Acadian Waltz

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Then dance for me, once more. Make this vielle happy. Show me how you two used to dance.”

  “You’re not an old woman, Momma.” Jean Marc stood from the table and begrudgingly took my hand. “Come on. She will pester us until we do this.”

  He pulled me to the center of the kitchen, and when he faced me, my legs became weak. I swallowed hard as his hand went around my waist and moved my body closer to his.

  “Follow me, Nora. Just do what I do,” he whispered.

  He moved back and then to the side, and the seductive grace of his movements unnerved me. I stared down at his feet, hoping to alleviate my growing discomfort.

  “Look into my eyes. Don’t follow my feet,” he said softly to me.

  When my eyes found his, a burst of heat sliced through me. His body pressed into mine as we swayed back and forth to some unknown melody. I became lost in the sensation of being held in his strong arms. The aroma of his woody cologne swirled around me as the warmth from his body quieted my unease. For a moment it was just the two of us, joined together with no knowledge or care for the world beyond that kitchen door.

  Ms. Marie’s frenzied clapping broke the spell between us. “That’s it,” she happily cried.

  Jean Marc stopped dancing and stared into my eyes. An unfamiliar passion began coursing through my veins. I suddenly ached for him, and as the hot flush of longing rose from my gut, I pulled away.

  I directed my attention to the clock on the stainless microwave, sitting on the kitchen counter across from me. “I should be heading back to the city,” I mumbled.

  Ms. Marie frowned at me. “So soon, child? It’s still early yet.”

  “Nora has things to do, Momma. She has a fiancé, a wedding to plan, and a very busy career,” Jean Marc asserted.

  “Oh, I don’t know how you girls today find the energy.” Ms. Marie waved her hand at me. “In my day raisin’ children and keepin’ house was more than enough.”

  I reached for my purse on the kitchen table. “My fiancé shares your sentiments, Ms. Marie. He wants me to quit my job and stay home after the wedding.”

  “I hope you told him to go to hell,” Jean Marc barked.

  I slung my purse strap over my shoulder. “No, I’m considering finding another job. Perhaps something not quite as hectic as my job at the hospital.”

  “But I thought you loved your job. Why are you going to let him dictate your life?” he demanded.

  “He’s not dictating my life. I’m not even sure if I’m going to get another job,” I defended, raising my voice to him.

  Jean Marc’s scowl returned. “You shouldn’t let him push you around, Nora. If he loves you, he won’t care where or how much you work. He should only want you to be happy, not—”

  “Arrete toi,” Ms. Marie harshly called to her son. “It’s not your place to tell her what to do, Jean Marc.”

  There was a moment of nervous silence between the three of us, and then Ms. Marie smiled. “He was always so protective of you when you were a peeshwank. You must forgive him, Nora T. Old habits die hard in my boy.”

  The kitchen walls began to close in around me. “I must get going,” I insisted as I stepped over to Ms. Marie and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon.”

  She placed her loving arms about me and held me close. “You come back anytime you like.” She released me and nodded to her son. “Jean Marc can walk you to your car.”

  Jean Marc turned from the table and disappeared into the house.

  He was waiting on the front porch when I stepped out the front door. His eyes impatiently scanned my body, and then Jean Marc started down the steps. He walked ahead to the little shell-covered path that led to the long driveway. I had to break into a slight jog to catch up with him.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked as I came alongside him.

  “Nothing,” he muttered as he kept his eyes on the path ahead.

  “All right, fine. Don’t tell me. Sulk all you want.”

  He jerked to a sudden stop. “You think I’m sulking?”

  “You seem very….” I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, disturbed.”

  His eyes were distracted for a moment by the glister of my diamond engagement ring in the afternoon sun. “Disturbed?” He gave a disgruntled snort and started back down the path.

  I raced to catch up with his long stride.

  “So what is it? Is it the business, or your mother, or my uncle? What?”

  “There are some things that need not concern you, Nora. You lead your life and I’ll lead mine.”

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face me. “Jean Marc, talk to me. Let me help.”

  “Help?” His face was contorted with frustration. His eyes were like black fire. “All right, you want to help? Fine.” He pulled me to him, and then his lips came down hard on mine.

  The heat from his kiss spread quickly throughout my body, making me forget who I was and where I was. All I could feel, all I knew was the sensation of his mouth pressed against mine. Then as quickly as it started, it stopped. He let me go and pushed me away.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” He ran his hands through his dark, wavy hair. “Damn it.”

  “You want to explain what just happened?” I questioned, trying to control my shaky voice.

  The fire in his eyes was gone, replaced with the pale light of regret. “I’m sorry. I, ah, lost my head.” His chilly demeanor instantly returned. “It won’t happen again.”

  I searched his features, desperate for some clue as to what he was thinking. “Jean Marc, is there something you want to talk about?”

  “Talk?” He shook his head and stepped back from me. “I think I’ve said about everything I need to say. Good-bye, Nora.” He turned and quickly headed toward his family home.

  Chapter 12

  Two weeks later I was sitting in my small office at Uptown Hospital going over my reduced schedule with Steve. Eager to shave some money from her budget, my supervisor had happily granted my request to cut back my hours at the hospital. I also put in for some overdo vacation time in order to plan my wedding.

  “Are you doing this for him, or are you doing this for your mother?” Steve pestered as he sat across from my desk. “Because I just don’t see you doing this for yourself.” He paused and his worried blue eyes probed my features. “I thought you liked this job, Nora.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t keep up these hours and plan a wedding. I’m doing this for my future with John. I like my job, but to tell you the truth, I want more.”

  “Like what? Kids, the white picket fence, and the golden retriever?”

  I shuffled around a few of the papers on my desk. “No, I want to grow, to be more, to learn more. I want to change myself.”

  “Change yourself? I’ve never heard you talk like this. When did all this start?”

  I opened a red manila folder in front of me. “I don’t know. Over the past couple of weeks I’ve been doing some real soul-searching, and I have discovered I really don’t like myself very much.”

  “Soul-searching? I thought it was called dieting. You look like you’ve lost ten pounds since you first walked in here with that rock on your finger.” He waved to my left hand. “I know quite a few brides diet, go dress shopping, reception hunting, and even fine china reconnoitering, but I have never heard of a bride soul-searching before the wedding.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Honey, soul-searching is what you do before the divorce.”

  “It’s difficult to explain, Steve. You’re not a woman. You wouldn’t understand.” I hurriedly started putting some of the papers into the red folder.

  “Wouldn’t understand?” He snickered and stood from his chair. “Darlin’, I understand a lot more than you think. For instance, does any of this soul-searching have to do with the guy who sent you the roses?”

  I slapped the folder closed and shot him a dirty look.

  Steve smiled, a great big smile, showing all of his perfect white te
eth. “I see, so the fish guy is part of the problem.”

  “There’s no problem. And no to what you’re thinking.” I pointed at his smile. “Jean Marc is just an old friend.” I picked up the red folder and opened my desk drawer.

  He leaned in closer to me. “Has he kissed you?”

  I almost dropped the folder in my hand.

  “Aha!” Steve clapped his hands together, laughing like a hyena. “He did kiss you.” He stopped laughing and placed his hands on his hips. “Oh, you little slut.”

  “It was nothing,” I insisted as I put the folder away in my desk drawer.

  “Bull. Look at you. You’re blushing.”

  I covered my face with my hands and could feel the heat on my cheeks.

  “Must have been one hell of a kiss…or was there something more?”

  “No! None of it matters now.” I slammed the drawer of my desk closed. “I won’t be going back to Manchac, and I won’t be seeing Jean Marc again!”

  “What about your uncle? I thought you wanted to keep a closer eye on him?”

  I reached for a patient chart from the pile on the side of my desk. “Uncle Jack is fine. He has a job working at the Gaspard’s house, and he won’t need me checking up on him anymore.”

  “Avoiding the problem doesn’t make it go away, Nora.”

  I looked up at him. “Please, Steve, this is hard enough for me without you throwing Jean Marc in my face all the time.”

  Steve threw his hands up in resignation. “All right, I’ll behave for now, but you do realize all you have done by cutting back your hours is cram more into the days you are here. The orthopedic doctors will still expect their reports on time, just like the operating room and the hospital administration will expect their reports on time. Seems to me this fiancé of yours is being more of a hindrance than a help.”

  I glimpsed the tall pile of patient charts next to me and sighed. “I know, but for now this is what I have to do to keep him and my mother off my back.”

  Steve strutted to my office door. “Whenever you need to get away from your man and your mother, let me know. I think you need a good old-fashioned girls’ night out to get rid of all that pent-up frustration.” He glanced back at me as he put his hand on the doorknob. “When you’re ready to get wild and crazy let me know.” He winked at me. “I know all the best spots in town.”

  * * *

  The following morning I rose early to prepare for a day of presentations to several organizations around the city. Part of my job was being an ambassador for the hospital and going into the community to teach people about knee and hip replacement. But I had to do some last minute scrambling with my wardrobe to find something presentable to wear.

  “How’s this?” I asked John who was standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

  He took in my double-breasted gray pantsuit and nodded. “Very professional. But you could do to gain a few pounds, Nora.” He eyed me up and down for a moment. “You’re getting awfully thin.”

  I pulled at the loose-fitting waistband of my pants. “Yeah, well, brides are supposed to lose weight for their wedding, aren’t they?”

  He leaned against my kitchen counter. “Not three months before the wedding; and besides, there was never anything wrong with your weight.”

  “Fine,” I responded, waving away his concern. “I’ll eat ice cream for lunch. Anything else?”

  He sipped his coffee and slowly looked me over again. “Don’t forget we are to meet your mother at Gallier Hall at five o’clock to go over the reception menu.” He went to my refrigerator and pulled a yellow slip of paper from the door. “Then you and your mother are to go to your first dress fitting at seven,” he added, handing me the yellow piece of paper. “This is the address of the dress shop. Claire wanted me to give it to you.”

  I stared at the paper in my hand. “I haven’t even picked out a dress yet. How can I be fitted for something I haven’t even chosen?”

  “Your mother has a selection of dresses she picked out over two weeks ago waiting for you at that dress shop. You just choose the one you like and they will start fitting it on you.”

  I grimaced at John, dreading the yards of silk, lace, and white chiffon that would be awaiting me. “What if I don’t like any of them? You have no idea how bad my mother’s taste can be.”

  He put his coffee mug down on the counter. “Look, Nora, no one is going to make you wear something you don’t want to, or make you have the kind of wedding you don’t want to have. I won’t let them. This is our wedding. I only want you to be happy.”

  I recalled Jean Marc saying something similar the last time we had seen each other. My mind swarmed with visions of our dance together on Ms. Marie’s old bricked floor, the way he had kissed me and then walked away.

  “Let’s get you some breakfast.” John’s voice catapulted me back from my memories. “Then you go do your presentations.” He snapped his finger in the air and walked into the living room. When he reemerged, he was carrying a handful of papers. “Drop these off at St. Rita’s Church on your way. They’re for Father Delacroix, for our Pre-Cana.” He handed the papers to me.

  I gleaned through the small stack of papers. “I thought we were going to fill these forms out together. When did you do this?”

  “Last night at work. Father Delacroix needs them by today so he can schedule our sessions.” He pointed at a small piece of paper stapled to the form on top. “I left him a note asking him to schedule our sessions on Thursdays after five, when I can get off from the ER without any hassle.”

  I felt the weight of the papers in my hands and sighed. “All right, John.” I walked out of the kitchen.

  John followed me into the living room. “What about breakfast?”

  I reached for my purse by the front door and stuffed the papers inside of it. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” I muttered and rushed out the door.

  * * *

  After spending forty-five minutes watching my mother and John decide on grilled red snapper and oysters Bienville for the reception at Gallier Hall, I drove to the exclusive bridal shop on St. Charles Avenue for my first dress fitting. Displayed in the store window was a flowing white gown with a fifteen-foot train draped around a mannequin. I wondered if I would ever come anywhere near to looking half as good as that lifeless doll.

  “What’s wrong with you, Nora?” Mother nagged as we walked into the dress shop. “You never said a word at Gallier Hall, and poor John had to make all the menu decisions.”

  “I don’t think he minded one bit.”

  She went to a counter by the door and rang a small bell. “Of course he minded, Nora. He was just too nice to say anything to you in front of me. Lord, don’t you care about what is served at your wedding? People will form their impressions of the caliber of your wedding based on the food you serve.”

  I smirked at her. “That’s why I’ve got you, Mother. To make sure we make the best possible impression for all your friends.”

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

  A pale, short woman with dark hair pulled back in a bun appeared from behind a wide, red curtain in the wall. She stepped behind the counter and smiled meekly at my mother.

  “May I help you?” she asked in a timid voice.

  “We have a seven o’clock fitting with Ms. Lillian. The bride’s name is Kehoe,” Mother told her.

  The pale woman simply nodded and then retreated behind the curtain.

  I scanned a few of the white lace dresses displayed at the entrance. “What is this place anyway, Mother?”

  Mother proudly smiled. “Lillian Nash. She is one of the best wedding dress designers in the South. Her gowns have appeared on the cover of several prominent magazines. She’s very exclusive, but I had some friends put in a good word for us.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I should have known.”

  A petite woman with Asian features appeared from behind the curtain. She had long, black hair, and a small porcelai
n face with dark blue, almond-shaped eyes. She looked from me to my mother and then she smiled.

  “Mrs. Schuller?” She walked around the counter, holding her tiny hand out to my mother. “How nice to see you again.” After shaking hands with my mother, the woman’s eyes turned to me. “You must be our bride, Nora. I’m Lillian Nash, but you must call me Lily.” She placed her hands on my shoulders and gently turned me to the side, inspecting every inch of me with her deep blue eyes. “Very pretty,” she commented. She nodded to my mother. “Let’s go in the back and see what Nora thinks of your selections, Mrs. Schuller.”

  I followed my mother and Lily behind the counter and through the red curtain. We stepped into a narrow hallway that led to a fitting room. The walls were covered with mirrors, and in between the mirrors were large hooks. In the center of the room was a raised, circular platform. Off to the right was a dressing room, and waiting by the far wall were racks of white wedding dresses covered in clear plastic bags. Lily glided over to the racks and began pulling out dresses. She carefully placed them on the hooks spread along the walls of the room.

  As I watched the dresses being displayed, an oppressive sense of catastrophe descended over me. It was worse than I feared. There were rhinestones, an overabundance of white beads, large bows, an excessive use of lace, and even big, puffy sleeves on every dress. I tried my best to hide my disappointment, but Lily, being an expert at this sort of thing, must have sensed my reaction.

  “I just love this one,” Mother cooed over a balloon-shaped taffeta nightmare with shimmering silver beads sewn into the bodice.

  “Perhaps Nora would like something a little simpler,” Lily reflected as she moved back toward the rack.

  “No, I think any one of these would be perfect,” Mother assured her as she took in the dresses spread about the room.

  Lily moved through the racks until she found what she had been looking for. She removed the gown from its protective cover and came back to me.

  “This one, I think,” she suggested, gazing from the dress to me. “It reminds me of you.” She held it before me, fanning out the fabric so I could get the full effect.