by Shirley Jump
“I meant after this is all over. I have to go to Tibet to do a piece on an ancient temple that’s been unearthed in a mountainside. I want you with me. I want you to see what I see when I travel the world. I want you to see what the world is like outside of Indigo.”
“Tibet?” Marjo stepped back. “I can’t go to Tibet.”
“Why not? It would only be for a couple of weeks. When you come back, it’ll probably be time to oversee the reconstruction of the funeral home. Besides, right now you’re unemployed and madly in love with me.” He grinned. “A win-win all around.”
She didn’t debate the madly-in-love part. She wasn’t quite sure yet how she felt about Paul Clermont, except that whenever he was around she experienced a tightening in her chest and a sense of breathless anticipation that filled her whenever he wasn’t around. “I may be unemployed, but I still have Gabriel. And there’s plenty of other things to do before the rebuild starts—”
“Come with me, Marjo, and leave all that behind. For just a little while. After all this, you deserve a vacation.”
The idea was tempting. It curled around her, urging her to say yes, to forget all those responsibilities for a few days. A week. A month. To finally put herself first, instead of an entire town. And Gabriel.
Over at La Petite Maison, her trusting brother was helping Luc with the boat tours. Probably waiting for the day to be over so that he and Marjo could go home, have dinner and maybe a cold glass of tea on the porch while they listened to the night sounds and debated the merits of vanilla ice cream over Rocky Road.
Who was she kidding? Marjo couldn’t remember the last time they’d done that. It used to be a daily thing, but then, sometime in the last year, those evenings on the porch had stopped. Gabriel was out more often than he was in. Usually with Darcy.
It seemed as if she was losing her brother. Just the thought of him not being here left her feeling empty. At odds. If that was how she felt, how would it be for Gabriel if she went to Tibet?
“I want to go with you,” Marjo said to Paul. “But there’s still too much holding me here. Maybe in another year or—”
“Another year?” He frowned. “There’s nothing holding you here, Marjo, except yourself.”
“That’s not true.”
“No one in this town expects you to carry the burden by yourself. Just look around the festival, at the dozens of people who are working to give Indigo a new lease on life.”
“I head up the committees. There’ll be a lot of work once the festival is over. I need to coordinate all that.”
“What happened when Hugh died? Life went on. The festival still happened.” He studied her. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You are, too. You’re terrified to change your life. To do anything more than sing at Skeeter’s because you are too damned afraid to leave this town. Indigo isn’t a home for you, it’s a security blanket.”
The words hit home, but Marjo refused to accept their truth. “How dare you say that?”
“Because I’ve seen it in my own family. My mother, too afraid to leave Cape Breton, yet at the same time too afraid to deal with life when my father wasn’t there. My cousins, struggling for years, hoping next year’s catch would be better and refusing to learn another trade because fishing was what they knew. They tied themselves to a world that had nothing to offer.”
“Nothing except family.”
“Family doesn’t pay the bills, Marjo.” He shook his head. “The place they loved became a trap.”
“And you escaped that trap by traveling, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yes. And so can you.” Paul’s expression filled with concern. “I want you with me, Marjo. I want to show you my world.”
“Paul, I live here because it’s my home. Not because it’s some prison I want to escape. You don’t understand.”
“I understand all right.” She couldn’t mistake the hurt in his voice.
For a second she wanted to take it all back, to tell him yes, she’d go to Tibet, hop on the first plane out of here with him and never look back. But if she did, she’d be lying. As much as she wanted to, she truly couldn’t leave.
She was needed here, to comfort the grieving, to give Gabriel a home and to help him navigate the waters ahead. She couldn’t do any of those things from some mountainside in Tibet.
The music stopped and applause erupted from the audience, telling her that the Boneshakers were done with their set. Alain came striding up, his fiddle already in his hands. He clapped Paul on the back. “You ready?” He looked at Marjo. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“No, you aren’t interrupting anything,” Paul said. “Nothing important at all.” Then he walked over to Alain, and the second the Boneshakers exited the stage, Paul strode out, fiddle in hand, trailed by Alain. Paul didn’t even wait for Marjo to introduce them before launching into the fiddle duet.
Just as well, she told herself. His offer had probably been brought about by lingering feelings from last night. Tomorrow, he’d change his mind.
But as she looked out over the audience and saw Sophie, Alain’s very pregnant wife, beaming at her husband, Marjo’s chest constricted. Sophie’s love for Alain was evident in every inch of her face, in the protective hand she rested on her abdomen, as if the baby were included in this moment between them.
Envy raced through Marjo. She wanted that for herself, too. She always had, no matter what lies she had told herself so that she could get through the hard days after her parents died.
She glanced again at Paul. With just a few words, she would be closer to making that dream come true.
The problem was, she would be forced to choose—her brother over Paul. She’d had to make a similar choice once before, and had opted for Gabriel, as she always had.
Marjo turned away from the sight of Sophie and Alain. She was making the right decision, she was sure of it. If so, why did it drive such a painful wedge into her heart?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AS SOON AS Paul launched into his duet with Alain, he knew he’d been wrong to force Marjo to make such a big decision on the spur of the moment. He glanced over at her and he could see her fiery spirit in her eyes, her smile, the way she stood.
She deserved more than what she allowed herself. The problem was convincing her of that.
When the duet was over, the crowd applauded and cheered in appreciation, Paul glanced at the program that sat beside his sheet music. Beneath his and Alain’s names, he saw that the following act had been crossed out, with the word canceled written beside it.
Marjolaine Savoy.
Before Marjo could come onto the stage and announce the next act, Paul took the mike in his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce an incredible singer—Miss Marjo Savoy. Please give her a warm welcome.”
From the sidelines, Marjo shot him the kind of look that could be considered a felony in certain states. He just grinned, laid down his fiddle then crossed the stage and grabbed her hand before she could back out again.
The audience clapped in anticipation. “I’m sorry for pushing you into a decision about traveling with me,” Paul said. “You’re right. You do have responsibilities here. A life.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, speechless. From the audience, a couple of people called her name.
“Just give me this one song, and afterward, we’ll figure out a way to make this relationship work. A way that works for both of us, whether you’re here or I’m there. Just sing for me, Marjo, and we’ll work it out.”
“You’re nuts.” She shook her head, but he detected a lilting laughter in her voice.
“Yeah, maybe I am,” he conceded. “But you are amazing, so please give this crowd—” he waved toward the audience, who were chanting her name by now “—what they want. And what you want. You can have it all, Marjo, if you try.”
“One song,” she said, making no promi
ses about the rest.
Once she reached the center of the stage, Marjo froze, the panic clear in her eyes. But then, as soon as she grabbed the microphone, everything within her seemed to relax, as if she’d just come home at the end of a long day.
Paul picked up his fiddle, moved into place behind her and started the song he had been practicing all last night. The same one she had sung a capella to him, and then again in Skeeter’s. The song that had never left his mind since she’d granted him that private concert. He struck the first note, sure she was going to clam up just to spite him.
Instead, Marjo opened her mouth and began to sing. Not just sing—this time she created magic with her voice, captivating the audience with the French words, telling a story with only notes and inflection, bringing the old Cajun tune to life.
After she finished, the audience applauded wildly, then called for more. “Do you know Quelle Etoile?” she asked Paul.
He did, thankfully. He nodded, then started the new song with its story about which star to seek. Once again, she stepped in with perfect pitch and tone.
They did three more songs, a couple of Cajun waltzes and a fast-paced song about broken hearts, all at the urging of the audience. With each one, Paul saw a different side of Marjo emerge, like a butterfly that had finally been released from its cocoon. This was clearly what she was meant to do.
When she finished, the two of them hurried off the stage to make room for Heather Bateman. Marjo had told Paul that Heather, an accomplished classical violinist, had come to Indigo in the summer to convince her sister Joan to leave the small town. But Heather had fallen in love with Samuel Kane, an Indigo carpenter, and hadn’t left yet. The fiddle she lifted to her shoulder was a priceless antique that had been in Samuel’s family for generations. As she started playing a Cajun tune, Paul caught sight of Samuel in the audience, love and pride radiating from his eyes.
Marjo stood in the wings of the stage, clearly exuberant about the performance she and Paul had just completed. “You were right.”
“Wow. Twice in the space of two weeks you’ve said that. Are you sure you haven’t just transplanted the real Marjo with a kinder, gentler version?”
She gave him a light jab. “Watch it, or I’ll hit you again. Lower.”
He grinned. “You wouldn’t dare, because that would ruin all your fun, too.”
Marjo blushed, but she had to admit Paul was right, and not just about protecting her interests. Singing in the opera house had fulfilled a lifelong dream of hers. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Thank you.” For returning. For the unforgettable time in her bed last night. And for giving her an experience onstage that she would remember forever.
“Marjolaine Savoy?”
Marjo turned and saw a tall man in a black suit with thick white pinstripes. He was balding, and wore wire-rimmed glasses that were too wide for his face, giving him the appearance of a wise old owl. Maybe that was why he wore the trendy suit. “Yes? That’s me.”
“Dave Basie, with the Merit Agency in New York.” He put out his hand, took Marjo’s and gave it a firm shake. “I was very impressed.”
For a second Marjo stood there, mouth agape. She recognized the name of the agency. Surely he wasn’t here for her.
“We’ve got a lot of talent in our little town,” she agreed. “The Indigo Boneshakers even put together a CD—”
“I was referring to you.”
She heard the words, but they didn’t process for a long second. “With me?”
“The other acts were impressive, I agree. And I’ll recommend some of them to my colleagues. But you have a unique style and sound. Not quite traditional Cajun, but not middle America, either.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” She glanced over at Paul, who had a Cheshire cat smile on his face.
The agent grinned. “That’s the easy part. Say you’ll allow me to represent you and then we’ll take your voice to the next level. Record deals, concert dates—”
She put up her hands to stop him. “I can’t do all that. I can’t leave here. I have a job, my brother.”
He reached into the breast pocket of his suit, pulled out a monogrammed silver case. From it, he withdrew a business card, which he placed in her hand. She stared at it. A couple decades ago, this would have been the answer to all her dreams, to all she had trained for when she was young.
“I know, all this is a little overwhelming right now,” he said. “Take my card and think about it. Call me when you make up your mind.” He gave her a smile, then sent a nod Paul’s way. “Thank you for bringing me down here. You were right, it was worth my time.” Then he turned and left.
Holy cow. An agent. Here. Listening to her. And even more, liking what he heard.
“You did this?” she said to Paul.
He grinned. “Yep.”
“But…why?”
He pulled her further into the recesses of the stage, where old sets and props lay stacked against the wall. “Because you have a wonderful talent, Marjo, and I really believe it’s one you should share with the world.”
“I appreciate that, Paul, but I just can’t do anything right now. Maybe next year—”
“You need to do something now, Marjo.” There was an urgency in Paul’s voice.
“When Gabriel doesn’t need me anymore, I can call that agent.”
“Gabriel is grown up. You’re the one who’s afraid of letting go and moving forward.” He shook his head, and a sadness filled his eyes that nearly killed her. “When you’re ready to make room for something more than just a single appearance.”
And then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the opera house that had once inspired romantic dreams in Marjo.
PAUL WALKED THROUGH the festival, trying a sample of Loretta’s breads and her father’s honey, sampling a new recipe from Willis’s kitchen at the Blue Moon Diner and thanking Joan Bateman for writing the brochure. He also picked up a copy of her latest book, Bayou Betrayal. “I had no idea you wrote under the pseudonym Jules Burrell,” he said. “I’ve read almost all his—your—books.”
Joan winked. “It was a secret for a long time, but I have to admit, it’s fun having people—especially fans—know who I am.”
“Well, I’m glad for something new to read. I finished your last book yesterday and already need another crime mystery fix.”
“Thank you. Hope you enjoy this one, too,” she said as she signed the book and handed it over to him.
Everywhere he went at the festival, it seemed he ran into someone he knew. As he made his way down the main street of Indigo, he felt a heaviness descend over his heart. Leaving this place a second time—the final time—would be harder than he’d thought.
As much as he’d hoped otherwise, it was clear nothing was ever going to happen between him and Marjo. He couldn’t will a relationship with her and she didn’t want to make room in her life for one.
Staying would only prolong the inevitable. There was no way he could live here and see her every day, knowing they had no future.
He took his camera out of the bag that was perpetually over his shoulder and snapped a few more shots of Indigo. Eventually he wandered behind St. Timothy’s Church, slipping in and out among the gravestones in the small cemetery behind the building. Finally he came to the white marble vault of the Valois family.
Alexandre and Amelie. Together in death, even if they had been robbed of the long, happy life they’d wanted. Paul touched the smooth marble.
They had been here. Lived in this place. Loved each other.
Was staying in one place really so bad? What if he kept traveling…and missed out on a love as deep and everlasting as theirs had been?
He took a photo of the vault with the angel on top, then the battery beeped a warning that it was getting low. Time to quit. To leave Indigo and Marjolaine Savoy. He tucked his camera back into his backpack, then headed for his rental car.
He’d go back to the bed-and-breakfast and book
the first flight out, before he tried something really stupid to get Marjo’s attention—like propose.
CHAPTER TWENTY
MARJO MADE IT through the rest of the CajunFest by concentrating solely on the remaining events.
Sixteen years ago, she would have done anything to have heard an agent say he’d liked her performance and would have signed with him right then and there. At nineteen, Marjo Savoy had been willing to take a risk.
Something she couldn’t afford at thirty-five.
And yet, she’d taken the biggest risk of all today. She had fallen in love with Paul Clermont.
What if she did go with him to Tibet? Or to other corners of the world? What if she signed with that agent, cut a record? What would happen to her brother? Her town? The comfortable quiet life that she had created?
Outside the perimeter of Indigo waited change. Something she’d avoided for years. The day her parents died, she’d also lost her sense of security. All the years since then, she’d spent trying to build that security for Gabriel, a bubble that would keep him from being hurt.
But the more she tried to do that, the more fragile that bubble became.
When the festival finally ended and the cleanup crew set to work, Marjo realized Paul hadn’t returned, as she’d secretly hoped he would. Disappointment weighed down her steps.
What had she expected? She’d practically shoved him out the door herself. He was probably already gone, on a plane to the other side of the world.
As she walked toward her car, she ran into Luc Carter.
“It worked out great, didn’t it?” he said. “The bayou boat cruises were a hit. I could have used Gabriel’s help, but I don’t blame him. There was a lot of fun to be found in town today.”
Marjo glanced around at the vendors closing up their booths. “I can’t believe we pulled it off.”
“This festival has definitely put Indigo on the map.”
Marjo nodded. “You haven’t seen Paul around, have you?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
A knowing grin crossed Luc’s face. “He went back to his room at La Petite Maison. I’m sure he hasn’t left yet, if you want to catch him.”
