The Legacy

by Shirley Jump

  When he said her name, his voice a song all its own, a thrill went through Marjo, skating along her nerve endings. Had anyone ever said her name quite like that? For a moment she forgot what she was doing, forgot about Hugh, the restoration committee, the opera house. Forgot everything but the way her name had seemed to roll off his tongue.

  “Sing for me, Marjo,” Paul said, his voice low. “Please.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, to argue that there were dishes to be done, and a home to get back to, but instead, what came out were the first few notes of “Le Pays des Etrangers.”

  The French words, which she’d memorized years ago, came easily to her, carried on the soft melody, telling a story about another country, another world.

  When a smile crossed Paul’s face, she continued with the tune, her voice increasing in volume as the song took root inside her.

  How long had it been since she’d sung? Too long, clearly, because with every note, a remembered joy began to enrich her spirit.

  “I’ve never heard that song sung quite like that before,” he said when she finished.

  Heat filled her face. “I’m out of practice and—”

  He put up a finger, shushing her. “I meant, I’ve heard that song a hundred times and never has it made me feel that way.”

  She pulled back, surprised. “Feel how?”

  “Almost…homesick, which is crazy, because since leaving Cape Breton, I’ve never looked back.” He paused for a moment, then shook his head, as if that was all he wanted to say on the subject. “Anyway, that was beautiful. No, not just beautiful. Incredible. Why aren’t you singing professionally?”

  She turned back to the dishes, taking an inordinate amount of interest in the way the sponge plunged in and out of a glass, as if cleaning Hugh’s dishes was the most important thing in the world. “There’s a thousand reasons. Number one being that most people don’t make it in the music business.”

  “Most people don’t have your voice.”

  She dismissed the comment. “I’d have a better chance of being struck by lightning and winning the lottery the same day. In other words, one in a gazillion.”

  “Isn’t that what life is about? Taking chances?”

  She put the last glass into the dish drainer and grabbed an extra towel off the counter to dry her hands. “Maybe for someone like you, but not for me.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “You don’t have any responsibilities. No children. No house, no mortgage. I have bills, Paul, and a brother who depends on me. I can’t run off with a half-baked dream just because I think I’m the next American Idol. I have to deal in reality, not impossibilities.” She tossed the towel onto the counter, then crossed into the living room, straightening pillows and blankets that didn’t need straightening.

  He followed her, taking an afghan from her hands before she could fold it again. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life.”

  The apology caught her off guard, making her feel vulnerable. She stopped tidying, and suddenly just wanted out of the house, away from this man who should be the enemy, but who seemed to keep turning the tables on her. “We’re finished here. Thanks for your help.”

  He looked as if he might say something, but instead followed her out as they left the house, this time locking the door behind them. Marjo paused on the sidewalk. “Thank you for coming with me and for all your help.” Her words were businesslike, her tone cool. She turned on her heel and started down the sidewalk.

  Paul fell into place beside her. “That’s it? You’re just dismissing me?”

  “I have to get home. Gabriel—”

  “Wait,” Paul said softly. He caught her gaze. A beat passed between them. Another. “Tell me, Marjo, are you still that hard to get into bed?”

  Right this second, she’d be as easy as he wanted, especially when he looked at her like that, with those deep blue eyes that seemed to see into her soul. After the preview she’d had earlier today, she could only imagine how good he’d be if they went beyond kissing.

  “I’m too old for a babysitter now.”

  “I’m not talking about babysitting.” Then, before either of them could think twice, he leaned down and kissed her.

  No, not just kissed her. He played a song on her lips, started the tune carrying to a concert. She hesitated only a second, then found herself moving into his arms, lifting her head and giving him a melody of her own.

  He was good, very good, sending her hormones dancing and her mind traveling down a path that involved doing something with Paul Clermont that didn’t involve running him out of town.

  As his kiss deepened, she thought of taking him home, inviting him into a bedroom that had had one occupant for far too long. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair. Desire snaked through her veins, singing its siren call.

  She jerked back to her senses and out of his arms. “I—I can’t do this.”

  “Because of our disagreement about the opera house?”

  “For that and a hundred other reasons,” she said, running a hand through her hair, as if by doing so she could erase the feel of his hands. “But mostly because I have other priorities right now.”

  “Other priorities besides yourself?” he said. “You can’t put a building or a festival or even your brother ahead of you all the time, Marjo.”

  “Says the man who has perfected the art of severing ties,” she retorted. “Until you commit yourself to something besides yourself, Paul Clermont, don’t tell me what to do.” She took a step away, then pivoted back. “And definitely don’t kiss me again.”

  He grinned. “What if you kiss me first?”

  She hurried down the sidewalk, not answering him. Because as much as she wanted to tell Paul that there was about a blizzard’s chance in the bayou of that happening, she knew one thing for certain—

  She’d be lying.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NEXT MORNING, the scent of brewing coffee and the brightness of the sun streaming through his windows finally roused Paul a little after nine. He rolled over, glanced at the clock then looked at it again.

  The numbers nine-zero-seven gleamed back at him from the digital display. He flicked out his wrist and focused his bleary gaze on his watch. Yep, same time there.

  He hadn’t slept past 5:00 a.m. in years. A decade maybe. Ever since he’d taken his first picture for pay, Paul had been out of bed before the roosters crowed, intent on getting the story. He prided himself on being the first on the scene, the last to leave.

  He got dressed and went downstairs for a late breakfast. The buffet in the breakfast room was generous for a B and B. Beignets, pain perdu, bacon, fresh country eggs, toast, home-cooked preserves in every flavor from fig to watermelon, café au lait, juice…everything he could have imagined on a Louisiana table. Paul selected a little of everything, his plate filled to overflowing by the time he sat down.

  A few minutes later, Luc Carter, who owned the bed-and-breakfast, stopped by his table to ask him if he was enjoying his stay. “I am, thank you,” Paul replied.

  Luc gestured toward the opposite chair, then sat when Paul nodded. “Did you know you’ve stirred up quite the controversy around here?”

  “With the opera house?” Paul grinned. “Yes, Marjo made it clear that I’m not the most popular guy around.”

  “Marjo means well, but she’s a little…intense when she believes in something.”

  “Just a little.” Would she be that intense in bed? Paul wondered. A part of his mind went down that path, imagining Marjo in his bed, showing him just how intense she could be.

  Luc chuckled. “Actually, I came by to put my two cents in. While you’re considering your options with the opera house, I want to tell you how important it is to Indigo that this CajunFest happens. Indigo is not exactly a hotbed of tourists, and being a small business owner engaged to a small business owner, I know what an impact this festival can make.”

  “I’m not standing in
the way of the festival. I just don’t need to own an opera house. To me, it’s like buying a helicopter for a dog.”

  “I understand. Before I moved here, I used to be the kind of man that didn’t hang on to much.” He looked up at the pixie-ish woman with spiky strawberry-blond hair who was bringing in a basket of fresh bread. “But eventually you find something—someone—you’ll do anything to hold on to.”

  Luc smiled as he watched the woman cross the room. Clearly, she was his fiancée. She turned, caught him looking and exchanged a private smile with him. It was obvious to Paul that the B and B owner had found something very special.

  Paul had never experienced that feeling, not really, despite all his travels and all the people he had photographed. He’d married Diane on an impulse, thinking that marrying her would curb his wander-lust and give him everything he’d missed out on in his childhood.

  But if anything, marriage had done the opposite. Although he had seen that look before between dozens of couples, he’d never gotten any closer to it than through the lens of his camera.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” Luc gave the table a pat, then rose. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay better.”

  The friendliness of the people here astounded Paul. It was as if Indigo was a giant family and every visitor the prodigal son. Everyone from the owner of the general store to the gas station attendant who’d filled his tank had offered a smile and a kind word.

  Paul finished his meal, then headed out into the warm sunshine, his camera bag, as always, slung over his shoulder. For some reason, the urge to leave town at first light had dissipated. Maybe the slow-moving bayou had affected him. Everything seemed to move at a different pace here—the river, the people, the meals. People even talked slower here, as if they had all the time in the world.

  He stepped onto the veranda, a cup of coffee in his hand, and stretched the kinks out of his back.

  “Hey, Paul!”

  He turned to see Gabriel sitting on the bottom step, as if he’d been waiting all morning for Paul to appear. Given the excited gleam in the young man’s eyes, Paul wasn’t so sure that was far from the truth.

  “Hey, Gabriel. How are you?”

  “Good.” He beamed. “I have a little time before I have to go to work, and I was thinking…” He rose, shifted from foot to foot. “I mean, hoping…”

  “You want to take some pictures with me today?”

  Gabriel’s face instantly brightened. “Sure!” He sobered just as quickly. “Only…if you don’t mind. Marjo said you like to be like a black bear, stay by yourself and all.”

  Marjo was right. On any other day, Paul was a one-man show, making his way through cities, forests and war zones. He’d never liked the encumbrance of a reporter or another photographer, preferring to work on his own.

  But today the thought of company was appealing. Clearly, he had slept too long, because he was getting soft. Sentimental.

  “I don’t mind you coming along,” he said to Gabriel. “In fact, I have a spare camera in my bag. You can use it, take your own pictures, and later, we can compare notes.”

  Gabriel gave him a quizzical look. “How can we compare notes if we’re taking pictures?”

  Paul laughed. “You have a point.”

  The two of them made their way down toward the bayou, walking in the direction of Indigo. From time to time, Paul stopped. He’d train his camera on a gnarled cypress or a small rowboat tied along the banks. As he snapped a cormorant standing in the shallow waters along the edge, an alligator slipped into the water, silent and deadly. Paul took a photo just as the animal came into the frame, capturing what he saw as the true essence of the bayou. Beauty and danger, tangled together as surely as the twisted branches of cypress.

  He looked over at Gabriel, who was mirroring Paul’s actions, being selective about his shots, looking through the viewfinder before judging if a picture was worth taking. “Can I see what you’ve got so far?” Paul asked, coming up beside Gabriel.

  “Sure.” Gabriel handed over the camera without hesitation. Paul liked Gabriel. He was a simple soul, whose trust and openness were rare in most people.

  Paul flicked on the review button, then scrolled through the photos Gabriel had taken. A close-up of a delicate flower, a bird in a tree, a mole poking his head out of the ground. “This one’s really good, Gabriel,” Paul said, holding it up so Gabriel could see, too. “I love the composition in this photograph, the way you blended the light and the dark of the water and the land. It’s fabulous. And this one—” he pushed the button again “—is great. Look how you zoomed in on this bird just enough to make him the focal point, yet left enough negative space so that he really stands out against the bayou. It’s a spoonbill, isn’t it?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, it is. But what’s composition and zoom?”

  Paul explained the terms as he reviewed the photos, using Gabriel’s pictures as a kind of show and tell.

  He hadn’t exaggerated. Gabriel had gotten a wonderful shot of the pink-and-white bird as it stood on one leg in shallow water, its long flat bill and dark eyes turned in their direction. “You’re really good at this, especially for a beginner,” Paul said again.

  Gabriel beamed with pride. “Do you think I can get a job?”

  “Yeah, I think you might.” He rarely said that, all too aware of the danger of encouraging someone to pursue a career path they weren’t equipped to handle. But in Gabriel, he saw something, as if the young man’s gentle spirit imprinted itself into his photographs. He placed the camera back into Gabriel’s hands, closing the boy’s palms over it. “You keep this.”

  It took a long second for the words to sink in, but as they did, Paul watched the light in Gabriel’s eyes turn from misunderstanding to astonishment. “I can really keep this?”

  Paul nodded.

  “I can take my own pictures?”

  Paul nodded again.

  “And I can keep them, forever?”

  “Sure,” Paul said. “If you want to print them out, you can e-mail them to me, no matter where I am, and I’ll get them done for you.”

  Gabriel’s smile grew wider. He turned and wrapped Paul in a hug so tight, for a second Paul couldn’t breathe. “You’re a good man,” Gabriel said, patting Paul on the back.

  When Gabriel stepped back, Paul had to clear his throat a couple of times before he could speak. No one had ever said those words to him before, and to hear them coming out of Gabriel’s mouth had double the impact. “Thank you,” he said at last.

  Gabriel smiled again, this time a softer, secret smile, the same one Paul had seen on Luc earlier today. “I want to take a picture of my girlfriend. Darcy.” He cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered, “We’re gonna get married someday.”

  “You have a girlfriend, eh?” Jeez, was every man in Indigo involved in a relationship except for him? Maybe it was the kind of place where people came in two-by-two, like a Louisianan version of Noah’s ark.

  “I should have known I’d find you here.”

  Paul turned and saw Marjo striding down the grassy lawn toward them. She was dressed in a long white dress with a thousand tiny, enticing buttons running down the front. With her long dark hair loose around her face and those devastatingly clear blue eyes, she looked very much like an angel.

  When she saw him, a smile flitted across her face and something powerful lurched in Paul’s heart. He found himself smiling back, enjoying for a second that same special, private moment that Luc had shared with his fiancée in the dining room of La Petite Maison. Just as quickly it was gone. Paul caught himself and went back to business mode. He wasn’t staying here, and it would be crazy to give the impression there was a relationship building between them.

  “Paul gave me a camera!” Gabriel said, running up to meet his sister, showing her the digital camera and explaining how it worked. Clearly, Gabriel had paid more attention to Paul’s words than he’d expected. Gabriel scrolled throu
gh the photos he’d taken, showing his sister the images he’d captured.

  “Wonderful, really wonderful,” Marjo said, laying a loving hand on her brother’s shoulder. “But it’s time to quit now. You need to get over to Savoy and help Henry. We have Hugh’s wake tonight.”

  Gabriel frowned. “I’m gonna miss Hugh.”

  “Me, too.” Marjo gave him a quick hug, then sent him on his way. Gabriel turned back every few feet and waved at Paul as he made his way up the lawn.

  “I have to go, too,” Marjo said. But she didn’t move.

  “Don’t leave,” Paul said, reaching for her, meaning only to have her stay a moment to enjoy the scenery. But when he touched her, a deep longing roared through him. “Just for a little while.”

  “Okay,” she said, relenting, and he wondered if she had felt the same connection he did. “But only for a little while. I have to get back to work. I have…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Hugh’s wake?”

  “Oh, yeah, that.” A flush filled her cheeks.

  “Do you need help with anything? Dishes? Pillow fluffing?” He grinned.

  What was he doing? This was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Why was he still here, anyway? Did he think he’d settle down, get married, have a couple kids?

  Of course not. He wasn’t going to repeat the mistakes of his parents, or the ones he’d made in his first marriage. Or the ones he saw among fellow Cape Bretoners, so firmly cemented to their community that they gave up their dreams to stay.

  Paul had a job that required distance—literally and figuratively. Bringing a relationship into that life would be unfair to Marjo.

  But maybe, just for a little while, he could relax his no-involvement rule. Relax, in general. During the last few assignments, a weariness had come over him every time he got on a plane, coupled with a sense of déjà vu, as if he’d already done this, shot that.

  Which was crazy, because the one thing Paul prided himself on was never doing the same story twice. In every shot, in every assignment, he sought uniqueness, a perspective that had never been done before, and in doing so, he had been well rewarded by World.