Johnny Gator (3 page)

Her
pulse increased and her breathing sped up as the bad memories began to suck her
into the darkness until Johnny’s voice pulled her back.

“Hey,
girl, don’t go there,” he said.

With
effort, Nola focused on his face. “I’m not going anywhere,” she replied.
Defense mode came naturally these days.

“You’re
thinkin
’ ‘bout what happened to you back there,” he
said.
 
“It’s over and done so you
shouldn’t,
cher
.”

Great
advice if she could heed it. “I try not to but sometimes I do.”

His
brown, work-worn hand reached across the table and grasped hers, his flesh,
cool, and dry. “Let go, Nola. Don’t hold onto what’s past.
 
Life’s hard enough without
hangin
’ onto the bad things.”

Some
undercurrent in his tone made her think he’d suffered his share of negative
events, and her instinct proved true. Before she could gather words to answer,
Johnny added, “I know what it’s like to have something you don’t deserve happen
to you and change everything.
 
You got to
roll with the flow and take what comes.”

Just
what she needed, she thought, some kind of grassroots Cajun philosopher.
 
But his words provided a tiny measure of
comfort.
 
Nola nodded. “That’s true and
I’m working on it.”

His
face split in a wide grin. “Good, that’s good.
 
Mind if I sit on your porch and smoke? I like a good cigar after a good
meal.”

Nola
stood and gathered up their dirty dishes. “Sure, and I’ll wash these, then join
you outside although I don’t smoke.”

“The
fresh air will do you a world of good,
cher
.
”

“It
will if the
skeeters
aren’t biting.”

“I’ll
show you how to keep them away,” he told her.

She
dredged up an answer from the past.
“
Merci beaucoup.”

His
eyes lit up at the French and he grinned. “See you on the porch,
cher
.”

Hands
deep in warm, soapy water, Nola pondered the man and his presence.
 
He had her trust, she
realized,
which was nothing short of miraculous.
 
She liked his genial demeanor and his accent reminded her of happy times
with her grandparents.
 
More than
anything, she wanted to know him.

As
soon as she finished the kitchen chores, Nola joined him and they sat talking
till dusk about nothing of any importance.
 
A sweet relaxation crept over her tense body and when he rose to go
home, she said, “Come back and see me, okay?”

Johnny
looked back at her and nodded. “Oh, I will, Nola.
 
You can count on it.”

Nola
gazed at him and knew he would.

Chapter Two

As
promised, Johnny
Loutrel
returned.
 
The next morning he brought her a bouquet of
white swamp lilies with the stems wrapped in wet newspaper, and she asked him
if he’d like to stay for coffee.
 
Nola
brewed it strong, the way she liked it, and he pronounced it to be perfect.

After
that, he showed up almost every day, sometimes morning, sometimes afternoon,
but he always brought something.
 
Once it
was a jug of sweet Muscatine homemade wine, another time a mess of crawfish,
okra from his garden, and a pair of
muffuletta
sandwiches.
 
Johnny—who loved it when she
called him Jean Batiste—brought a pair of homemade mosquito traps.
 
Made with an odd combination of water, brown
sugar, and some yeast housed in empty two-liter soda bottles, the damn things
actually appeared to work because the number of mosquitoes dwindled to almost
none.

By
the end of the first two days, they were good neighbors, and after a week, they
were fast friends.
 
They ate the fish he
caught and used the other things he carried to her.
 
Johnny told her stories, sang songs, and
sometimes brought his guitar.
 
He didn’t
play traditional Cajun music but country-western tunes and folk music.
 

When
the last days of spring shifted into summer, Nola made up her mind she would
stay past fall.
 
Although her body had
healed, her invisible scars remained.
 
Johnny provided good company, and she saw Aunt Ronnie at least once a
week.
 
She’d been to town several times
and even visited a supermarket, although she had broken out in a cold sweat and
almost hyperventilated.
 
No way could she
handle going back to the Dallas metro area yet, if ever, and she knew she
wasn’t up to handling students.

****

“So
the school district sent me a contract for the coming year,” she told him. They
sat on her porch as dusk fell.
 
A giant
crane flew graceful against the darkening sky as she watched, waiting for his
reaction.
 
Johnny sat on the top step,
below where she rocked back and forth, content.

“Did
you sign it, boo?” he asked. Although they had yet to kiss, he called her many
endearments, both Cajun and American.

Nola
let out a long sigh. “No,” she told him. “I didn’t.
 
I don’t want to go back, not now anyway.”

“You’re
staying then.” His voice remained soft and level.

“Yes.
 
I like it here.”

Johnny
laughed.
“Even with the mosquitoes, snakes, and gators?”

“You
took care of the
skeeters
,” she said. “The snakes
have stayed out of my way and so have most of the alligators.
 
I know they must be there but there’s just
one I see on a regular basis.
 
He’s good-sized
and beautiful.”

“Is
dat
right?” Sometimes his Cajun accent intensified.
“You think gators are beautiful?”

Truth
was
,
she did. “Yes, I do that one.
 
He has the most amazing eyes,” she said. “You
know, they’re a lot like yours, emerald green.”

His
hands stilled from whittling a piece of wood, but he didn’t turn around.
“Aren’t you afraid of a big gator like that?”

“No,”
she replied. “In fact, I keep thinking how much I’d like to pet it but I don’t
dare.
 
Haven’t you seen it around?”

A
long minute passed before he answered.
“Might’ve.
A
few gators here, not many, not like at home in Louisiana.”

His
hesitation combined with an odd note in his voice prompted her to ask, “Is
something bothering you, Jean Batiste?”

Again,
he took his time to reply. “No,
cher
,” he said but without his usual
savoir faire
.

Something
had shifted but she had no idea what. “Aren’t you pleased I’m going to stay?”

“
Mais
oui
,” he
said. “I’m glad, yes.”

“I
mean, I don’t know yet how I’ll handle the financial end of it, although for
now I have savings in the bank.
 
I might
consider teaching, I suppose.
 
It would
be different in a much smaller school district.” Aware she babbled
,
Nola couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m looking forward to
watching the seasons change here.
 
Fall
and winter should be different but beautiful.”

Johnny
said nothing.
 
The muscles in his back
rippled as he sheathed his knife and stood.
 
He handed her the piece of wood he’d been carving.
 
She cried out with delight when she realized
it was a small alligator. “Thank you!”

“Yeah,
you’re welcome.
 
I been
making it for a while, not just because you mentioned the gator today.”

In
the month she’d known him, he’d always been whittling but she had never paid
attention to what. “It’s cute,” she told him. “It’s very artistic.”

Standing
a few feet away, he grinned, a brief flash, and then the expression vanished.
“I’m no artist,” he told her. “I paint, though, or did once. Not much anymore.”

Intrigued,
Nola asked, “What did you paint?”

He
spread his hand out wide. “Caddo,” he said. “I painted the lake, nature,
critters, all of it. I had a show once, over at Shreveport.”

“I’d
like to see your work someday,” she said. “Maybe you could bring a painting
over or I could come see them.
 
Do you
have a studio?”

As
she spoke, she realized he always came to her place and had never invited her
to his.

His
green eyes met hers and held steady. “No,
cher
,
I just use the spare bedroom. It’s not a big deal, really.”

“Can
I come see your work sometime?”

Johnny
shook his head. “Probably not, although I wish you could see the paintings,
tell me what you think.
 
I don’t know if
they’re any good or not.
 
But there are
things you don’t know about me, things you’re better off not finding out, so
unless I bring a painting here, no.”

He’s talking in riddles and I
have no idea what he means.
 
Is he
married? Did he do jail time? What could it be?
“Then will you bring one over so
I can see it?”

With
a wry expression, he shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, I don’t know.”

Confused
and more than a little upset at his odd behavior, Nola asked, “What made you
stop painting? You sound like you enjoyed it and if you had a show, you must
have been pretty good.”

He
frowned. “Something happened to me, something that changed everything about my
life and who I was,
cher
.
 
That’s all.”

Nola
noticed how he’d begun to fidget, hands twitching, feet tapping.
 
He didn’t seem able to remain still, consumed
with nervous agitation. “What was it, Johnny?”

Her
voice dropped to a soft croon.
 
She
wanted, no,
needed
, to know.

When
he replied, his eyes had changed from emerald to almost black, dark with inner
anguish. “Nothing you want to know about, woman,” he said. His voice became
almost a growl. “I shouldn’t have said
nothing
at
all.
 
I
gotta
go home anyway.”

How
did this happen? Nola had no idea but their quiet, easy evening had turned
emotionally volatile.
 
I’m upset, he’s upset, and I don’t have any
idea why.
 
She cared enough to try to
find out. “You know what happened to me,” she said. Keeping her voice level was
a struggle. “I’m not going to judge.
 
You
can tell me.
 
We’re friends, right?”

Johnny
muttered a few sentences in Cajun French, too low and fast for her to
follow.
 
Then he stepped closer. “We’re
neighbors,” he said. “Friendly neighbors—but it’s not what I want, boo. But I
can’t have what I do want, not in this world or any other, not now.”

“What
do you want?” Her outcry came from desperation.

“You,
cher
,
” he said. “I want you in every way a
man can want a woman. But I can’t have you and I know it.
 
Don’t you know it tears me up every night and
day? I keep coming back for more and wanting more.”

All
the feelings that had simmered for more than a month boiled over. “I want more,
too, Jean Batiste. I want you, too.”

He
groaned like a man with a bellyache and wrapped his arms around her.
 
Sweet baby Jesus, he had a powerful grip, and
when he locked Nola into his embrace, she gloried in it. She had waited so long
for this moment and savored it.
 
When she
ran her hands up beneath his T-shirt, his skin wasn’t warm the way she had
expected.
 
She stroked the cool, dry
flesh and marveled at how rough it was beneath her fingers.
 
Johnny touched her, his hands almost reverent
as they moved over her body. He planted one hand behind her head and leaned
closer.

When
he kissed her, her world rocked on its foundation.
 
His lips caught hers and held them tight,
fastened together with a mighty pull.
 
His urgent hunger matched her own and she kissed him back with
everything she had to give, amazed and pleased her absent desire had
awakened.
 
Johnny’s mouth called her out
and made it impossible to hide the emotions she’d been harboring any
longer.
 
Nola had been aware from the
first time he showed up that she liked him enough to trust him, but over the
weeks her feelings had grown into love.
 
Until now, she hadn’t dared to name it or believe it but the evidence
existed in his kiss and her response.