Three weeks had gone by and Grace Cheramie Pitre had never seen her husband so depressed. Big Tex had expedited surveyors to plot the precise pipeline route. The right-of-way papers had come and Justin had signed them, the very act of which was heartbreaking. Within the space of a few minutes, he had rotated from rage to resignation to bitter remorse.
Justin had gone on a seven-day hitch offshore the day after the signing. Grace had cried her eyes out and could only console herself with the thought that Justin, having work to do, might be too busy to brood. But he returned home in the same gloomy spirits. Now, as they sat together in their family room in the fading light of a cool, rainy day, both of them felt as gray as the weather.
At first Grace had tried her best to be levelheaded and upbeat, but now she realized how much she and Justin fed off of each other. She could only go on so long pretending this would blow over. This whole business had— unimaginably—even messed up their sex life. Their plans to conceive their first child at Crawfish Mountain had tacitly been put on hold.
Grace looked at her husband. “The gumbo should be ready pretty soon. You must be hungry.”
Justin had spent the day piddling around the yard and straightening up his garage. Normally he and Grace would be at the camp by now, but Justin didn't want to go. He said if he went, he'd only spend his time imagining the scars the dragline would bring. He shrugged. “Not so hungry. But it smells good, babe.”
“You want a beer?”
“Nah, maybe later.”
Grace moved from her side of the couch toward Justin and put a hand tenderly on his arm. “Justin, it could be worse. I mean, we're not dyin’ or anything.”
“I know, Grace. I'm sorry I'm such a stick-in-the-mud. The whole thing just makes me sick to my stomach.”
“I know it does. It sickens me, too. Maybe we should hire a lawyer and sue the hell out of Tom Huff. Maybe we could buy some time.”
“Shuh, Grace, Big Tex is one of the biggest and richest companies in the world—they got more lawyers than seagulls following a shrimp boat. And anyway, Patin threatened Daddy with those bogus documents he signed. I just can't bring myself to drag him into this anymore.”
“I understand. But maybe we could get a sympathetic judge. Everybody knows Tom Huff is a bully. Everybody knows he spends most of the time saying what an awful place we live in and what awful people we are.”
“All true, but name a sympathetic judge. Old Judge Pettibone used to give the oil industry hell from time to time, but he retired sometime back. Wilmore Chauvin is the chief judge of the court. Before that he was the local lawyer for one of those big out-of-state land companies that profit from half the oil leases in Chacahoula Parish. The Oil Patch scuttlebutt is that Wilmore is so sympathetic to oil-company attorneys they've nicknamed him Give-more.”
Grace nodded and decided to change the subject. “How's Wilson doin’? Did you talk to him today?”
“Yeah, this morning. He feels rotten about the whole thing. Every other sentence he says, ‘Justin, really, you don't have to do this. I'll quit before they fire me.’ But I know he's scared, and Momma's such a worrywart.”
Grace sighed. “Yeah, it's just awful that anybody would put them through this. But why would the Guv wanna lean on us, Justin? We're card-carrying Democrats. We voted for the rascal. Twice.”
“I dunno. I'm guessin’ it's just the same ole political b.s. Fat cats and politi cians scratchin’ each other's backs. See, you get on my case for not jumpin’ up and down over the shipping channel and joinin’ in with the shrimpers’ crusade against the thing. But as we're findin’ out in our own little situation, politics is all rigged. What's the point?”
Grace looked deep into her husband's eyes. “Oh, baby, we can't become that cynical, can we? It's still important to stand up for what we believe in, yes?”
“I always thought so, but now—I really don't know.”
“Well, I know. I'm just not ready to throw in the towel. And you can't, either.”
Justin wished he had an optimistic response for his wife, but he just couldn't think of any. Finally, Grace asked, “So when's the dragline comin’?”
“Charpentier says they're movin’ it from a slip they've just finished dredgin’ about ten miles west of town. They'll put it on one of those motorized barges tomorrow. It could be at the camp in two or three days. I don't know how long it'll take them, but however long, we've gotta watch 'em every minute. They damn well better stay inside the right-of-way. I've already put both Huff and Charpentier on notice.”
Grace snuggled closer to her husband. “Well, I'm sure they will, Justin. They're crooked but not stupid.”
“Let's hope so. I think Charpentier at least takes me seriously. He's afraid I'll come lookin’ for him with my sixteen-gauge.”
“Well, it's okay to have him think that, but Justin, no matter what, you have to promise me that you won't start any trouble. I hate them as much as you do, but it's not worth ruining our lives over. Besides, you're not gonna be able to knock up your wife if you're stuck in Go-Boy Geaux's jail. I know you gave it your all last time we were at the camp, but I know for a fact I'm not pregnant. It probably breaks your heart, but you're gonna have to keep tryin’.”
Justin embraced his wife and for the first time in a while felt the demonstrable stir of passion. “Oh, well, Adeline Grace, I guess I can manage that part. In fact, maybe we should get started. Maybe—”
Grace hushed her husband with a kiss on the mouth. “But I thought we wanted to make our baby at the camp?” she whispered.
“We do,” Justin replied. “But there's other things we can do.”
Grace smiled and kissed him again—and then the phone rang.
“Aw, no,” she said. “Let's not answer it, okay?”
Their kiss deepened, but the phone rang and rang and rang and rang. Since signing the right-of-way contract, Justin had turned off his answering machine. He didn't want to give Huff or Juke the pleasure of leaving some humiliating message.
Irritated, Grace reluctantly slipped from Justin's arms and walked into the kitchen where the phone was. She picked it up.
Justin heard her say, “Oh, Emma, no, I'm so sorry. We'll be right there.”
Grace walked back into the family room, her face ashen. “Oh, babe, it's so terrible. Your daddy's just been rushed to the hospital. Your momma thinks it's a heart attack.”