“I’m sure it is.” Georgia laughed. “Anyway, the answer to your question is yes, you Protestant snob. I know my Bible.”
“ I won’t question your biblical knowledge ever again.”
“Thank you,” Georgia said. “And in return, I’ll send up a novena for you.”
“You can send up a smoke signal for me if you think it’ll work,” Jacey said.
“There’s an idea,” Georgia said. She grabbed the empty chip bag and openly brushed her crumbs from the comforter as Jacey watched and groaned. “Now put some makeup on and get ready. I’ll man the door.”
“You are a sweetheart,” Jacey said as Georgia left the room.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”
Colin arrived at seven sharp, and Jacey tiptoed to her bedroom door to hear his conversation with Georgia.
“Do come in, Rev.”
“Nurse Georgia.”
“She’ll be out in a few minutes,” Georgia said. “She’s . . . doing something. Brushing her hair, trying to find the hat that matches her habit . . . I don’t know.”
Jacey rolled her eyes. She was going to kill her.
But Colin laughed.
“So, where are y’all going and what are you doing tonight?” Georgia asked.
Colin glanced at his watch. “I think that’s a record, Georgia. The interrogation started within eight seconds of entering this house.”
“I must be slipping,” she said.
“I think we’ll go to over to Sammy’s,” he said. “They had good crawfish last time I ate there.”
“Good call. I always enjoy crawfish at Sammy’s,” Georgia said. “So, what did you do today? Baptize any sinners?”
“Not today, but there’s still time. You interested?”
“Me?” Georgia asked. “No. Thank you, though. I’m Catholic. I went ahead and did that at about three months.”
“I have a good friend here in town who’s the priest over at St. Aloysius,” Colin said. “Wise man. I enjoy our talks.”
“That’s where I went to grade school,” Georgia said. “I’m glad you like the current priest. Tell him I need to go to confession next time you see him.”
“Is it going to make him blush?” Colin laughed.
“He may need oxygen,” she said. “I’m glad you don’t have a ‘Catholic thing.’ Sometimes other denominations do, you know.”
“The Baptists haven’t cornered the market on Jesus.”
Georgia smiled. “You’re a good guy, Colin.”
“Could you tell her that?” He nodded toward Jacey’s bedroom door.
“Tell her yourself,” she said. “Jacey! The preacher’s here!”
“Don’t let her big mouth bother you, Colin,” Jacey said, coming out of her bedroom. “She’s all bark.”
“I bite sometimes,” Georgia said. “Ask Mr. Chili Dog from last night.”
“You bit him?” Jacey asked, horrified.
Georgia laughed. “No, bonehead! I wanted to bite the chili dog. But, yeah . . . that woulda been gross.”
“You look exceptionally pretty tonight,” Colin said.
“Thank you.” Jacey smiled.
“I was actually talking to Georgia.” Colin smiled and winked at her.
Jacey’s mouth flew open. “You are awful!”
Georgia cackled. “Oh, I’m gonna like you,” she said. “Say, Rev, you got any brothers? Matthew? Mark? Luke? John?”
“Let’s go, Colin.” Jacey grabbed his arm and led him to the door. “Go sew somebody up, Georgie.”
“Is she always like that?” Colin laughed.
Jacey laughed with him. “Since the day I met her.”
Springtime on the bayou meant something very important to most Louisiana folks. Besides the return of college baseball, it was crawfish season. The mudbugs were finally making their appearance much to the delight of . . . well, just about everyone in the state. Sammy’s was a local favorite, and it was packed. Colin and Jacey would have to wait thirty minutes for an inside table, so they chose to sit on the side patio in the meantime.
Colin pulled out a black iron chair for her, and Jacey sat down. She waved at a couple sitting in the corner and spoke to a girl she knew from one of the magazines she contributed to now and then. The atmosphere tonight was vintage Baton Rouge, with a melting pot of people well represented—most of them loud and proud and representing the colors of their favorite teams, celebrating everything from birthdays to anniversaries to just being alive. Jacey often thought of Baton Rouge as New Orleans Junior. A zydeco band played inside the restaurant, just loud enough for Jacey and Colin to enjoy the music but still carry on a conversation.
“I’ll say one thing for Baton Rouge,” Colin said as he sat down. “Y’all sure know how to have a good time.”
Jacey laughed. “It’s a great place to live,” she said. “I’ve been here nine years now, and I am always finding something new and different and exciting about this city and the surrounding areas.”
“You aren’t from Baton Rouge?” he asked.
“I’m from Shreveport,” she said. “Well, Bossier City, to be exact.”
“I know where Bossier City is. I worked on their port for a little while a few years ago. Back during my wandering days.”
“There were wandering days?” she asked. “I’m intrigued. Do tell.”
Colin smiled. “Boring and uneventful,” he said. “I’d much rather hear about you and Bossier City. What were you like growing up? Is your family still there? Any brothers or sisters?”
Jacey laughed. “You sound like Georgia,” she said. “She’s an interrogator too.”
Colin smiled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I realized when I was searching for you this past year that we didn’t cover these things on the roof, did we? We talked about . . . other things.”
The smile faded from Jacey’s face, and she fidgeted in her chair a bit. “Yes, I guess we did.”
“Can I get you a beer?” said a pretty, perky college girl, breaking the spell at the table.
“Sweet tea for me,” Colin said, seemingly oblivious to her batting eyelashes. “Jacey? Anything?”
“Tea’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” the waitress asked Colin, smiling broadly as she placed her hand on his shoulder. “The beer is ice-cold and flowing tonight.”
“No thanks, tea is fine,” Colin said politely.
“Okay, I will be right back,” Perky Patty promised and sped away.
“I’m surprised she didn’t sit in your lap to take your order,” Jacey said.
“I’m sorry?” Colin said.
Jacey chuckled. “You didn’t notice the salivating?”
Colin smiled. “Well, I do have that effect on women. I guess it’s my boyish good looks and Southern charm.”
“You’re so full of it,” Jacey said.
Colin laughed out loud. “You got me, and no, I didn’t notice. Besides, she was quite young, wasn’t she?”
Jacey lifted her brow. “She seemed older than her years.”
Perky Patty arrived as promised with their drinks. “If there is anything else I can get for you, my name is Susi with an i,” she said to Colin. “And I’ll be standing right over there.” She pointed at the hostess podium just inside the door.
Jacey wanted to laugh but pursed her lips together.
“We thank you, Susi,” Colin said, then turned back to Jacey.
Susi with an i hesitated a moment before she hurried off again.
“Does that happen to you a lot?” Jacey asked. She was slightly annoyed but mostly amused.
“As I said—” he began, but Jacey lifted her hand.
“I know, I know, the boyish charm thing. Whatever.”
He winked. “It worked on you.”
“It did not,” she said. “Those were . . . trying times.” Jacey took a sip of her tea. Too much sugar. She winced and poked her tongue out.
“You want something else?” he asked. “Wine? A beer?”
She stud
ied him. “It’s just a little sweet for my taste. And why are you trying to make me drink? Is this a ploy to get me tipsy and take advantage of me?”
Colin seemed surprised but grinned. “Miss Lang, there is nothing I’d like better than to seduce you, but I don’t think my current status would allow me to feel good about it later.”
Jacey smiled back. “Besides, wouldn’t it bother you if I drank a beer?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a strong aversion to someone drinking a beer every now and then, or a glass of wine with a meal. Now, I’ll admit I don’t usually share that information with my fellow clergy because they would probably frown upon it.” He smiled. “I personally don’t drink anymore because my grandfather was an alcoholic. My father may be one—I really don’t know. And I don’t want to tempt fate.”
Jacey nodded, wondering what he meant about not knowing if his father was an alcoholic. Since he offered no explanation, she didn’t press it. “Probably a wise decision since alcoholism runs in families. But doesn’t your opinion make for, I don’t know, problems in your church? I mean, I’ve been Baptist all my life. I know drinking is, like you said, frowned upon.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t share that opinion with very many people,” he said. “Also, I don’t pastor a church. I prefer to do what I do: rebuild after disasters. There are lots of ways to reach people, and most of the ones I run across in those situations need not only financial but also spiritual help.”
“So you just follow disasters around?” Jacey asked.
“I followed you, didn’t I?”
She laughed. “An astute assessment, I assure you.”
“To answer your question seriously,” Colin said, “there are thousands of people out there who will never walk in a church for just that many reasons. Maybe they feel undeserving—as if God couldn’t possibly love them because of things they’ve done. Maybe they feel like they’ll be rejected by the members. Sometimes Christians are our own worst enemy,” he said. “We act like we’ve cornered the market on forgiveness when we deny it to others. Of course, that does nothing but turn people off. Nobody wants to be looked down on. Church should be a hospital for sinners, not a gathering place for saints. And no, I didn’t coin that phrase, but I agree with it 100 percent. It isn’t always a popular stance. I prefer to be in the world, one-on-one. I don’t want to watch over a congregation. I applaud the men and women who can, because the world needs them, but I’m not one of them.”
Jacey was impressed, and her respect for him soared. “That makes perfect sense,” she said.
“Now, we somehow got off the subject of you,” he said. “Tell me about your family, about where you grew up.”
Jacey shrugged. “There’s not a lot to tell,” she said. “I have one brother, Grayson, who is younger than me. He’s at Texas A&M in his last year of college. He’s studying to be a vet. In fact, he just got accepted at LSU’s vet school, so he’ll be here next year. My parents are great. My mom, Lisa, is a stay-at-home, and my dad is a financial adviser. That’s why Georgia says I am so . . . let’s see, ‘cheap and frugal,’ I believe.” Jacey laughed. “I like to save my money.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Colin said. “Where’d you go to school?”
“I went to high school at Captain Shreve,” Jacey said. “Great school, loved it. I was a cheerleader and a swimmer. We lived in a nice subdivision in Bossier City, the kind where all the kids come out to play after school and on Saturday mornings. My parents still live there. And we had block parties too. I used to love block parties.”
“So you kind of grew up in a perfect world?” he mused.
Jacey wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. “I grew up in a secure world with my parents and brother,” she said. “But we had our moments. Doesn’t everybody?”
“Don’t get your feathers ruffled,” Colin said. “If I sounded . . . envious, I didn’t mean to.”
Jacey studied his face. “I’m guessing you didn’t have the best childhood?”
“Let’s just say it wasn’t like yours,” he offered.
Jacey didn’t reply. If she’d learned one thing this past year, it was that pressuring people into talking about something they didn’t care to talk about didn’t usually yield a positive result.
Susi with an i appeared to tell them their table was ready, and Colin grabbed Jacey’s hand when she stood up. Susi deflated a little and Jacey smiled.
The crawfish were excellent, hot and spicy, the tails tender and juicy and fresh from the ponds. The corn and potatoes took on all the right flavors from the boiling pot, adding another texture to a meal fit for the King of Mardi Gras. Food just didn’t get any better than this. Neither Jacey nor Colin had eaten any this season, and the first batch was always the best crawfish you ever had. These did not disappoint.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Jacey finally said, pushing the platter away.
“I ain’t quittin’ yet,” he said.
“Ugh,” she said. “I feel like a cow.”
He smiled. “But you still look like a lovely little heifer.”
“Such blatant flirtation from a man of the cloth!” She laughed. “Be careful not to sweep me off my feet.”
“I already did that,” he said. “Last spring.”
“Last spring,” she repeated, gazing out the window.
And just like that, she was racing through the rushing waters, grabbing for anything that would slow her down. She slammed into limbs and other debris and groped blindly for a firm hold. The water pulled her under, then spit her out again, ten, twenty times. She sputtered and gagged and tried to scream for help, but the water was a vortex—spinning and swirling with raging force. She couldn’t stay above it long enough to cry out. She was surely going to die. No one could survive this. Finally, she managed to clutch a limb as the water continued to gush in torrents. She held on for dear life.
“Jacey?” Colin said.
She looked at him, taking a moment to register where she was.
“Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “Uh-huh.”
He wiped his hands and stood up, then threw some cash on the table. Susi with an i was there in an instant.
“Can I get you any dessert?” she began.
“That’ll do it for us,” he said to her and pulled Jacey’s chair back. “Thank you.”
“What about your change?” Susi asked.
“You keep it,” he said. “Are you ready, Jacey?”
“It’s okay,” Jacey said. “I’m fine, really.”
“Come back to see us!” Susi called after them.
Colin grabbed Jacey’s hand as they walked to the car. When they got in, he looked at her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“I do not,” she said.
They rode in silence all the way back home.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m sorry, Colin,” Jacey said, breaking the silence as Colin parked in front of her condo. “I’ve been . . . Lately I get these . . . unwanted and unprovoked images in my mind. Memories. I don’t know why and I don’t know how to stop them. I’m not sure I want to stop them. But they terrify me.” She didn’t know how to explain it to him without sounding as crazy as she sometimes felt.
He took her hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’ve had a lot to deal with. If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. If you don’t, we’ll just talk about something else. I just like being here with you.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. He made her feel so comfortable and so safe. Maybe she did want to talk about it, but she wasn’t sure how to begin. There was no rhyme or reason to the memories when they came, and no easy way to explain how they felt. What she did remember was sketchy and fragmented at best.
And what difference did it make anyway? It almost made her mad at this point. Why didn’t the images just stop showing up? The flood was over, done, finished. She should be able to shake it off, a
s the rest of the world apparently had. She just wanted to carry on with her life. Jacey had asked to see Lillie and her boys, but the doctors had told her they were taken to another hospital, treated, and released—so that was good, a relief. But something about that night of the rescue still nagged at her. Troubled and uneasy feelings still flooded over her at the oddest times. Like tonight at Sammy’s, when Colin had mentioned something about springtime. She had glanced past him and through the window and seen the magnolia tree outside—huge and old and loaded with big white flowers—and the memory of the turbulent water had almost taken her breath away. She saw it as clearly as a photograph: She was holding on to a magnolia limb, full of blooms, sweet and fragrant, while the water swept her away.
She opened her eyes. “It was a magnolia limb,” she said.
“A magnolia limb?”
“When I was in the water, before I made it to the roof, I was holding on to a magnolia limb. It was huge. The tree must’ve fallen in the storm,” she said. “And tonight, when I saw the tree outside . . .”
“You remembered,” he said. “And you’re right, it was a magnolia limb. It was still on the roof when we left.”
“Is that good? It’s good that I remembered that, isn’t it?”
Colin took her other hand and held them both close to his face. “I would think it’s good to remember, but I’m not a psychologist,” he said carefully.
“You think I need a psychologist?” she asked, alarmed.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But if you do, there’s certainly no shame in it. That’s what psychologists do, Jacey. They help you.”
She pulled her hands away and leaned against the seat again. “But what could I even tell him? I see little bits of things I don’t understand? It’s so frustrating to remember a little bit at a time. And the memories aren’t always sequential. I remember pieces of things, little morsels, and sometimes they make no sense at all. Like, there’s this memory I have of a gold necklace—a locket, of all things. I have no idea why.”
“Don’t try to force it,” he said. “Let it come to you. And when it does, don’t fight it. Whatever you are remembering isn’t happening again. It’s just a memory.”
The Sweet Smell of Magnolias and Memories Page 5
