Everyone was being so nice, which made Fleur feel just awful.
Fleur took care of her own problems. She’d been on her own for a long time, without depending on other people for help. Even back at the convent, she’d carried her own weight, giving a hundred percent and more of herself to “pay her way,” and not just through the rescue missions.
These people here at Bayou Rose wanted nothing in return for their favors, except for Aaron, maybe, who was behaving perfectly. Too perfectly. There was mischief in him, just waiting to pounce; she knew it, sure as God made sin and pretty red apples. It was like Tante Lulu had told her, when working on her biography, “Never trust a Cajun man with angel eyes and a devil’s own grin.” Fleur would add to that, “Especially if he has a killer dimple.”
Of course, she was immune. But, still . . .
Fleur had picked a bedroom on the third floor, where she would be by herself. There, she felt safe, far removed from the recent threat posed by Miguel. Besides, she appreciated a solitary space to think and pray, which was of course the whole purpose of her respite from the convent. To contemplate her future. Which was looking dimmer and dimmer.
Actually, this level was the fourth floor, or attic, if you counted the ground level as the first floor. Bedrooms up here had been used by servants, or slaves, at one time. Everyone else was in one of the six bedrooms on the floor below, except for Aaron, who lived in that separate building, and except for Daniel and Samantha who had converted a second parlor on the main floor into a temporary bedroom so that she wouldn’t have to go up and down the stairs in her advanced state of pregnancy.
Fleur’s room was small and plain, with rough-cut pine boards arranged horizontally on the walls and whitewashed lightly so the wood showed through. The random plank cypress floors, worn unevenly by years of use, were covered only by a woven, mat-like area carpet. An antique block-patterned quilt in shades of faded indigo blue and white was folded back to expose crisp white cotton sheets on the single bed.
An electrified hurricane lamp atop a chest of drawers made up for the lack of overhead lighting. In addition, a modern floor lamp with its own round table surrounding the pole sat next to a comfy upholstered chair, both looking like flea market finds, but perfect for reading.
In fact, built-in shelves held a dozen or so books in several genres—mystery, romance, nonfiction, along with some magazines—Time, Newsweek, Psychology Today, Architectural Digest, Southern Living, and Cosmo. That latter drew a smile, especially the cover which proclaimed “Celibacy Is Hot!” The top shelf also held an old Bakelite radio, which still worked. She had turned it on low to a local station which played traditional Cajun ballads in twangy Acadian French. Right now, it was that favorite, “Jolie Blon.”
It was a corner room with small windows, overlooking the sugarcane fields on one side, and on the other, a row of quaint, pastel-colored cottages surrounded by white picket-fenced, postage-stamp size yards, once the slave quarters, but now used for families of cancer patients under Dr. Daniel LeDeux’s pediatric oncology care.
A ceiling fan, along with the open windows, allowed for a slight breeze, making the room, not air-conditioned cool, but comfortable. At least, at nighttime. During a summer day, the heat might be unbearable.
She’d come up to put her clothing and meager belongings away. There was no closet, but plenty of drawer space. Since there was no desk, she would have to figure out some place to work on Tante Lulu’s projects. Maybe the kitchen when no one else was there.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Aaron soon appeared in the open doorway. He wore tan cargo shorts, a black T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and rubber flip-flops instead of his usual cowboy boots. His hair was wet and slicked back off his face, and a piney scent wafted into the room. He must have just showered. He hadn’t shaved, though, and his face was covered with an evening stubble.
Leaning against the doorframe, he said, “Are you sure you want to be up here? There are bigger bedrooms downstairs with window AC units.”
She shook her head. “This is perfect. In fact, it’s the nicest room I’ve ever had.”
“Really?”
“Really. You come from a different background than I do, Aaron. I grew up in a run-down bayou shack with eight brothers and sisters. Just having a room of my own would have been bliss. And at the convent . . . well, the rooms are more like cells, which they’re intended to be. Bare bones. Utilitarian. This is”—she swept a hand to indicate the attic room—“pretty.”
“If you say so.” She could tell he wanted to ask more questions, probably about her family, but he restrained himself. Instead, he walked around the room, examining and touching things. The fabric of the lace-edged pillowcase. A sampler on the wall proclaiming in cross-stitch, “Home Is Where the Heart Is.” A blue silk nightshirt hanging from a wall peg; she’d purchased the garment at the used clothing store this morning, which seemed like eons ago. Even the magazines with Cosmo left on top, to her dismay, but he just snickered under his breath and said nothing. Which was not normal for him. She was right to be on her guard where Aaron was concerned. He was up to something.
“You only have a half bath up here,” he pointed out. “If you want to shower or soak in a tub, you’ll have to go downstairs.”
“Sounds good to me. Is there time before dinner?”
“Should be. Tante Lulu and Aunt Mel are going gangbusters in the kitchen. Mixing the shrimp dish Tante Lulu brought along with the grilled cheeseburgers Aunt Mel had been planning. Should be interesting.”
“Maybe I’ll hurry up and take a shower then,” she said, beginning to pull out drawers to gather clean clothes.
“Don’t rush. I installed a super deluxe rainforest shower here, with all kinds of sprays and gadgets. You’ll want to relish the experience. In fact, I should probably show you how it works.” He batted his eyelashes at her with exaggerated innocence.
“I think I can figure it out,” she said with a laugh. This was the first that Aaron had acted like his normal rascal self all day. She liked it.
They walked down the narrow staircase together, talking about the various meetings to be held tomorrow. With Luc. With Brother Malone, who was flying in from Dallas, representing the Street Apostles. Aaron said that he’d already talked with Ed Gillotte, the on-site construction foreman, to stop any workers from coming onto the plantation grounds for the time being, and with Ed’s live-in girlfriend, a graduate student in physics, to make sure she and Ed’s three kids made no mention of the Bayou Rose guests to anyone, not even their friends, and not to invite anyone in, either.
“I am so sorry for all this incon—”
“Enough, Fleur! Do you realize how often you say those words, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’? It’s tiresome. You know how you say ‘Click!’ every time you say or think a bad word . . . well, I have an idea.”
“Yeah?” she said hesitantly. “What?”
“Well, I figure every time you say ‘I’m sorry,’ or apologize in any way, you’ll owe me a penalty.”
She smiled at the silliness of his game. “And what would that penalty be?”
“A kiss.”
“Oh, no! I’m sorry but I don’t—”
He chalked a mark in the air for her having said “I’m sorry” again. “Don’t worry about me collecting on the spot, especially if you do your apologizing ad nauseam in front of other people. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. I’m considerate like that.”
She laughed again, then paused, suddenly aware that he made her feel lighthearted and worry-free for the moment. That was probably his intent.
“And I won’t be collecting on each of those ‘debts’ separately. You’d try to duck out by giving me a little peck on the cheek. Nope, I’ll keep a tally of each of your transgressions, and when I call my markers in after, oh, let’s say ten or fifteen apologies, it will be one super kiss. Definitely on the lips.”
“Oh, you!” she said and went to slap at him with her free hand, but he danced away. Fleur went after him, not realizing that Aunt Mel had just come out of the bathroom, and Fleur almost ran into her. “I’m sorry,” she said, before she realized what she’d said.
Aaron made a great show of marking two lines in the air.
“You are outrageous,” Fleur said, shaking her head at him as he was backing down the hallway toward the other stairway.
“I know. That’s what women love about me,” he declared with a wink.
“What’s that boy up to now?” Aunt Mel asked.
“Just silliness. I think he knows how worried I am, and he’s trying to distract me.”
Aunt Mel nodded. “He has a good heart, Aaron does. He and Daniel both.” She gave Fleur a long appraisal, as if weighing up whether Fleur was worthy. Aunt Mel must know about Fleur’s involvement in the rescue missions, along with Aaron, but did she know about Fleur’s past? That would certainly affect her opinion on any potential relationship between Aaron and herself. She was about to tell her that she wasn’t interested in Aaron that way, but Aunt Mel was already off on another subject. Just like Tante Lulu. “I came up to tell you that dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Were you about to take a shower?” she asked, glancing at the pile of clothing and the toiletry bag in her hand.
“Yes. I’ll make it quick.”
“Okay, honey. And listen. Don’t you be worrying about all the trouble that’s been hounding you and Aaron.”
Aah, she realized then. Aunt Mel thought they were hiding out because of something related to their recent rescue missions. She didn’t know about Fleur running into Miguel today.
“You’ll be safe here, sweetie. I promise,” Aunt Mel went on, patting her on the shoulder. “And if you’re not, I’ll take you back to Alaska with me when I return. You and Aaron both. The bad men who are after you will never find you there.”
Tears burned Fleur’s eyes. Over the years, she’d almost never cried, no matter what abuse was heaped on her. But these last few days, she’d gotten teary eyed at the least provocation, and usually it was because someone was being nice to her. Maybe later she would give Mother Jacinta a call. The nun would get a kick out of Fleur’s hard shell being cracked by niceness.
Fleur laughed, again, when she entered the bathroom, not just because of the huge, ostentatious, rain forest shower stall, sitting right next to an old-fashioned claw foot bathtub. But everywhere she looked, there was evidence that Tante Lulu was in the house. A St. Jude bath mat. A St. Jude soap dispenser at the sink. A St. Jude stained glass image suction-cupped to the window.
When she was under the absolutely sybaritic shower (It’s probably a sin for something to feel this good.), Fleur picked up a long-handled St. Jude loofah sponge, glanced upward, and said, “So, all these St. Jude reminders . . . are they a sign that I’m not as hopeless as I thought?”
With her eyes closed and her face raised to the cool spray, she thought she heard a voice in her head answer, Oh, you’re hopeless, all right, my child. But you’ve come to the right place.
Beware of little old ladies with big ideas . . .
Louise was in her element. Cooking and being with family.
Oh, none of the folks sitting around this evening on the back verandah, outside the Bayou Rose kitchen, sipping at after-dinner coffees and sweet teas, were blood kin to her. Only Luc, Remy, and René were actual blood relatives through their mother, who had been married to that low-down bum Valcour LeDeux. But over the years, she’d taken into her fold all of Valcour’s other children, born to so many different women. Tee-John, Daniel, Aaron, Simone, Charmaine. The list just went on and on. Tee-John, or Small John, was the name that had been given to one of the smallest of them when he was a boy, not over six feet tall like he was now.
Daniel and Samantha were sitting on a glider that Louise had gifted them for their wedding last year (with St. Jude cushions, of course). Samantha had protested at the time that a modern glider didn’t fit in with the historic décor, but Louise noticed that it had become Samantha’s favorite spot for resting, or a perfect place for her to cuddle with her husband.
Fleur sat on a bench under the kitchen window with Aaron on one side and Mel on the other. The three of them were leaning back, relaxed, with their legs extended.
Ed and Lily Beth sat on the grassy lawn under a tupelo tree watching Lily’s toddler waddling around in a diaper and Ed’s three girls playing with a dog and several cats, except for the big cat that resembled a cheetah which had a mind of its own and lay sprawled some distance away. Well, all cats were ornery sometimes, but this one much preferred its own space and was often off like a shot at the sign of a bird or some wild thing nearby. She’d like to see how Useless would respond to such a pet. Probably run off with its tail between its legs—the gator, not the cat.
And of course among all the animals here (leftovers from Samantha’s pet rescue days) was that little pig, Emily, who sat between Daniel and Samantha on the glider. The pig probably thought she was their baby. Hah! Was she in for a rude awakening when a real baby—or babies—came into the picture! The pig would probably go into another depression.
Louise leaned back in the lone rocking chair on the porch. They should get more. There was nothing like a rocker to give a place hominess.
“So, Mel, were you always a less-bean?” Louise asked all of a sudden. She’d been meaning to ask for some time, and it just popped out now.
“Tante Lulu!” Daniel chided her. “Don’t be insulting.”
“Don’t forget. Our mother was Aunt Mel’s partner,” Aaron added, glaring at her.
“Oh, pooh! I wasn’t insultin’ no one. Were you insulted, Mel?”
“Not at all,” Mel said. “I know you don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
“See,” Louise said to the twin dunces who were still glaring at her.
“Actually, I was married when I was in college. He was the one who got me involved in flying and eventually owning my own air shipping company. We divorced over religious differences.”
“I didn’t know you’d been married,” Daniel said.
“Me neither,” Aaron added. “What kind of religious differences?”
“He thought he was God. I didn’t,” Mel said with a chuckle.
Everyone laughed then.
“Aunt Mel and my mother were huge Barry Manilow fans,” Aaron told Fleur. “They went to his concerts all over the States. You’re bound to hear his music while you’re here.” He turned to Mel and said, “You did bring some of his CDs with you, didn’t you?”
Daniel answered for her. “Are you kidding? We’ve heard so much of his music that the twins dance in Samantha’s belly when ‘Copacabana’ comes on.”
“Hey, I have an idea,” Mel said, not at all offended at their teasing about Barry Manilow. “Maybe, if one of the twins is a girl, you could call her Mandy.”
“Yeah, but what would the other twin be named?” Aaron asked with a grin. “Oh, I know. Randy.”
Daniel and Samantha groaned. The others just grinned.
A companionable quiet followed. No one wanted to exert the energy to get up and prepare for bed. The dishes were already done; in fact, they’d used mostly paper plates and disposable cutlery to avoid running the dishwasher.
“That was a great dinner,” Fleur remarked into the silence, “even if it was what you called a last-minute hodgepodge.”
“Hodgepodge is the best kind,” Louise declared. Everyone was too full to do anything other than nod their heads in agreement.
They’d combined Louise’s Shrimp Étouffée with Daniel’s barbecued cheeseburgers, her dirty rice with Mel’s tater salad, Alaska-style. Samantha had stirred up a quick green salad made with a basket of veggies Louise had ordered a grumbling Aaron to pick from her garden before they left her cottage; it was served along with corn on the cob brought by Ed and Lily Beth, which they’d cooked in their husks on the grill, slathered with Cajun Tabasco butter.
Yum!
Aaron had also insisted that they whip up some fried green tomatoes, having recalled from the last time they’d been here that it was Fleur’s favorite. Fleur had looked at him with wonder when he’d not only remembered her preference, but sliced, breaded, and fried them himself on a cast iron skillet in the overheated kitchen.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do more to help,” Fleur said suddenly.
Aaron gave her a nudge with his elbow and made a few chalk marks in the air.
“Tsk-tsk!” Fleur remarked, elbowing him back.
It was good to see those two getting along better. Everyone knew that elbow nudges were a first step in courtship.
Yes, things were going just the way Louise had thought they would.
“Ya know, Daniel, I got an idea . . .” Louise started to say.
“Oh, no! You and your ideas! I swear, if this is about that frickin’ . . . I mean, stinkin’ swimming pool, forget about it.”
“No, it’s not about the pool, though I ’spect there’ll be one here, come hell or high water, afore long.” She glanced at Aaron and gave him a wink. “No, I was jist thinkin’, if you and Samantha are really gonna move up ta Baton Rouge . . .”
“What? Who’s moving?” Mel asked.
Daniel gave Aaron a dirty look, which Aaron in turn flashed at Louise.
“Oops!” Louise said. “Anyways, Daniel, if you really do decide ta move, mebbe those cottages could be put to a better use . . . well, not better, but different.”
She had everyone’s attention now.
“How about they become nests fer fallen birds?”
Aaron and Fleur were the only ones who understood and they gaped at her, stunned. The others just looked confused.
Then everyone spoke at once.
“Have you lost your mind?” Daniel exclaimed.
“What fallen birds? Like a bird sanctuary? I don’t get it,” Mel said.
“If Daniel and Aaron wouldn’t let me make this a dog and cat rescue sanctuary, why would they consider birds?” Samantha asked.
“I know your heart is in the right place, Tante Lulu, but I’m sorry, that is impossible,” Fleur said.
Aaron grinned, made another slash in the air in front of Fleur, then said to Tante Lulu, “Tell us more.”
“Nothing is impossible,” Tante Lulu told Fleur, but to Aaron she said, “It was just a thought. Something you and Fleur could do together, but let’s wait and see what Luc and that priest fellow have to say t’morrow.”
“I am going to be a nun,” Fleur told Tante Lulu through gritted teeth.
“Uh-huh,” Tante Lulu agreed, but she winked at Aaron.
Another day, another click! . . .
It was déjà vu all over again, Aaron thought, as he awakened at dawn in the garçonniére apartment: people hiding out on the plantation while its residents went about their normal business, or seemed to.
Aaron had to wonder if this place had a history of being a refuge, maybe even back in the days of slavery and the Underground Railroad. He would have to ask Samantha how to check that out. Or ask Tante Lulu, who knew everything about the Bayou Black region.
The old biddy was always conning . . . um, talking . . . dumb outsiders into renovating some of the rundown plantations, aka money pits, which locals wouldn’t touch with a bayou barge pole. Like that motorcycle riding Angel Sabato and his wife, the former Grace O’Brien, who had been a nun, come to think of it, over at Sweetland. (Is that a hopeful sign for me? The nun bit, not the plantation.) Like that odd Viking Ivar Sigurdsson, who worked as a chaplain at Angola Prison and was married to Gabrielle Sonnier, a lawyer, over at Heaven’s End plantation. Like him and Daniel with Bayou Rose.
But back to the present. Daniel planned to go into the medical center in Houma at nine, as usual, but he would come back at noon to take Samantha to an appointment with her obstetrician. Aunt Mel would do the regular shopping at the Starr Supermarket. And Aaron couldn’t ignore his job at Bayou Aviation as a pilot without being conspicuously absent; so, he had to report for work by one at the latest.
Even though Remy had accommodated him with a rearranged schedule, Aaron couldn’t let him down. Their flight schedule was overbooked with not enough pilots to handle the work. At the very least, Aaron would have to make three copter runs out to the oil rigs, carrying workers, back and forth, as well as some big wigs in from China. Remy would handle the morning flights of food supplies and machinery parts.
Offshore drilling was big business in the Gulf of Mexico, and at any one time there were more than 30,000 workers on thousands of platforms, going in or out on 14- to 21-day rotations. Called “floating cities,” the platforms, the size of two football fields, with colorful names like Mad Dog, Bullwinkle, Thunder Horse, and Magnolia, had everything the workers needed for home away from home, including good food, which had to be transported daily. It was hard work, but skilled hands could make more than a hundred thousand dollars a year, even in a bad economy.
Aaron showered and shaved, noting in the bathroom mirror that he needed a haircut. That would have to wait, of course. Besides, if I end up in prison, I can get a free haircut there, he joked with himself. Jailhouse humor. Ha, ha, ha.
Leaving the garçonniére, he relished the cool morning air. It wouldn’t stay that way for long. Summer in Louisiana could be brutal. But then, he’d experienced the other extreme in Alaska. Way below zero. He preferred the heat.
He saw a flash of gold and black rustle the jungle-like brush that was always encroaching on the property and figured that Maddie was on the scent of some wild breakfast. Snakes were her fav. Snake kibble. Yuck!
Heat shimmered off the water of the bayou that could be seen across the lawn and road, some two hundred or so feet away. It was easy to forget that at one time, a couple centuries ago, barges navigated these waters, carrying sugarcane to the New Orleans markets. And maybe slaves on the run, he thought, going back to his earlier musing about this plantation having possibly been a refuge.
But mostly, it was the birdsong that caught his attention this early in the morning. As he rounded the side of the house, he saw that the St. Jude birdbath in the rose garden was especially busy. Maybe, if he actually went through with his plans for a swimming pool, and Tante Lulu got her wish for a St. Jude shrine tour, they could add bird-watching to the activities. Hell, why not just turn the whole place into a bed-and-breakfast?
When he entered the kitchen through the open back door, he wasn’t surprised to see that Aunt Mel was already up and coffee was brewing. She wore a knee-length, floral robe, belted at the waist, leaving her skinny legs bare to red leather slide slippers. Her dark hair was in curlers covered with one of those stretchy sleep caps that older women wore. Her Inuit-like features—broad cheekbones, wide nose and mouth—brightened into a big smile on seeing him.
He loved her like a mother.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Aunt Mel said, handing him a mug of the steaming brew as he sat down on a bench at the table. She’d already added the one spoonful of sugar and dash of cream, as he liked. “Want some breakfast, honey?”
“Not yet. Coffee will do for now. Sit down and join me.”
She did, with her own cup of coffee. “I’m worried about you, Aaron,” she said, right off the bat.
“Don’t be. This issue with the creep threatening Fleur will be taken care of, one way or another.”
“It’s not just that. Your whole involvement with these missions bothers me. Sex traffickers are very dangerous people.”
“No question, but how can I stand by and do nothing? You and Mom taught us well. ‘Help others and God will help you.’ ‘Compassion without action is just observation.’ ‘The man who sits on his butt will just get a big butt.’”
Aunt Mel grinned at the reminder of those sayings that were always leveled at him and Daniel, usually when they’d been playing video games as teenagers, instead of going out to do volunteer work, or something constructive.
“Do you know, at this very moment, there are probably twenty thousand kids, mostly girls, under the age of eighteen who are being held in sexual captivity, in this country alone? The average age is thirteen, and their life expectancy is seven to ten years. Everyone is shocked when they hear about ISIS kidnappings, like those girls in Nigeria, but it’s happening everywhere.” Aaron winced. Quoting funny proverbs was one thing, but this sounded like a lecture, even to his own ears.
“Oh, Aaron, I had no idea. How did it get so bad? I mean, it’s in the news occasionally, and I’ve seen TV documentaries, but I thought the government and law enforcement were handling it.”
“Not very well. It’s like the drug problem. Billions of dollars are involved; so, the incentive to stop just isn’t there for the bad guys. Don’t get me wrong, various agencies are trying to help, but working through regular channels is a slow process. Often, by the time they get a tip and act on it, the sex traffickers have moved on to another site.”
“And operations like those run by the Street Apostles and the Sisters of Magdalene . . . do they really make a difference?”
He shrugged. “Not even a dent, but at least a few dozen, maybe a hundred girls get saved each year. Each life matters, doesn’t it? And here’s something else to consider. These rescued victims can’t just be dumped back into society. They need therapy and life skills and mostly love, which they don’t get, even when their families do accept them back, which is often not the case. The government doesn’t have a clue or the resources for helping the rescued. In fact, sometimes they put them in juvie halls till they can figure out what to do with them. Imagine what message that sends.” He definitely sounded like a lecturer now, or a person with a chip on his shoulder, all in answer to Aunt Mel’s simple question.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk. Still, why you?”
“Why not me?”
“Because I love you and don’t want you to get hurt.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “You know me, Aunt Mel. I’ve been getting in trouble since I was a kid, and I always get by.”
“Until you don’t,” she predicted with worry. “This is all about Fleur, isn’t it? You’re involved because she’s involved.”
“Don’t you like Fleur?”
“I don’t know her. She seems nice, and, of course, I feel sorry for the situation she’s in.”
And Aunt Mel didn’t know the half of what Fleur’s “situation” entailed!
“But that’s not the point,” she went on. “Did you really get involved in all this just to put another notch on your belt?”
“Aunt Mel!”
Aunt Mel’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Let me correct that, although, you must admit, your belt does have a lot of notches. It’s great to talk about altruism and helping those in need, but I suspect you got involved in rescuing kidnapped girls because you were interested in Fleur.”
“It started that way, but I found it increasingly hard—impossible, really—to jump ship when I found out I was needed. Plus, I’ve been floundering lately, ever since Dan got married, trying to figure out what I want to do with my future. Maybe this—she—just came along at the right time for me.”
“Or the wrong time,” his aunt said.
“Anyhow, there’s great satisfaction in seeing the faces on those young girls when they’re rescued. They’ve been without hope for so long. Tante Lulu would say that St. Jude had a hand in all this. You know, the whole patron saint of hopeless cases stuff.”
Aunt Mel rolled her eyes at mention of Tante Lulu. “I still have my pilot’s license. Maybe I should join up.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said with a laugh. He’d like to see Aunt Mel in disguise at a strip club, like Fleur had been. Then again, no, he would not!
“What’s good for the gander is good for the goose,” Aunt Mel declared, teasing.
“Not when the goose is as old as you are.”
“I’m not that old!”
Which was true. Aunt Mel was only in her late fifties, not even retirement age. But he wouldn’t let her get involved in something so dangerous, not if he could help it.
“Besides, I’ve been at loose ends, too. I’ve been looking for something to occupy my time since we sold the air shipping business.”
“Take up bowling,” he said.
She just grinned at him.
Tante Lulu came down the back stairs into the kitchen then. Her hair, which was suddenly blonde, due to an overnight dye job, he supposed, was a mass of curls. She wore a girl’s size Snoopy nightshirt that hung down to her calves and read, “Don’t Let Anyone Dull Your Sparkle.” On her feet were big fluffy pink rabbit slippers which caught Axel’s interest. The old German shepherd, who’d been splayed out on the cool slate floor, raised his head, eyed the potential chew toys, let out a woof, then lowered his head again when Tante Lulu gave him The Look, which they’d all been subjected to at one time or another.
At first it was just her appearance that caught Aaron off guard, but then Tante Lulu said, “Did I hear ya say yer gonna work on the rescue missions, Mel? Yippee! I’m in, too.”
“Absolutely not!” Aaron exclaimed. “Neither of you are getting involved in that operation. Holy crap! I thought older women were interested in bingo and yard sales and early bird dinners and arthritis creams, not putting yourselves in danger.”
“I’ve never been to a yard sale in my life. That sounds like age bias to me, Aaron,” Aunt Mel remarked, slapping him on the shoulder with a dish towel as she got up to refill his coffee mug.
“Yeah, we oughta file a lawsuit,” Tante Lulu concurred. “Good thing I got a lawyer in the family.”
“Like Luc would let you put your life in jeopardy that way,” Aaron countered.
“Luc ain’t the boss of me. No one is.” Tante Lulu gave him the same look she’d given Axel.
Aunt Mel added, “And you’re not the boss of me, either, young man.”
Aaron put up both hands in surrender. “I’m just sayin’.”
But Tante Lulu’s mind had already skittered to another subject. “I’m thinkin’ somethin’ simple fer breakfast, like an omelet.” Without waiting for a response from anyone, she went immediately to the fridge and began taking out eggs, butter, sausage, mushrooms, onion, cheese, and a bunch of other stuff. So much for simple! “Kin you slice up some of that leftover loaf I brought with me, Mel?”
“For toast or plain?” Aunt Mel asked.
“Both.”
While they were working, Aaron sipped at his coffee and checked his cell phone for text messages. Fleur came in then. Her dark hair was pulled off her face, tucked behind her ears. No make-up, but her face and arms were tanned from her ride in the convertible yesterday. She wore a sleeveless mint green blouse over white capris. At least, he thought that was what those knee-length pants were called. White sandals exposed narrow, high-arched feet.
It was a sign of his “infatuation” with Fleur that he found even her feet sexy. Unadorned feet, at that. No polish. No toe rings. No “fuck me” high heels. He put a napkin on his lap to hide his reaction.
“Your new clothes look nice, Fleur,” Tante Lulu observed.
“My new old clothes, you mean,” Fleur said, explaining to Aunt Mel that she and Tante Lulu had visited an upscale secondhand clothing store in New Orleans yesterday.
“Next time you go, give me a call,” Aunt Mel requested. “I need some summer clothes and I hate spending retail.”
“Aunt Mel! You have enough money in the bank to buy a store. You don’t need to buy someone else’s castoffs.”
“Idjit!” Tante Lulu shook her head at him.
He assumed she meant that he’d insulted Fleur with that remark. Why was everyone so touchy? First, he was accused of age bias, then clothes bias, or poverty bias. Whatever!
“Do you think I’m poor as a church mouse?” Tante Lulu was shaking a finger at him. “No, I am not.”
He was right. Poverty bias.
“Do you think women go to thrift shops ’cause they can’t afford new? No. Every female alive loves a bargain. And, yes, Mel, I’ll call ya next time. They had some items from a Cher wardrobe auction fer charity that would look good on you. You’re tall and thin enough ta wear her outfits.”
Cher? Aunt Mel as Cher? Oh, my Lord!
Aaron glanced at Fleur to see if he’d insulted her by ripping on cast-off clothing, but she was just smiling, enjoying the setdown he’d just been given. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed at her.
But she didn’t acknowledge his apology, probably figuring he might use it as an excuse to make more chalk mark tallies in the air for kisses. He could wait.
Dan came in then, dressed for work in a brown-and-white-striped dress shirt tucked into tan belted slacks, a matching suit jacket hooked over his shoulder with a forefinger. Around his neck was a knotted, but not yet tightened Save the Children tie that Samantha had given him last Christmas, featuring bands of multinational kids holding hands. His hair was wet from a recent shower and he’d shaved. He looked like a frickin’ ad for GQ. “Samantha is still sleeping, but I’ll bring a tray to her before I leave,” he told Aunt Mel and Tante Lulu.
They nodded.
“Do you think you’ll know the sex of the babies after the ultrasound today?” Aunt Mel asked.
Dan shook his head. “We don’t want to know. If the test shows any little peckers, the technician will hide the pictures from us.”
“I had a dream last night,” Tante Lulu said. “There were two little boys running around yer rose garden. Matt and Mark. And Samantha walked up to them, big as a house with another pregnancy. Twins again.”
“Luke and John, I suppose,” Daniel guessed.
“How’dja know?” Tante Lulu asked. “Mus’ be an omen.”
“Don’t tell Samantha. She needs to get through this birth first.”
They all sat around the table then, eating the simple but luscious breakfast, washed down with copious amounts of strong Creole coffee. While they ate, Tante Lulu made a grocery list for Aunt Mel, who at one point looked to Aaron and Daniel with dismay. She would need a truck to haul everything back here. Aaron decided that he would offer his pickup to her and take Aunt Mel’s rented sedan to the airport.
Daniel took a breakfast tray to Samantha and then drove off. Aunt Mel went upstairs to dress for her shopping expedition, and they could hear “Can’t Smile Without You” from the tape player she’d brought with her from Alaska. No downloaded music for Aunt Mel. Just good old-fashioned CDs. He caught Fleur’s eye on first hearing the music blast out and said, “Bet the babies get dear old Barry songs, instead of lullabies.”
“Or Cajun music,” Tante Lulu piped in.
“There’s probably a Cajun version of ‘Copacabana’ somewhere.” Fleur was tapping her foot as she stood at the sink, washing the extra breakfast dishes and pans. The dishwasher was full and running.
“If there isn’t, I could ask René to write one,” Tante Lulu said.
René was a musician, as well as an environmentalist and teacher.
“Yeah, René probably could write a Cajun adaptation of the Manilow classic,” Aaron decided. “Hey, if Bruce Springsteen could do a rock version of the Cajun classic ‘Jolie Blon,’ anything is possible, right?”
Suddenly, the music stopped, and Aunt Mel, dressed for shopping in shorts, sneakers, and an “I ♥ Louisiana” T-shirt, came down to get the keys to Aaron’s truck, along with Tante Lulu’s War and Peace shopping list, and was off to the store. Shortly after that, and it was only nine a.m., Luc arrived with Brother Brian Malone, whom he’d picked up at the airport on his way out to the plantation, as prearranged. Fleur was wiping down the counters with a sponge, and Aaron was at the table, sending a text message to Remy.
Aaron stood to greet Brother Brian, a name he had trouble using without a grin, especially with him wearing Bermuda shorts, sockless loafers, and a Hawaiian shirt over a clerical collar. “How you doing, Snake?”
“It was touch and go there for a while, but I’m good as new now, and back in the game. Although I do have one fewer kidney and I get twinges in my shoulder from that one close range shot. How you hangin’, Ace?” Snake replied, not at all priestly in his language. “Still a sex magnet for all the ladies?”
Fleur gave Aaron a sharp look.
Aaron gave Snake a dirty look.
Luc looked amused.
And Tante Lulu was just looking, from one to the other of them, with way too much interest.
Aaron and Snake exchanged bro hugs. Then, Aaron drew back, observing his old friend. “What’s with the clerical dog collar? Do you wear one all the time?”
“Nah, but it’s more than a fashion accessory when I travel commercial. I don’t like to hide the fact that I’m a priest, in case the need for one comes up suddenly. I don’t like pretending to be something I’m not.”
Collar or not, it appeared that Snake still had a way with words. And the way he switched in and out of his Irish dialect and proverbs reminded Aaron a lot of Tante Lulu and other Cajuns, like Luc, who could appear almost illiterate one moment and highly intelligent the next.
In fact, Tante Lulu let out a hoot of laughter and said, “Ain’t that the truth? Like I’m allus tellin’ my dumb nephews, a peacock is jist a turkey under all them pretty feathers.”
“Ah, a woman after me own heart! Are you sure there’s not a bit of Irish in your blood?”
Tante Lulu preened.
Snake winked at Aaron, to show he still knew how to throw the blarney when he wanted, even when a member of the clergy.
Aaron would love to sit down with Snake sometime, preferably with a shot or two of Irish whiskey, or aged southern bourbon, and find out how his friend had arrived at the religious crossroad that prompted his turn away from the marriage and kids route he’d always planned.
Brother Brian was introduced to everyone.
Tante Lulu was clearly impressed to have a priest in the house, especially one associated with a group named for her favorite saint, even one dressed like Snake. But she couldn’t get her tongue around the Brother salutation. She kept slipping and calling him “Father Malone—I mean, Brother Malone—I mean . . .” until finally an amused Snake told her, “Sweet lady, you can call me Father Brian, if you like. I answer to almost anything.”
Fleur said to Luc after her introduction, “I apologize for putting your family to this inconvenience.” Then to Snake, she said, “Please tell your superiors and Mother Jacinta how sorry I am to be the cause of troubles for the missions.”
Too late, she realized what she’d just said, but she definitely knew when Aaron made more slashes in the air and winked at her. Maybe he would collect tonight. Of course, he could ask for a good-bye kiss when he left for work shortly, but, no, there would be other people around. And he didn’t want to rush things. To his reckoning, he had ten apologies on her tab so far, and in his dictionary—that would be the Clueless Men’s Rule of Seduction book—two slashes equaled lips locked; three, open mouths; four, a kiss lasting longer than a second; five, a little tongue. He grinned.
Fleur blushed, was about to say something but just said, “Click!”
If she only knew, those clicks were starting to turn him on.
If anyone was confused by Aaron’s ping-ponging emotions, he was the most confused, and it was damn irritating. He was tired of these roller coaster feelings he had where Fleur was concerned. Up, down, up, down. Should he, shouldn’t he? Would she, wouldn’t she? Right or wrong? Logical or illogical? Destined or downright monkey ass, tree swinging crazy?
Enough! Enough, enough, enough! Aaron was determined now. He’d decided, at about three a.m. last night, after being unable to fall asleep (sexual frustration being a bummer), that he knew what he wanted and was just going to hang on for the ride.
It was pitiful, though, that he had to go to such lengths. He was a master of seduction, a player, or had been in the past. But none of the usual rules applied here with Fleur. He wanted her, past or no past, and, oddly, despite her sordid experiences, Fleur appeared more like a virgin to him. Not that he’d experienced many of those! He would have to tread carefully. The usual “Oh, baby!” drawl was not going to hit any of her chimes, if she had any. And definitely not the more blunt, but to the point, “Wanna fuck?” And, yes, to his shame (but not much), he’d said just that on occasion.
Let fate, or the celestial Powers-That-Be, control the levers of this Blue Streak of madness (the roller coaster, not a Blue Steeler, though he was experiencing both).
“Was that thunder I heard?” Tante Lulu asked.
“Huh?” Aaron said, being called back from his mental ramblings.
Fleur looked at him like he was some kind of babbling idiot, while Luc and Snake just grinned.
He blinked and glanced around. The sun was shining, portending another scorcher of a day. But, yes, there was a rumbling sound in the distance. Aha! The Blue Streak of lightning.
The celestial powers were speaking, loud and clear.