The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance (19 page)

            After a few
minutes, the congregation settled into the pews for the first Bible reading. As
she sat, Alice snuck a look at Paul’s mom. Her dark hair was pulled back and
she had just a hint of makeup on her face. She seemed perfectly at ease. Alice
would have liked to believe his mom was trying to bring them together. But it
was much more likely his mom was trying to give a little nudge in that special
way that moms always have. Guilt was always a great way to get the message
across, just in case Alice thought she could get caught kissing Paul and get
away with it.

             The words all
seemed to blend together and Alice clenched her fists, letting her nails dig
into her palms, forcing herself to concentrate. As the lector finished the
first reading, Alice shifted uncomfortably. She never could have imagined the
torture of sitting just feet away from the man she’d kissed, then run away
from,
and
his mother
whom she’d refused to meet. At the announcement of the Gospel,
the congregation moved to stand and Alice shot a glance at Paul. He looked calm
enough, but his jaw was tight and the line of his mouth didn’t speak of happy
Sunday vibes. Well, if he thought he was uncomfortable, it was nothing compared
to what Alice felt.

                                                            ***

            The last hymn
finally faded away and Paul dropped the hymnal into the pew pocket. He cleared
his throat, leaned closer, and whispered, “Sorry. I never would have decided to
sit in the same―”

            “Paul!” His mama
had ahold of his elbow. “Why don’t we have your friend over for lunch?”

            He saw the look
on Alice’s face and it would have been funny if he hadn’t felt just the same.

            “Mrs. Olivier,
thank you so much but I really should get back,” Alice said, a hint of panic in
her voice. She was edging out of the pew, looking around her.

            “You keep the
store open on Sundays?” His mama narrowed her eyes. “Or do you have another
date?” The
another
seemed to reverberate in the air between them all.

            “No. And well,
no…” Her face turned bright pink. She shot Paul a look and seemed to be asking something,
but he shook his head.

            “Please come to
lunch, Alice.” He gave a little shrug as he said the words. She met his eyes
and at first he thought she was going to argue, but then he added, “please”.        

            Her lips turned
up at the corners. “That would be lovely,” she said. “I walked here today but I
can go home to get my car and meet you wherever you’re going.”

            “Wonderful,” his
mama said. “I was just fixin’ to make a little something at Paul’s new place.
So, I guess we’re going the same direction.” They walked in silence down the
steps and he tried to catch Alice’s eye, but she resolutely faced forward.

             “Paul, why
don’t you go get the car while we wait for you in front?” his mama asked. Paul
nodded, feeling his stomach drop into his shoes. Leaving his mother alone with
Alice was the worst case scenario but he didn’t know how to avoid it.

            With a sigh, he
trudged off to the parking lot, hands stuffed in his pockets. He loved his mama
but she wasn’t known for being demure and quiet. She spoke her mind, especially
when she felt her son was on the wrong track.

            It seemed most
of the congregation was skipping the doughnuts and heading for breakfast. There
was already a line of cars backed up at the parking lot exit, waiting for a
chance to get onto the road. Paul wondered if Andy would be awake. Maybe he
could run interference between the two of them and Alice wouldn’t have to
suffer through the third degree. That was assuming she wasn’t getting an earful
right that minute. At the thought, Paul doubled his pace, beeping the remote
unlock button, slipping off his jacket and angling into the seat.

            He’d acted
without thinking last night and he couldn’t believe how the situation had gotten
more and more complicated. She probably hated him enough as it was, without
having to deal with an angry mother bear. Alice was as far from a seductress as
could be, but Paul knew how mothers thought. They always believed their child
was a saint. His mama was going to give Alice the what for, and make sure she
understood that Paul was a good, Catholic boy.

            He slid the car
out and took a place in the long line of cars waiting to exit the lot. Well, it
was a proven fact he was far from perfect. Alice shouldn’t have to pay the
price for that. If he could just get over there quickly enough, he could keep
that from happening.

Soon, silence will have passed into legend. Man has turned his
back on silence. Day after day he creates machines that increase noise and
distract humanity from the essence of life, contemplation, meditation. ―
Jean Arp

            Parishioners
streamed out of the double doors and after greeting Father Carl, a few headed
to the hall for doughnuts and strong coffee. As much as Alice didn’t want to
face Paul, watching him walk away had filled her with panic. She stood off to
the side of the cathedral, arms wrapped around her middle, Mrs. Olivier waiting
quietly next to her. The silence between them felt like an accusation. Alice
searched through the crowd, hoping someone would come over and rescue her, but
there were only a few waves and one fly-by kiss from old Mrs. Gerbier, her
second-grade teacher.

            As the crowd
thinned, Alice waited for Mrs. Olivier to say something. Shame mixed with
frustration, and she repressed a sigh. Of course Paul’s mother was curious and
wanted to get to know her. She couldn’t blame the woman for wanting to poke her
nose into the situation.

            Mrs. Olivier
tucked her hand into Alice’s elbow and smiled, her eyes the same dark brown
shade as her son’s, but the wrinkles around them spoke of years of sun and
laughter. “My goodness! There were so many people you couldn’t stir ‘em with a
stick. We never came to this church when Paul was little. It was too big for
us. It still feels a bit fancy for the likes of little ol’ me. I should have
dressed up better.”

            “I think you
look real nice.” Alice knew when one woman mentioned her looks, the other
should offer a compliment. It wasn’t hard to do. It was clear where Paul got
his good looks.

            She patted her
hair. “Oh, my beauty operator made me look like Betty Boop this week. I don’t
know why I bother except I’ve been goin’ to her for years. I can’t just stop.
That would be downright rude.”

            Alice smiled.
She could see her dilemma.

            “You like to
cook?” Mrs. Olivier asked, as if the topics were related.

            “I― I do,
actually.”

            “What do you
make? Desserts? My sister has the best peach pie recipe. It’s got a secret
ingredient.” She leaned close. “If you’re real nice, I might tuck it in your
Christmas card.”

            Alice blinked.
No words occurred to her. This wasn’t what she was expecting.

            “Paul told me
your breakfast got him out of bed one day. He says he wandered up and down the
block looking for bacon and hash browns.”

             “He’s got a
good nose,” she said, her lips tugging up. She wondered if Paul had mentioned
punching her ex-boyfriend that day, too. Probably not. She turned a little,
facing Mrs. Olivier. “He speaks Creole really well. Did he learn it from you?”

            “
Oui
,” she said,
pronouncing it “way,” and letting it stretch for a few syllables. “Myself and
my family. He wasn’t always real proud of where he came from, but in the last
few years, that’s changed a bit.”

            Alice couldn’t
imagine wanting to walk away from this place and pretend to be something she
wasn’t, but she could see how a person could want to come home. “Maybe New York
City isn’t everything he thought it would be.”

            “Maybe so.” Mrs.
Olivier looked up at the sky. “I hope Paul hurries. It looks to be comin’ up a
cloud.”

            Alice looked up
at the sky, watching the thunder clouds building on the horizon. “We’ll be
getting a good storm this afternoon, I’m guessing.”

            “Love and
thunder. They always go together.” Mrs. Olivier winked at her.

            “I’ve never
heard that phrase.” Alice refused to take the bait. Paul’s mother was going to
be nosy after all. She was just easing up to it.

            “No? My Papa
used to say that. He’d rock on the porch and watch the afternoon storm, and
every time he’d say ‘love and thunder always go together.’ He knew a lot about
love, bein’ married to my mama for sixty years.”

            Alice rubbed her
arms and wished Paul would get there already.

            “He said he
could tell a man in love at fifty paces. Didn’t matter the age or the
circumstances. It was something in the way he acted.” She tipped her head to
the side. “I think I might have inherited that gift. At least where my boy is
concerned.”

            Alice almost
swallowed her tongue in surprise. “Oh, no. It’s not like that.” Alice held up a
hand. “We just met.”

            “That’s no
account. Love doesn’t care how long you been knowin’ each other. But are you
saying you don’t have feelings for my boy? Maybe you were expecting something
else when you kissed him t’other night?”

            Awkward. Alice
would have been offended except that Mrs. Olivier’s tone was light. There was
no condemnation, just a big dose of sass and a hint of teasing. But she still
didn’t want to talk about it. Not on the steps of her church with all her
neighbors milling around. “Mrs. Olivier―” she started.

            “Call me Rosie,”
she interrupted.

            “Okay, Rosie, I
know Paul is wonderful.” Alice let out a sigh. “He’s charming and really
handsome and everyone loves him. Apparently, he’s also some sort of genius,
too.”

            This time, Mrs. Olivier
waited patiently for her to finish.

            “But there are
so many differences between us.”

            “He’s Creole
like you. That should cover a lot of differences,” Mrs. Olivier said.

            Alice bit her
lip. “Yes, fine. He’s Creole and a great dancer and a good Catholic guy and protective
and generous and everything I’ve ever looked for. I’m sure he’ll make a
wonderful husband and a really great dad and―”

            She broke off
suddenly. Mrs. Olivier was looking somewhere behind her and Alice had a
terrible suspicion that she wasn’t looking at Paul pulling up to the curb.

            Alice turned
slowly, afraid to see what she already knew. Paul stood right behind her, his
expression a mix of total surprise and something else she couldn’t quite read.

            He cleared his
throat. “I tried to get your attention but you all seemed to be having such a
good chat.”

            Alice closed her
eyes for a moment. He’d heard all of that and probably thought she was sending
out wedding invitations. She couldn’t imagine how many women had tried the same
thing. One kiss and then they’re picking bridesmaids. Well, not her. She
certainly wasn’t looking for someone who lived in New York City and was constructing
the ugliest building the historic district had ever seen, while seducing the
nation’s young people with mindless video games that contributed nothing to
their development. But that wasn’t anything she could say in front of the man’s
mother. Even Alice had her limits.

            “Thank you,” she
said, smiling her sweetest smile, and following his direction toward the car.
She could almost feel Paul and his mother exchanging looks behind her back.
There was nothing she could do about it now, but as soon as possible, she’d
excuse herself back to her own apartment. Nothing good could come from this.
Especially since she’d resolved that Monday was the day she would file a
complaint with the city over the construction of Paul’s new store. If she could
get them to stop construction, even for a few weeks, he might just decide it
was better to take his business to some other town.

                                                            ***

            Paul flopped
backward onto his bed, arm over his eyes. The lunch had gone well,
surprisingly. His mother and Alice seemed to get along just fine. They spent
most of their time in the kitchen talking about food and avoiding him. Well,
his mother kept trying to drag him into the conversation, but he stayed out in
the living room with Andy.

             Right before
they had sat down to eat, a thunderstorm hit and the power flickered. Alice
didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Paul wondered how old the electrical
system was. He hadn’t wanted to ask her right then, but outdated electrical
could be downright dangerous. The storm passed, Alice left for her own
apartment, his mama left with a promise to come back in a few days, and Andy
passed out on the couch in a food coma. Paul was left to his own thoughts. He
paced the living room and watched the storm pass outside.

           
Everything I’ve
ever looked for, I’m sure he’ll make a wonderful husband and a really great
dad.
Alice’s words kept echoing around in his head. Of course that sentence
was going to continue with a
but
that included every detail she absolutely hated about him. Despite
that, those words settled somewhere in his heart and he couldn’t shake them
loose. He got a lot of compliments from women, but none of them had been
particularly interested in whether he was a good person or if he’d make a solid
partner and father. It seemed as if Alice didn’t care at all that he owned a
huge company and had more money than almost everyone in the country.

            Now hours later,
he sat up and rubbed his face. It had been a long time since anyone thought
those things didn’t matter. A few days ago he would have been outraged. He’d
worked years to build his company, missing out on vacation and birthdays,
putting in the long nights and most weekends. His fortune represented the
entire decade of his twenties. But if he stripped away the company and the
money, who was he? And that was why he sat on his bed in a darkened room at two
in the morning, unable to sleep. He didn’t want to be that guy who didn’t have
much to offer the world. He wanted to be the kind of person Alice saw when she
looked at him.

            He stared down
at his bare feet. He’d considered it a victory to get permission to build in
the historic district, right in the middle of all the fancy buildings. It was
his way of sticking it to everyone who looked down on him in high school, every
person who ignored his mother when she went into one of those old stores,
clearly not the kind of person who could shop there every week.

            Paul stood and
walked to the window, looking out at the river. The moonlight shone in the
ripples of the water and the trees were like dark sentries, unmoving and
ominous. He’d told Andy that his epiphany was about revenge and how it would
eat him up from the inside, making him weak and doomed to failure. But maybe
there was more to it. He needed to let go of the need for revenge, put his
energy into helping the city, and then further. Not just in this town, but
everywhere. Christmas donations to The Red Cross were fine, but throwing money
at a charity corporation once a year didn’t mean he was making a real
difference.

            A plan began to
take shape in the back of his mind and he opened his laptop, searching out
contact information from several sites. As he clicked into his email, he saw
another message from Alice. Paul forced himself to send the short note to the
recipients he’d chosen before he opened her letter.

           
Dear BWK,

I hope you had a good
Sunday. I spent the day thinking of that line of poetry from Gerard Manley
Hopkins:
 

I have asked to
be

where no storms
come,

where the green
swell

is in the havens
dumb

        and out
of the swing of the sea.

 
Do you ever feel this way? As if you
need a place “out of the swing of the sea”? I never have until now.

             Did you enjoy the zydeco
festival? I’m sorry again that we weren’t able to meet. I hope you practice Alexander
Pope’s ninth beatitude. It’s the safest way to live.

            I’d like to be peaceful, I
think I’m doomed to follow Louisa May Alcott’s path of resolving “to take Fate
by the throat and shake a living out of her”.

            Your friend,

           Alice

            Paul let out a chuckle. But
his heart dropped as he read the note again and let the poetry sink in deep.
Alice felt like she was being tossed around, a piece of flotsam on the ocean of
life.

           
Dear Alice,

                        I enjoy
imagining you with your hands at Fate’s throat. She has been kind to me, overall,
but I’ve heard she can be an uncompromising, vengeful slacker, reluctant to
give what is due. I whole-heartedly approve of your current plan of action.

            The zydeco festival was pure
excitement, from start to finish. I didn’t stay long. I’m afraid Pope’s ninth
beatitude of expecting nothing and never being disappointed didn’t apply to me,
though.

            I, too, long for a place out
of the swing of the sea, but... Do you know how Walt Whitman said that we
should let our soul stand cool and composed before a million universes? I’ve
never been that type. On the outside, perhaps. But inside I’ve never been able
to stand unmoved before any beauty or deep emotion. And so we end up like
Goethe, who said the soul who sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. Or live out
in the swing of the sea, in our case.