tail between my legs, hoping you’ll give me a pet or two?”

  By the quick blush on her face he could tell that’s exactly what she’d thought. “Of course not. It’s been a year. And you got...”

  When she didn’t finish, he did it for her. “Married?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Don’t you want to ask me about that?”

  “It’s none of my business,” she said, which was such a total crock that they both burst out laughing at the same time. They had always butted into each other’s business. “Okay, who is she? Is she beautiful? Was it love at first sight? Where is she now? Do you have any”—she gulped in the oddest way—“children?”

  “Gracie, Gracie, Gracie.” He shook his head at her. “Her name is Gloria Stewart. Yes, she is beautiful—more than beautiful. No, there are no children, thank God! Love at first sight? You’ve got to be kidding! More like love on the rebound, for both of us. She’d recently been jilted, practically at the altar. Wounded pride makes men and women do dumb things.” He paused and exhaled loudly with self-disgust. “Gloria is a very nice girl...woman, I mean, but that’s about it.”

  Grace cocked her head to the side, still blushing. “I don’t understand.”

  “We were divorced one month after the wedding. An annulment, actually. She got a job with a European airline; that’s where she is now. France. In the end, though, biiiig mistake!”

  “The marriage or the divorce?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Oh, Angel!”

  “No pity here, baby! If you’re thinking I’m still in love with you, rest assured. I got over that sickness long ago,” he lied.

  She jerked back as if he’d slapped her. Probably because he’d referred to love as sickness. Well, hell’s bells, what does she want me to say? Something flowery and gag-me sweet? Yeah, right!

  “We can be friends again then, okay?”

  What alien world are you living in, cupcake? “Sure, but I’m going to be really busy for the next few weeks. Maybe we can get together for a drink some time before I finish the job.” He was making it clear that there would be no same-old buddy-buddy friendship resuming here.

  She stood and began to walk toward the door. “Well, I just wanted to stop by and wish you welcome.”

  He tipped his chair back, hands linked behind his neck, ankles crossed. Casual was the look he was going for. Meanwhile, it felt as if his lungs were about to burst.

  And then, her shoulders drooping with disappointment, she went out the door.

  Dammit, he couldn’t be a shit like this, not to Grace. He hesitantly unfolded himself from the chair, then, with a curse, decisively walked out on the deck and caught up with her just before she got into her car. Taking her into his arms, he gave a squeeze and kissed her on the top of her head. She felt so right in his embrace. Why couldn’t she see that?

  For just a second, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, too.

  Blood rushed to his head, and his knees almost buckled. Putting her away from him, he saw her eyes brimming with tears—tears he had caused. “It is good seeing you again, Gracie.”

  “Same for me,” she whispered.

  He opened her car door for her.

  Just before she left, she opened her window. “Just so you know, Angel, if I was ever free to love any man, it would be you.”

  With those ominous words, she was off, crushed shells from the driveway spinning in her wake.

  He stared after her, mouth agape. What the hell does that mean?

  A strange voice in his head replied, Dumb twit! Why not ask her? Two days back in the South and already Tante Lulu’s bizarre St. Jude voices were erupting in his head.

  If ever I was free, he repeated her words in his head and frowned with confusion. Could she be...?

  He recalled a conversation he’d had with her soon after they’d met years ago:

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Ever?”

  “No.”

  Well, another theory shot down. In that instant he realized that for as many years as he’d known Grace, he really didn’t know much about her. She’d always been close-mouthed about her past, not just the time she’d been in a convent, but before that, too. He didn’t even know if she had any family...parents, siblings. Maybe that was the key to breaking down her defenses.

  Well, at least he’d gotten through his first meeting with Grace, relatively unscathed. The question was: What next?

  What next was a loud roar at his feet that about caused him to jump out of his skin. “Sonofabitch!” It was Useless, that dumbass pet alligator of Remy’s.

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll go get you some Cheez Doodles,” he promised, as if the dumb beast-that-should-be-shoes could understand him.

  Useless opened his mouth wide, flashing his big I-could-bite-your-numbskull-noggin-off teeth. The message was clear: “Hurry!”

  And in his head, once again, Angel heard, Dumb twit!

  Temperatures rising...

  Grace could tell that Angel was annoyed when the whole lot of them showed up at the Duval trailer later that day to help him.

  Hands on hips, he glared at her car, which was unloading Lena, Lionel, Miles, and Ella. They were going to box any things still left in the trailer that they wanted to keep. Then he aimed his glare at the next two vehicles, which carried Luc, René, Remy, and John LeDeux, along with some of their sons, who planned—unasked, of course—to help Angel demolish the trailer and put the parts in the commercial Dumpster that had already been delivered. In the last car, a lavender convertible, driven by Charmaine LeDeux Lanier, came its owner, Tante Lulu, who considered any event an opportunity to feast. That meant folding tables and chairs, baskets of food, and coolers full of beer and soda pop.

  She was dressed for the part today in bibbed carpenter pants with loops holding a hammer, screwdriver, drill, and various other tools that no one in their right mind would ever let her use; child-sized leather work boots; and a ba
seball cap with the message “Wanna Get Nailed?” She probably didn’t know what it meant. On the other hand, she probably did.

  “Damn!” Angel muttered. “This is supposed to be a job, not a party.”

  Tante Lulu, overhearing him, said, “Stuff it.”

  John LeDeux, who was one of Tante Lulu’s youngest “nephews” at twenty-nine years old, grinned at Angel. “Cher, we gotta Cajunize you. You need to get a little joie de vivre. Joy of life.”

  Angel told him he was the one who needed to get a life, in graphic terms.

  But John wasn’t listening. He’d just noticed that his six-year-old son, Etienne, had somehow managed to climb up onto the top of the trailer and was doing a Snoopy dance of victory.

  “Hey, y’all, watch this!”

  Everyone knew that when a southern male called that out, he was about to do something stupid, like stick a hand in a gator’s mouth, or jump off a tall tree in a shallow bayou stream. Even if that male happened to be only six years old. Usually beer was involved, though Etienne of course could be high only on Kool-Aid.

  “Aye-tee-ann! Don’t you dare jump!” John yelled. “Get your butt down here right now!”

  Etienne looked at his dad and just grinned.

  Cursing under his breath, John climbed up after him.

  Word was that John LeDeux had been the most mischievous little devil the bayou had ever known. It appeared that he was getting his payback bigtime with his son.

  Meanwhile, Angel was talking—rather, arguing—with the men about who should do what job, giving Grace a chance to study him—something she hadn’t had a chance to do when she’d gone to the houseboat earlier that day.

  The once long ponytail was clipped short. Low-riding faded jeans, highlighting the cutest belly button—and, yes, she had noticed it was a slight outie—led down to heavy work boots. He wore no shirt, and, since the temperature was almost ninety and humid, he was sweating like a pig. But oh, my, the boy—uh, pig—did look smokin’ hot good.

  Grace could swear her own temperature shot through the roof. How odd! She’d never felt that kind of attraction to Angel before.