The back roads all looked the same after a while, and I couldn’t tell if I’d gone in a big circle or led myself out into the middle of nowhere. It was soothing, driving alongside the cool green-gray water of the canal. The katydids had started again, their buzzing louder than the car engine. When at last I came to a familiar intersection, I realized Vergie’s house was only about five minutes away, to my right. I turned left and drove until I came to a diner with a neon sign in the shape of a catfish.
It was a clapboard shack, all weathered wood with peeling paint, and had an earthy kind of charm. It sat nestled in a grove of huge oak trees, their limbs draped with white lights that twinkled in the branches like fireflies. A few cars were parked out front, and a couple of smokers lingered by the door. A sign read “Cold Beer, Catfish Special,” with a hand-painted arrow pointing toward the shack from the road. There was no sign that indicated the name.
There weren’t any other places between here and Vergie’s—not along this little highway. I was tired of driving but still didn’t want to go back and face Jack. Pushing thoughts of him aside, I climbed out of the Jeep. The two men by the door, both with gray beards and baseball caps, nodded a greeting as I stepped inside.
The place was dark except for lanterns hanging over the booths. Some tables were crammed together on one side of the room, and there was a bar in the back with red lights above it. The tables and chairs were mismatched, all different colors of vinyl likely reclaimed from 1950s diners. In the back, a group of men were playing pool. The air split with the sound of balls cracking on a break, followed by hoots and whistles. Smoke hung in clouds above me.
A few heads turned as I slid into a booth near the bar. I was hoping to hide there for a while and get myself together.
And give Jack enough time to leave.
A waitress with a short skirt and beat-up red and black cowboy boots came to the table. I could hear her boot heels, even over the jukebox.
“Hi,” she said. “Get you something to drink?”
“Bourbon. A double, please.”
She smiled and set a menu in front of me, then headed to the bar.
There was an empty corner in the back, a space where two couples danced to an old country song I remembered from when I was a kid. Watching them tangled together made me think of Jack, and I shook my head, like that might knock the thought of him away. But skin has a memory of its own. I could still feel his hands as he held me tight against him, and his lips as they moved along my neck.
The waitress brought my drink and asked if I wanted something to eat.
So I ordered a burger. I had to eat, even though my stomach was churning. Bourbon with no food was a bad idea.
The couples danced on as the music changed to some modern country tune filled with false twang. By the way people looked at me, it was clear this was a local hangout that didn’t get many outsiders. I knocked back the last of the bourbon, hoping the pleasant tingling in my toes might move to my brain and push away the image of Jack pinning me against that newly painted wall.
When I’d finished my burger and my second drink, a voice from behind me said, “It pains me to see a lady with an empty glass.”
I turned, ready to let this guy have it. It took a minute to recognize him, but then he tugged on his suspenders, and the memory fell into place. Buck, from the hardware store.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Buck said. “Just saw you over here and thought I’d say hello. What are you doing here all by yourself?”
“Needed a break. Have a seat if you like.”
He squeezed into the other side of the booth. When the waitress breezed by, he said, “Hey, Sheila, can we get two more of what the lady’s having?”
“Just a single this time,” I said.
Sheila nodded and sauntered back to the bar.
“You look like you could use another one,” he said. “If you don’t mind me saying.”
“Nope. I imagine I do.”
He smiled a sad smile. “That Jack giving you a hard time?”
“My house is giving me a hard time.”
He stared at me, raising one eyebrow. There was a twinkle in his eye.
“There really are no secrets in this town,” I said.
Sheila placed two drinks in front of us and winked at Buck.
“Cheers!” He clinked his glass against mine. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em without doing time.”
I took a long swallow.
“He’s a good guy,” Buck said. “Just makes mistakes sometimes, like the rest of us.”
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”
He smiled in that way that uncles do. “I’m sure you got a good reason to be mad, darlin’. You seem like a sensible woman. But knowing him, if he knows you’re this upset, he’s as mad at himself as you are. Don’t hold it over him for too long.”
I felt my cheeks flush from the bourbon. Maybe from something else too.
“Things always seem better in the morning,” he said. “And they always seem worse at a place like this.”
“Sounds like you’ve been in this predicament once or twice.”
“Yep. Once or twice… You gonna be OK?”
I snorted. “I’m fine.”
“I mean to get home, honey.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll be here a good long while. Next one will be coffee.”
He finished his drink and eased out of the booth. “I’ll leave you be, then. You get yourself home safe now, OK?”
I raised my glass as he ambled back to the other side of the room. Maybe Buck was right—maybe I was being too hard on Jack. We’d only known each other a few days, so why should I be surprised to learn he had baggage? Lord knows I had my share. I cursed out loud, shoving myself against the back of the booth.
When I heard heavy footsteps again, I thought Buck was coming back. To look at him, you wouldn’t think he was such a softy. He looked like he could break a man in half with his thumb and index finger. “Really, I’m fine,” I said, leaning my head against the booth.
“I’d say so.” A man slid into the seat across from me. Remy. “Little Miss Firecracker.” His voice was cool. “What are you doing in here all alone?”
“Being alone.” I gave him a hard stare.
He had cleaned up considerably since that day at Buck’s. It was criminal for such good looks to be wasted on an ass like him.
He raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands together on the table. “Looks to me like you could use some company.”
“Let me save you some time,” I said. “Whatever you think is going to happen here, it isn’t.”
He smiled so his dimples showed and leaned so close I smelled faint traces of aftershave. His eyes narrowed like he was about to trust me with a secret. “I just came to apologize, sugar. I think you and I got off on the wrong foot the other day. I was hoping I could make it up to you.”
His knee pressed against mine under the table, and I didn’t pull away.
“Let me guess. You love a good challenge.”
There was that wolfish smile again. “I lost my manners that day, and I worry you got the wrong idea about me. I can’t bear the thought of you thinking I’m such a jackass.”
I laughed. “Why do you give a damn what I think?”
Without blinking, he said, “I know an extraordinary woman when I see one.”
I took a sip from the glass. Part of me wanted to slap his cheek and walk away, but the wicked part of me wanted to stay a little longer.
“Come dance with me,” he said, his eyes steady on mine.
“Don’t really feel like dancing.”
He flashed a mischievous grin, then stood and took my hand. “Come on, sugar, let me give you a proper apology. I’m not the big loup garou you think I am.”
I was pleasantly numb, and bored with arguing. So I let him pull me from the table and lead me to the far corner of the bar. As an old blues song blared on the jukebox behind us, he raised my arms and placed them
around his neck. He lowered his hands to the small of my back, pulling me against him, and I didn’t exactly want to pull away.
“Now,” he said, his lips moving against my ear, “that’s not so bad, is it?”
His voice was gravelly and low, his breath warm against my neck. He smelled like tobacco and musk, like he’d been working in the sun all day. His hand was firm against my back. I started to pull away, but he drew me closer, his thumb barely sliding under the hem of my shirt to stroke my bare skin. My skin tingled beneath his fingers, and I stopped thinking of prying myself loose. Instead I leaned into him, sliding my fingers along the line of his collar.
“I feel bad for offending you the other day. Mayronne and me, we just don’t get along. My temper sometimes gets the best of me when he’s around.”
“That’s an understatement.”
He laughed. “Fair enough.”
“What did he ever do to you, anyway?” As soon as I asked, I felt him bristle.
“Aw, you don’t want to hear about all that. We just don’t see eye to eye. Never have, and we go back a long time.”
The sad look in his eyes made me think that maybe he wasn’t the bad guy I’d first taken him for. It was beginning to feel like my instincts were completely off-kilter down here, so much so that I couldn’t tell the sheep from the wolves any more. The more he talked, the more I wondered about what had happened between him and Jack to create such a rift.
He spun me and then pulled me close again. “What do you say, sugar? Think we can be friends now?”
At the table behind us, Buck leaned back in his chair. From the look on his face, I half expected him to come split us apart.
The music changed to a fast song, and Remy squeezed my hip. “Come on, next round’s on me.”
He set our drinks on the table and slid next to me in the booth so that we were barely touching. “So tell me something about yourself,” he said. “What brings you down to the bayou?”
I told him about Vergie and how I spent my summers there, how I rode billy goats through the thickets and fished in the swamp with a bottle cap on a hook.
“Now I’m trying to fix Vergie’s house,” I said. “But you don’t want to hear about all of that.”
“Sure I do.” He draped his arm across the back of the booth behind my head.
I knew I was tipsy because I was talking too much, going on and on about preserving the architecture and keeping it true to what Vergie would have liked. When I finally stopped myself, he said, “And then you’re handing it over to Mayronne?”
I stopped, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
He raised his eyebrows, sipping his drink. “Oh, maybe I misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood what?”
He shrugged. “I heard him telling Buck he was staying in that house once y’all were finished with it. Said it was his when the work was done.”
I felt my cheeks burning. “He said what?”
He stared at me for a long moment. “Well, maybe I got that wrong. Never mind.”
“That son of a bitch. What else did he say?”
He finished his drink. “Sorry, sugar. Like I said—I might have misheard the whole thing.” He moved the glass in a tiny circle. “Forget I said anything. Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”
I shook my head, thinking I’d go back to the house, throw all of Jack’s stuff into the yard and pray for rain while I did it. “Bastard,” I hissed, tossing back the rest of my drink.
“Sorry. We were getting along so well. I don’t like to make a lady mad.” He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear.
I leaned back against the booth. “It’s fine. I’m not mad at you.”
He slid closer. “Good. I’d hate to wreck our evening.” His hand traveled along my thigh, high enough to refocus my attention. When I glanced down, he said, “I could take your mind off all of that nonsense.”
“Yeah, I bet you could.”
“Let me show you what the Big Easy’s all about, jolie.”
Before I could say anything, he leaned over and brushed his lips against my neck, drawing a line from my ear to my collarbone. The roughness of his cheek made me shiver.
I lay my hand on his chest, more to steady myself than anything else, and he kissed me hard on the mouth, sliding his hand along my jaw. I glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, but quickly decided I didn’t care. The jukebox was still blaring, and the couples were still swaying in the pool of light in the corner. His hand seemed heavy on my collarbone, holding me in place. I imagined what it would be like if we were alone, and for a solid minute, considered the likelihood of that happening. When he suddenly broke away, I opened my eyes.
Jack was pulling him out of the booth by his collar.
“What the hell!” Remy said.
Jack dragged him into the cluster of tables. “Was I not clear the other day?” Couples scattered as Jack spun Remy around and shoved him face-first into the bar. “What part of ‘stay away from her’ was so hard to understand?”
Jack turned to me and said, “We’re leaving.”
Remy laughed, dabbing blood from his split lip. “I don’t think she wants to go anywhere with you, son. And now you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”
He rushed at Jack, throwing a punch that caught him on the chin. Jack staggered backwards and swung as Remy came closer.
The bartender shouted, pulling a baseball bat from under the register. “Oh hell no,” he yelled. “Take that outside!”
They kept swinging at each other, falling against a table. Beer bottles crashed to the floor, sending a spray of glass beneath their feet. The fight was so fast it was like it couldn’t be happening. I had to convince myself that, yes, it was. Then I realized I should be doing something to stop it, since I was just sitting there watching slack-jawed while two guys beat each other into lumps.
Over me.
“Hey,” I said, scrambling out of the booth. “Cut it out.” I stumbled toward them, only then discovering how drunk I actually was. Buck grabbed me around the waist and corralled me against the bar as the crowd moved out of their way.
“It’s gonna take more than you to bust them up,” he said.
The bartender rushed over, pulling Jack off Remy as he dodged one last punch. He held the bat between them, his face reddening. “Outside,” he yelled. “Now!”
Remy stood, grinning as blood trickled from his lip. He stepped closer to Jack and leaned down into his face. “I hope you’re getting used to the flames, Mayronne,” he said. “There’s still room enough for you in hell, and I’m gonna see to it that you get there.” He turned and spat a mouthful of blood on the floor as he walked to the door. He flashed his wolfish grin back at me, one that said he wasn’t giving up just yet.
“Out,” the bartender said, giving him a final shove. The door slammed behind him, and the bartender turned to Jack. “And you too. Don’t come back until you can be civilized.” He brushed his hands off on his jeans, muttering to himself as he walked back around the bar. He downed a shot of something dark, and then took out a broom and dustpan.
I pushed my way through the crowd and went outside. In the parking lot, Jack and Remy were circling each other like a couple of junkyard dogs.
“You really want to do this?” Jack asked. “Let’s go.”
Remy laughed, the blood on his face black in the moonlight. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”
“Stop!” I shouted, grabbing Remy’s arm.
He yanked his arm free, and I fell backwards onto the gravel.
“Son of a bitch,” Jack said, and clocked him in the eye. Remy staggered backwards, then rushed him like a quarterback and put him in a headlock.
I scrambled to my feet, so mad I’d almost sobered up. Before I could get to them, the door opened, and Buck rushed across the parking lot, barreling toward them like a bull. He pried Remy off and twisted his arm behind his back. The big man made it look easy. He had forty pounds on Remy and Jack. He
could have knocked Remy flat on the ground if he wanted to.
“That’s enough,” Buck said.
Remy gritted his teeth. He struggled to free himself, but Buck’s grip was like a bear trap.
Jack rubbed his eyebrow and winced as his fingers came away red.
“Are you gonna leave now?” Buck asked Remy. “Or do I need to break your arm to convince you that you’ve worn out your welcome?”
Remy grimaced and muttered something I couldn’t quite make out. Buck loosened his grip, and Remy stepped away, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head like a boxer going into the ring. I thought for a second he’d take a swing at Buck, but he only trudged across the parking lot. As he climbed into his truck, he yelled, “This ain’t over, Mayronne. Not even close!” He peeled out, spraying gravel in an arc.
Jack walked over to me, his face stern.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I came to take you home,” he said, irritated.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I crossed my arms over my chest and wobbled a little, feeling the full punch of the bourbon now.
“I thought you might say that.”
“Well congratulations on your outstanding powers of reasoning.” I sneered as the words came out slurred.
He cocked his head. “You going to make this difficult?”
“If you didn’t already look like hell, I’d slug you myself.”
He took a step closer, his jaw rigid. In one swift motion, he scooped me up and heaved me over his shoulder.
“Hey,” I hollered. “Put me down!”
He ignored me and wrapped his arms around my legs, pinning me against him as I pounded my fists against his back.
“Jack Mayronne, you put me down this instant,” I yelled. I looked around for help and saw Buck leaning against his old blue pickup truck, smoking a cigarette. “Buck!” I howled. “Help me!” But he just smirked and waved at me.
“Jack! I’m not kidding. You put me down or—”
“Or what?”
“Just put me down!”
He carried me across the parking lot and slipped me off his shoulder when we reached his truck. I stood dumbfounded as the earth seemed to tilt sideways, and I felt sure I’d hit the ground again. He reached behind me, opened the door and motioned for me to get inside.
Bayou My Love: A Novel Page 8
