Sweetheart Reunion (10 page)

You are not alone.

Alma lay there in the darkness and heard the soothing words. No, she wasn’t alone. She had the Lord. She’d always turned to God for the answers to the hard to explain questions.

And this one ranked right up there.

“Why, God?” she asked, her fingers clutching the floral sheets. “Why did Julien force me to see all my flaws? To see how wrong I’ve been all these years? How can I change? How can I prove that I’m not going to settle for anything? I have everything I need right here.”

And how could she possibly change his perspective on those flaws?

Because now that they’d come so close, she wanted more.

Much more.

Chapter Ten

J
ulien’s cell phone growled rudely near his right ear. Groaning, he flipped over in bed and ran a hand through his hair.

His mother calling at five in the morning?

Not good. Even though he lived in a garage apartment behind her house, he’d always told her to call his cell in an emergency.

He sat up, grabbed the phone.
“Maman?”

“Your brother’s been arrested. You have to go help him, Julien.”

Okay, he was wide-awake now. “What happened?” And why had Pierre called Mama instead of him?

“Drinking. Driving drunk.” He heard a sob, pictured his mother holding her hand to her heart. “That boy is gonna be the death of me.”

“Not if I kill
him
first,” Julien retorted.

“I don’t need you to kill him. Just try to get him out of jail.” His mother lapsed into Cajun French. Vivid Cajun French.

“Did he hurt anyone?”

“No. But he didn’t pass the test. You know, he couldn’t walk a straight line or hold his finger to the nose on his face. And apparently that boy has lost possession of his brain, too.”

“I’m on my way,” Julien said, grabbing clothes.

He didn’t doubt that his brother had probably been drunk, but the locals had a thing about getting bored and chasing down drivers. Fleur had a reputation as being a speed trap. He wondered as he drove through the quiet streets if his brother was being singled out for standing out. Pierre was already on the local law enforcement’s radar. This would put him front and center on their “most watched” list.

No matter. The boy didn’t need to be drinking and driving.

That was not so good.

Julien passed the Fleur Café, his bad mood going to worse. The lights were on and the crew was moving around, about to begin their day. He thought about Alma and that kiss, that
accepting
kiss. She’d let him in, for a brief time, to glimpse what might have been. What might could be. That’s all he had to go on right now.

He zoomed on toward the hole-in-the-wall three-man police station. How this place even had room for a jail cell was beyond Julien’s comprehension. But there sat his dour-faced brother in the holding tank, his clothes rumpled and dirty, his expression rumbly and fighting mad.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Pierre said by way of a greeting.

“Drunk is drunk, bro,” Julien replied, his hands on the steel bars between them. “I’m gonna talk to Chief Watson, okay?”

“I’ll be here waiting,” Pierre shot back. “Hey, this ain’t the Holiday Inn, know what I mean?”

“I should just let him stew,” Julien told the chief as he entered the office.

Chief Frank Watson cleared his throat and glanced across the one-room police office into the one-room jail. “Yep. Might do the boy some good.”

“What happened?” Julien asked, grumpy from lack of sleep and no coffee.

The chief, a tall, quiet man, got up and poured two cups of rich-as-roux coffee. Handing one to Julien, he said, “Well, we tracked him out near the Backwater.”

“Of course.”

“Boy was weaving left and right of the center line, tapping his brakes, just driving crazy. My officer felt there was probable cause to stop your brother.” He swigged his coffee. “Good thing, too. Pierre slammed on the brakes so hard, he skidded off the road.”

Julien was thankful Pierre didn’t run off the road. “Did he hurt anyone?”

The sheriff gave him a solemn frown. “No, son. Not this time.”

“So what do I do now?” Julien asked, thinking he’d like to throttle his hardheaded brother.

“You can pay his bail and take him home. Course, he’s been booked on a misdemeanor charge. He’ll need to set a hearing and he’ll have to go before a judge and pay some fines. Since this is his first offense, he might get off easy, depending on the judge. He might get probation and community service instead of jail time. I took his license but he’ll be issued a temporary one just for things such as going to work and back.”

Julien held two fingers to his nose, pushing at the headache forming across his temple. “I’ll take care of the bail.”

The chief nodded. “Only because your daddy was a friend to this office, I cut the boy some slack. Out of respect for him, I’ll release your brother to you. But you are responsible for him, hear me? That means keeping him on the straight and narrow and making sure he shows up for his hearing and court date.”

“Which will be?”

“Can’t predict, but like I said, if you request a hearing within fifteen days, you can get him into probation and community service. No jail time since it’s his first offense and he was barely over the limit. You might want to get a lawyer.”

Julien didn’t have money for a lawyer or higher insurance rates or any fees—all the things were adding up in his tired brain. But he knew he’d find a way. He had a wad of cash in his pocket for the bail. So much for saving up. “I’ll take care of him, Chief Watson. I appreciate your help.”

“Kid just needs to lay off the liquor,” the chief said as he grabbed a set of heavy keys and headed toward the holding cell. After unlocking the door, he said, “Pierre, your brother is gonna take you home now. I want you to promise me you won’t do this again. You need to stop drinking. Your mama can’t take this kind of stress, you hear?”

Pierre shot a red-eyed stare toward the chief then darted past him without a word.

“Don’t think he enjoyed our luxury suite,” the chief said with a knowing smile.

“I hope he remembers this next time he even considers taking a drink,” Julien replied. He nodded to the chief and the two other officers then went out to his truck.

The sun was lifting over the bayou, a white-gold orb of beaming light surrounded by a shield of creamy yellow and burnished gold. He’d planned to go shrimping this morning. No need to change those plans. There was still time.

Pierre sat hunched on the passenger side. “I need sleep.”

“You need a swift kick in your posterior,” Julien retorted. “What about work, Pierre? What about going to work?”

“I can call in sick.”

“You won’t have a job if you keep doing that.”

Pierre shrank back even more, his hair standing out around his face like a dirty old broom. “I’ll be okay. Don’t need you hovering around me.”

Julien sat with his hands on the steering wheel. “No, you don’t need me hovering and I don’t remember signing up to be your keeper. So that makes both of us in a bad mood.”

“Bible says you are your brother’s keeper.”

“No, I think the verse you’re referring to is Cain asking God, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Julien cranked the truck. “Which I am not.”

Pierre rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and there’s something in there about smiting you, I’m pretty sure.”

“You don’t get to quote the Bible to me, bro,” Julien said, his voice rising. “You don’t have that right when you act like an imbecile.”

“I’ll quote whatever I want.”

There was no reasoning with the boy, Julien decided. “I’m not taking you home. And since you’re in no condition to be using a welding torch, you will call work and tell them I had an emergency and needed you with me, understand? You’re going to work off the cash I just paid for your bail. And then you’re gonna work off the high insurance rates and fines you will surely be paying and any lawyer or court fees I’ll have to pay.”

Pierre sat up, glaring over at Julien. “I am not spending the day shackled to you. I want to go home and go to bed. My head hurts.”

“You are not going home to upset our mama. And your head hurts because you drank too much and now you’re dehydrated.”

“So, I need something else to drink.”

“Water. You get water. That is it.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Shrimping,” Julien replied. “Fresh air, cool breeze and no booze.”

His brother grunted low while his dark eyes went wide. “You know I get seasick out in the Gulf.”

“Yes, I do at that.”

* * *

Julien hadn’t come into the café this morning. Nor at lunch. He usually showed up by lunch at least.

Alma touched a hand to the iris Julien had sent her a few days ago. She needed to plant the thing before it died. The irony of that notion wasn’t lost on Alma. When she considered putting the beautiful bulb in the ground, she saw it as a symbolic acceptance of putting down roots. And as an acceptance of allowing Julien back into her life.

Or maybe it was a sign that she could turn into a blooming idiot if she fell for him all over again.

Who was she kidding? She had already fallen for him all over again. She’d never stopped falling for him. Julien was definitely back in her life in a big way.

If she hadn’t ruined things. What if this time she’d finally done the man in?

“Yu as l’air triste, chère amie.”

Alma glanced over at Winnie. Her friend had a knowing smile on her round face. “I’m not sad. I’m frustrated.”

“What’s wrong?” Winnie asked, glancing at the flower. “Is your plant dying?”

“No, but Julien is angry with me.”

Winnie’s smile parted her lips. “Since when has that man not been mad at you, or about you?”

“Do you think I’m shallow and selfish, Winnie?”

Winnie glanced around as if she was being put to a test. “Not that I can see. You’re generous with all of us, letting us off when we need off, closing things down so we can spend some of the holidays, especially Christmas, with our families. You have a good spirit, Alma.”

“I don’t mean that kind of generous,” Alma replied. “I mean, do you think it’s shallow of me to want…more?”

“Depends on what kind of more you want,” Winnie said. Then she grabbed the order-up and took it to the family waiting in a corner booth.

Alma watched the little family while Winnie chatted and smiled at them. Tourists with two small children. Chocolate milk and pancakes for the older child. Dry cereal for the toddler. So sweet, so precious. A family. Would she ever have that?

And why hadn’t Winnie explained what she meant by that last comment. What kind of
more
did Alma want?

She wanted the kind that gave her a family and children and dry cereal and chocolate milk for breakfast. She wanted the kind that let her plant irises that would grow and multiply and fill her garden with beauty and…roots.

“Figured it out yet?” Winnie asked as she slid by.

“I think maybe I have,” Alma replied. “Only I think it’s too late.”

* * *

It was late afternoon before Julien came back into town. He’d dumped his brother back home and dared him to leave the house. Of course, their mother had stewed and fussed, immediately making Pierre a nice hot cup of ginger tea to settle his poor little ailing stomach. Then she’d reamed the boy out, telling him he needed to get his head back on straight and what would his papa think and why did he do these things to her?

And me?
Julien wondered. Why did his once-normal little brother have to go all rebel on him now?

He slowed the truck near the Fleur Café.

He aimed to keep going past, to head to his warehouse and work on one of his boats. He craved a bit of solitude. But his old pickup seemed to have a mind of its own and parked right out front.

So Julien was forced to either sit there staring in or open the door and go in for a good strong cup of coffee. And something besides Vienna sausage straight from the can to eat.

He got out of the truck, stretching out the kinks he’d held so tightly while shrimping with his goose of a brother all morning. They’d hauled in a pretty good catch, which was now iced down and waiting to be distributed to various clients and friends.

He’d bring back Alma’s order later.

Right now, he didn’t want to think about shrimp.

He’d cleaned up and smelled better than a shrimp, at least.

So he walked into the near-empty café, glad it was past the busy lunch hour. The quiet darkness of the paneled walls cooled him down and the muted sound of zydeco music soothed him. Julien relaxed his brow for the first time today.

Pretty Mollie came traipsing out and met him at the bar. “Hello. What can I get for you?”

“Coffee and Alma,” he said, not caring that the girl’s eyes widened.

“I’ll bring back both,” she said, her smile soft and measured. Then she turned at the coffee machine. “What’s up with Pierre? He didn’t make it to our Bible study last night.”

Bible study? Should Julien tell her his brother had been studying bottles and not Bibles lately?

“He got called away unexpectedly,” Julien replied, sending up a tiny prayer for telling a tall tale.

“I’d hoped he’d come by for breakfast,” Mollie continued as she placed the steaming coffee in front of Julien.

“He was tied up this morning.”

Not so very far from the truth. Shackled was more like it. Shackled and then released and…the boy had spent the rest of the morning with his head bent over the side of the trawler. Tortured into getting sober.