by Liz Talley
Could everyone see the invisible ties that linked them?
Or was it merely wishful thinking on his behalf?
“You should come to Beau Soleil for dinner sometime,” his mother said.
Okay. Yep. Others could see it.
He looked at his mom. Her violet eyes assessed Lou. It was as if Picou had morphed into the bionic woman and calculations were ongoing inside her head. If he listened closely enough, he could hear the baw wah wah wah sound of the matchmaking scan in process.
Lou lifted her eyebrows. “Uh, well, that—”
“—can’t happen, Mom. Waylon is a prospect and there are rules regarding contact,” Abram said, lifting his gaze from the two families assembled around him. Most people were leaving the facility and with the initial hurdle in Waylon’s recruiting process, he didn’t need the extra scrutiny of the staff. He also didn’t need his mother trying to interfere in any way, especially in his love life. He and Lou were a non-issue at this juncture and they both needed to tread carefully, which meant he could not do something as stupid as he did a few days before. Eyes would be watching, followed by tongues wagging.
“What would be the harm, Nate?” Picou shrugged one shoulder.
“Abram,” Sally said.
“What, dear?” Picou turned to her daughter.
“That’s Abram. You called him Nate.”
“I know who he is. I gave birth to him, and this one nearly killed me he was so big. Anyhow—” Picou swiveled her head. “Coach Holt, come over here a minute.”
Oh. No.
Leonard Holt’s head lifted at the sound of Picou’s voice, periscoping until his gaze fell upon Abram’s mother. He ended his conversation and like an obedient spaniel, headed their way. His mother smiled the smile she reserved for helpless men. “Leo, darling, tell Abram I can have Lou and Lori Boyd over to Beau Soleil for dinner. How in the devil could that be seen as anything other than Southern hospitality? I have no stake in football.”
She said “football” as if it were a dirty word.
Coach Holt, recently divorced and not easily swayed by anyone, gave his mother an uncharacteristic smile. “Why, Picou, I doubt the NCAA could withstand any assault you’d launch upon them. As long as this is not an attempt to recruit Waylon nor sway him or his family in any way toward ULBR, you can have friendships.”
“Exactly.” Picou smiled, placing a hand on the coach’s forearm. “I certainly support Abram in his endeavors, but I’ve never done anything outside the rules…much.”
Leonard raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “Picou Dufrene, you are something else, woman.”
Abram thought he might vomit. On the other hand, his mother preened. “And what about you? When can I expect you to come to Beau Soleil for dinner?”
Sally glanced at him with wide eyes, and Abram tried not to make a face. His mother and Coach Leonard Holt were flirting. Ugh. Talk about a weird situation all around. He turned to Waylon. “Let me walk you guys out.”
Lou’s face was absolutely straight, but amusement shone in her eyes. Waylon tapped on his phone. “Sure.”
“I’m coming with y’all,” Sally said, almost too quickly.
They walked toward the open door, leading toward the outdoor practice fields. Sally made conversation with Lou while Waylon messed with Lori in true older brother fashion, aiming to embarrass her in front of the other prospects making their way to their cars. It was obvious Waylon and Lori had a healthy relationship—and also obvious Lori had gone to great pains to fix herself up for the trip to pick up Waylon. She wore a lipstick too dark for her and shorts a little too short—all deemed to attract the other boys in camp.
Abram took in the early summer afternoon as Lou told Sally about their parents’ infatuation with country music and thus the reason their names were so odd.
“So I get Waylon’s name obviously and Lori being short for Loretta Lynn. But Louise? I don’t remember a country music legend with that name,” Sally remarked as they neared the parking lot.
“Well, there used to be a show on TV hosted by Barbara Mandrell, and my daddy had a thing for Louise, one of the Mandrell sisters. My momma told him he could never have that Louise, but he could have me. I hated the name because I sound like an old blue-haired lady, but at least he didn’t like Irlene best. Can you imagine?”
Sally laughed, and Abram realized it was the first time he’d heard his sister do so. He glanced at Lou and Sally, two women alike in age, disposition and beauty, not to mention, each of them carried her vulnerability far below the surface, cautiously guarding herself against any and all who might crack them.
“Well, that’s a silver lining. Plus, I like the name Lou. It’s got character,” Sally said.
Waylon snorted. “Sounds like a sweaty old fat guy who eats bologna and feeds stray cats.”
“Nah, more like a construction worker,” Lori said, nearly tripping over one of the ever-present roots of the live oaks dotting the campus.
“Real funny, Lori,” Lou said, explaining to Sally she worked for a construction company.
They neared an older truck badly in need of washing. Lou pulled out the keys and tossed them to Waylon. “You drive.”
“But I want to drive. You said I could practice.” Lori folded her arms across her chest and made a standard teenager face. One that looked both threatening and whiny.
“Not in Baton Rouge.”
“He’s only a year and a half older, and you said once I got my permit I could drive every now and then. I need to practice.”
Waylon slid in and fired up the truck. “Too late, shrimp.”
“This sucks!” Lori said, opening the passenger door and slapping her brother on the back of the head.
“Yay. Fun,” Lou said under her breath, lifting the duffel Waylon had dropped when he caught the keys. “Thanks so much for all your help, Coach Dufrene.”
“Sure,” he said, wanting so badly to say more. To tell her how awful it was that things had to be this way. “I’ll be in touch in September, and we’ll arrange for Waylon to take an official visit later in the fall.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sally said with a wave.
“Wait!”
Abram turned, along with both women, to see his mother hoofing it across the campus toward the parking lot where they stood. She blazed a trail in her flouncy skirt and jangling bracelets, waving a car to stop so she could cross in front of it.
“Lou, I wanted to get your telephone number and address so I might send you a proper invitation to Beau Soleil. It’s a wonderful house. They filmed a movie there just this past year, can you believe? A horror film, but no matter, the house was in many of the shots. You will come for a visit, won’t you?”
“Um, I guess. Of course.”
Picou beamed at her, and then propped an overly-dramatic finger upon her cheek. “And maybe one or two of my children could happen to stop by.”
“Oh, Mrs. Dufrene, I’m afraid you have the wrong idea. I don’t have—”
“What she’s trying to say, Mom, is that if you’re thinking—”
“I’m not thinking anything other than making some new friends in Bonnet Creek,” his mother said, with a shrug practiced by a professional ingénue. “That’s okay, right?”
Lou’s cheeks were pink. She nodded her head. “Sure.”
“After all, I would never interfere in the lives of my children. They are all grown and can choose their friends for themselves. No one needs his or her mother arranging things, right?”
“Mom,” he warned.
“No, I’m sure they don’t.” Lou averted her eyes and dug in her purse for a pen before scratching contact info on an extra envelope. Picou met Abram’s gaze over her bowed head. And winked.
Oh. God.
His mother’s mission in life was to see all of her children in healthy relationships, with lots and lots of grandchildren galloping under the oaks of Beau Soleil. She could claim whatever she wanted, but she had plans for Lou.
And if
he were wise, he’d stay far away from his mother—and the lovely blonde. One day he might have a shot at something with Lou, but until then he had to forget he wanted her a little more than he did her brother.
It stunned him to realize how true his last thought was, and it scared him. He was on a professional track moving full-steam ahead toward his goals in coaching. He didn’t want to jump track over a woman. So he needed to focus on Waylon and try to bury the agreement he had with Lou. He had many months before him where she could be nothing to him but the sister of a recruit.
He only wished he could make himself believe it.
* * *
WAYLON FOUND LOU washing dishes in the kitchen. Lou was always washing, waxing or fixing something as if the ghost of their parents sat on her shoulder with looks of disapproval. That was Lou’s problem. She didn’t know how to let things slide.
“You’re not really going to go to Coach Dufrene’s mother’s house, are you?” he asked, wiping milk from his upper lip. Like he needed her to bitch about him drinking out of the carton again.
Her eyes zeroed in on the milk carton on the counter behind him. Busted.
“What was I supposed to say? I couldn’t be rude.”
“She thinks you’re into Coach.” He ignored the fact Lou kept looking at the half-gallon and leaned against the fridge.
Lou pulled the plug on the sink, allowing the dirty dishwater to drain away. “Can’t stop what other people think.”
“You aren’t, are you?” Some little bubble of fear surfaced when he thought about Hayden and his words of portent. Portent was a word he’d learned for the college entrance test, and warnings were popping all over the place. Even he saw that.
“What?”
“Into Coach.”
“Of course not. He’s nice-looking and probably the catch of the year, but I’m not really in the market. Besides, it would be a colossal conflict of interest.”
“Because of me?” He didn’t have to ask the question. Of course, he knew the answer. Lou always did the right thing, and that’s why sometimes she was so hard to talk to. Besides, she wouldn’t jeopardize his recruitment. Sure, she acted like it was all about him, but he knew she couldn’t wait to get rid of him and Lori.
“I don’t really want to discuss this, Way. It’s non sequitur.”
“What does that mean?” That word hadn’t been on his list.
“It’s not relative to what can happen. Coach Dufrene is recruiting you to play for his university. All contact must be documented. The same goes for me because I’m your guardian. Dating would be a little too much contact regardless of whether we wanted it or not.”
Longing tinged her words, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, he could tell Lou wished things were different. For a moment he almost felt sorry for her. Had to suck to be Lou sometimes. “So if I weren’t a recruit, you wouldn’t be interested?”
“I’m not looking for a relationship right now. You’ve got a big year coming up, and Lori’s got the SATs this year. I’m busier than ever at work, there isn’t time for—”
“—a life for you?”
She jerked back. “I have a life.”
“No, I mean someone for you. You don’t do anything for yourself. I hadn’t really thought about it until today when I saw how you were around Coach, but you don’t have much of a life. Don’t you think you should get out more?”
Lou tossed the towel onto the chipped ceramic counter. “What do you mean how I acted around the coach?”
“You know, like a girl,” he said, feeling like a scientist poking a specimen to see what might happen. He’d never thought about Lou as a woman. Hell, she’d practically dried up and withered in the best years of life, but it wasn’t too late. If she started wearing girl clothes and hanging out more with Mary Belle and Brittney.
“I didn’t act any particular way around Abram. I acted like Lou.”
“You just called him Abram.”
Busted.
And she knew it. Lou snapped her mouth closed. “Put the milk back in the fridge and stop drinking out of it.”
Waylon couldn’t stop the grin that twitched at his lips. God, he loved the upper hand. “I know girls, Lou. I’m around them all the time, and I know when a girl is into me. So I’m not stupid.”
“Well, you can know this. Nothing is going to happen between me and Abram Dufrene while he’s recruiting you. No matter what I feel toward him. Right now my goal is simple. Get you into college, self-sufficient and out of this frickin’ town so I can get out, too.” She slammed the cutlery drawer and pushed by Waylon.
“Hey,” he called following her. “Why are you so pissed?”
She stopped in front of where Lori sat watching a rerun of Gilmore Girls. “I’m not pissed. And you should watch your language.”
“Wait a sec, you’re leaving Bonnet Creek?” Lori sat up.
“Yeah. Go figure. I never wanted to live here, not that you two would ever know that.” Lou jabbed a finger at him then his sister. He swore he saw tears swimming in her eyes, but it could have been the flickering light of the TV. “It’s always about you. About lunch money or clean socks. About new cleats or selling cookies for the Girl Scouts. You ever think I might not want to do any of this? Ever strike you that I’m a twenty-seven-year-old dried-up spinster?”
He thought about hugging Lou, but she looked mad enough to hit him. “We didn’t sign up for any of this, either.”
Lori’s mouth got that crying look, all narrow and trembly, but she didn’t say anything. Just looked at their older sister with scared eyes that seemed to deflate Lou.
“You know, now is not the time to talk about my future. What I do after you both reach a legal age isn’t anyone’s concern but mine.” Lou stalked to the TV and punched a button. “And you’re watching too much TV, Lori. You’re frying your brain.”
Lou stomped out of the living room, leaving them looking at each other.
“I can’t believe Lou wants to leave Bonnet Creek,” Lori said, pulling a throw pillow into her lap and twisting the fringe.
“Can’t you? Who the hell wants to stay in this crappy town?”
“I would,” Lori said, looking back at the blank screen.
“Grow up, Lori,” he said, grabbing the truck keys and opening the front door.
“Way—” Lori said, jumping up from the couch.
“I’m going out,” he yelled loud enough for Lou to hear. He ignored his other sister, standing there looking lost.
Life felt too intricate right now, like the pieces of that model tank Aunt Ora had bought him once. Million pieces spread out everywhere that couldn’t possibly come together to make anything that would work. He’d thrown that damn thing in the garbage after a few days.
He’d tried to do the right things, but they turned out feeling wrong. The same town, the same friends, the same house full of rules had him feeling like he was choking. Feeling like he wanted to say the hell with it and throw it all in the garbage.
Something was wrong with him.
And that something scared him.
He didn’t know how he’d keep himself together for the upcoming year.
CHAPTER TEN
October 2011
IN A WHIRL OF meetings and camps, Abram’s summer flew by. Before he blinked the football players were reporting to camp, and two-a-days had him intense and focused on the development of his tight ends, along with the offense in general. Carl Domaigne, the offensive coordinator, had the coaches in daily meetings focusing on getting the new scheme perfected. Abram barely had time to think about clean underwear, much less the empty spot in the bed he never slept in anyway. His couch had been his bed for more nights than not. The opener against Oregon State came and went with a win and some smaller out of conference schools quickly dealt with. Now the first SEC game loomed that weekend, and Mississippi State was no slouch under Coach Dan Wheeler. The Bulldogs’ defense was stout and came at the offense like dogs possessed.
It had been
a hard week of practice, but he looked forward to tonight and another chance to talk to Lou—after he spoke with Waylon, of course.
Once he packed his bags for the weekend and made a few calls to other recruits in his area, he collapsed on the leather couch, placed a cold Abita beer on the coffee table, and turned the volume on the TV down.
The phone rang three times before Lou answered. “Hey.”
“Hey, how’re things in Bonnet Creek?”
Her voice was low and slightly husky. He’d never heard her sing, but somehow he knew she’d have that smoky Adele tone. “Okay. The Owls have a big game against Mamou tomorrow night and Way’s been practicing hard which is good because it’s keeping him focused. Let me hand the phone to him.”
He took a draw on his beer, smiling as he heard Lou calling for Waylon and the phone scrabbling around on something. Maybe a table or the couch. Either way he liked to imagine her in her nightgown, hair down, maybe a cup of tea or even a glass of wine in hand.
“’Lo?” Waylon’s voice jerked him from his tame fantasy. The kid sounded tired. Whether it was as a result of the incessant phone calls from the many Division I schools across the country or from the practice he’d finished several hours ago, Abram could only guess.
“How are things going, Waylon?”
“Fine. I guess.”
Yes, these high school athletes were whizzes when it came to the art of conversation. “Good. Good to hear. Y’all ready for tomorrow night? I hear the Demons run the spread. They got a good sophomore receiver.”
“Yeah, but our D can handle them.”
More silence. Usually Abram had little trouble building a relationship with his recruits. Most were happy to talk about themselves, spouting new clean jerk records and shuttle times. Some even talked about movies, girls and, gasp, football. But not Waylon. Abram felt like every response was forced. The only upside of the conversation resulted when Waylon turned the phone over to Lou.
And that shouldn’t be happening.
Abram needed to reach Waylon on some level.
“Spoke with Coach Landry last week when he came to campus for a workshop. He said you’d stopped coming by his office this year. He seems worried about you.”
