Sweetheart Reunion (11 page)

And Pierre deserved it, for sure.

“I’ll go get Alma,” Mollie said on a disappointed note.

He really should warn that nice girl away from his not-so-good brother, Julien decided. But there was still good somewhere inside Pierre. He just had to drag it out. Maybe Pretty Mollie would be a good influence.

“Hello.”

He looked up from nursing his coffee to find Alma standing at the end of the counter. She had on a short, flowing skirt and a muted lavender T-shirt. And another pair of those cute sneakers she liked to collect. These were hot pink and painted with yellow and blue butterflies. Colorful, but not as nervous as the butterflies fluttering to beat the band inside his stomach.

“Hi,” he said. Then he looked down at his coffee.

She advanced a few steps. “Do you want a piece of pie?”

“What kind?”

“We have strawberry, chocolate and peach cobbler today.”

Peach cobbler sounded good. His growling stomach agreed.

“Julien, have you had lunch?”

He shook his head. “I was out shrimping.”

“I’ll bring you some étouffée.”

“And peach cobbler,” he added. “With ice cream.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He watched her prance away, the scent of flowers from her perfume merging with the scents of fried fish and bread baking.

His stomach called out again. Julien patted it. “Hush up.”

Alma came back with the etouffée. The bowl was full of fluffy white rice covered with a creamy, reddish-orange roux mixed with onions, peppers, celery and meaty crawfish tails.

Julien stared down at the bowl, grabbed the crusty piece of bread beside it and dipped the bread into the roux. Then he took a bite, closed his eyes and savored the flavors of garlic and bay leaf mixed with all that luscious roux and vegetables. And the chewy crawfish. He nabbed a couple of bits of the tiny crustaceans on the next bite.

“You should mass produce this and sell it to all the world.”

“You must have been really hungry.”

He opened his eyes to find Alma staring at him. He stared back. “I was.”

She stood there holding the counter like it was the railing of a sinking ship. “I’m sorry about last night.”

He took a drink of the water she’d poured for him then chased it with the coffee. “Last night? Last night? That seems like a lifetime ago.”

“You’re mad at me,” she replied, hurt in her eyes. “I don’t want you to be mad, Julien.”

He put down his spoon. “
Non,
not you,
catin
.” What could he say? “It’s just been a not-so-good day.”

“But…it started last night, with us.”

He almost reached for her hand. But he held back, gripping the white coffee cup instead. “
Non, non.
Last night, in spite of me storming off like a mad dog, was…beautiful. I had a nice time talking to you, in your home.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve never been inside my house before, have you?”

“No.”

That little word settled and shifted on the air between them. And summed up things pretty nicely.

He ventured back toward the deep waters of his longing. “I liked being there. And I shouldn’t have pushed you with all this crazy talk.”

She looked surprised and maybe a tad disappointed. But her smile belied that. “So we’re good again?”

His heart hurt, hearing that loaded question. “We’re better than good.”

“Finish up your étouffée and I’ll go get your cobbler.”

He did as she said, taking his bread to swipe the gravy off the bowl. Man, he’d been so hungry.

Alma came back with a big bowl of steaming peach cobbler, the flaky crust mixing with the juicy peaches. A glob of creamy vanilla ice cream slid around over the peaches.

“That smells so good,” he said, taking in the nutmeg and cinnamon. “You’re spoiling me.”

“You’re smiling now,” she said, her elbows propped on the old counter. “What was wrong when you came in before?”

“Did it show so much?”

“Yes. I was worried that you were angry with me forever.”

“I told you, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad because things are so messed up, you know?”

She tilted her head, one bouncy curl going along for the ride. “I know.”

Julien didn’t like to air his dirty laundry, but Alma would understand. “Pierre got arrested last night for driving drunk.”

“Oh, no.” Her hand went to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. Is he still in jail?”

“No. He’s out but he’s still in a peck of trouble. And it’ll cost us. I’ll have to find some extra cash somewhere.” He hated telling her that, but Alma knew about hard times.

“Pierre was in jail? What happened?” They both looked up to see Mollie standing there, her brown eyes big and full of concern. When Julien didn’t give her a quick answer, she said, “I guess that’s why he missed Bible study.”

Chapter Eleven

A
lma looked from Julien to Mollie. “Mollie, I’m glad you’re concerned about Pierre, but we don’t repeat such things around here, okay? No need to spread rumors. Miss Virginia would be hurt by that.”

Mollie walked up to them and then glanced around. The restaurant was mostly empty. “I’d never do that, Alma. I want to help Pierre. He’s funny and cute, but he seems so sad at times. I just want him to find the love of the Lord again.”

Julien shot Alma a tormented look then turned to Mollie. “How long have you known Pierre?”

“I knew him in school,” the girl explained. “He was a few years ahead of me but I’ve always liked him.”

“How old are you?” Julien asked, concern replacing the torment in his expression.

“I’m eighteen,” the girl said with a soft smile. “I’ve waited long enough. I’m legal now.”

Julien grimaced and stared at Alma. “Legal don’t make it good, suga’. My brother has certain…issues.”

“I know all about his issues,” Mollie retorted. “That’s why I want him to come to church with me.” She leaned close, her brown eyes centered on Julien. “He drinks too much because he’s still missing your daddy, Julien.”

Alma watched as Julien’s expression changed. The brightness she’d always loved in his eyes seemed to dim and go out. “
C’est vrai
, we all do.”

Mollie nodded. “I’m not trying to get in your business, but Pierre’s been kind of forgotten. I mean, nobody much bothers to see how he’s feeling. I think spring reminds him of all the things y’all used to do with your daddy and he said your daddy’s birthday is coming up. He told me it’ll be a year in September since your father passed, but he said nobody ever talks about that.” She brushed a hand across the counter.

Julien sat up straight. “I talk to the kid all the time.”

Alma shot him a warning look. Didn’t he understand what Mollie was saying? “Do you talk
to
him?” she asked in a gentle tone. “Or do you talk
at
him?”

Julien’s dark eyes widened, then he squinted them shut. “
At
him, mostly. Only because he needs somebody to talk at him. He’s making bad decisions.”

Mollie heard Winnie calling her. Backing toward the kitchen, she said, “I’ve been talking
to
him and letting him talk back to me. No disrespect, but there’s a big difference.”

Julien grunted. “Well, yeah, but then you’re Pretty Mollie and I’m just Mean Old Big Brother.”

Alma hid the soft smile cresting on her face. Mollie was nothing if not blunt. But the girl had good intentions. Only, Julien was too close to the situation to listen. And too hurt right now.

Julien played with his melting ice cream. “I guess that little girl is wise beyond her years.”

“She’s a woman with a big crush. Not so wise, just hopeful.”

He relaxed and shook his head. “Did you use to feel like that about me? You know, talking to me and listening to me when I was so bullheaded. Did I ever listen back?”

Alma leaned over the counter. “We used to talk a lot, about a lot of things. I don’t know if you were always listening, but you always seemed to understand me back then. We used to talk for hours.” She wondered if they’d ever reach that kind of intimacy again.

“Same here,” he said, lowering his head. “You always knew the right thing to say or the right way to handle my moods.” Then he reached out toward her hand, his fingers just barely touching hers. “All those others, Alma. They…we didn’t talk about anything much.”

She moved her fingers away. “Maybe you were too busy doing other things.”

He grabbed her hand back. “I was usually thinking about you, wondering if you were with somebody else. Just thinking that made me crazy.”

She didn’t pull away this time. “I don’t believe that for one minute. You’ve managed, Julien. You didn’t seem the least bit bothered by me.”

His eyes went dark with torment. “But have you dated other people? Have you been close to other men?”

“I’ve gone on a few dates here and there,” she said, bad memories clouding over the comic reality of blind dates and weird setups. “Nobody special.”

“Same here,” he said. “And I mean that. I wanted to find someone else, so I could forget you. But nobody compared.”

“Well, you’ve always been popular with the ladies.”

“Not so much. They all figured things out.”

Alma wouldn’t lash out at him. It wasn’t her business who he saw or dated or danced with or…kissed. But her heart beat into a jealous rage that shot her pulse straight up. She shouldn’t be jealous since she’d pushed him away all those years ago. But she couldn’t deny seeing him with other women had hurt.

“Maybe you shouldn’t wait around for me,” she said. “I’m so mixed up and confused, I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He looked down at his hand over hers. “I’ve always known exactly what I wanted. It’s the getting it that’s killing me.”

Alma didn’t know how to respond to that. “Eat your cobbler, Julien. It’s gonna be okay. You know I will pray for your brother and you. God will see you through.”

“I love God and I appreciate the prayers,” he replied, letting go of her hand. “But…while you’re praying, will you please ask Him to give you strength, too?”

She drew back. “Me? Strength for what?”

“Dealing with me,” he said. Then he shoved the last of his cobbler in his mouth, finished it off, stood up and leaned over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the nourishment.”

Before she could say “You’re welcome” he was out the door.

But the warmth of his lips on her cheek remained long after he’d left. As did the promise that he wasn’t going to give up on her.

Alma glanced over at the potted iris. And saw a fresh new bluish-purple bud pushing up out of the green sprouts.

* * *

Julien made his deliveries for the day then headed to the boat shed, intent on getting some work done there. His time alone creating boats gave him the solitude he craved and the quiet he needed to think and reflect. And maybe pray. He needed that solitude today because he had a lot on his mind.

He pulled into the oyster-shell yard of the old warehouse near the marina, glad to be done with explaining himself for one day. Once inside, he called his mother to check on Pierre.

“Sleeping like a baby,” Virginia said, relief skimming over the worry in her voice. “I’ve been praying for that boy all day long.”

“Keep praying, Maman,” Julien said. “Pray that I don’t toss him out on his head next time he pulls a stunt like this.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer, Julien.”

“I know that. Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.”

“You are so good to your poor mama. Will you be here for supper?”

“Probably.” He told his mother goodbye then stood taking in the cool darkness of the boat shed. Even with the big doors thrown open, it wasn’t nearly as hot in here as it was outside.

Julien turned on the overhead lights and the oscillating fan, the whirl of the old fan as soothing as the ocean’s tide.

Studying the curve of the skeletal beginnings of the skiff, he thought it was right here a few weeks ago that he’d had the first epiphany about his life. His daddy used to say he was closer to God in a boat, out on the water.

Julien had felt close to God that night, building his boats. The quiet of this big, dusty place, the whirl of the fan and the nature of the tasks he needed to perform had all contributed to him going into a relaxed state of mind. He’d been content, open to the possibilities of life. Intent on his work, he went searching in a toolbox for an extra wood clamp and some more shank nails. He’d run across an old, yellowed picture of Pierre and him when they were little boys, fishing off a pier with their papa.

Then an image of his daddy had popped into his head. Edward LeBlanc sitting in a boat, laughing, sipping on sweet tea, eating Vienna sausage with crackers and telling tall tales. Waiting, always waiting for that next big catch.

His daddy had lived to fish and hunt alligators. And he’d died doing exactly that. But he’s also died knowing he had a family that loved him. The picture Julien had found proved that.

That night, Julien had stood here in the muted yellow light from the overhead fixture and realized he was all alone. Once his mama was gone, he’d only have Pierre. If Pierre married and moved on, Julien would be left completely alone.

He’d thought of Alma, wishing he could just sweep her up and make her his again. Wishing he hadn’t been so stubborn and full of pride when he was young and full of himself.

He accepted that night there in the dusk of day that he wanted Alma back. So he prayed, really prayed, for God to show him how to win her. Julien knew God didn’t just dole out solutions on demand, but he also knew that through God he might find the strength he needed to be a better man. For Alma. And for the Lord.

The signs had popped up after seeing that picture. He’d seen his mama the next day, playing with a baby. Then his mama had voiced her need for grandchildren the very next morning, the same exact morning he’d later seen Alma standing in the middle of her sweet café.

Alone.

No need for them to be apart and alone.

Better to be together and happy.

Is that the plan then, Lord?

He prayed he’d heard God right in all the signs and signals. He’d prayed before that the Lord would teach him restraint and self-control. Now his need to bring attention to himself by flirting and bar-hopping had changed to the need to make Alma see what he’d seen that morning, looking in on her.

But how could he make her see that they didn’t need to be alone anymore? That they were meant to be together.

Hammering the battens into the curved wood he’d already glued to the bow stems, Julien strained to make sure they fit inside the arch. Then he clamped the curved sides of what would become the boat to force them into a natural V-shaped fit. He was just about to start gluing and nailing when he heard footsteps.

Julien held tight to one of the clamps, but glanced up to see his brother strolling into the boat shed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I woke up,” Pierre said. He automatically came over to help hold the big metal clamp on the wood. “Is this cypress?”

“Nope. Fir. Cypress is hard to come by, but I get some from South America every now and then. Of course, the old timers still like to use pure Louisiana cypress.”

“Papa always said cypress makes the best boats.”

Remembering what Mollie had told him, Julien decided he wouldn’t fuss at his brother tonight. He wanted to help Pierre, truly he did. Maybe he’d been going about it all the wrong way.

“How you feeling?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Considering you took me out into deep water and watched me while I was at death’s door, I wonder if you care how I’m feeling.”

“You weren’t at death’s door,” Julien said, a slight grin forming on his face. “But you sure did look as green as seaweed.”

“You think that’s funny?” Pierre asked, moving around to clamp the other side of the hull. He tried to hide his own grin.

“It was funny this morning,” Julien replied. He almost said the rest of it wasn’t so funny. But he didn’t. “I’ll find you a lawyer.”

“Am I going to jail?”

“I don’t know. We can only hope you’ll get probation and a fine since it was your first offense. But you do understand this is serious, don’t you?”

Pierre nodded. “I’m sorry. I had too much to drink.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt or, worse, kill yourself or someone else,” Julien said. The same words he’d voiced that morning, but this time he used a gentle tone. “And I’m sorry I was so mad this morning.”

“I know. Mama was all upset. I guess I messed up big-time.”

Julien finished clamping and looked up at his brother. “Do you miss Papa?”

Pierre frowned then stared down at his big feet. “
Oui
. Don’t you?”

“Every day.” Julien went to the old counter and found the picture of them. “Why don’t you take this? Put it in your wallet. Think about this whenever you want to drink again.”

Pierre stared at the faded, crinkled, black and white photo. “I remember this day. We caught bream and crappie, even a couple of bass. That was a good day.”

Julien hated the husky tremor in his brother’s voice. “We had a lot of good days. It’s been more than six months now.”

“Yep.” Pierre touched a finger to the picture. “Summer’s gonna be hard without him. Busy season. His birthday season. He said he was born in the spring so he could blossom right along with the flowers.”

“He did blossom,” Julien replied. “He loved being busy and working hard for his family. He depended on us to help out.”

“Are you saying I’m not dependable?”

“No. I’m saying that’s just the way we were raised. Our parents taught us right from wrong, but we can’t expect them to watch over us all the time. Even from heaven.”

“Do you think he’s watching over us?”

Julien wrestled with the thoughts forming inside his head. “I think he is,
oui
. He’s with God. And I’m sure they’re both disappointed in the LeBlanc brothers at times. But hey, they still love us.” He swallowed, looked out into the night. “And I love you, bro.”