Tempestuous/Restless Heart

by Tami Hoag

  “Happy birthday, Auntie Dan-L!” Ambrose shouted, leaping in the air and flinging a fistful of confetti at her.

  Tinks and Jeremy and a passel of children she’d never seen before blew on party horns until their faces turned purple, garnering the attention of everyone in the place who might by some miracle have missed the shout.

  Also seated at the tables were Butler, Mama and Papa Doucet, and half a dozen other adults Danielle didn’t know. All there to celebrate a birthday she would rather have skipped.

  She turned around and stared up at Remy, holding herself perfectly still lest she explode into a million furious fragments. “You told these people it was my birthday?” She said the word with incredulous emphasis, as if he had told them her bra size.

  Remy was wearing that dumbfounded-male look. “I didn’t tell them which one!”

  She glanced back at her party guests and gave them a wide, brittle smile, speaking right through it. “We’ll be right with you, folks.” Turning back to Remy, she said, “It’s a shame you have to die so young.”

  “Oh, come on, sugar,” he said with a chuckle. “All these folks want to party with you. They’re all glad you were born today. I sure am glad you were born today. What difference does it make how many candles are on the cake?”

  “There’s a cake with candles?” she hissed, horrified.

  “Naw.” Remy winked at her. “Fire marshal wouldn’t allow it.”

  She managed a weak laugh at that, then glanced back at the expectant faces of their dinner party. It was awfully sweet of them all to come—whoever they were. And the children looked so excited. With a little lump in her throat she thought of her last birthday, spent in Tibet with a yak and a goat.

  “How old are you, Auntie Dan-L?” Ambrose asked, coming to take her hand and lead her toward the place of honor.

  “Thirty-nine,” she lied smoothly, murmuring under her breath, “Again.”

  She was promptly introduced to everyone at the table. There was Remy’s oldest sister, Alicia, her husband and three children; youngest sister, Annick, who bore a striking resemblance to Remy’s voodoo priestess; a couple in their sixties introduced as Tante Fanchon and Uncle Sos. Sitting to Remy’s left was his twin sister, Giselle, her husband, and their twin five-year-old daughters. Absent from the Doucet brood were youngest brother, Andre, and eldest, Etienne, better known as Lucky.

  With introductions out of the way everyone fell into animated conversation. Much to Danielle’s relief, she discovered the Doucets pounced on the slightest reason to get together and have fun, so there was no embarrassing fuss made over her. Beyond the initial announcement and heraldry, little mention was made of the occasion, which suited her just fine.

  She listened to the chatter around her, slightly distracted, her emotions in a turmoil. She studied Remy’s sisters, all of them fussing happily over children. Annick, who had none of her own, had adopted Eudora for the night, much to Eudora’s delight. As they waited for dinner to be served, Remy entertained two of his nieces with the G-rated version of his excursion into the swamp with Danielle.

  “Auntie Danielle,” Jeremy said, appearing at her side to tug at her arm. “You’ll never guess what me and Tinks saw today.”

  “Hmm? What was that?” she asked absently, lost in her own uncertainty.

  “We went into the woods with Papa Doucet and he showed us all kinds of animals and—”

  “Oh, that’s neat, Jeremy.” She gave him a vacant smile. “But you’d better go sit down now. I think our food is coming.”

  “Yeah, but I want to show you—”

  “Maybe later, okay?”

  The boy sighed and stomped back to his seat as a pair of waitresses brought out their dinner.

  Renard’s was a comfortable place with natural wood paneling and big screened windows. The tablecloths were red and white checked plastic. Statues and pictures of foxes abounded. The place was doing a booming business. If the waitresses’ figures were anything to go by, the meal promised to be as delicious as it smelled. Both were on the plump side with cheeks rosy from the heat in the kitchen. All the Doucets were familiar with the young women, calling them by name, asking after their families. They chatted as they served, their musically accented voices rising above the general din of plates and silverware and talk from other tables. The array of dishes was served family-style at the table.

  The dish that caught Danielle’s interest was the steaming platter piled high with boiled crawfish. Remy instructed her on the fine art of eating the small dark red crustaceans that looked like miniature lobsters, showing her how to break off the tail, crack the shell with thumb and forefinger, and dig out the rich white meat inside.

  “And then,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “If you’re a real Cajun, you suck the fat out of the head.”

  “Whoa, forget it!”

  “Ah, me, how we ever gonna make a Cajun outa you, chère?”

  “You aren’t if it involves sucking fat out of the head of a decapod,” Danielle said dryly. “I’ve eaten a lot of weird stuff in a lot of weird places, but even I draw the line somewhere.”

  That won her a round of good-natured laughter from everyone but Remy, who merely forced a smile and sat back in his chair. He hadn’t needed the reminder of her footloose lifestyle, not tonight when his heart was so set on asking her to stay forever. His stomach churned a little and it had nothing to do with the generous amounts of spicy food being served at the table. It did a barrel roll as Alicia’s husband asked Danielle to tell them about some of the exotic places she’d been.

  “I forgive you, cher,” Giselle said, leaning close.

  Remy looked at her as if she had just sprung up out of the ground.

  His sister’s eyes sparkled with the wisdom of a twin. “You’re in love with her, yes?”

  There was no point in denying it. Giselle was too in tune with his feelings, as he was with hers. “Oui,” he whispered, swallowing hard.

  “Then I forgive you for taking the name of my agency in vain.”

  “Hey,” he huffed indignantly. “I’ll have you know I’m a damn good nanny. I may just keep this job.”

  Giselle sniffed and rolled her eyes, then glanced around him at Danielle. “She’s very pretty. She loves you too, yes?”

  He forced a grin. “I hope so.”

  His twin was hardly fooled. She leaned up and kissed his cheek, her dark eyes full of understanding. For just an instant they shared an aching, uncertain heart, then Giselle smiled and said, “Poor Danielle, she’s got no chance against all that charm of yours, cher. She’ll be a Doucet before she knows it, she will.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he murmured. But as his gaze turned toward Danielle and he watched her tell a story about photographing the Efe tribe of the African Congo, all his hopes twisted into a knot of apprehension. She looked so vibrant when she spoke of those faraway places. Could he really expect her to give all that up and put down roots along the bayou when her heart had been so restless for so long?

  At length the dinner plates and empty platters were cleared away by the same plump smiling waitresses. A band took the stage on the other side of the big open room and began to tune up, plucking and sawing at fiddle strings, strumming a chord on a guitar, checking the keys of the small Evangeline accordion. The level of excitement started to rise, hitting a crescendo of clapping and whistling at the opening bars of “Allons à Lafayette.”

  Half the tables emptied, their occupants spilling onto the dance floor in a flood of humanity. Smiles flashed, heads bobbed, feet shuffled as they made their way around the floor in variations of the two-step. The music Danielle was beginning to love was loud and happy-sounding, the little accordion huffing and puffing between its master’s hands, the triangle player bouncing with the beat, the fiddle player wailing out the French lyrics with gusto.

  Danielle smiled as she listened. It was almost impossible not to move in time with the beat. As she watched the patrons of Renard’s dance and laugh
and chug down cold beer, she felt herself getting caught up in the atmosphere. She had been many places and seen many things, but she had fallen head over heals in love with Louisiana, with the people and the culture, the music and the land. For the first time in a long time she had begun to fantasize about staying put. It scared the hell out of her.

  The raucous two-step eventually gave way to a graceful waltz. Remy rose and held a hand out to her. “How about it, sugar?”

  Danielle had waltzed with princes and playboys, but their memories paled into oblivion as Remy took her in his arms. His dark eyes never left hers as he swept her around the floor, moving with a fluid natural grace no dance instructor could have taught him. Danielle found her heart fluttering and shook her head a little in amazement. The waltz was hardly a sexy dance. It was old-fashioned and formal, straight-backed and straitlaced. But she couldn’t have felt more aware of Remy had they been writhing out the Lambada. And her heart swelled with love for him and her uncertainties and reservations swelled right along with it.

  Like a knucklehead she’d gone and fallen in love with a younger man, a man who had pursued her with the motto of “let the good times roll.” They’d had a good time. He hadn’t asked for more and she would have had to have been completely obtuse to think he might ask. He was a family man, domestic for all his wily wicked charm. What would he want with her—an aging photographer with a curse on her head? She might have made an interesting diversion for the summer, but he wasn’t liable to think of her as making much of a wife. No, Remy would want to look for a sweet young thing adept at cooking and cuddling babies. Cuddling a Nikon wasn’t going to rank high on his list of priorities. It would probably be just below “in need of a face-lift.”

  Really, she thought, mentally tearing little bits off her heart, he should be looking for someone like the dark-haired little gal who was presently dancing in the corner with his twin nieces. She looked about twenty-five. Her cheeks were still slightly pudgy with the bloom of youth. Her long hair hung in a single braid down her back like a length of silken rope. The little girls she was indulging looked completely enamored of her—and she of them; as the music ended she wrapped them both in an exuberant hug. Then she looked up and caught Danielle staring and her dark eyes flashed with unmistakable dislike. Danielle frowned, unable to pull her gaze away from the acrimonious look even as Remy steered her out of the flow of traffic to the very edge of the dance floor.

  “Danielle,” Remy started, then choked a little as his heart leaped into his throat. He was going to do it—right here, right now—he was going to tell her. So they’d only know each other a short time, that didn’t make a damn bit of difference. He was dead certain of his feelings. “Danielle,” he started again. “I lo—”

  “Hey, Remy!”

  He squeezed his eyes shut just briefly, as if a sudden knifing pain had gone through his head. Marie. The tireless Marie. Marie the Undaunted. Marie “I Want Us to Get Married” Broussard. She couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to show up if someone had given her a list of ten ways to ruin his evening.

  “How about a dance, cher?” she said, blatantly ignoring the fact that he was holding another woman’s hand.

  He started to scowl at her and was about to tell her no when Danielle suddenly backed away. He looked at her, surprised and annoyed and confused. She gave him a smile as phony as a three-dollar bill and said, “Go ahead, Remy. My arthritis is acting up anyway.”

  Marie latched on to him with all the tenacity of a snapping turtle, her small hand clenching his in a fierce grip. She jerked him out into the throng of dancers, as purposeful as a tugboat hauling a barge up the Mississippi. He gave Danielle one last befuddled look before she disappeared from view.

  Danielle stood at the edge of the crowd watching even though it was torture for her. The dark-haired young woman fit perfectly with Remy. She was petite and feminine, looking virginal and bridelike in her white sundress. She stared up at him with affection and determination.

  “Auntie Danielle,” Jeremy said, tugging at the leather cord of her belt. “Will you come and see now? It’s so neat and I know the way and I’ll bet you’ve never seen anything like it even in Africa.”

  She looked down at her nephew, perversely annoyed that he had distracted her from wallowing in self-pity. “What, Jeremy?”

  “Will you come now?”

  “Come where?”

  “Out to see our secret.”

  “Jeremy, it’s dark out. I’ll come see it tomorrow. Why don’t you go see if Tinks will dance with you?”

  He regarded her with utter disgust, turned and stormed away. Danielle sighed. Another strike against her in the child-rearing category. She looked back out at the dancers, wincing as she caught sight of Remy and his little partner.

  “I could look that young again,” she muttered to herself. “With the aid of a belt sander and a tube of caulk.”

  “Oh, that Marie Broussard,” Giselle said, shaking her head with disapproval as she took up the spot Jeremy had vacated. “She’s been chasin’ him so long you’d think her legs woulda give out by now.”

  Danielle’s head snapped around and she had to strain to sound nonchalant. “They’ve known each other a long time?”

  “Always. They went to school together.” Giselle rolled her dark eyes and tilted her head to the angle of conspiracy and said, “You think she might have taken the hint by now. Mais non, she still thinks he’s playin’ hard to get. Some folks just need to be hit over the head with a thing, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Danielle whispered. “Some folks do. If you’ll excuse me, Giselle, I think I’m going to step outside for a breath of fresh air.”

  She didn’t wait for a response. She didn’t even chance a look at Remy’s sister for fear she might see pity in her eyes. She mowed a path to the front door and nearly stumbled down the steps in her haste to get away from the people and the music. Her sandals scuffed over the crushed shell of the parking lot as she walked out toward the bayou.

  As she stared out at the black water she gave an involuntary little moan. Her feelings felt like they’d been run through a blender on puree. In the course of a matter of days they’d been jerked out of the compartment she had relegated them to, turned inside out and upside down. This was all Suzannah’s fault. If it hadn’t been for her half-sister, she would have right now been happily holed up in some remote corner of the world in a photographic frenzy, wearing out her Nikon shooting pictures of boulder formations and window casings. Well, “happily” might not have been the right word to use, she reflected, but at least she would have felt calm and in control. She wouldn’t have been doing something stupid like falling in love with younger men.

  “Hey, Danielle, where you at?”

  Remy’s low, rough voice came to her with all the beckoning warmth of a flannel blanket on a chill night. She wanted to wrap herself in it and shut the world out. The cynic in her sneered.

  “I’m right here,” she said, not turning around.

  He shuffled up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, dropping his chin down on her shoulder. “Don’t be ticked off at me ’cause I danced with Marie. She’s like a pit bull, that one. Once she latches on it’s hard to shake her.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said flatly. “You’re my nanny not my personal slave. Dance with whoever you like.”

  “I like you.” He twirled her around to face him and pulled her into his arms for a slow dance to music he provided himself, his voice rising softly above the hum of insects and the far distant bellow of an alligator. “Demander comme moi je t’aimais, ma jolie fille.”

  “What’s that one about?” Danielle asked dryly. “Cooking muskrats on an open fire and the treachery of women?”

  He tilted his head back and gave her a sober look as he translated. “ ‘Ask how much I love you, my pretty girl.’”

  “Maybe you should sing that one to the long-suffering Marie.”

  “I don’t love Marie. I love you.”

&n
bsp; Danielle was certain her heart had stopped. Catastrophic full cardiac arrest. She swayed a little on her feet as she stared at him. He’d said it. Heaven help her. The fool in her had wanted to hear those words so desperately and now he’d said them. Now what was she supposed to do? Be selfish and grasp what he was offering or be noble and give him up for his own good?

  She stared at him and considered as her emotions wrestled inside her. He was so handsome and so sweet. He made her feel things she had only read about in Cosmo. Did she really want to give all that up? No. She was by nature a selfish person. Hadn’t she been told as much? Hadn’t she drummed that idea into her own psyche over the last year? Why should she change at this late date? Why shouldn’t she just throw caution and good sense to the wind and indulge herself? Why shouldn’t she tell Remy she loved him?

  “Remy, I—”

  “Auntie Danielle!”

  Danielle looked past Remy’s broad shoulder to see Tinks barreling across the parking lot as fast as her little feet could fly. Her face was stark-white in the dark.

  “Auntie Danielle! Come quick! Jeremy’s hurt real bad!”

  The emergency room of the community hospital in Luck was painted a shade of green guaranteed to make a person sick if he weren’t already ill to begin with. The chairs in the waiting room were molded plastic, the floor covered with a hard gray linoleum that amplified the sound of pacing footsteps.

  Danielle could not sit, unable to contain her worries to a chair. Back and forth the length of the reception desk, her arms wrapped tightly around her as if she were trying to physically hold herself together. Remy had tried to console her, but she had shrugged him off. He had finally relegated himself to a chair, pulled his cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, drawing owlish stares from his family. The entire herd of Doucets had followed the ambulance, with the exception of Giselle and her husband, who had taken all the children to Remy’s parents’ house to wait for word of Jeremy’s condition.

  This is all my fault, Danielle thought for the millionth time. If only she had paid more attention to Jeremy when he tried to get her to go outside with him. If only she had let him tell her the story of what he and Tinks had discovered on their nature hike with Papa Doucet. If only she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own worries, wallowing in self-pity because it was her fortieth birthday. Now, for all she knew, Jeremy might not live to see his tenth.