Acadian Waltz (24 page)

“Whoa, there.
Take it easy, Nora.” Jean Marc kneeled next to the couch and gently guided me
to a sitting position.

“What happened?”
I asked as I placed my hands on either side of my head.

“You were
hyperventilating like hell when I got to you. Next thing I know, you went out
like a light. I carried you in here and put you on the couch.” He reached to
the coffee table behind him and grabbed a mug. “Here. It’s chicken soup.”

I frowned at the
mug in his hand. “I don’t have the flu, Jean Marc.”

“Well, I didn’t
know what to do. I’m not the doctor, Nora.” He put the mug back on the coffee
table.

“Do you have any
Valium, Xanax, or Ativan?”

He shook his
head, half-laughing. “No, of course not.”

“Then how about
a beer?” I closed my eyes, hoping to ease the throbbing in my head.

“Yeah, I got
beer.”

I listened as
his feet padded across the hardwood floor to the kitchen, and then heard the
clink of two bottles coming together. When I opened my eyes, Jean Marc was
standing by the couch, holding out a cold longneck to me. After greedily taking
the bottle from him, I poured the liquid into my mouth.

Jean Marc had a
seat on the coffee table across from me and watched me quickly down three gulps
of beer. “So what happened out there?”

“I had an
anxiety attack,” I told him, after swallowing the cool alcohol. “A pretty bad
one.”

“Anxiety attack?
You? That’s something new.” He raised his bottle of beer to his lips.

“I haven’t had
one in years. After Dad died, I used to have them quite a bit.”

He leaned in
closer to me. “I don’t understand. Why were you having anxiety attacks?”

“Mother was
spending a lot of money. Money we didn’t have. I remember phone calls from bill
collectors, and people showing up at the house looking for money. I thought we were
going to end up on the streets; living in a cardboard box, with Baccarat
crystal and Royal Worcester china, but living in a box, nonetheless.”

He placed his
bottle on the coffee table. “Why didn’t you call me? You could have talked to
me, Nora. Even come here to stay, you know that.”

“Mother would
never have allowed that. You know how she feels about your family. Anyway, you
were in Texas at the time. You couldn’t have helped.” I took another swig from
my beer.

“I didn’t leave
you, Nora,” he softly said.

I lowered my
eyes to the green bottle in my hand as I remembered back to the time right
after Jean Marc went off to college. “For a long time I thought you did leave
me. I was really mad at you for leaving. I remember crying into my pillow every
night for days after you left for college. When I grew up, I realized you
probably needed to get away for one reason or another. I thought perhaps I
would hear from you. You were gone twelve years, Jean Marc. That’s a long
time.”

He placed his
hand under my chin and raised my eyes to his. “Before I went off to school, you
asked me to marry you. You thought maybe that would make me stay.”

I removed his
hand from my chin. “I was eight and you were eighteen. It would never have
worked out.”

“You even gave
me a ring made from aluminum foil. You had painted it gold, and glued
rhinestones on it.”

I laughed and
put my drink on the coffee table. “I had forgotten about that ring. I stole the
rhinestones from one of Mother’s dresses. She about killed me when she found
that dress.”

“I still have that
ring,” he disclosed.

My heart skipped
a beat as his eyes stared into mine. A nerve-racking silence settled between
us. I looked away and fidgeted on the couch, pretending to get comfortable.

He picked up his
beer from the table. “What brought on tonight’s anxiety attack?”

I took a deep
breath. “I had a fight with my mother. She yelled, I listened and then I hung
up on her. Never have hung up on her before.”

“Let me guess.
She’s mad because you’re here and not in New Orleans planning your wedding. Is
that what brought on the attack?”

“No, her telling
me about the three hundred people she has on her guest list. That’s what did
it.”

He lightly
chuckled. “I’m sure my name is not on that list.” He took another sip from his
longneck.

“I will be
adding your family to my list.”

“Thanks, but I
have no intention of watching you throw your life away at an expensively
catered affair.” He pointed down at my left hand. “I thought I told you not to
wear that ring tonight.”

“Yeah, I wore
it, so what?” I jumped from the couch. “Stop treating me like a child, Jean
Marc; and while you’re at it, you can stop acting like a child, as well.”

“Me?” He slammed
his bottle of beer on the coffee table. “You’re the child here, Nora. Letting
people boss you around, having an anxiety attack because you hung up on your
mother.” He stood up next to me.

“I did not have
an anxiety attack because of that. I had one because….” I stopped and turned
away. “I have to get out of here,” I mumbled, and started for the front door.

“Oh, no.” Jean
Marc was behind me, racing me to the door. “You’re not leaving here just when
things start to get interesting.” He leapt in front of the door, blocking my
escape.

“Get out of my
way!”

“Why, Nora? Why
are you running from me? What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid
of anything, especially not you. Now let me out of here.” I reached for the
door handle.

“Not until you
tell me what has upset you?” He grabbed my arms, pinning them to my sides.

“I can’t do
this,” I whispered as the fight faded within me. “I thought if I came here and
saw you…but I can’t just throw everything away for you.”

He moved his
face closer to mine. “Do you have feelings for me, Nora?” He grinned, a cruel
grin. “Maybe you had a panic attack because tonight you realized you can’t
marry John.”

“I have to marry
John!”

“You don’t love
him, Nora!”

“I care for
him,” I insisted in a quivering voice.

“Admit it.” His
lips hovered over mine. “You’re in love with me.”

My knees began
caving in. “I’m not in love with you.”

He wrapped me in
his arms. “Yes, you are. You’ve always been in love with me, Nora. Just like
I’ve always been in love with you.”

His lips came
down ruthlessly on mine just as my legs gave way. He pressed my body to his and
a rush of passion consumed me. I was overwhelmed by his kiss, overcome by the
force and desire behind it. I wanted to pull away, but then again I did not
want it to stop.

His kissed my
cheek and forehead. “How do you feel now?”

“I’m not sure,”
I admitted as his lips burned against my skin.

Suddenly, he let
me go. “What am I doing?” He turned away from me. “Go back to the house, Nora.”
He opened the front door. “I don’t want to compete with another man. I’ve done
it before and I really don’t want to go down that road again. If you want me
and just me, you know where to find me.”

I examined Jean
Marc’s profile as he stood beside the open door. I noticed how his straight
nose sloped down perfectly to his upper lip, the strong line of his jaw, and
the way his jaw muscles were flexing under his cheek.

“You’re right.”
I sighed and took a step toward the door. “I can’t have both of you.”

I ran from the
house and across the clearing just as the last gasps of sunlight were fading
behind the trees.

Chapter 20

For the next
three days I stayed inside Gaspard House and never ventured beyond the back
porch. I took care of Henri, helped Ms. Marie with chores, and when I wasn’t
needed for anything, I sat on my bed, thinking.

I kept running
the conversation with Jean Marc over in my mind. He had said he loved me, and
it had not been because it was the right moment or time to define our
relationship. His declaration had been spontaneous, passionate, and completely
unexpected. Or was it? That was what really bothered me. I guess I had always
known how he felt, but never wanted to confront it.

For years I had
believed that I was impervious to my mother’s toxic tirades against the Gaspard
family, but looking back, I had to question if some of her venom had not found
its way under my skin. Perhaps if she had been more accepting of them, I would
have been more receptive to Jean Marc. All my life I thought I had been
ignoring my mother’s constant nagging, only to discover I had been listening
all along.

As I deliberated
on my growing feelings for Jean Marc, my thoughts eventually turned to John.
The practical Dr. Blessing had never made me feel the way Jean Marc had. His
timetable of how to proceed with our relationship had cut me off from my
emotions. But Jean Marc had awakened those dormant emotions. With him I was
empowered, alive, and ready to conquer the world. With John, I simply wanted to
disappear into a hole and never again face the sunshine.

I placed my head
in my hands and sighed. “Mother is going to have a stroke.”

*     *     *

The following
afternoon I had just put Henri in bed for a nap after one of his physical
therapy sessions when I joined Ms. Marie in the kitchen. Henri was making
progress and was able to stand and walk without assistance, but his right foot
still dragged behind him and his right hand was still too weak to hold on to
objects such as a spoon or fork. Ms. Marie, on the other hand, believed that
every day brought new miracles of recovery.

“Don’t he look
wonderful?” she happily declared as I sat at the kitchen table. “I think every
day he gets better and better. Why, soon he’ll be gettin’ ’round like his ole
self again.”

“It may take
some time, Ms. Marie,” I insisted, feeling Henri’s miraculous recovery may have
reached a plateau. “His physical abilities may not improve much more. He will
get stronger, but he may always have some problems with his right foot and
hand.”

“Nonsense,” the
doting mother responded as she refilled my mug of coffee. “My boy will recover
just fine. He’ll get that hand back, and soon he’ll be runnin’ ’bout the place
just like when he was mon p’tit’boug.”

“I hope so, Ms.
Marie,” I said, picking up the mug of coffee.

“Why don’t you
let me cook you somethin’, child? You’re so thin, and I don’t think you’ve been
eatin’ enough since you came here. I’m worried about you, Nora T.”

“I’m fine, Ms.
Marie.” I eagerly sipped my hot coffee.

“Miss your
fiancé, I ‘spect.” She walked across the kitchen and put the coffee pot on the
warmer.

I peered down
into my black coffee as the guilt swirled within me. “It’s hard being away from
him.”

“Is that why you
stopped wearin’ your ring?”

I struggled to
come up with some plausible explanation. “I didn’t want to damage it,” I
eventually told her.

Ms. Marie came
back to the table. “I saw it settin’ on your night table. I thought perhaps
there was another reason.”

“No, there’s no
other reason,” I assured her and then quickly took another gulp of coffee.

“Have you been
to see Jean Marc’s house?”

I put my mug
down on the table, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. “Yes, it’s quite beautiful.”

“Mais oui.” She
took a seat in the chair next to me. “When he first came back from Texas I
fretted ’bout him. That girl over there, you know the one he married….”

“Cynthia,” I
inserted.

“That bonne a
rienne, good for nothing woman. She broke his heart so I thought it would never
heal. Then he started fixin’ up that cottage. Started workin’ with his papa at
the company, and slowly he seemed to get back to his ole self. But somethin’
was still missin’ in him. I never could put my finger on it, until the other
day at the hospital I realized what it was.”

I smiled at her.
“Really? What was that?”

“It was you.”

My heart
trembled and my jittery hand reached for my mug of coffee.

“You know, Nora
T, I’ve watched you and Jean Marc ever since you were little, tearin’ ’round in
the bushes, chasin’ mouche a mielle, what you say…bumble bees. All you ever had
to do was call his name and he came a runnin’ to you. There was no one could
make my Jean Marc smile like you could. I saw it again at the hospital; you walked
in the room and my Jean Marc came alive. He’s been in love with you ever since
you first came to Gaspard House, but somehow I ’spect you already knew that.”

I raised my head
and confidently confronted her warm brown eyes. “Ms. Marie, I am marrying John
Blessing. You’re right, I love Jean Marc, but as a friend, as a podna.”

She sat for a
moment just staring at me, and I squirmed under the weight of her eyes. She
stood from her chair and went to the sink.

“Did I ever tell
you ’bout the time your Uncle Jacques asked me to the prom?” she inquired as
she looked out the window behind the kitchen sink.

“I remember
hearing something about it,” I admitted, not sure of where this conversation
was headed.

Her oval face
sobered and her eyes became touched with sadness. “I went with Emile Gaspard to
the prom and turned your Uncle Jacques down. But do you know why I went with
Emile?”

“No.” I took
another swig of coffee.

“I was a very
silly pet’t’ fille, Nora T.” She turned to me. “You must understand, I grew up
poor and the Gaspards were the wealthiest family in Manchac. When Emile Gaspard
even noticed me, I used to get motier faux…half crazy. Somethin’ your Uncle
Jacques never liked. Your uncle, he was my beau in school. We even planned on
marryin’ one day.” She gently stroked the deep umber granite countertop with
her slender fingers. “Then Emile Gaspard came along. When my papa found out a
Gaspard fancied me, he ordered me to drop Jacques Mouton and go to the prom
with Emile. Said I had to do it for mon famile.”