Sweetheart Reunion (5 page)

It hurt too much to think about what might happen down the road. It hurt too much to think about what she’d had and lost.

And tonight, it still hurt too much to let go and give in to Julien’s sudden change of heart. Because he loved his life here and she wanted a life out there. And because she might not have much time to explore the world or…love a man. Her mother had run out of time and Callie had lost her husband and now had too much time on her hands. Brenna didn’t have enough time in each day even to plan her wedding.

But what if Alma could make it work? What if Julien was the kind of man who was willing to truly love her, no matter what? He’d have to prove it to her. He’d have to make her see that he was willing to settle down and grow up and…be there.

Just be there. No matter what.

Alma wouldn’t open up her heart to that kind of commitment unless it was solid.

So she put on her pajamas and took the ancient enamel tea kettle and made herself a cup of peppermint tea. Then she opened the crumbled bag Julien had shoved at her and took out a fat, buttery, yellow tea cake. She nibbled it while she stared out into the moonlight and remembered how, long ago, Julien and she would sit and eat tea cakes, their feet dangling in the bayou water, their eyes on each other. He’d kiss her, the taste of vanilla and butter all around them. And they’d laugh and whisper and dream of the future they’d have together.

The future that had disappeared in the swirling wisps of satin and lace as Alma had turned and run away from him. Had she been running away from the constraints of a life on the bayou? Or had she believed she was running toward freedom?

No, her heart hurt too much to ever enjoy freedom. Her guilt at even wanting to break away from her hometown shadowed her like Spanish moss. Sometimes she felt trapped and sometimes she felt captivated.

“I don’t know if I can ever leave,” she said into the night. Then she stood and remembered and closed her eyes to all the wants in her life. And reminded herself of her blessings and of all the things she couldn’t have.

Never knowing that the man she was thinking about was still standing out there under the cypress tree, wondering how to win her back.

Chapter Five

J
ulien couldn’t look away. He couldn’t move from the spot under the big towering cypress tree. How could his life have changed so completely in the blink of an eye? Yes, it had to do with seeing Alma all sad and lonely the other day in the early morning light. It also had to do with knowing she’d suffered through such a tragedy that she could barely function. But he saw that in spite of her difficulties, she did indeed make it through her days with a sweet grace and a strong sense of faith. That didn’t make sense since he’d been hovering around during her mother’s death and her older sister’s cancer scare. He’d often asked after each of them, yet hadn’t taken things any further than comfort and platitudes with Alma during all of that. He’d been too afraid to push at her fragile, tattered emotions. And he respected her and her family way too much to make any moves during the worst of their grief.

But oh, how he’d longed to hold her in his arms and comfort her. He still wanted to do that.

Why now? Why did he have to stand here pining away for a woman who had long ago given up on him? Pining now, when all these years past he’d accepted that he’d lost her forever.

Julien thought back over the day last week when he’d had the first of his epiphanies. He’d been at his boat warehouse, working on a sweet pirogue that he hoped to finish and sell at the upcoming festival. The small city park was right across from the old warehouse. He’d heard children playing. He’d watched their laughter and their tears, watched young mothers soothing hurt feelings and opening juice containers and doling out crackers. And he’d wanted that for himself. With Alma.

He’d gone home that day with her on his mind. And that night, he’d lain in bed and said a prayer for the good Lord to offer him some sort of validation. He’d waffled back and forth for years now, playing the field while he hoped Alma would turn back to him. Was it time to try and win Alma back?

Then he’d seen his mama holding a baby. His cousin’s first child and, again, that longing had hit him. The next morning as he was leaving the house, his mama had stopped her knitting to stare up at him.

“I want grandchildren before I pass, Julien. I can’t have that if you don’t settle down and get married.
Va chercher ton vrai amour bientôt.
Go after her.”

Find your true love soon. Go after Alma?

Another sign? Or just his
maman
complaining?

Except his tired, fragile mama never complained. Never.

Julien had it in his head that if his mama passed without knowing he was happily settled, he’d never forgive himself. He’d already let down his poor papa. That hard-working man had died way too young and knowing both of his sons were still playing the field and fooling around with life.

Was Julien rushing into something just to appease his widowed mother? Or was his widowed mother pushing him toward the thing he wanted most in the whole world?

Alma Blanchard.

Why had he waited so long to make this woman his own? Was it because spring was blooming in all its glory and children were springing up in the park like spider lilies? Was it because he was growing up and getting older and wiser? Or was it truly just because his poor dear mother was sick and weary and a widow and he hated seeing her like that?

All of the above and more.

His mama’s sweet, calculated suggestion had come exactly when he’d needed to hear it. And then when he was already feeling down because of his deceased daddy’s upcoming birthday, he’d seen Alma standing there all alone in that quaint little café, like some maiden from long ago waiting for her lost love.

Was it fate that Julien had been standing at the door, waiting for her to let him in? Or was it faith?

His poet’s heart told him it was both.

“
Oui,
I hear you, Lord.”

Julien wasn’t a faithful churchgoer, but he had an ongoing conversation with God since he was alone a lot, surrounded by the primitive beauty of the swamp, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to keep God close.

Now, right now, when he glanced up at that dollhouse of a cottage and thought about the sweet doll living there, Julien felt the breath of the Lord rushing over him right along with the sweet-scented breeze coming off the bayou. Should he pray? Or should he go home?

Julien started walking, deciding he could most certainly walk and pray at the same time.

His phone buzzed inside his shirt pocket. Hoping it would be Alma, ready to invite him inside, he frowned.

It wasn’t Alma.

“Oui?”

“Bro, where are you?”

“Pierre, where do you think I am?” His little brother was such a worrier.

“Me, I don’t know. Thought we were meeting up at the Backwater.”

Julien hit a hand on his forehead. “I forgot. I’m on my way.”

He’d planned to meet Pierre, all right. Right after he’d sweet-talked Alma a little bit. Since the sweet-talking hadn’t gone so great, he’d stayed by that tree, stewing in his disappointment instead of heading out to the dump-of-an-oyster bar on the edge of town to have a little sit-down talk with his wild brother.

Pierre was teetering on a narrow path. He could go one way or the other—and right now Julien was the only thing standing between Pierre and a bad, bad future.

Another reason Virginia LeBlanc was sad these days. Julien wouldn’t let his mama suffer worrying about her baby boy. He’d just have to explain to Pierre that he was too young and too stupid to keep doing the things he’d been doing.

So it was off to the Backwater.

The burden of being the man of the family weighed heavily on Julien tonight. His daddy had been a strong, stoic man who’d worked too hard and died too fast from a massive heart attack.

Julien stopped, realizing why his mother’s suggestion to him just a few days ago had gotten to him so much.

He didn’t want to drop dead somewhere out in the swamp, alone and unloved. And that could very well happen if he didn’t convince Alma to forgive him and marry him. Because if he couldn’t have Alma, he didn’t want all the rest. No other woman would do. He’d rather die alone than die without Alma. Only he didn’t want to die without Alma.

If he behaved and played his cards right, he could live a long and wonderful life with Alma before he went to meet his maker.

And maybe they’d have a passel of laughing, dancing children who’d play in the park.

But first, he had to straighten out his little brother.

* * *

Even though the prime oyster season had ended a couple of months ago, the Backwater was still hopping with customers. That might be because of the liquid refreshment rather than the food. Julien didn’t indulge in heavy drinking anymore. He’d sobered up real quick last fall after his father died, but he should have learned his lesson the night of the senior prom. The night he’d lost Alma. It had taken him too long to finally realize he had to make a change for the better.

But his little brother, twenty-one but going on I-know-everything-so-leave-me-alone, had yet to understand the consequences of his actions. Pierre thought he could handle drinking and making sense at the same time. Julien had been called to one too many dives in the middle of the night to believe his off-kilter younger sibling had a handle on real life. Pierre seemed to think he could party the night away and still get through his daylight time just fine, thank you.

Julien had seen otherwise. If Pierre kept showing up late and missing work, his days as a welder in the nearby shipyard would soon be over.

He aimed to have yet another talk with Pierre.

Pulling his pickup close to the tilted cedar-and-tin building that hung at a jaunty angle over the Intracoastal Waterway like a work cap slung over a stevedore’s head, Julien searched the parking lot for his brother’s motorcycle. Sure enough, the shiny chrome-and-black beauty was parked off to the side of the building.

Pierre had a steady job working as an equipment repairman on boats and ships, but he shouldn’t be overspending on fancy toys. The kid was just barely making the payments on the bike.

Julien shook his head, glancing back at the late model pickup that he’d inherited after his father died. It got him to and fro. He didn’t want for much. His little brother had grand ideas and a not-so-grand way of making those ideas come to fruition.

He found Pierre at the bar, nuzzling up to a pretty, dark-haired girl in tight jeans and an even tighter T-shirt.

Last year, Julien might have been doing the same.

This time, he only thought of Alma.

He didn’t know whether to rejoice or recoil.

“Hey, there you are,” Pierre called, his words slurred, his eyes wild. “C’mon, bro, have a drink with us.”

He tugged Julien close. “This is Rogenna. Pretty Rogenna. My new friend for the evening…and maybe beyond.”

Julien smiled at the starry-eyed young woman then turned to glare at his brother. “A word, Pierre?”

“Okay. What word would you like?”

A few choice ones came to mind. Giving Rogenna another smile, Julien grabbed his brother by the collar and pushed him toward the front of the restaurant.

Pierre tried to twist away. “Hey, I wasn’t done with my beer.”

“I think you are done,” Julien said, nodding to those he recognized, his embarrassment concealed behind a winning grin. “You promised me you’d be sober so we could talk like two adults.”

“That’s the problem,” Pierre said on a loud whine. “You don’t think I’m an adult. You and Ma—”

“Do not disrespect our mother,” Julien warned, his grin gone now that he had his brother outside and up against the weathered cedar wall. “Why did you go and get drunk again after I warned you last weekend?”

“I was thirsty,” Pierre said, an exaggerated smile making him look young and carefree.

Julien ignored the strong smell of beer wafting out in the air but held Pierre pinned to the building. “You can’t keep doing this. It can only lead to trouble.”

“Says you.”

“Yes, says me. Do you want Maman to find you this way?”

“She’ll be asleep by the time I get home.” Pierre moved to go back inside, but Julien pushed him again.

“I’m not finished,” he told his brother. “You need to sober up so we can have a civilized conversation.”

Pierre’s frown crinkled his face in half. “Don’t need to talk to you. You’re not my daddy.”

Julien heard the hurt behind that remark. And felt it deep in his bones. “No, I’m not. No one can ever replace Papa. But I can tell you that you are going to regret this lifestyle if you don’t slow down.”

Pierre stared out into the night, anger warring with regret in his eyes. “Just having fun the way you
used to.
”

“Fun is good, no doubt about that,” Julien said, remembering his own wild days. “But too much fun can turn into a bad thing. You could lose your job, or worse, get hurt. You don’t need to be driving that bike if you’re drunk, P-boy.”

Pierre glanced at his bike with a lopsided grin. “I can handle it, bro.”

“Are you sure?” Julien let him go and backed up. “Show me. Can you walk a straight line?”

Pierre snorted out a laugh. “Course I can.” He proceeded to show Julien just how steady and stable he was.

And wobbled like a floating cork on a choppy sea over the shell-scattered parking lot.

“Yeah, right,” Julien said, grabbing his brother again. “Let’s go.”

“No.” Pierre pulled away. “I’m not ready to go.”

“You can’t drive yourself,” Julien argued, hoping he wouldn’t have to get physical with his only sibling.

“Yes, I can. I’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

“I can’t risk that.” Julien looked at the bike then back to his brother. “We’ll leave your bike here and I’ll drive you home.”

“Might get stolen.”

“I’ll make sure Miss Maggie and her sons know you’re leaving it here.”

Maggie Sonnier had raised three boys of her own and now they all worked for her. The woman would understand Julien’s concerns and she’d make sure Pierre’s fancy bike was safe.

“What about Rogenna?” Pierre said, glancing back through the screen door where the jukebox and the pretty girl beckoned him. “She owes me another dance.”

“Rogenna will be just fine,” Julien replied, thinking this right here was part of the reason he had to straighten up his own act. He had to be a better example to his little brother.

Because he wanted his mother to have grandchildren from
both
of her sons. In order to make that happen, he needed to make sure Pierre quit partying so much. Not sure how to do that, he slapped his dazed brother on the back and tugged him forward.

“Time to go home and go to sleep.”

Pierre squinted at his watch. “It’s early. Let’s go to Skeeter’s house.”

“Oh, no. We are not going to do that.”

Skeeter was a friend of his brother’s. A bad friend. Booze, drugs and women. That’s what they’d find at Skeeter’s boat house.

“I can sleep there,” Pierre said, his tone so matter-of-fact, Julien could almost believe he was being sincere.