Restoring Hope (4 page)

Her apartment was in the French Quarter and within walking distance of The Bayou. The building was old, set in between two homes boasting beautiful architecture with French, Creole and American design. The houses were painted in stunning colors that reminded her of the spices she used cooking at The Bayou. Old homes with cast iron balconies and walled in gardens that were an architectural gift from the Spanish, a tour guide had said when she first came to the city, and she wondered who lived in them. Were they happy families or single people just starting their lives?

She’d taken time to wander the city since arriving in New Orleans, feeling secure when she’d first arrived that she hadn’t been followed. She’d decided Bourbon Street was her favorite. There were bars, fortunetellers, gift shops and glamorous hotels all on the same street. The whole area gave her a sense of wonder and excitement, and the thousands of tourists who came daily helped her feel anonymous. A person could get lost here, never to be found, she’d thought. It was a perfect place for someone like her who needed to hide.

She walked past a bakery that had just received a shipment of flour and was pumping the light powder down a large hose into the basement of the bakery. The air around the shop was littered with a billowing cloud of white. She walked through it, not caring if it got in her hair, her blonde locks would cover it. But for some reason she wanted that pure powder that created something tangible, a form of sustenance, to coat her, like the white of it or the purity of it might wash away the dirt that always seemed to be just under the surface of her skin.

Making her way down Frenchman’s Street, the heart of the bar district, Hope entered The Bayou through the front door and went behind the bar and into the kitchen. She saw Big Daddy inspecting a bag of crawfish and waved to him as she went past. She’d worked here for two days, and Big Daddy had made sure on both nights, she had eaten before she went home. Between the food and sleep she was getting, the dark circles she’d been living with for weeks were clearing up, and she was starting to look like herself again.

“T-Hope! Where y’at?” Maman Rose called as Hope tucked her bag into her locker. The Bayou, located in an older building, had been renovated sometime in the 60’s by Rose’s father. He’d built an employee area for breaks and a few lockers to store coats and purses. Plaster walls over the old brick kept the heat from the kitchen out when the door was closed, giving the employees a bit of a break from the heat. Hope opened the door and looked for the older woman whose bright eyes and loving heart were going a long way to making her feel safe. Finding Rose at the entrance to restaurant and bar, Hope walked to the woman while she buttoned up her coat.

“Sorry, I was putting my stuff away.”

“No problem,
Cher
, I just wanna let you know we short on da’ floor tonight. I need you to take orders.”

“Me? But I’ve never been a waitress before.”

“Dat’ no matter, I train you myself. Everyone come on crawfish night; we need hands on deck we do.”

Hope paused before answering. Her eyes grew wider at the thought of being in the public eye where anyone could see her.

“I promise no one will touch you here,” Maman Rose said on a whisper and Hope believed her. Besides, how could she refuse the woman who had been so kind to her? She couldn’t, so she nodded her head and looked down at her blue jacket.

“You want me to change?”

Rose tossed a Bayou T-shirt at her mumbling, “Dat' figure will look good in my shirt.”

Hope held up the brown shirt; it had a black and white picture of the bar on the front, with a neon-green sign proudly saying, “The Bayou, shoes or shirt not required.” Hope smiled. She loved the shirt and the laid back friendly bar it portrayed.

Big Daddy, who’d been watching the exchange, walked over to Maman Rose as Hope headed to the back to change. With a puzzled face, he told Rose “We not short tonight old woman.”

“
Pas du tout
,” she replied, looking for all the world like she had a secret.

“Then why?”

“Because, my Cajun friend, love conquers all.”

He watched Rose saunter back into the bar and stood there wondering what in the hell that woman was going on about. Love may conquer all, but it doesn’t get his crawfish boiled. He needed to be short in the kitchen like he needed a hole in his boiling pot.

He heard the kitchen door open again and Rose yelled out in her loud Cajun accent. “
Cher,
put some makeup on while you at it, you make more tips you.”

“Okay, Rose,” T-Hope shouted back and Big Daddy just stood there shaking his head.
Dieu,
that woman, she has a love-match on her mind all right, and if the guy she’s got her eye on for
‘tite ange
had any clue what he was in for, he’d give in now and call a priest. That woman doesn’t stop until a ring is on the finger, Big Daddy thought. “
Bon Dieu, avoir pitie!”
Big Daddy hooted.

Chapter Three

The Bayou is known for its crawfish. Big Daddy didn’t boil them too long; it was more like a hot soak, slow, allowing the meat to absorb the Cajun spices and then he’d pull them out just as they sank to the bottom of his big pot. He loved cooking those feisty crawfish, full of attitude, ready to latch onto a finger if he got too close. Opening an onion bag full of the pissed off critters, he dumped them into his oversized sink and started rinsing them, getting them ready for the boil.

While he washed them, Hope walked out of the employee break room, her blonde hair down and makeup on her angel face for the first time since he’d met her. Rose wasn’t kidding when she said Hope would look good in the bar’s T-shirt, and from what Big Daddy could see, it was a size too small, as well. Nevertheless, she wore it well, and if he weren't at least fifteen years older than she was, he’d have a mind to come calling on her himself. Big Daddy grinned as she walked out of the kitchen and into the bar, ready for her night of slinging beer and crawfish, and if Rose had her way, a little love-match on the side.

The Bayou was full to the brim when Hope walked in looking for Rose. Searching the room Hope noticed the wait-staff that evening consisted of three women. Barb, a round woman in her late forties with bright red hair and an infectious laugh, Susie, a twenty something brunette that put the “s” in sexy with her cut off T-shirts and short shorts; and finally Abby.

Hope wasn’t sure what her age was; she had to be in her late thirties, as well. Their lockers were next to each other and on the nights Hope had worked, they’d spoken briefly. Abby was tall, unlike her, and had medium blonde hair that fell to her shoulders. She was all legs, and Hope thought she looked like a runway model. Her husband came in at night to drive her home. Hope had watched as they left, and wondered what it was like to have a man who loved you and took care of you, instead of controlled you, and watched over you like a prized possession. Abby had reached out to her in the break room, engaging Hope in conversation, and she’d liked her instantly. If she didn’t know, deep-down to her very bones that she’d have to leave someday soon, she would have wanted to get to know her better, maybe even become good friends.

Hope saw Rose standing next to a table, talking to a man with black hair that looked almost blue in the light, and a boy who looked older than his face said he was. She moved towards the table, stopping a few feet away to wait on Rose as she finished her conversation. She watched as Rose laughed with the man at something funny the boy had said, and you could see the pride in the man, for whom, Hope thought, had to be his son. The word “mini-me” came to her as she looked between the two, both with dark hair and olive skin. The boy’s eyes twinkled with mischief, and she just knew he was smart. The man, sharply dressed in a dark suit, though he’d taken his jacket off leaving him in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, was in profile. She could tell he was handsome in that European way the French had. Not so handsome that he was too pretty, but with a rugged sensual look about him. He had a strong jaw, thick manly eyebrows and sensual lips. His body looked toned; she could see his biceps tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, and his legs looked in shape, as well. He looked tall; he was big and brawny and a familiar reaction to someone that imposing set her nerves on edge.

Rose turned around, looked back and smiled big when she saw T-Hope had cleaned up real nice. She’d been guarding the table with Nic and his son, so the other waitresses wouldn’t grab the table. Nic was a sexy man that women, young and old, were drawn to, so whenever he came in with his son to fill his belly with crawfish, they would fight over who got to serve him.

“Dere’ my girl,” Rose told Nic. “I’m training her, so you go easy on her you hear me, Nicky?”

Nic turned his head to take in the new waitress and saw a curvy woman with long blonde hair the color of snow. Her skin was pale, the color of ivory, her eyes a light blue that reminded him of the clearest and the bluest sky he’d ever seen. The word angelic seemed to fit her, and if she’d sprouted wings, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Something like arousal hit him square in the chest, took him off guard when he looked at her. Then he smiled that smile he had, the one that stopped women in their tracks, when her eyes glanced at his. She lowered hers quickly when their eyes met, not quite looking at him. Then she looked to Rose for instruction, like a timid mouse, and something about that called to him, as well. He was used to women being bold, flirtatious with him. He knew women considered him a good-looking man, but after being married to a woman who readily cheated on him, he’d lost his taste for outgoing, flirtatious women. Watching her closely, he noticed she seemed almost scared to be standing there waiting to serve them. Apprehension was written all over her face.

“Come here, T-Hope, meet Nic and his boy Nicky,” Rose, demanded. Nic watched as the woman hesitated then came forward, rubbing her hands on her jeans nervously.

“Nice to meet you,” Hope mumbled still not meeting his eyes, and he wondered how she would ever make it as a waitress if she couldn’t even look at him.

“T-Hope just moved here. She knows no one but dis’ bar. No Maman, no Papa, just me and Big Daddy, shame you know?”

“Did you want to look at the menu?” Hope broke in, hoping to draw the attention away from her and back on Nic and his son. The sooner she got their orders, the sooner she could move away from this man. His height and build reminded her of her husband, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop her heart from racing.

“Nicky and I will start with five pounds of crawfish and two cokes, please,” Nick replied feeling her nervousness coming off her like waves on the ocean.

“Got it, I’ll be right back,” Hope answered and then turned faster than a jackrabbit and hauled herself back to the kitchen.

“Dat' girl is timid, but don’t let dat’ fool you, she a fighter dat’ one.” Nic drew his brows together hoping Rose was right, but he couldn’t see that shy woman lasting long in a profession that required interaction.

“If she puts up with you, she’ll have to be strong,” Nic laughed.

“She much stronger than puttin’ up wit’ da’ likes of me, I ‘guarontee,” Rose pushed, making sure that Nic knew that Hope was strong, that when the time was right he could count on her to bear the burden of his broken heart. Any woman who was brave enough to leave whatever situation Hope was running from had to be strong, and Rose knew, deep to her core, it had been an abusive man. One she feared that was still looking for her.

Hope returned promptly with their order, placed a large bowl of steaming crawfish with plump yellow corn and potatoes full of Cajun spices on the table, and then went to retrieve two plates and two cokes from the waitress station she’d seen the others use. As soon as she got close to the table, and looked at Nic, she felt her heart start racing again.

“Can I get you anything else?” Hope asked the back wall, again, not looking in his eyes. It bothered Nic she wouldn’t, and he waited for her to look at him before answering. When he didn’t reply, her gaze moved to his and when their eyes officially met for the first time she inhaled quickly, and her reaction caused his lips to twitch and a slow grin crept across his mouth.

“This will do for now, sugar,” Nic drawled out, a natural reaction to this frightened mouse. She was so tiny, so blonde and so damn sweet looking it was automatic to think of her as sweet as sugar. Nic had a southern drawl, but more sophisticated and uniquely manly with his deep baritone voice that women of the south swooned over. As he watched a blush run up her throat, his grin became brighter as the color of her cheeks turned a sexy shade of pink.