The Vigil (8 page)

Her eyes flashed toward Beau and then back to me. She straightened her shoulders and aligned her spoon next to her bowl. “Hmm.” She furrowed her brow. “The Perlouix family had a couple of boys go off to war, Carlton and Rusty. They were pretty popular back in our younger days for being rabble-rousers. They lived down the street from my childhood home, but
we
were never close. Then there was Troy Anderson and Billy Comeaux who lived in town. Those were the only veterans from our small town. Billy never came home.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did either of them date a girl from town?”

She took a bite of her shrimp boulette and chewed for much longer than necessary. Once she finally swallowed, she patted each side of her red lips, placed her napkin back onto her lap, and then asked, “How's your grandmother?”

The abrupt change of subject threw me. I scrambled to understand why she would ignore my question. I turned to Beau. Had he noticed the brush off?

He smiled.

“She's doing well. We anticipate she'll be able to go home soon.”

“Have you asked her about this couple? Did you know her family used to live close to ours out on Highway 62?”

I hadn't known my family had lived out in the country. “No, I haven't asked her. Not yet. And I didn't know you used to be neighbors.”

“We were best friends growing up.” She sipped her sweet tea. Her gaze met mine head on. “It's a good idea to wait. She probably doesn't know any more than I do. Most good people kept their distance from the Perlouix family.” Her forced grin made me regret accepting Beau's invitation.

“Well.” Beau lowered his fork and crossed his arms on the edge of the table. “Steven is doing great in baseball. They haven't lost a game yet. Isn't that right, buddy?”

“Yeah, if we win all our games we get to go to state. Isn't that cool?” Steven shoved a whole shrimp boulette into his mouth.

Grateful for Beau's rescue, I nodded and thought of excuses to leave before dessert. The hammering pain growing in my temples should do it.

For the next half-hour, Beau and Steven volleyed for control of the conversation with exploits from Steven's ball games. I suspected the diversion from his grandmother was intentional.

I struggled through dessert, bread pudding with bourbon sauce, and Mrs. Mouton's fake smiles.

Out in the driveway, Beau opened my car door. “I'm sorry about my grandmother's behavior. I'm not sure what that was about.”

“It's OK. Not your fault.” I slid into the driver's seat.

Steven ran out before Beau could close my car door. “Miss Cheryl, it was nice meeting you. Can you come out to one of my games? I'm playing tomorrow afternoon.”

What could I say? His big brown eyes were looking at me as though his very happiness depended on me attending his ballgame. With Beau's brothers living out of town and his parents gone, Beau was the only family attending Steven's games. “How about a rain check. I promised I'd sit with your mom this Saturday.”

“You know my mom?”

“We used to be friends a long time ago.”

“Cool. Maybe you can come out next week.”

“Maybe.” I smiled. “I'd like to see you slam those home runs you keep talking about.”

Beau shuffled on the asphalt driveway. “Cheryl, if you're busy it's OK. You don't have to come out.”

“Dad, she said she wants to see me play.”

“Tell me what time next week, and I'll be there.” I could do both, this one time.

Steven smiled and his eyes twinkled as he relayed the time and place.

The throbbing pain in my head ramped up its beat, and I knew I needed to get home. “I'll see you then. Good night.”

“OK. Drive safely.” Beau closed the car door.

As I drove away, he and Steven waved.

On the way home, with my headache in full-attack mode, I tried to rationalize why I'd accepted Steven's invitation but could only come up with one reason: I liked the kid, and he wanted someone other than his dad to watch him do what he loved and was good at. Saturday after next, when I went to Toucoin's Park, I'd know for sure whether I'd made a mistake or not.

I recalled Beau's grandmother's words and body language. The two did not match. Was she Lady S? I scanned every inch of my hurting brain to remember her first name but couldn't. I'd only known her as Mrs. Mouton.

Once home and neck-deep in bath bubbles, the tension in my muscles eased. Accepting Beau's supper invitation proved to be one of my biggest mistakes lately. When would I learn? Although meeting Steven had been the more pleasant part of the evening. But…had my curiosity about Lady S skewed my better judgment? The simple question about Beau's wife from his grandmother triggered a spasm of guilt that I'm sure manifested into my inferno headache. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I should mind my own business and quit asking questions. Or had my questions hit a nerve that could reveal the truth about Lady S?

 

****

 

I spent Saturday morning cleaning house and playing with my poor neglected pooch. So much had happened in the last few weeks I'd been taking care of his primary needs only. Today I braved the heat and humidity and took him to a small dog park near my house. I sat on one of the park benches around a small pond waiting for Anthony, who'd promised to meet us there.

Mr. Bojangles ran wild after being cooped up for too long.

Anthony approached wearing blue jean shorts and a Festival Acadiens T-shirt. He carried two snow-cones, one in each hand. The gentle wind blew through his sandy-blond hair. So handsome and considerate. Why hadn't he been snatched up yet? “Hey,
Te
.”

“Tante Lulu's snoballs. You remembered!”

“The best snoballs in South Louisiana.” He handed me the dark red one.

“Anisette, my favorite.” I sucked from the straw and was rewarded with sweet syrupy goodness.

He kissed my cheek and then sat on the bench next to me. “Couldn't pass by her snoball stand without stopping. Especially on a hot day like today.”

“Thank you. These are as good as I remembered.” I turned sideways on the bench. “What's going on at the Broussard palace?”

He laughed. “You got that right. It's like Mama is trying to turn Mawmaw into a queen. She's doing her best to pamper her. So you can imagine what happens when the pampered tries to pamper and vice versa. Not pleasant.” He chuckled.

I laughed with him. “I bet it would rival the best reality shows.”

“Yep. Mawmaw is ready for her own house and keeps bugging Mama to take her home.”

Mr. Bojangles dropped his ragged tennis ball at my feet. I picked it up and threw it toward the woods. “I bet she is. She's not one to be taken care of. She likes to be the one in charge. Do you think she's ready?”

“I don't know. She doesn't seem to remember things as well as she did before. I'm a little worried about her being alone just yet.” He used the straw-spoon combination to shovel bits of blue bubble-gum flavored ice into his mouth. The edges of his lips sported a shade of electric blue. “Are you going over today? Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

“Me?” I pointed to my chest. “Yeah, right. Like I could make Clarice Clement do anything she doesn't want to do.”

“She is pretty stubborn.” Anthony lifted the ball Mr. Bojangles dropped at his feet. He stood and flung it across the park. We both watched in horror as it sailed toward the pond. I held my breath hoping it wouldn't go in. My crazy dog would jump right in after it. Nothing like a gray and white dog in muddy pond water.

Anthony handed me his snoball and darted toward the pond.

I placed the tips of our snoball between the slants of the bench and raced after him.

His broad shoulders and athletic frame moved like lightning toward my dog. As fast as Anthony beamed forward, he missed by seconds.

The ball made a huge splash followed by a bigger one made by Mr. Bojangles.

Anthony turned back to me as I sailed after them. He shrugged his shoulders, kicked off his shoes, and tromped into the muddy water after my soaked dog.

He lifted my dripping Schnauzer from the pond and onto the bank and even went in after the floating ball that Mr. Bojangles had missed. Anthony threw the ball back toward the bench, and we both laughed as mud and water flew out from the once clean gray fur attached to the overexcited dog.

I grabbed Anthony's shoes and headed back to the bench. Anthony caught up to me as Mr. Bojangles, covered in muck and mud, met us with the ball firmly planted between his teeth.

“He's like a robot. Does he ever get tired of fetching?”

“Yes, in about thirty minutes.”

Anthony flung the ball away from the pond and then plopped next to me. Our icy treats slumped over as the hot sun melted them. We gathered what was left and slurped the slushy mix while Mr. Bojangles fetched his favorite toy.

I loved Anthony's patience and gentle spirit. He was three years older than me and had not yet married. I wondered if he had some of the same hang ups I did. I slid my knee onto the bench and turned toward him. “Anthony, do you ever wonder why we aren't married yet?”

He snickered or sighed. I couldn't tell which. “Yeah, I wonder, and then I quickly erase the thought.” His eyes twinkled and tiny lines creased in the corners when he smiled.

“Seriously. Do you?”

He grabbed my hand. “
Te
. Yeah, I do wonder. I want a wife and kids. The whole thing, but then I think of Mama's marriage and the pain it caused all of us. I'm not sure I could do it. Besides working seven-and-seven is hard on a marriage. I see those men with families. They're miserable when they're offshore. Of course, those are the ones who still care. Some of the men have empty-shell marriages so they're happy offshore and dread going home. And then there are the ones who are crazy jealous and fear their wives are cheating on them when they're gone. Sad thing is, some of them are right.”

“You know we had it good when Daddy was alive. I don't remember too much but enough to know that Mama was happy and Daddy was a good man.”

He nodded. “He was. They were happy together. Mama didn't act all weird with him.”

“I know we didn't have a good role model for a happy marriage after Daddy died, but we both know that. So why haven't we been able to commit?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I haven't found the right girl. I know that. The truth is, I'm not going to find her unless I leave here.”

“Well, a lot of good it did me to leave. I didn't find Mr. Right. And Houston is a big city. What about Angelle? Y'all dated for a while.”

“That was twelve years ago. She wanted a ring. I didn't want to be married then. So she went off to college. Last I heard, she graduated from med school and was doing her residency at Children's Hospital in New Orleans. I often wonder if she was “the one” I let get away.” He patted Mr. Bojangles on the head and tossed his ball again.

“Is she married?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “We could find out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Duh, the Internet has everything. Especially if she's a doctor. We could find out real quick.”

The corners of his eyes squinted as he contemplated what I suggested. “It would be nice to know. Not that I'll go find her or anything.”

I laughed. “Why not go find her? Or at least send an e-mail or call. What would be the harm in that?”

“Cheryl, you don't know what you're asking.” He wiped off the perspiration dripping from his temple with the sleeve of his T-shirt.

“What do you mean by that?”

“If I called her, I'd be opening a can of worms I'm not sure I can deal with.”

A panting Mr. Bojangles perched at my feet.

“Let's go back to my house and see if she's married. If not, you can think about what to do next. No pressure. ‘K?” The word was one we used as kids when we wanted to reassure each other we were fine.

“‘K.” He smiled revealing a line of blue along his lips and on his teeth.

I laughed and stuck my tongue out at him knowing mine was a deep dark red. Just like when we were kids.

 

****

 

“Look.” I pointed to the picture of Dr. Angelle Guidry on the St. Theresa's Children's Clinic homepage. “Same last name. My bet is, she's still single.”

The corners of Anthony's lips spread into a slow smile.

Angelle's golden-brown hair reflected the light and her butterscotch eyes stared back from a professional photograph on the staff page. Her embroidered lab coat boasted her name. The website listed her as a pediatrician.

I'm sure her patients adored her.

Not unlike my older brother, judging from the way his eyes never left the screen. “Wow,” he finally said. “She hasn't changed much.

“Oh, I bet she's changed a lot.” I clicked on the
contact us
tab and jotted down the address and phone number to the clinic. I pressed the sticky note into Anthony's hand. “Here you go, bro. It's up to you. My bet is she would love to hear from you, and you know she's less than two hours away.”

He slipped the note into his pocket. “I must be crazy for letting you talk me into this. I was better off not knowing.”

“Really?” I arched my brow. “Really?”

He squinted and glared. “Yes. Really.”

I shook my head. “I don't think so. You should call her.”

“I'll think about it.” He turned away.

“Anthony.” I placed my hand on his arm. “I let Beau get away and look where we are now. He's married but doesn't have his wife. It's an impossible situation for us. But maybe for you and Angelle, it's not too late. Promise me you'll give it some serious thought.”