Bayou Vows

by Geri Krotow

  Jena’s face grew hot, and she knew that she should be concerned about what Jeb was thinking. Or wasn’t thinking—did he want to reassure her that Grandma was reading too much into this one Sunday dinner invite? Instead, she smiled, loving how cherished Grandma Cormier made her feel. With her grandparents all deceased, it was all the more special.

  “It’s nice to see you again.” She had to endure another ten seconds of the old woman’s gaze, which normally would have made her uncomfortable. But Gertie and Camellia presented a combined welcome she couldn’t ignore.

  “What can I do?”

  “Stir the grits for me.” Gertie didn’t have to tell her twice. As she moved the weathered wooden spoon through the creamy, grainy mixture, she listened to the family.

  “How’s the new job?” Camellia’s interest sounded genuine.

  “Great. Jena is the director of The Refuge, and my job’s to keep the numbers straight.”

  Jena had to speak up. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s doing a lot more than crunching numbers. Tell her about the grants you’ve found.” She looked over her shoulder to see him standing in front of his mother with a mixture of pride and his trademark modesty. He cared what his mom thought, which made Jena want to kiss him.

  “He’s always been a looker, that one. But it’s what’s in his heart that’s special.” Grandma Cormier stood next to her, and Jena made a mental note that the octogenarian never missed a thing.

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” Jena tapped the spoon on the side of the large pot and looked at the flame underneath. “These are done. Do you want me to keep them on warm or turn them off?”

  “Shut the burner off and move them to that trivet. See it? I need the stovetop for the ham gravy.”

  Jena’s stomach growled. “I love ham gravy and grits.”

  “There are fresh biscuits, too, if you’d rather.” Grandma Cormier got busy making gravy and Jena maneuvered around the small kitchen until she stood next to Jeb.

  “This is a beautiful home. I love how it captures its historical roots while having all the modern conveniences.”

  Camellia’s brow rose. “We didn’t have a choice. The structure survived Katrina, but we had to gut the inside.”

  “They were due for a change.” Gertie spoke as she mixed hot water into a small jar half-filled with flour. “I would have needed to update everything before I sold it, anyway. That storm did me a favor.”

  “So you’re saying I can sell it now, Mama?”

  “Not until I’m long gone. Don’t worry, you shouldn’t have too much time to wait.” Grandma Cormier laughed, and Jena couldn’t help but join in.

  Camellia shook her head. “Mama’ll never sell this place.”

  “I was born on the dining room table, why should I want to live anywhere else?”

  “You complain about cooking and grocery shopping; you could have it all done for you.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Jena watched the dialogue as much as she listened to it. Would the day come that she’d be having the same conversation with Gloria? She couldn’t imagine it, but she supposed it wasn’t too far-fetched, now that her mother had finally let go of her fear-based racist views. If only she’d done it sooner—but then Jena wouldn’t have signed on to the CIA. As she stood in the emotionally warm and welcoming ambience of Jeb’s family home, she finally got it. She’d become a covert agent because it was a way to strike back at her parents without having to deal with their blowback. Telling them her cover—that she’d joined the Navy—had been a hard enough conversation, albeit satisfying. They’d been aghast that she wanted to leave the life they’d provided. If only they’d known she’d gone farther afield than the high seas.

  “Are you regretting your decision yet?” Jeb’s low voice vibrated next to her ear, bringing her back. She wanted to lean into it, gain strength from him. But not here—not when she was just getting acquainted with his family.

  “Not at all.” She turned toward Gertie and Camellia. “Where is everyone else?”

  “Clyde, my husband, went out to get a few last-minute items from the Piggly Wiggly.”

  “The one two blocks away? My family’s been shopping there for generations.” At least, before they moved to Baton Rouge. But Jena still got her groceries there once a week, and she was pretty sure Brandon still shopped there. Henry and Sonja, she wasn’t so sure about.

  “Yes, we know. That’s the one.” Camellia looked up at the sound of a door slamming, followed by heavy footfalls. A tall, silver-haired man around Hudson’s age walked into the kitchen. “Speak of my devil.”

  The attractive man grinned, accentuating his goatee. “You swearing over me again? I found the sugar, lemons, and ice. They were out of straws.”

  “How can that be?” Camellia unpacked the groceries onto the counter. “Who runs out of straws?”

  “It’s summertime. Lots of parties and cold drinks. Hey, Jeb.”

  “Clyde.”

  The man’s twinkling gaze landed on Jena. He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Clyde.”

  She allowed her hand to be swallowed by his bear paw. She guessed that the man worked with his hands—the calluses and rough patches were like badges. “Jena. Nice to meet you.”

  “Same.” He let go, turned to Camellia, and placed a smacking kiss on her lips before moving behind Grandma Cormier and resting his hands on her shoulders. “How are you doing, Gertrude?”

  “I’m good. Get my daughter out of here so I can think, will you?”

  Clyde didn’t laugh, even though the smile splitting his face indicated he wanted to. “Sure thing.”

  “Don’t waste your breath. I’ll take the kids out on the porch. Call me if you need me.” Camellia motioned at Jeb and Jena with her hand and Jena stifled a giggle at being called a kid. Jeb nodded for Jena to go ahead of him, which she did, trying to catch more than a glimpse at the heirloom family photos that lined the hallway. So many people, so many years gone by.

  On the veranda, Camellia insisted they make up glasses of tea or lemonade and sit on the facing porch swings.

  “Woo, it’s hot out here.” Camellia placed her perspiring glass on her cheek as she closed her eyes. “We’ll be inside at the dining table for the main meal.”

  “Thank you for having me.” Jena spoke up, needing to express her gratitude. She’d always been curious about Jeb’s family, more so over the past few months—as if she’d been trying to figure him out, once and for all.

  Camellia’s eyes popped open and she speared Jena with a glance. “You’ve known Jeb most of his life.”

  “Since we were both—what, Jeb, eight and ten?”

  “Yes.” His voice reassured her. She could only see his profile as he sat close to her on the cushioned swing, his leg crossed atop the bottom one that kept the chair still.

  “Whatever you’ve heard about me… I’ve changed a lot since then.” Camellia settled in for what Jena could only think of as a true confession. “I’m not the woman I was when Jeb became friends with Brandon and fell in love with your family.”

  “Mom.” Jeb’s tone held warning. Not of violence, but restraint. Jena wished he’d chill. She wanted to know what Camellia had to say. Couldn’t wait to know, in fact.

  “Go on. Please.”

  Camellia shrugged. “Nothing to go on about, really. When Jeb came to your family, he needed you. Needed something in his life I wasn’t giving him at home.” She turned her gaze to Jeb and studied her son before going on. “I’m not sure if you told her everything.”

  “I told Jena nothing, Mother.”

  Camellia looked at Jena again, weighing her countenance as if she were sorting gemstones for their worth. “I’m an alcoholic. Been sober for at least ten years now, but it was the hardest on Jeb here. I didn’t get sober until he was in college, and my drinking was the hardest on him.”
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  “Mom…”

  “Stop it, Jeb, and let your mother speak.” When she looked at Jena again, there were tears in Camellia’s bright eyes. “My other kids—you’ll meet them soon enough—they got the benefits of my sobriety and emotional presence. Jeb had none of that, did you?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, Mom.”

  And it didn’t. Not to Jena, who’d never seen this side of Jeb’s upbringing before.

  “It all matters, my dear son.” She turned weary eyes on Jena. “As much as I try, forgiving myself for the drinking remains my biggest challenge. Because of the pain it caused Jeb. The other kids got to get the help they needed after growing up in an alcoholic family, but Jeb was in college by then.”

  “And I turned out okay anyway, didn’t I?” Jeb quipped, as if they were discussing the overwhelming chorus of the cicadas, the ebb and flow of the insects’ chirping, how they’d been having a particularly tough season.

  “You need to know what you’re getting, Jena. Jeb has a ton of emotional baggage with our family. You’ll be asked to carry it, too, if you stick with him.”

  “But we’re, um, we’re not…”

  “We’re good friends. Period.” Jeb reached for her hand and squeezed. While the gesture was always welcome and reassuring from him, she wasn’t so keen on the message. She’d thought they were past the pretend-we’re-not-fucking stage. Or had she misread his signals when he said he wanted her to know his family?

  Her heart beat with a familiar thud that matched the chill of dread in her belly. She’d done it again—shoved down feelings related to Jeb. Except this time, she had no other person to place them on.

  Before Camellia’s emotional intervention on Jeb continued, three men who didn’t resemble Jeb in the least came around the porch.

  A petite woman holding hands with a very tall, very attractive man followed.

  “Jeb! Where the hell have you been?” The first brother didn’t waste time yanking Jeb’s chain. Jena found she enjoyed watching the interplay. Seeing how Jeb dealt with his family gave her an insight she hadn’t had before. Around her family, even though they all thought of Jeb as one of them, he still remained a bit of an outsider. He didn’t have the Boudreaux name or earliest history to claim as his.

  “Busy at my new job.” The seat swung as Jeb stood and greeted the first brother with a hug. “How are you doing, Mitch?”

  “Good, good. I’m still in business, if that’s what you’re asking.” A landscaper, Mitch cherished his time outdoors no matter the heat or wet.

  “Come over, bro.” The second man, a head shorter than both Jeb and Mitch, but much wider with solidly sculpted muscle, greeted Jeb. “When you going to give up that fancy desk job and come work with me? We brought in a record load of shrimp this week.”

  Jeb laughed. “Not the seagoing type, Fred. You know that. Hey, sis.” He leaned down to kiss the raven-haired woman on the cheek, and Jena saw that she had the same high cheekbones as Jeb.

  “I second Mitch’s question. Where exactly have you been?”

  “I swear to God, I’ve been at work. I already told all of you what happened with my Boats by Gus job.”

  “Man, that sucked.”

  “Any chance of a rebuild? Getting your job back?”

  “How is Brandon doing?”

  “Whoa.” Jeb held his hands up. “First, Boats by Gus is over, done. At least for now.” He grinned. “Brandon is doing fine. He has a girlfriend, Poppy.”

  All eyes were back on Jena. Crap. She didn’t want to have to explain whatever was between her and Jeb.

  “Hi!” She gave a finger wave. “I’m Jena, Brandon’s younger sister. I’ve met most of you, at some point, maybe our high school graduation?”

  “Jena, this is Mitch, Fred, Lauren, and Chris.”

  “Hey. I can’t say I remember much of that event, but it’s nice to meet you today.” Lauren spoke first, a curious smile indicating that she wondered what Jena’s presence meant. “This is my boyfriend, Sam.”

  “Hi, Sam.”

  The tall man nodded, and Jena wondered if maybe he was overwhelmed by the DeVillier clan, too. Jeb’s brothers greeted her before they all were instructed by Jeb’s mom to help themselves to the buffet.

  Jena piled her plate with biscuits and gravy, grits, ham, and dark cooked greens. At the dining table, resplendent in linen, fine porcelain china and crystal, she found herself seated in between Jeb and his mother.

  “I promise I won’t interrogate you about your family, or your job, Jena. Here’s to new beginnings.” Camellia lifted a glass of orange juice and Jena clinked her mimosa glass to it. The rest of the family followed before the hum of conversation again filled the traditional dining room. Camellia used the cover of the other voices to talk quietly to Jena.

  “I’m so glad Jeb has you to lean on, Jena. The other kids were still home when I got sober, and I was able to at least educate them about the disease of alcoholism and addiction, so that if they ever need help, they’ll get it. Jeb shouldered so much during my drinking years. He’s a special person.”

  “He is.” For the rest of the afternoon, Camellia, and then each of his siblings, regaled her with how Jeb had behaved as a child, teen, and young man, and Jena began to see pieces of the Jeb puzzle come together. She had seen one side of him, the more relaxed part, she was certain. He’d been able to just be a kid with her family. But he’d been the acting adult in his house, since the age of ten when his dad left and his mother kept drinking, neglecting his siblings.

  She turned to him after they’d cleared their large plates and sat down with dessert. “You’ve always been the caretaker, haven’t you? It’s a wonder you didn’t become the social worker.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought that myself. I thought of becoming a counselor, specializing in addiction, too.” His answer, low and gravelly, informed her that he hadn’t missed an iota of the conversation. He’d been quiet because he was listening, not because he was embarrassed by the impromptu Jeb roast.

  She toyed with the tines of the gold fork, his grandmother’s finest flatware, pushing her last bite of pecan pie around on her plate. “So why didn’t you? Go into more of a service field?”

  He bit off a huge chunk of brownie and thoughtfully chewed before he answered. “I’m a numbers guy, was always good at math, especially statistics and probability. Going after a CPA seemed practical and secure. I liked the idea of knowing I’d have a marketable skill after I graduated.”

  She thought back to their college time together. “You got your masters and CPA within—what, a year after we graduated?” She vaguely recalled he’d taken an accelerated program after she’d left for her “Navy” training.

  “Yeah. I needed the paycheck to help Mom out until she could get back on her feet. It took two stints in rehab for her sobriety to stick.”

  As conversations zinged around them, Jena was struck by the unique sense of love and acceptance in the room. She knew Jeb had a larger family than hers, but meeting them put it in perspective. Jeb’s family was everything the Boudreauxes weren’t—loud, outspoken, at times raw. They didn’t brush up the crumbs from shattered bonds and disappointments and hide them away like her family. No, this family put everything out there for everyone to not only see, but inspect, dissect, and scrutinize until there wasn’t anything left to mull over.

  * * * *

  “What’s the real deal, brother?” Lauren cornered Jeb in the front sitting room, out of earshot of the kitchen and dining room.

  “What do you mean?” Innocence was the best tactic with his younger sister, always. Like a badger, Lauren didn’t let go of her prey until she’d shaken every last drop of information from them. But unlike the aggressive animal, her motives were protective. As the only sister in the family, she took over the mothering a little too much for Jeb’s liking.

  “Knock that
shit off with me, Jeb DeVillier. You’re speaking to your sister. You’ve never brought a girl home before. Why now?”

  “Why not? And in case you didn’t notice, Jena’s an adult, as are we.” He prayed she’d take the hint to mind her own business.

  “I know you grew up with her, practically. You were never home when we were little.”

  “Not true.” She’d obviously forgotten the times he’d tucked her in, signed her homework papers with Camellia’s forged signature. All in a day’s work for the child of an alcoholic.

  She shrugged. “Fine. The rest of us had the next door neighbors to hang out with. You had Brandon, and his sister. I didn’t know you and Jena were so close.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Do you believe that? Because I’ll go along with you if it makes you feel better, Jeb. But friends don’t give off the kind of sparkly tension you two do. And friends don’t check out one another’s asses.”

  “She did not.”

  “I’m talking about you.” She gave him a sisterly punch to the arm. “Drop the stupid charade. Tell me what’s really going on.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Not everything is so trauma-drama, Lauren. Why don’t you tell me how you and Sam are doing?”

  She smiled. “We’re great. We might be moving in together, I don’t know.”

  “Make sure your credit score’s good and locked down.”

  “Fuck you, Jeb.” Her face softened in complete disparity to her words. “I know you mean well, though. He’s not like Jim, he’s way more responsible.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lauren’s string of boyfriends could wrap around the block two times over.

  “Now who’s playing the parent?”

  “I’m not your dad, Lauren.”

  She frowned. “I don’t want you to be. You’re great as my big brother. Honest. And I’m not going to ask for money. I mean it. You’ve always been here for me. But I’m good now.” And she was—Lauren was an ER trauma nurse at the local hospital and had recently received a promotion. “It’s time for you to take care of yourself, Jeb. I’m only asking about Jena because I think it’d be great for you to find happiness for once. You spent a lot of your life taking care of us.”