Authors: Alexandrea Weis
John hesitated
for a moment and then he asked, “What about your job at the hospital?”
I folded my arms
and scowled at John. “I thought you wanted me to give up my job at the
hospital.”
“Nora, that’s
not what I said.” John’s tone of voice dropped as if he were disciplining a
child.
Jean Marc picked
up his fork again. “See, she’s going to take some time off, just like you
wanted.”
“You just can’t
go off to Manchac, Nora. I will not—” John was interrupted by the page of his
beeper in the living room. “Aw, hell,” he muttered and got up from his chair.
He went down the hall to the living room.
I glared at Jean
Marc. “That was dirty. I never said anything to you about going to Manchac, and
you know it. Are you purposefully trying to destroy my relationship with John?”
He gave me a
cocky grin. “That idea had crossed my mind.” He looked me up and down as I
stood by the cooktop. “Are you sure you want to marry this guy?”
When John
returned from the living room, he was wearing his white coat.
“I’ve got to get
back. One of the residents called in sick, and I need to cover until eleven
tonight.”
I walked up to
him. “All right.”
“See you later,
John,” Jean Marc called from the table. “Thanks for everything.”
John took my
hand and dragged me from the kitchen. We made our way down the hallway to the
living room.
“He will be gone
when I come back tonight, right?” John demanded.
I nodded.
“Absolutely.”
When we reached
the front door, he let go of my hand. “We need to talk about this Manchac
business, Nora. I think it is time we straighten out a few things between us.”
“Like what?”
“We’ll talk
about it later.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead.
But before he
could pull away, I put my hands about his face and pulled him back to me.
“What are you
doing, Nora?”
“Just kiss me,
John.”
He pressed his
lips against mine, and in an instant he was done. Putting his fingers to his
swollen lip, he headed out the front door and down the walkway to his pristine
automobile, waiting by the curb.
“I bet if I was
a fine German road machine, I’d get a better kiss than that,” I mumbled as I
watched him climb into his car.
When I stepped
back into the kitchen, I found Jean Marc still sitting at the table, picking at
his food.
I leaned against
the kitchen doorway and pointed to his plate. “I thought you were hungry?”
“I am, but
you’re a lousy cook, Nora.” He laughed as he stood from the table and brought
his plate to the sink.
I frowned at
him. “Thanks a lot.”
“He really likes
your cooking?”
I nonchalantly
shrugged. “He’s never complained about it.”
“He has a key to
your place?” Jean Marc probed without looking up from the sink.
“Yes.”
“He stays here
at night?”
“I’m not a nun,
Jean Marc,” I defended from the doorway.
He turned to me.
“You’re not in love with him, either.” He snapped his fingers together in the
air. “No spark, Nora.”
I took a step
into the kitchen. “So what? He’s dependable, practical, and he’s a doctor, for
Pete’s sake.”
“He’s also an
arrogant ass who is definitely wrong for you.”
“And who is right
for me, Jean Marc. You?”
Jean Marc came
across the room and halted before me. “Admit it, Nora; I’m the one with the
spark,” he whispered next to my cheek.
The warmth of
his breath against my skin sent a chill down to my toes.
“Just remember
that,” he added, and then he walked down the hall toward my guest bedroom. I
jumped when I heard the bedroom door slam.
I grabbed the
doorframe and tried to steady myself against the onslaught of emotions
bombarding my mind. When my head finally cleared, I glimpsed the mess of dishes
in my kitchen. While heading to the sink, it struck me that the disarray in my
kitchen mirrored the chaos beginning to envelop my life. Unfortunately, a
little warm water and soap was not going to put my life back in order. I would
need a deep cleanser to purge my growing feelings for Jean Marc from my heart,
but I was not sure if I wanted to be rid of those emotions just yet. Perhaps I
needed some time to discover if he was the man for me, and to get away from
John, my mother, and the burdens of my life in the city. I recalled Jean Marc’s
comment about my volunteering to go to Manchac to care for Henri, and as I
considered the idea, a speck of sunlight from my kitchen window made the
diamond on my left hand shine.
“Oh, crap,” I
murmured as I peered down at my engagement ring. “John is going to be so
pissed.”
Chapter 17
“You can’t go to
Manchac!” John roared four days later as he stood in my bedroom. “You call me
out of the blue and tell me you’re going to Manchac for two weeks. I couldn’t
believe what I was hearing. I walked out of the ER and came right home to talk
to you about this.”
“You didn’t have
to leave work,” I calmly assured him as I packed some underwear in my suitcase.
“What did you
expect me to do? You can’t go running off to Manchac just because the Gaspards
need your help.” He began pacing back and forth in my bedroom. “Nora, I thought
we already discussed this, and you promised you would talk to me before you
made up your mind about going.”
“I don’t have
much of a choice. Jean Marc called and told me Henri is going to be discharged
tomorrow morning. The hospital has only arranged for a physical therapist to
check on Henri three days a week. The rest of the time the Gaspards would be
left to care for Henri without assistance. Someone needs to be there to help
out day and night. Ms. Marie and Uncle Jack aren’t exactly young, and they may
not be able to handle Henri.”
He stopped
pacing. “What about Jean Marc? He can care for his brother.”
“He has to run
Gaspard Fisheries.” I took in John’s angry countenance and sighed. “John, I owe
him. He bailed my uncle out of trouble; he gave him a job at the house when he
could no longer work as a shrimper. I can’t say no.”
“We still have
to get married in September,” John insisted as he sat on my bed. “I will not
postpone the wedding because of Henri Gaspard. Do you understand, Nora?”
I smiled weakly
for him. “We won’t postpone, John. It’s only for two weeks. After that Jean
Marc’s cousin Ethel can help out. She’ll be back from her cruise by then.”
“What about your
job at the hospital?”
I picked up a
T-shirt by my suitcase and began folding it. “I told them I had a family
emergency and needed to take two weeks of vacation time.”
“What about your
mother?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I turned back to
my suitcase. “I’ll call her from Manchac.”
John shook his
head. “All right, Nora. I can’t stop you, but do me one favor. Be careful. I
don’t like what I have heard from the police about Henri, and I don’t want you
near that Jean Marc character.”
“Why, because he
got in a lucky punch?”
“No.” He paused
for a moment and lowered his head. “The way he looks at you. It’s like he owns
you or something. I don’t like it.”
I raised his
head with my hand. “No one owns me, John. No one ever will.”
He removed my
hand from beneath his chin and inspected the engagement ring on my finger.
“When you’re my
wife, will you still feel the same way?”
I took my hand
from his. “Marriage is not about ownership, John. When I give myself to you as
a wife, it’s as a partner and not a piece of property.”
“Of course,
Nora.” He leaned back on my bed and glared at me. “But when you get back from
Manchac, you are to be completely mine. I will not share you with anyone. And I
will never allow you to leave me, ever again.”
The acid inside
my stomach began to churn.
He stood from
the bed. “I have to get back to the hospital.”
As his prized
BMW pulled away from the curb, I began to dread the moment when I would have to
return from Manchac to my life with John. To come back to the chaos of our
wedding and to the life he had planned for us. For the first time, I began to
wonder why I was marrying a man who made me feel so anxious. Then, I thought of
Jean Marc and the possibility of seeing him everyday for two weeks. Instantly,
the unsettling sensation within me receded.
After I shut my
front door, I rested my forehead against the cool wood. “Steve was right.
You’re in trouble, Nora Theresa Kehoe. Big trouble.”
* * *
The following
morning I was heading down the interstate with the rising sun shining through
the numerous bald cypress trees in the swamps surrounding me. The water
glistened with the early morning light while elegant white cranes and blue
herons, perched along the expressway railings, searched for their morning meal
in the water below. The air was warm and filled with all the promise of another
ruthless summer day in the swamp, but I did not care. Feeling in tune with the
hum of the life around me, it was as if I belonged among the cypress stumps and
stagnant water. The world was alive with possibilities as I sped toward Manchac,
eager to leave my cares behind me.
I pulled into
the driveway of Gaspard House and heard the howl of the two old Catahoula
hounds as they ran up and greeted my car. I climbed out of my little Honda and
stretched my back. Napoleon and Nelson were all over me, eager for a friendly
pat on the head. Once they were appeased, they happily trotted away. I took in
the Spanish moss-laden oaks and smelled the rich scent of magnolia in the air.
Everything appeared so much greener in the swamps, a sort of living green a
painter could never hope to recreate on canvas. I felt the tension inside me
disintegrate as I wrapped my arms about my body.
“You made it,” a
man’s smooth voice called out.
Then I noticed
Jean Marc standing a few feet away from me.
“I didn’t see
you there,” I admitted with a nervous smile.
He moved closer
to me. “I was just heading to the house when I saw your car pull up.”
I searched the
long driveway for another car, but did not see one. “Where did you come from?”
“My house.” Jean
Marc pointed to a narrow path in the brush. “The old caretaker’s cottage we
used to play in when we were kids. I fixed it up after I moved back from Texas.
I live there now.”
“Why don’t you
live in the main house?”
He shrugged as
he looked down at his brown loafers. “A lot of reasons, the main one being
Henri. He and I could never stand to be together under the same roof, so I
moved into the cottage when I came home. Been there ever since.”
“I didn’t
realize Henri stayed here that much. He gave me the impression New Orleans was
his home.” I walked to the back of my car and opened the trunk.
“It was, but now
he’ll be here for a while. Mother called me at the cottage. She said Henri
arrived about twenty minutes ago,” he added as he came up beside me. He grabbed
my suitcase from the trunk.
“I can carry my
own suitcase, Jean Marc,” I insisted.
“I’ve got it.
I’ll take it into the house for you.”
I shut the
trunk. “Thanks.”
“Save your
thanks until after you’ve spent a few days with my brother, Nora. You’ve got
your work cut out for you.”
I sighed as I
remembered Henri seizing in my arms. “I don’t think Henri is going to give me
any problems, Jean Marc. He’s never going to be quite the man he once was.”
“Don’t let his
docile behavior fool you. A dangerous tiger still lurks inside him. It always
will. It would take more than a near death experience to change Henri.” He
directed his gaze toward the house. “I owe you one, Nora. You don’t know how
much this means to my family…and to me. It will be nice having you around.”
A zing of
excitement quickened my heart. “I’m happy I could help.”
He smirked at
me. “Are you?”
I smiled back at
him. “Yes, Jean Marc. I am.”
* * *
After greeting
Uncle Jack and Ms. Marie, I immediately went to check on my patient. I entered
Henri’s makeshift bedroom in the small parlor and found a frail man sitting on
a hospital bed. His round, dark eyes were almost hollow as they stared out the
window next to him. His cheekbones protruded from under his sickly, yellow
skin, emphasizing his gaunt appearance. He was wearing a blue knit
short-sleeved shirt that revealed numerous bruises up and down both of his
forearms. His baggy khaki pants only enhanced his sudden weight loss, and he
seemed to be but a shadow of the man I had seen in Lou’s store just a few weeks
earlier.
“Henri?” I
walked up to his bed. “Henri, it’s Nora Kehoe.”
A thin smile
eased its way across his pale lips, but he never said a word.
“Why don’t we
get you out of those clothes and into some pajamas?” I suggested.
I went to the chest
of drawers beside the bed and began searching for his pajamas. Most of the
furniture had been removed from the room, and except for the bed, chest of
drawers, nightstand, and a pale blue high back chair, the only things left from
the original décor were the assorted paintings of boats hanging on the pale
blue walls.
“Why?” a weak
voice asked from the bed behind me.
I turned from
the chest of drawers and faced Henri.
“Why you…here?”
Henri went on, struggling with the words.
I sat down next
to him on the bed and patted his left hand. “I’m here to help you. You’re not
completely well yet, and I thought I would come by and help you until you get
better.”
“You…can’t
help…me.”
“Henri, you will
get better. You cannot give up. You have to work at this. I’ve seen patients do
amazing things after going through what you’ve been through. You’ll recover,
just be patient.”