Acadian Waltz (23 page)

“What does the
report say?” I tried to lean over his shoulder and grab a peek.

“I don’t know; I
haven’t read it yet,” he curtly replied.

Jean Marc put
the folder down on the coffee table, making sure to close it so I could not see
the contents. “Nora, I have a lot to do. You’ve had your beer and seen the
cottage; you can go back to the house and leave me to my work.”

“What about my
mosquito bite?” I complained, holding up my arm to him. “You said you had
something for it?”

“What, are you
six again?”

“Only around
you.” I perused the folders on his coffee table. “Seriously, Jean Marc, what is
this stuff? Maybe I can help.”

“How can you
help me, Nora?”

I put my beer
down on the coffee table. “I have to do my own budgets at the hospital. I know
how to read a balance sheet and a P&L.”

“Where did you
learn how to read a profit and loss report?” he asked, eyeing me with a dubious
smirk.

“Dad taught me.
I also used to help Lou during the summers at his store. He taught me the ins
and outs of business.” I paused and playfully elbowed him. “Let me see if I can
help.”

Jean Marc took a
moment, as if trying to make up his mind. “All right, here.” He picked up the
folder marked “Crawfish” from the coffee table and handed it me. “What do you
make of that?”

Inside the
folder I found a profit and loss statement for the first two quarters of the
year. I gleaned over the actual versus projected sales, and then I reviewed the
expenditures from the previous quarters. After several minutes I gazed up at
Jean Marc.

“You’re in deep
trouble here.”

“That’s one way
of putting it.” He sighed. “What do you recommend?”

I leaned in
closer to his naked chest, acutely aware of the proximity of him, and I pointed
at some figures on the report.

“Your
expenditures are too high, for one. Your health care and worker’s compensation
fees have tripled in two years. So, there are a few options here. First….” And
then I began going through the long list of options Jean Marc could implement
to save his struggling crawfish farm.

*     *     *

Two hours later
Jean Marc and I were still sitting on the couch. We had finished four beers
between us, and the shade of night had unknowingly descended over the cottage
windows.

He scratched his
head and glanced up from the legal pad he had been writing on. “You really do
know your stuff. Any one of your suggestions would help cut the expenditures
for a lot of the business. I could actually make a profit.”

“You just have
to rearrange some of your benefit and insurance plans,” I informed him, while
moving a beer bottle out of the way of the notepad in front of me.

Jean Marc’s eyes
seemed to dance in the light of the living room lamps. “Then I could move out
of the trawler business and go into farming shrimp, crawfish, and catfish
full-time. That’s where the real money is. Trawlers have become too expensive.
Between gas, upkeep, and insurance, the boats are getting impossible to keep
going.”

“What about the
men who run those trawlers?” I questioned, knowing what Jean Marc had in mind
would leave dozens of families without a breadwinner.

“I plan on
reeducating them. Teach them how to run the farms, harvest the farmed fish and
shellfish. Maybe even let them get into sales. They would be a little resistant
at first. All Cajuns hate change, but then when they see the potential profit
for them and their families, they would be persuaded.”

The enthusiasm
in his voice was contagious, and I wished I could take part in his dreams, but
I doubted that would ever happen. I had another’s plans to consider. “I think
that’s a fine idea. I hope it all works out for you, Jean Marc.”

Then, quite
unexpectedly, Jean Marc leaned over and gently kissed me on the cheek. “Thank
you, Nora.” He quickly turned his attention to the french window overlooking
the front porch. “It must be late. I’ll walk you back to the house.”

Unhinged by his
kiss, I quickly rose from the couch. “I can find my way.”

Jean Marc stood
up beside me. “No, I’ll take you back; but do you think you could come over
tomorrow night? I would like your opinion on a couple of other ideas I have.”

“Sure,” I said,
trying to conceal my excitement.

He glanced down
at his bare chest, as if suddenly realizing he was half-naked. “Let me just get
a shirt.” He went around me and quickly bounded up the stairs two at a time.

I listened as he
rummaged around upstairs and within seconds he was back down the steps.

He motioned to
the door as he shrugged a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt around his broad
shoulders. “Let’s go.”

I stepped on to
the porch and was shocked by the intensity of the night around us. It was pitch
black, and I could not make out any of the landmarks I had passed on my way to
the cottage.

Jean Marc
reached for my left hand. “Here, hold my hand.” He led me down the porch steps
to the soft ground. “You’ll get lost if you don’t hold on,” he softly insisted.

I kept a firm
grasp on his hand as we started down the path to the main house. There was no
moon out and the darkness pervaded every crack in the landscape.

“I can’t see a
thing,” I murmured.

Jean Marc hand
tightened around mine. “Helpless at last.”

“I’ve taken self
defense classes buster, so watch it.”

His warm breath
stirred against my face as his fingers fondled my engagement ring. “Why don’t
you just beat me over the head with that rock on your hand, or sick that
overprotective fiancé of yours on me?”

“John is far
from overprotective,” I asserted, feeling his body close to mine.

He sighed next
to me. “Then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe it’s the
other way around. I don’t deserve him.”

“Nora, you don’t
have to…never mind.” He moved away from me. “Let’s just get you back to the
house.”

When the lights
of the main house finally broke through the darkness, Jean Marc stopped.

“You can make it
the rest of the way by yourself.” He let go of my hand and a sudden coolness
came between us.

“What time do
you want me to come over tomorrow night?”

“After Henri
goes to sleep.” He stepped away. “And Nora?”

“Yes, Jean
Marc.”

“Leave that damn
ring on the dresser when you come over.”

“Why?” I
laughed, thinking he was joking with me.

“Just do it,” he
harshly ordered. Then I heard the sound of his feet crushing the grass beneath
him as he walked away.

Chapter 19

The next morning
I was up with the sun, seeing to Henri and helping Ms. Marie set up a schedule
for her son. We went over therapy sessions and medication times. I wrote the
whole week out on a chart for Ms. Marie and Henri to see and posted it on the
wall by his bed.

“What did he…pay
you…to come here?” Henri asked me later that day after his therapy session. He
was lying tucked into his hospital bed, watching me.

“Who?” I
inquired while I folded some sheets for his bed.

“My brother.”

“He didn’t pay
me.” I put the sheet down and faced Henri. “I told you, I wanted to come.”

“For…me?”

I nodded my
head. “Yes.”

“Liar.” He tried
to smirk at me, but it appeared more like a grimace.

“No, I’m not
lying. I came to help you and your mother.”

“And Jean Marc.”
He looked out the window next to his bed. “He has…always wanted…you.”

“Jean Marc loves
me like a sister, Henri. You once said I’ve always been like a sister to the
two of you.”

“Not…to Jean
Marc. I could always…tell. So could…your uncle.”

I pulled back
the tight blankets Ms. Marie had buried Henri under. “Now I know you’re feeling
better. You’re starting to egg me on like you used to when we were kids. You
were always so damned cocky.”

“You…loved it.”

I shook my head.
“Lord, this is going to be a long two weeks.”

*     *     *

After I had put
Henri to bed for the night, I went to my bedroom to prepare for my evening with
Jean Marc. I tried to convince myself that our time together was merely for
discussing business, but I could not quell my nervous energy. I dressed in my
casual black slacks and a long-sleeved shirt before heading to the bathroom to
apply my make up. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and putting on
my lipstick, when I saw a shadow cross my open bedroom door.

“You look nice.
You goin’ out?” Uncle Jack inquired as he came in and sat down on my bed.

I shrugged, trying
to appear casual. “No, I’m just going over to help Jean Marc with the company
books.”

“You need
lipstick for that?”

I turned from
the bathroom mirror and scowled at my uncle. I put the lipstick back in my make
up bag and exited the bathroom.

“You leadin’
that boy on?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Jean Marc.” He
nodded to my left hand. “You’re engaged to that doctor. If you’re goin’ to
sport with Jean Marc and marry that doctor, you’ll break poor Jean Marc’s
heart, and I couldn’t stand to let you do that. I love that boy. You do too.
Just don’t know it yet.” He stood from the bed.

“Is that why you
came up here, Uncle Jack? To tell me that?”

He shook his
head. “Your mama called my cell phone. She wants a word with you.”

I waited until
Uncle Jack had left my bedroom before I retrieved my cell phone from my purse.
Mother answered after the first ring.

“You went to
Manchac to care for that good for nothing Henri? Are you insane, Nora?” Mother
began, shouting at me. “You leave your fiancé and run off to those godforsaken
swamps to care for a suspected murderer. You have a wedding to plan. I’ve got
over three hundred people on the guest list already, your dress is not fitted
yet, your china has not been picked out, you haven’t even decided on a band for
the reception, and you’re playing nurse to that white trash snake.”

“Did John tell
you I was here?”

“Of course he
did!” she hollered. “He’s worried sick about you. He told me he has tried your
cell phone repeatedly and only gets your voice mail. He has called the house three
times, and Marie always tells him you’re busy.”

I swore silently
to myself. “It was not his place to say anything to you, Mother.”

“What’s wrong
with him telling me? He’s going to be my son-in-law, Nora, and he thought I
should know the whereabouts of my daughter.”

“I was going to
call you when I was ready, Mother.”

“Ready!” Her
voice broke under the tension. “Nora Theresa Kehoe, do you not give a damn
about your fiancé, about me, about your future? I’m at the end of my rope.
Since the beginning, planning this wedding has been like pulling teeth with
you. I don’t understand you anymore.”

“Did you ever
understand me, Mother?” I sighed as I looked down at the engagement ring on my
finger.

There was an
uncharacteristic moment of silence over the phone. I could still hear Mother’s
teeth grinding, so I knew she had not yet hung up on me.

“What in the
hell is the matter with you?” she questioned, trying to keep her voice steady.
“You have a handsome doctor who wants to marry you. Then you run off and leave
him hanging for some low class bum and his worthless family.”

I stared at my
cell phone as that familiar nagging burn flared in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll
be back in two weeks. Why don’t you just forget about the wedding for a while?
Take a vacation.” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “You sound like you
could use it.” Without another thought, I hung up.

I headed out the
back door of Gaspard House and found myself almost running toward the path that
led to Jean Marc’s cottage. My mother’s words kept circling around my head like
tornado. Three hundred wedding guests, the dress fittings, the band for the
reception, all the things she wanted done. All the things she felt were
important for me. Then, I began to think of John and about his demands, his
timetable for our life, and all the things he thought were necessary for us. As
I made my way along the path, the wall of trees on either side of me began
closing in, choking off my breath and stifling my voice. I picked up my pace,
jogging quickly, then running, and before I knew where I was heading, I broke
free of the trees and I was standing in the clearing in front of Jean Marc’s
cottage.

I stopped and
bent over, grabbing my knees and trying to catch my breath, but I couldn’t. The
wall of trees closing in around me was gone, but the feeling of panic was still
ricocheting within my chest. My heart was pounding and I was breathing in
short, fast gasps, as if there was not enough air to satisfy me.

“Stop…this,” I
wheezed, trying to halt the anxiety coursing through me.

“Nora!” a man’s
voice cried out, sounding far away across the clearing.

I glanced up
from the ground to see Jean Marc standing on the steps of his cottage.

I tried to call
to him, but my lips could not form the words. All I could do was stand there,
fighting for breath and wishing the world would swallow me up.

I thought I
could make out Jean Marc rushing down the steps toward me, but the little black
spots forming before my eyes were making it difficult to see.

“Nora!” I heard
his voice coming closer.

I forced my lips
to obey my commands, but the words only sounded garbled and unintelligible.

“Nora!” His
voice sounded close by, but by this time I could not tell if it was truly him,
or some figment of my imagination. Blurry spots and flashes of light were
zooming around before my eyes, and then, just when I tried to stand up,
everything went black.

*     *     *

I woke up spread
out on Jean Marc’s red leather couch inside the little cottage, not entirely
sure how I got there. As I tried to sit up, the dizziness hit me.