by Hill Sandra
The gasp he makes when I touch him there....
How I feel when he first enters me....
The bliss of being held afterward....
Louise didn’t need a calendar to know that time was ticking down, and before she knew it, it was the evening of September 13. Justin would be here tomorrow. And still she worried over certain essential issues. Whether or not she loved Justin was not in question; that was a given.
Could she live up north for a short period of time, let alone years?
Would Adèle suffer in such a confined space, in a poor neighborhood?
Could she sell her family cottage if it became necessary for them to afford a bigger apartment in Chicago, or to get Justin back here?
Did love overcome all these questions?
She thought and she thought and she thought. And her heart hurt so bad....
* * *
I’ll never smile again.… On the other hand…
Justin had taken his medical boards and was fairly certain he’d not only passed, but did so with flying colors, no thanks to Louise and his mind-numbing worries over what would happen with her. On the other hand, she’d said she would pray for him. So, maybe that had helped.
He’d cleared out a massive amount of stuff from his Boston apartment, but he hadn’t needed to take any of the furnishings, which were pretty much yard sale finds, since a pal of his, Harry Olson, would continue with the lease. Heavy books, a medical bag and portable equipment, plus out-of-season clothing had been boxed up and were ready for transit. He’d left two sets of mailing labels with Harry to put on the boxes, only one of which would be used, after he gave him a call…either for Houma, Louisiana or for Chicago.
Now he was back in Louisiana and about to have his big talk with Louisa. Unfortunately, after taking a bus to New Orleans and then to Houma, where he’d picked up his mother’s car, and having to spend an hour showering, shaving, changing clothes, and then talking with his parents, it was almost nine p.m. before he’d got to Louise’s cottage. By now, she probably thought he wasn’t coming. Or maybe she didn’t care.
Mon Dieu! He was anxious as a hooker at a Holy Roller convention.
He knocked on the door, and, when Louise answered, he saw that she’d dressed for company…for him? Please, God! She was wearing a short-sleeved, scoop-necked dress with big-ass, brightly-colored flowers—purple gardenias, yellow hibiscus, pink orchids, green ferns, and purple lilies, all on a pale blue background. Sort of Hawaiian-Cajun. (I should have worn sunglasses. Ha, ha, ha!) Glossy watermelon red lipstick (I wonder if it tastes like watermelon. Ha, ha, ha!) matched the toenails that could be seen in the peep-toe, white high heels she wore. (For her, I could turn into one of those foot fetish perverts, maybe. Ha, ha, ha.) Her hair was upswept and held in place with lacquer combs. (The best part of those updo’s, in a man’s opinion, is taking them down, especially if it’s a prelude to— Cut it out, Justin! You need to focus. Keep your cool. Stop wringing your hands with nervousness. Jeesh!)
In any case, he interpreted the special care she’d taken with her appearance as a good sign, which was probably pathetic of him. For all he knew, she had a date with someone else, or had come back from an early date.
“Louise, darlin’, I have missed you so much,” he said, following her into the living room.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said, but the sad expression on her face did not bode well for him.
To hell with caution and taking things easy, as he’d planned. He stepped forward and took her into his arms. Just hugging her. And kissing the top of her head. She felt so good. And she wasn’t pushing him away. At first, anyway.
When she did begin to press her hands against his chest, he stepped back immediately and tilted his head in question. “Sweetheart…?”
“Let’s sit down,” she suggested, and motioned toward the davenport. In front of it, on a coffee table, were two stemmed glasses with a pale yellowish liquid in them. “And try my new batch of dandelion wine.”
He waited for her to sit down before dropping down beside her. Not too close, but not too far away, either. He took his glass in hand and clinked it against the one she’d picked up. He wanted to say, “To us,” but figured that would come off as presumptuous. Instead, he said, “To good wine.” But then, after taking a sip, he added, “This is really good.”
“Thank you. It did turn out well.”
“Do you sell it?”
She shook her head. “No, that would be illegal. I just give it to friends. It makes an especially good addition to Christmas gift baskets, along with my jams and pickles and other homemade items.” She was rambling. Maybe she was nervous, too. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“You are incredible,” he remarked and took another sip. Waving at the wine glasses and a plate of crackers and cheese (he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d made those from scratch, too), he said, “So, you were expecting me this late? You’re not dolled up for someone else?”
“Is that what you thought?” She straightened with affront.
Uh-oh! He shrugged. “I was afraid.”
“Pfff! That doesn’t say much about your opinion of me.”
“No, it says more about my opinion of myself and whether I’ve shot my chances with you to hell. This week has been a nightmare for me, Louise.” He took her hand in his.
She didn’t pull away. “I haven’t slept two hours straight all week.”
He raised her hand and kissed the knuckles.
She did pull her hand away then and asked, “How did the tests go?”
“Good. I won’t get the final results for a few days, but I’m certain I passed.”
“Then you’re Doctor Boudreaux now?”
“Pretty much.”
“Congratulations. Of course, I knew you would do well.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” He flicked her chin with a forefinger in a teasing manner. “And why was that? Your prayers to St. Jude?”
“Well, there was that,” she said with a smile. “But I was talking to Leon when I went to deliver some produce a few days ago, and he told me that you are super, super intelligent. His words exactly. According to Leon, back when you were in high school, the students were given intelligence tests and your score went off the page.”
“Leon said that?” He was surprised. Usually he and his brother only had fond insults for each other, never anything serious. He wondered about the context of any conversation in which that subject might come up.
“Yep, and then I met Dr. Clovis at church last Sunday and he told me that he knew one of your professors at Harvard, a colleague of his from way back. This guy told Dr. Clovis that you are a brilliant student and that he fully expects you to be a brilliant doctor someday. Dr. Clovis has pretty much accepted that you won’t be joining his practice, your ambitions being much greater than his lowly practice.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
They were smiling at each other, but then Louise’s expression changed as she took one of his hands in hers and said, “I’ve made a decision, Justin.”
“Oh, no, no, no! You can’t make a decision without us talking first.” That look on her face was the kiss of death. Guys from the age of puberty to geezerhood knew the female expression that preceded the dumping. The only thing missing was the standard, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
She started to say, “It’s not—”
But he clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent the words from coming out. Which was silly. So, he removed his hand and stood abruptly, turning away from her so that she wouldn’t see the tears that scalded his eyes. He blinked several times, then turned to face her.
She stood, too, but didn’t move any closer. “Tell me the truth, Justin. Have you already accepted the Chicago offer?”
This was not the way he’d wanted, even rehearsed, this conversation going. But it was too late now. “Yes,” he said, quickly adding, “But I’ve got a plan that will work out for all of us, I promise, even Adèle. I ass
ume she’s sleeping.”
Louise nodded. “I’ll listen, Justin, but I really have made up my mind.”
“Don’t tell me,” he said in a panic. “Let me talk first.”
“Okay,” she said on a sigh that was not promising. She sat down again on the couch and patted the cushion for him to sit, as well.
He sat, and before beginning his spiel, he drank down the remainder of wine in his glass in one gulp, then did the same with what remained of Louise’s.
She arched her brows at him, knowing he was not a heavy drinker. “Justin! You’re as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. You have nothing to be nervous about with me.”
“I have everything to be nervous about with you,” he disagreed. “I love you and can’t imagine a life without you in it. I know we started out in agreement that this would be just an affair…a short one, but be honest, we both fell hard and fast.”
She didn’t disagree, but the determined expression on her face didn’t soften either.
“Let’s get one thing out of the way first. I don’t give a hoot in hell’s hollow whether Adèle is your daughter or your niece. I should have realized the bond between you two wouldn’t withstand a separation of even a few weeks, let alone months or years. Blame it on pure male egotism, or selfishness, or just not thinking. But, sweetheart, the bond between you and me is just as strong. At least, it is from my end.”
“Oh, Justin. This isn’t about whether you love me or not. Can’t you see—”
He put a forefinger to her lips to silence her. “Hear me out, sweetheart. I’ve been practicing this spiel all day. People on the two-day train ride from Boston probably thought I’d lost a few screws…or was just one of those crazy redneck Southerners.”
She smiled, but only slightly.
“I phoned my contact at the hospital in Chicago and we had a long talk about my situation. He didn’t think I would have any time outside my studies and residency to get a job to supplement my income so we could find better living arrangements, but he did say that the wives of some of the married residents got work in the hospital…offices, cafeteria, that kind of thing.”
“And where would Adèle be when we were both working?”
“You could get hours while she’s in school.”
“Kindergarten is only half a day, Justin.”
“I know that. I could also get a loan from my parents, though they’re not wealthy by any means. Honey, I’m just trying to say that we, together, could find a way that would work for us. And it would only be temporary.”
“Temporary to an adult is different than temporary to a child,” she argued. “A month is like a year to a child. Three years would be like forever for Adèle. As for borrowing money from your parents, I would never do that. Never!”
“That was just an example. I would be a good risk for a bank loan.”
“Pfff!”
“I’m trying to look at the bigger picture. In three years, I’ll probably be able to name my salary. We would have more than enough in the long term to have a home in a good neighborhood, a family including more children if you want, two cars, a few luxuries. Wouldn’t that be worth the sacrifice?”
“You’re missing my bigger picture, Justin.”
His heart sank. He was losing this battle.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think this week, and I’ve come to some conclusions.” The sadness in her beautiful eyes crushed him with foreboding.
“Number one, I am a mother, and Adèle and what is best for her, comes first. Living in a city would not be good for her.
“Number two, like Adèle, living in a city would kill my soul. I didn’t realize, until faced with the possibility of losing it, that the bayou is part of my identity. It’s who I am. My heritage. The way I feel when I breathe in the bayou air. The plants and animals that give me sustenance.
“Number three, I am a traiteur. Folk healing is a gift passed down through all the female generations in my family. But I am specifically a bayou traiteur. My skills would not fit in a city setting.
“Number four, you are going to be an amazing doctor, but more than that. As a pioneer in a new specialty that you’re already passionate about, I suspect you’re destined for bigger things. Your ambition, tied with your gifts, might even make you famous. That’s not going to happen here in Houma as a family doctor, which is something you offered to do for me. And, yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with general practice, but not for you.”
“Don’t burn bridges you might want to cross someday, sweetheart.”
“The bridge is already gone, Justin. I’m sorry.”
“But—”
She shook her head. The tears which had been welling in her eyes spilled over and streamed down her face. She didn’t even bother to swipe at them, even though she had to realize the tears were messing up her mascara, as well.
He used a thumb to swipe at one of the fat black tears and sighed, “Oh, sweetheart. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Let me finish while I still can,” she said on a slight sob. She took both of his hands in hers. “It’s over, Justin. It has to be. For your sake and for mine.” He must have moaned because she squeezed his hands.
“Don’t you love me anymore?” he asked over the lump in his throat the size of an orange. “Is that what this is about?”
She shook her head as tears continued to flow. “I love you, and I love the time we’ve had together. Most of all I have to thank you for bringing me out of my Big Grief over Phillipe. You helped me turn a corner that has blocked me for years.”
“Great. I do all the work so some other guy can step in.”
She slapped him playfully on the arm.
“I also have to thank you for helping me regain my Cajun Sass.”
“Fuck Cajun Sass!”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk!” she said. It was a word he’d never used around her before. But she was smiling. Smiling through her tears.
“Maybe I can find some Chicago chick who needs to learn some Cajun Sass,” he joked, though his heart was breaking. “I’m already handy with a syringe. Maybe I could inject a bit of tabasco in their veins.” Tabasco was a Louisiana invention, infused into almost every dish.
She burst out laughing.
And that’s how it ended. Tears and laughter.
* * *
And the Big Grief hits again…
The next two weeks were hard for Louise. Of course they were. She was constantly breaking out in tears and blowing her nose. Adèle told more than one of Louise’s customers who asked about her aunt’s red eyes, “Tante Lulu has a head cold.”
Didn’t matter that Louise was the one who’d ended her relationship with Justin. She loved the man, and she missed him terribly. But their situation was hopeless and had to end. And, yes, she’d gone to St. Jude for help before and after her final meeting with Justin, but the saint had remained silent in her head. Louise took that to mean that Justin was not the one for her, not for the long term, not as her husband.
So, she had to move on. Complicating matters, or perhaps helping her by forcing routine activity, was Adèle; Louise had to maintain a happy face or at least a normal face, even when inside she was screaming with pain. No lying in bed like a zombie, or running around to dive bars acting like a slut, or drinking herself into oblivion, all of which she’d done to some extent after Phillipe’s death, until she realized she was pregnant.
Preparing for kindergarten occupied some of her time, buying school clothes and supplies. Taking Adèle to the dentist for her first check-up and to Dr. Clovis for her physical. Dr. Clovis said nothing about Justin, as if sensing her pain, and she loved him for that. Would a city doctor have that kind of compassion for a patient? Would he even know her well enough to be aware of a heartbreak?
As the weeks passed, she harvested her fall vegetables and brought them to Boudreaux’s store for sale. She managed to avoid talking with his family about Justin’s current circumstances in Chicago. It was for the best that
she stifled any urges to inquire about how he was doing. She would have to find some other outlet for her produce. Or increase her traiteur business which was flourishing, and stop growing so darn many fruits and vegetables.
Louise realized several things as she began to heal. She hadn’t loved Justin as much as she’d loved Phillipe. She would never get over Phillipe until she met him again in heaven. But Justin…well, she did love him. Perhaps she always would in some distant way. She did not want to diminish or negate the power of the feelings they had shared. However, slowly but surely, he was becoming a memory…a good memory. Poignant, but good. While she’d labeled her constant sorrow after Phillipe as her Big Grief, she figured her current sorrow amounted to Big-But-Survivable Grief. She would have followed Phillipe to the ends of the earth. She hadn’t been willing to follow Justin beyond Louisiana. That said something, didn’t it?
She had one big thing to thank Justin for. He’d somehow managed to kickstart her Cajun Sass back in place. And good thing, too, because some of the bayou folks who frequented the rumor mill had become very judgmental. Not all of them, but enough to be noticeable. Not knowing the whole story…whether she’d engaged in illicit sexual activity, or whether she’d dumped Justin, or vice versa, or just because she was a single woman living alone out there on the bayou where “who knew what” could go on…they gave her the snooty treatment, including Leon’s wife, Lily Rose, who was several months pregnant and proud of it, as if she was the first woman alive to get preggers. Lily Rose probably resented the fact that Louise had never made an appointment in her salon.
The last time Louise was in the store, Lily Rose approached her and said, “Louise, Louise, you poor dear. Workin’ out there in the swamps with those smelly ol’ plants. Pee-you!” She sniffed the air as if Louise smelled bad. “How does it feel to lose yer last chance fer catchin’ a husband? Maybe you need a new hairdo, or somethin’, bless yer heart.”
Louise put her hands on her hips and stared Lily Rose in her heavily made-up face before drawling out, “Frankly, my dear Lily Rose, you can kiss my go-to-hell.” Every woman in the South had seen Gone With the Wind at least two times and knew that famous “Frankly, my dear” line by heart.
