Sweetheart Reunion (12 page)

Pierre looked up at him then. “I really did it this time, didn’t I?”

Julien nodded. “I’ve done some stupid things myself. But we’re family, remember? I’ll help you.”

“I don’t want to go to jail and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Julien came around the hull and slapped a hand on his brother’s back. “Then you’re gonna have to stay out of trouble, understand?”

Pierre bobbed his head. “Guess I’ll go to Bible study instead of to the Backwater.”

“That’ll sure make Pretty Mollie happy. She was asking about you this afternoon.”

“You didn’t tell her—”

“I didn’t tell her but she heard me mention it to Alma.”

“You told Alma?”

“It’s all right. She won’t say a word to anyone and neither will Mollie.”

“Mollie won’t go out with me now, for sure.”

“Oh, I think she will, but you need to tell her all about this yourself. I do believe that girl cares about you. And it only took her about what, three days, to fall for all that LeBlanc charm.”

Pierre smiled for the first time that day. “She is pretty and sweet and she has a strong faith. That should keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Does that scare you?”

“A little. I mean, I’m not exactly church material.”

“None of us are church material, bro,” Julien replied. “That’s why they keep building churches.”

“You think Mollie will be mad about what I did?”

“Not if you’re honest with her. And not if you try hard to do right.”

It occurred to Julien that he ought to take his own advice. He’d never really told Alma all the reasons he’d acted so crazy the night of the prom. Maybe it was time for him to be honest, too. He’d tried and he’d given her hints, but if he wanted a future with her, he needed to be completely truthful with her.

“I’ll try to do better,” Pierre said, his words a soft echo against the whirl of the old fan.

“That’s all I can ask,” Julien replied.

The brothers worked together in a comfortable silence for a while longer, gluing and nailing wood into parts that became a boat while they mended their relationship with the glue and nails of a faith that made them family.

But while Pierre battled his own inner turmoil, Julien met his challenges head-on. He planned to make Alma his again. She was coming around and that was nice, but he would take his time and show her that he’d changed, that he could be enough for her. He’d provide for her and show her how much he loved her so she’d never miss that big old world out there.

And he’d do it with God’s help and lots of prayers. And with more talking-to instead of talking-at.

Chapter Twelve

“E
lvis, go away!”

Alma pushed at the big mutt her sister Callie had taken in after her husband had left. Elvis had started out as a cute abandoned puppy, a black-and-white bundle of energy. Four years later, he was now a big, drooling chunk of dog, a bit of Catahoula hound mixed with what might have been a Great Dane. No one was sure. But he was as awkward and clumsy as a runaway johnboat, always whirling and hopping and grunting out little mock barks, his blue-tinged eyes anxious to play. Elvis made things around Callie’s Corner Nursery interesting and amusing.

He backed up to sit and hit a pot centered on a wrought-iron plant stand. The pot went sailing off the short-legged stand and crashed into three pieces.

“Callie, please put Elvis out back,” Alma called. “I can’t concentrate on finding plants to use on the festival tables with this big mutt following me around.”

Callie hurried over, shaking her head at the broken pot. “Elvis, you promised you’d behave if I let you into the front of the shop.”

“He has broken that promise and a very nice flowerpot, too,” Alma retorted. She shot Elvis an accusing glance.

The big, shaggy dog flopped down and stared up at her with doleful, silvery eyes. Alma felt badly for reprimanding him, so she leaned down and rubbed his big head. “Sorry.”

“C’mon, old boy,” Callie said.

The big dog stood and hurried after Callie but stopped with a flat-footed skid when he realized he was about to be put in time-out inside the dog run at the back of the big nursery lot.

“Don’t give me that sad look,” Callie said. “We’ll go for a long walk later, I promise.”

Alma smiled at her sister’s chatter. That dog, clumsy and ox-like, had brought her sister countless hours of pleasure and companionship. And love. The dog had shown up at exactly the right moment when Callie was at a low point in her life. Callie loved Elvis in spite of all his obvious flaws.

Julien came to mind. Did Alma want to love him again in spite of his flaws? Had he shown up back in her life at exactly the right moment?

“Staring at that geranium won’t make it bloom any faster,” Callie said from behind Alma.

She whirled and, like Elvis, almost knocked over a plant. “You scared me, sneaking up on me like that.”

“I wasn’t being sneaky,” Callie replied. “Just minding my own business in my own place of business.” She poked Alma in the ribs with her elbow. “Rumor has it that you and Julien have been spending a lot of time together.”

Alma bristled. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors.”

“Is it true?”

“Well, the man eats at the café a lot. And we are on the festival committee together.”

Callie grinned at that. “Yeah, according to Tebow’s mom, Julien only comes to the meetings to stare at you. Seems he was really taken with your dobash cake.”

“Miss Frances is just imagining things, I reckon,” Alma replied. “She’s too busy staring at our daddy during those meetings to notice anyone else. And if I recall, she seemed to enjoy that cake, too.”

“Love all around me,” Callie said, her sigh long-suffering. “I guess I’ll stick to Elvis. I can at least trust him to stay around when the going gets tough.”

Alma silently chastised herself for even complaining. Callie deserved to be loved, had poured her heart into her short-lived marriage. But Bobby Moreau hadn’t had the fortitude to handle her illness. The man had drifted away the minute Callie had learned she had breast cancer, and even though he’d been around while she accepted and fought her illness, he’d never actually dealt with things or given her the kind of support she’d needed, even after she’d gone through chemo and radiation. He left the day the doctor gave Callie the news that she was in full remission. Left his beautiful, heart-broken, weary wife because he couldn’t deal with something he couldn’t control.

No wonder Callie loved Elvis.

“So what kind of flowers do you want for the tables?” Callie asked now, her hands on her hips, her hair up in a tumbled, caramel-colored bun.

“I don’t know.” Alma trailed her fingers over the Gerbera daisies and lush geraniums. “The tables will be under the big festival tent. So what do you suggest?”

Callie glanced around. “Remind me again what the theme is this year?”

“New Beginnings,” Alma said, wondering why the joke was on her. “You know, after the storms, after the oil spill, after the long winter. After—”

“A new beginning after ignoring the man you’ve loved for almost ten years?” Callie said, her smile soft and knowing. “It’s okay to talk about it with me, Alma. I can handle it. I’m a big girl.”

“I’m sorry,” Alma said. She reached for a small pot of Mexican heather. “I don’t know how I feel myself but I don’t want to rub it in with you, either.”

Callie halted her with a hand on her arm. “So you’re not going to go after love and happiness just because your older sister got jilted after surviving cancer?”

“It’s not fair,” Alma said. “None of this is fair.”

“We all know that old saying ‘the fair only comes once a year and that’s in the fall.’”

“I hate seeing you so hurt.”

Callie leaned back against one of the plant tables. “I was hurt, true. And it wasn’t fair. But Alma, you can’t stop living just because I had a bad run. Bobby wasn’t ready for all that I had to go through. Sometimes I think he loved me too much. Too much to handle anything but what he thought was a perfect marriage.”

“I hate perfect,” Alma stated, deciding she liked the Mexican heather. “Perfect demands too much, asks too much.”

“None of us are perfect,” Callie said, taking the flat of heather Alma shoved at her. “I take it you want me to replant these into cute little pots for your tables?”

Alma bobbed her head. “I know I’m certainly not perfect, so why do I judge Julien so harshly? Why do I push him away even when I want him nearby? When I dream about his kisses and his kindness and—” She headed toward the daisies and lifted a flat of bright yellow and orange blooming clusters. “These would be nice, too.”

“Got it,” Callie said, motioning for a nearby sales clerk to come and help her.

Alma didn’t notice her sister struggling with the load of flats. “We don’t have it all figured out, Callie. We’re both a mess, because of cancer, because of missing our mother, because of your divorce. We’re seriously messed up. I’m so glad Brenna’s happy at least.”

Callie looked away then scratched her head.

Which cause Alma to stop and stare at her. “Brenna is happy, isn’t she?”

Callie didn’t answer.

“Callie, what aren’t you telling me?”

“She called me last night. In tears. They had another fight.”

Alma’s heart felt like a lead weight inside her chest. “Is there going to be a wedding this summer?”

“I don’t know,” Callie said with a shrug. “I’m not so sure anymore. But you know Brenna. She’s always a bit dramatic about things. I hope they’ll work it out. They always do.”

Alma wasn’t so sure either. “But what if one of these fights turns into the real thing and Brenna doesn’t get her big wedding after all?”

Callie leaned close then reached for a batch of bright pink dahlias. “Then I guess our sister will do what we’ve been doing all this time. She’ll survive.”

* * *

Julien didn’t think he could survive until the weekend. He wanted to go out on a real date with Alma. So he looked into the glass door of the Fleur Café and saw her behind the counter, same as just about every other day in his life since they’d both graduated from high school.

Why had he waited so long to win her back? What if he’d waited too late?

She looked up and saw him and smiled. That was a good sign.

Julien opened the door and walked in, smiling back. “Good morning.”

“Hi.” She motioned to a bar stool. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes,” Julien said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Where’s Tebow been?” She poured him a cup right from the fresh pot. Not the already-been-sitting-there-for-hours pot, but the freshly made coffee pot.

Another good sign.

“Tebow’s been in New Orleans visiting a woman, I believe. But he’s also actually working. You know he does construction on the side for some hotshot millionaire who likes to invest in restoration projects.”

“We all have jobs on the side, don’t we?” she asked with another sweet smile.

Julien felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. What was his Alma up to this morning, with all the sweetness and light?

“You okay?” he asked before taking a cautious sip of the steaming black coffee.

“I’m fine,” Alma said, bringing him the entire tray of freshly baked muffins and croissants. “Want some mayhew jelly with one of these?”

“Make it two croissants and a plate of eggs,” Julien said, going with the moment but wishing he had Tebow here to test the food.

He waited, holding his breath, while Alma breezed around barking polite little orders and greeting customers. What was going on? Since when did she treat him nicely?

Well, she’d always been civil and polite. But nice? That was a whole different thing. She’d been nice the other day after lunch when he’d told her about Pierre, too. He’d appreciated it that day and he appreciated it now. Only, it was different and a tad scary.

He started praying, a silent little plea for the Lord to show him the way to handle a nice Alma.

“Here’s your food,” she said, startling him out of his fervent prayers. “How are you, anyway?”

“Me, I’m good. Good.” He leaned back to stare at the food.

“Something wrong?”

“No, nothing. Looks great.” He took a tentative bite of the fluffy eggs. “Hmm. Good. Real good.”

“How’s Pierre?” she asked, her blue eyes going soft.

So was she being nice because she felt pity toward him and his little brother? Or was she being nice because she really felt something for him and she wanted to turn things up a notch?

Not knowing what to say, Julien focused on her question about his brother. “He’s better. He’s at work. Made it just about the whole week this week. His hearing is set for next Monday, so we’ll see how the judge decides.”

“Well, that’s something, then.” She patted his hand then turned back toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back to check on you in a minute or two.”

Not
I’ll see you later, Julien
but
I’ll be back to check on you.

This was a vast improvement. Maybe he was winning her over after all. Her actions and his four cups of strong coffee gave him a buzz of encouragement. So while Alma went about her busy work, Julien smiled and chatted with both locals and tourists alike. He charmed Sweet Mollie and teased her about reforming his bad little brother. He winked at Frances Laborde and asked after her health, giving her sympathetic nods when she mentioned her gout was acting up. And he didn’t even flinch when Ramon Blanchard stomped into the café like a bull charging toward a red flag.

Julien did a spin on his bar stool. “Morning, Mr. Blanchard!”

“Hmph. Dat depends on a lot of things, one of them being you,” Ramon retorted before going to greet another businessman.

The fact that Alma’s formidable papa hadn’t taken him by the neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him gave Julien even more courage and hope. This was turning out to be a rather great morning.

Finally, the breakfast crowd cleared out and Alma came back with yet another fresh pot of coffee to give Julien his sixth refill. “One more for the road?” she asked.

Okay, so maybe she was tired of him sitting here watching her. “Uh, yeah, sure. Hey, Alma. I wanted to ask you something.”

She stopped, coffeepot in hand, her eyes as dark blue as the iris that was blooming on the counter. The iris he’d given her to plant in her yard. To remind her of him.

“Uh-huh?”

He swallowed, glanced around to make sure her papa wasn’t listening. “I thought maybe we could have dinner together Friday night. Maybe in New Orleans?”

Alma set down the coffeepot. “Dinner? In New Orleans? You and me? Friday night?”

“Yeah, you and me. In New Orleans. You know, take a long ride, have someone wait on you and serve you a good meal for a change?”

She played with her heart-shaped gold necklace. “Friday’s my busy night.”

He pushed at a Tabasco bottle. “Every night is your busy night.”

“But Friday is my busiest night.”

His heart turned as sour as all the coffee in his stomach. “So, you’re saying no?”

“No, I’m not saying that.” She looked embarrassed. “I’ll be right back.”

Julien watched, sweat gathering in a big drop and snaking down his spine, as she pulled Winnie aside and whispered something in her ear.

Winnie looked at him, grinned, then bobbed her head. Alma turned and trotted on her cute blue tennis shoes back to Julien.

“Yes, I’ll go out to dinner with you, in New Orleans, on Friday night.”

Julien turned his head from side to side. “Did I hear that right?”

She smiled again. “Yes, Julien. You heard that right. I might be crazy, but I’d enjoy a night out. It’s been a long time since—”