“Wouldn’t you like to be a fly on the wall over there?” Max Savage said, indicating the far side of the restaurant where Roche and Lil had started to move slowly back toward the group.
“I’m curious,” Bleu admitted cautiously. She didn’t know Max well enough to be at ease with him.
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “My brother is a good man. Some people don’t know just how good.”
Bleu wondered if she should be flattered that Max wanted to sell Roche to her. “I’m sure he is,” she said.
“I don’t remember hearing where it is you call home,” Max said. “Madge grew up in Rayne, didn’t she?”
“Yes. I got to visit some summers. We were a horrible influence on each other.” Bleu had loved those summers in Rayne when she had been free to be a little girl as she never was at home with her single father.
Max continued to look expectant.
“I lived in Wyoming. Cullen. My dad taught math and coached the high-school football team.”
He raised a brow, just as Roche often did. “That wasn’t what I expected. I guess I don’t know what I did expect.”
“I hate football,” she said, surprising herself. She shrugged and crossed her arms. “Not hate it, really. At our house we lived the game all the time—there wasn’t a choice. My dad’s a good man, just a bit narrow in his interests.” She smiled.
“You taught, too?” Max said. “Isn’t that what I heard? Before you got into fund-raising.”
“Yes.” She usually avoided thinking about her few teaching years too deeply. Michael had dealt her a bad hand there, too. The thought caused some guilt—but if he hadn’t died, she doubted she would ever have had another chance to do what she was trained for. While he lived his jealousy, the scenes he made got between Bleu and anyone she worked for.
Tables laden with food spanned the length of the restaurant and heaping plates appeared, emptied and were replaced constantly.
Gator Hibbs and Doll sat with several of the men from the ice plant and their wives, demolishing boiled crawfish, oysters and shrimp remoulade. They clutched napkins in their palms and swiped at grease-shiny mouths every few bites. The aromas would make an anorexic drool.
Bleu glanced toward Roche again. Ozaire Dupre had taken his wife’s place and leaned so close to speak that Roche bowed his head and listed to one side to avoid having Ozaire’s face in his own.
“This is a big crowd,” Max said. “I’m feeling positive, aren’t you?”
She smiled at him. “Yes. At least, I’m cheering up fast.” The stream of people into Pappy’s brought a rush of warmth. “They can’t all be against the building program.”
“Some will be, but most won’t.”
Max was a nice man. If you didn’t know he had an international reputation as a reconstructive plastic surgeon, he could fit in just fine as the guy next door.
“Ozaire looks like a man with something to sell,” Max said. “If I didn’t think Roche ought to suffer sometimes, I’d rescue him.”
Bleu laughed.
A tap on her shoulder turned her around. Madge stood there and her smile didn’t fool Bleu. Her cousin was unhappy.
“Looks like a full house,” Madge said. “I’m feelin’ better all the time.”
Without knowing what was making Madge unhappy, Bleu longed to hug her, to reassure her. “Good,” was the best she could do.
“There’s Wazoo. You’ve got to wonder why she cares about a Catholic school or a senior center.”
Max chuckled. “She’ll have an angle. Give her time.”
“I don’t believe my eyes,” Madge said and sucked in air through her teeth.
Bleu said, “What?” but it was Roche who held her attention. Ozaire had moved on, and Lil, but people stopped him repeatedly. She watched him talk and smile, and the way others touched him, lightly, usually on the arm, but they wanted to connect with him.
He was charismatic.
She was ordinary.
He’ll get bored with you.
Bleu felt cold inside. Removed from the noise and movement. A psychiatrist could find someone like her interesting. At least for a while, he could study her, interact with her, even try to help her.
She didn’t want his help.
Her teeth snapped together and her back stiffened. Michael Laveau had messed her up, but she’d found her way a lot of the way back. She would do the rest of the healing on her own.
A lump in her throat belied the flash of anger and the brave thoughts. Roche was an exciting, virile, powerful man who had caused her to feel and want things that made her burn. She wanted him. He made it seem as if she had him, and it was up to her to make sure that didn’t change.
If it was in her power to keep him in her life, she’d do it. She would not give him up without a fight.
“Bleu,” Madge whispered urgently. “Did you hear what I said?”
Bleu shook her head, continuing to watch Roche.
“It’s Kate Harper,” Madge said, elbowing Bleu. “She doesn’t come to anything like this, but she’s over there.”
Sure enough, dressed in black from her shiny, wide-brimmed straw hat to the shoes that just showed beneath a long-skirted dress, Kate Harper moved through the reception area, apparently accepting sympathy on all sides.
“Funny,” Bleu said. “She was in white the last time we saw her. Now she’s the wife in mourning.”
“Kate and Jim weren’t married,” Madge reminded her.
“Why would she come to this?”
“I don’t know.” Madge stood on tiptoe for an instant, then just as quickly, dropped back to stand flat again. “Sam Bush is with her. That seems strange.”
Bleu moved until she could see Sam. “He doesn’t think it’s right—the way there’s been talk about Kate having something to do with Jim’s death. He’s one of those people who roots for the underdog.” And she admired him for his in-your-face attitude.
“This group will always jump on an opportunity to talk,” Madge said. “I don’t think she drives, so she’d need someone to bring her. It was nice of Sam to do it—if she really felt she had to come.”
“Exactly,” Bleu agreed. “I’ll have to get started with announcements shortly. I’m keeping things as informal as possible, although there are pledge cards.”
Madge had stopped listening. She had half turned away and exchanged steady looks with Cyrus. He stood a few feet away, glass in hand.
There had been many occasions when Bleu had felt tension between Madge and Cyrus, but not like this.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Bleu said. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Madge said simply. “Really bad and all my fault.”
“Don’t. Don’t take on all the blame for anything. There’s always more than one side.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Madge said. “I need you. But I made a sickening mistake and I don’t think there’s a way out. Not for Cyrus or me. And we’re both going to be sad about it for the rest of our lives.”
Nothing Bleu considered seemed the right thing to say.
Sig Smith wandered up to Cyrus and they fell into conversation. Bleu was grateful, until she looked at Madge who had lost all color.
“What is it?” Bleu asked.
Madge moved in close. “I think I’m going away from Toussaint. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll keep in touch with you so you can say I’m okay. If anyone wants to know.”
“Don’t,” Bleu said. “Let me help you. Nothing can be so bad it can’t be worked through.”
“The way you and Michael could work it through?” Madge said. She bowed her head. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t the same.”
“It’s okay. But you aren’t dealing with a Michael Laveau. Are you interested in Sig?”
“He’s a nice man.”
Bleu didn’t need an interpretation of what that meant. “Okay. He likes you a lot, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Madge?” Bleu said.
“Okay. Yes, he does, but he deserves someone much better than me. I could never be any good for him.”
“Because you’re in love with Cyrus?” Bleu watched her cousin’s face.
“Yes,” Madge whispered.
“Do you want him to leave the Church?”
“No.” Madge was adamant.
“Is he thinking about it?”
Dark eyes filled with tears, and Bleu wished she hadn’t pushed so far.
“I don’t know,” Madge said. “Please drop it. I know I can talk to you if I have to.”
“Promise me you won’t leave Toussaint without letting me know first.”
Madge wouldn’t look at her. “I can’t promise that.”