Bayou My Love: A Novel (32 page)

Acknowledgements

This
book couldn’t exist without the encouragement and support of my family, friends
and mentors. A special thank you goes to Katie Rose Guest Pryal for being the
best reader a gal could ask for; to Allen Gee for pushing me to be a better
writer; to Sonja Greentree Rossow for encouraging me to keep going, always.

Thank
you to Adria and Vicki at Velvet Morning Press for taking a chance on me. I’m
grateful for all of your imagination, support and dedication to making this
book the best it can be.

To
my family: Thank you for believing in me and telling me to keep doing what I
love. Without you, I couldn’t be a writer. To my parents: Thank you for making
me think I could be anyone I wanted to be, for telling me I should keep
writing, and for teaching me to see all the love stories in the world. To my
grandmother and my great aunt Et: Thank you for raising me on good stories from
the get go. To Andrew: Thank you for reminding me that a good love story is
nothing without laughter.

About
the Author

Lauren
Faulkenberry divides her time between writing, teaching, and crafting artist books.
She’s worked as an archaeologist, English teacher and National Park Service
ranger. She earned her MFA in creative writing from Georgia College & State
University, where she attended on fellowship. She lives in Whittier, North
Carolina, where she is at work on her next novel.

Lauren
hopes you enjoyed the book! If you did, she’d appreciate it if you left a
review at
Amazon
. Your words
may help convince other readers to embark on this voyage to the bayous of
Louisiana with Enza—and Lauren would be most grateful.

Want
more? Get
Beneath Our Skin
for free! Simply join Lauren’s mailing list:
http://bit.ly/lauren-news
.

If
you enjoyed this trip to the Bayou, you’ll love the other books in the Bayou
Sabine series:

Back to Bayou
Sabine
,
a novella about Enza’s first trip back to the bayou as an adult, and all the
trouble that unfolds from just that one visit.

Bayou,
Whispers from the Past
, a novel that picks up where Bayou My Love leaves
off and explores Enza’s family history—and secrets—in the bayou.

For
news about Lauren and her books, check out
LaurenFaulkenberry.com
. And you can
always drop Lauren a line at
[email protected]
.

Read
on for a sneak peek at
Bayou, Whispers from the Past
…

Beneath Our Skin

Winner of the
Family Circle Fiction award,

published in
Family Circle March 2008

Lola’s
sister Chloe has always been the perfect one. But Chloe has a secret that shows
she’s not so perfect after all. And on Chloe’s wedding day, the two sisters may
hold their own quiet revolution…

Get
it for free! Join Lauren’s new release mailing list and she’ll send you a free
ecopy of
Beneath Our Skin
:
http://bit.ly/lauren-news
.

Bayou, Whispers from
the Past

a novel

Lauren
Faulkenberry

Chapter 1

December
had brought a treacherous heat wave to my part of Louisiana, but it didn’t stop
me from stringing two boxes of Christmas lights across the front porch.
Standing on the top rung of the ladder, I reached to the corner of the ceiling
and stapled the strand to the wood. It had been almost five months since I’d
moved all of my belongings here, but I still couldn’t break the habit of
calling this house Vergie’s. She’d left it to me, but this little Victorian
would always be my grandmother’s.

Lately,
though, I’d begun to think of it as the house my mother grew up in. The kitchen
she had breakfast in, the clawfoot tub she used for baths. I was starting to
see my mother everywhere in this house, even though I could barely remember her
face.

Her
presence was everywhere. I hadn’t thought about her this much in fifteen years,
since she first left my father and me. But returning to Bayou Sabine had begun
to bring my fragmented memories of her back together, like shards of a broken
vase that were just starting to take shape again.

The
more I tried to push thoughts of her away in the daytime, the more they haunted
me as I slept. I woke in the night, drawing panicked breaths and clutching the
sheets in my fists. My nightmares always startled Jack awake as well, but he
just wrapped his big arms around me and pulled me against his chest, sliding
his fingers up and down my back. The thrumming of his heart against my cheek
soothed me back into sleep—but only for a little while.

Last
night was no different. I’d dreamt I was back at Vergie’s funeral, standing in
the pouring rain while the church seemed to split open and fill the sky with
the sound of hymns being sung. The air around me vibrated with a dirge that
started somewhere far off in the distance. In the flashes of lightning I saw a
long line of people, walking in pairs, carrying umbrellas the way they did in
the funerals in Old Saint Louis Number 1. I couldn’t see the faces of those who
marched by me, brushing past, knocking their shoulders against mine. It was as
if they didn’t see me standing there, soaked to the bone. The crowd split in
two, coming past me on either side, but still I couldn’t identify anyone. The
faces were blurred, as if in an out-of-focus photograph.

My
heart was banging against my ribs so hard it hurt. My breath caught in my
throat as I tried to call out for Kate. She’d taken me to this funeral—she had
to be there, she could take me away—but there was only the crowd shoving
against me. I toppled in the wet grass, my heels sinking into the lawn, and
still I cried out for Kate.

Lightning
crashed, close this time, and I scrambled to get to my feet. When I stood, the
crowd was gone, and I could barely see in the heavy rain. But a hand rested on
my shoulder, and when I spun around I saw her. It was my mother. I was sure of
it. She wore huge black sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. Nothing about her
face was familiar, but I knew it was her. As I opened my mouth to speak, my
heart still pounding in my ears, she shoved me as hard as she could. I
staggered backwards, falling from an impossible height, and awoke when I
crashed to the earth.

Jack
had pulled me closer and slid his fingers through my hair as he whispered in my
ear. I loved that this town had brought me to him, but I hated it for dredging
up so much of my mother and the parts of her I’d let myself forget.

Some
people are better forgotten, but sometimes they hold fast to you with claws and
teeth and refuse to let you leave them behind.

~~~~

My
hair was sticking to my forehead. I pulled a ponytail holder from the pocket of
my jeans and pulled my long hair back. It still frizzed in the humidity, but it
was getting more accustomed to the bayou climate.

Jack’s
dog, Bella, was parked on the opposite end of the porch, eyeing me from the
shade. Her mottled gray coat was dappled with sunlight, her front legs splayed
out in front of her. She looked like she was melting into the floorboards.

When
Jack’s truck came rumbling down the driveway, she raised one ear ever so
slightly and then resumed her log pose.

I
stapled more lights into place and climbed down the ladder to move it a few
feet over. This was my first Christmas in Bayou Sabine and my first Christmas
away from North Carolina. I was determined to make it feel like a proper
holiday. My father had stopped decorating for Christmas after my mom left us. I
was sixteen, and after that, any decorating was up to me. My mother had loved
Christmas, right down to the plastic reindeer on the roof, and my dad had
enjoyed it simply because she did. But once she was gone, he clearly didn’t
want reminders of her and the things she loved.

Unfortunately,
that included a lot of the things I loved.

He
tossed out the boxes of plastic Santas and elves, and stopped hanging lights
around the door. For the first few years he vetoed the holiday altogether,
refusing to hang wreaths or put up a tree. I was in college by then, so I
decorated my dorm room and got my fix before I came home for a school break.

This
year was also my first Christmas with Jack. So I wanted everything to be as
close to perfect as it could be. “Perfect” was a tall order, but I hoped for it
regardless.

Jack
parked behind the house and strode up to the porch, his dark hair standing out
in tufts. He was wearing the same jeans and navy blue T-shirt he’d left the
house in the day before.

I
never tired of watching his slow, easy swagger, the way he fixed his eyes on me
like there was nothing else in his field of vision. He moved with more grace than
I’d expect from a man so tall and muscular.

“Hey,”
I said, stapling the next section of lights into place.

He
stopped at the ladder and slid his hand along my calf. “Hey yourself,” he said.
“Are you getting in the spirit?”

“I’m
trying, but it’s hard when it’s eighty degrees outside.”

I
climbed down the ladder, pausing on the bottom rung so I could look him in the
eye. As he pulled me close for a kiss, I tangled my fingers in his hair.

When
I finally let him go, he said, “I think you might have missed me.”

“You
have no idea.”

He
lifted me off the ladder and set me down in front of him, leaving his hands
cinched around my hips. “Can’t believe you’re not sick of me yet,” he said.
“That’s the damnedest thing.”

I
shrugged. “You keep this place interesting.”

He
laughed, swatting me on the behind. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” he said.
“Then I’m making you dinner.”

Of
the two of us, Jack was the better chef by far. I’d occasionally cook, but
Jack, having been raised by spice-loving Cajuns, easily put my dishes to shame.
He’d humor me and eat what I made, but most nights he offered to cook, saying
it relaxed him after a long stint at the firehouse. Apparently all of the
firefighters at his engine were excellent cooks, always trading recipes and
cooking for each other during shifts.

“No
fires this time?” I said.

“Nope,
just some training sessions. Hence the desperate need for the shower.”

As
he stepped inside, I called after him, “You want some company?”

“When
have I ever said no to that, cher?” He stripped his shirt off and tossed it at
me.

I
draped the string of lights on the ladder and followed him into the house. He
slipped up behind me in the hall and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me
against his bare chest. I laughed, squirming as he tickled my sides, but then
his grip tightened. Nuzzling my ear, he said, “When’s Kate coming? Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,”
I said, giggling as he tickled my neck with his stubbly cheek.

“Perfect,”
he said. “One more night to ourselves.”

He
scooped me up over his shoulder and headed for the stairs.

“Jack!”
I said. “Put me down!”

He
laughed, his feet thumping on the hardwood. “No ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t do
that.”

~~~~

It
was after lunch the next day when I heard Kate’s car coming down the gravel
lane. A cloud of dust followed her little red Volkswagen sedan as it curled
along the meadow, and I went out on the porch to greet her.

“Good
grief,” she said, climbing out. “I thought the damn GPS was going to send me
right into the ocean. It seems to think canals are roadways.” She pulled a
suitcase out of the backseat and trudged through the grass in a pair of
impossibly tall wedges. Kate was my best friend and had been ever since
college. We agreed on a lot of things, but fashion was not one of them. Kate
loved being girly—she loved swishy skirts and lipstick, high heels and
hairspray. I was perfectly happy as a tomboy in jeans and beat-up cowboy boots.
She’d tried to make me appreciate fashion for the last ten years, but the most
I could muster was some pale lipstick and a flat iron every now and then.

“That
can’t be the only bag you have,” I said, nodding toward the tiny suitcase.

She
rolled her eyes. “Oh please. This is overflow from the trunk.”

She
set the suitcase on the steps and hugged me, tighter than she had in a long
time.

“How
are you doing?” I asked.

“As
well as I can be, after that cheating jackass.”

I
grabbed her bag and said, “Come in and let me make you a drink.”

In
the kitchen, I introduced her to Jack.

“Glad
to have you with us,” he said, shaking her hand.

“It’s
good to meet you for real this time.”

She’d
met Jack for a brief moment at Vergie’s funeral, before I’d even met him. She’d
teased me the rest of that weekend about the handsome man in the pale gray
suit. When I’d told Jack about that later, he’d laughed and said, “I only wear
a suit about twice a year, but if you like it that much, I might find an excuse
to wear it around the house.”

~~~~

Kate
and I sat on the porch swing for a long time, drinking vodka tonics and
watching the clouds drift across the sky. From there, we had a clear view of
the lagoon at the edge of the cypresses. Kate had piled her honey-blond hair
high up on her head and changed into a pair of jeans and a blouse.

“Thanks
for letting me stay with you,” she said after a while.

“Of
course,” I said. “You needed to get away.”

“Understatement
of the year.” She held the glass against her face. She’d called me the week
before and told me she’d found out her fiancé, Ben, was cheating on her. They’d
been going out a year and had set a date for May. Kate had discovered a second
cell phone in a coat pocket of Ben’s and had done enough investigating to learn
he only used it for the woman he was seeing in secret.

Kate
had called me the day she’d confronted him. He’d denied everything at first,
but he couldn’t make up enough lies to convince her she was wrong. Kate was a
biologist, an observer of patterns of behavior. It had killed her to think she
hadn’t been able to see his.

I
told her to come stay as long as she wanted. She never took vacation days, so
she had enough time accrued to carry her through the New Year. I knew she
wouldn’t take more than a week, though. She thought guests had an expiration
date. I thought that rule didn’t apply to friends, and sometimes I could
convince her of that.

After
we’d lost track of our refills, she said, “Why didn’t you tell me I was being
stupid?”

“Because
you weren’t being stupid.”

She
grimaced, squeezing the lime into her drink. “A year was too soon to get
engaged. I should have made him pay for the deposits on the vineyard and the
cake.”

“He’s
the one that was stupid. Let’s get that straight.”

She
raised her glass. “Maybe I’ll still get the cake. It was chocolate raspberry.
The best I’ve ever had.”

“Not
all behaviors are predictable,” I said. “You know that.”

“I
just feel like the worst cliché ever.”

“He’s
the cliché.”

“Maybe
I’ll just stick with single-celled organisms for a while.”

I
leaned back in the swing, feeling tipsy. “I never liked him that much anyway.
He winked too much, like a car salesman.”

“Enza
Parker!” she said, tossing her lime at me. “You said you liked him.”

“You’re
like my sister. What did you expect me to say?”

She
was quiet for a long moment, then fixed me with a hard stare. “Did you know
what he was doing?”

I
sat up straight. “Of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

She
stared at me, as if calculating something, and then looked away.

“Hey,”
I said. “Look at me.”

She
did.

“I
didn’t know,” I said. “I wouldn’t keep his cheating a secret.”

“Well,
you lied about liking him.”

“Kate,”
I said, resting my hand on her arm. “It was only important that you liked him.”