Sweetheart Reunion (20 page)

Chapter Twenty

Ten in the morning

A
lma took another headache pill and prayed another prayer.

The crowd had grown. People were milling around inside the café and out on the street and the back porch. Every few minutes someone would run in, saying they’d heard chatter on the radio. The Coast Guard helicopter had flown by about an hour ago.

But nothing since then.

The search party had gone back out with the Wildlife and Fishery agents and the sheriff’s department and their own police chief. The Coast Guard was still out trolling the waters of the bay, too.

But Alma had work to keep her from falling to pieces.

She’d ordered the staff to cook as many hamburgers and fried catfish as they could so she could feed everyone. She had plenty of gumbo to sell or give away. She didn’t want to charge, but people kept putting money in a Mason jar on the counter.

Why hadn’t they heard anything more from all the boaters who’d gone back out at dawn? They’d heard rumors, false alarms, all sorts of tales, but no one had heard anything concrete.

Except that the boat carrying Julien and Tebow had not come home last night. Julien had stayed. He’d stayed for her father and his brother. Alma couldn’t think beyond that. But she’d prayed herself into a tight little ball of calm. She wouldn’t break; she wouldn’t give up hope. Not yet. Not yet.

Julien had promised her he’d find her father and they’d both come back to her.

Whatever was going on out in that vast swamp and the surrounding sea, no one was saying. It could be good or it could be bad. The search party wouldn’t confirm until they had something to report, no matter the chatter coming over the radios. They’d only come back with something factual and accurate—and final.

Her cell rang and she jumped so quickly she hit her knee on a bar stool. “Hello?”

“Alma, it’s Jacob Sonnier. I think I’ve got some people interested in your gumbo.”

Alma swallowed the bile back. She didn’t want to think about this right now. This was Sunday. Didn’t the man rest? “Uh, thank you, Mr. Sonnier. I’ll have to get back to you. We’ve…we have an emergency going on right now. Some people are missing since the storm—”

She stopped, a hand going to her throat. Was she dreaming? Was this a nightmare? “My daddy is one of them.”
And the man I love, the man I kept pushing away.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mr. Sonnier replied. “What can I do to help?”

Alma wanted to shout at the man and tell him he could go out there and find the people she loved. But she didn’t say that. “Just pray. I’ll call you after I hear something.”

He hung up with the promise to drive back to Fleur instead of heading back to I-10. He wanted to do whatever he could before he headed back to Georgia.

A nice sentiment, but what could he do? What could any of them do?

Reverend Guidry came up to the counter. “Alma, it’s time for church. Since we have so many here, we thought we’d have it out under the big tent. The sun is shining again.” His eyes held that same hope she’d seen in Virginia LeBlanc’s eyes. How did they stay so strong? Why didn’t they call out to God the way she wanted to?

“Alma?”

Alma nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

Maybe going to worship would calm her well-hidden nerves, stop the thudding beat of her erratic heart. She needed something to center her and give her the courage to keep going until she knew one way or another if they were all safe.

Callie took Alma’s hand on one side and Brenna tugged her arm against Alma’s on the other. Together, they walked over to the church parking lot, where the big red-and-white-striped tent shined brightly against the fresh sunshine. The tent had been tossed and rearranged, but some of the men had hammered down the big stakes and tightened the ropes and cables to secure it back in place. A few rips allowed sun rays to prance across the asphalt, and all around tree limbs and tossed folding chairs lay scattered like trash from a giant can.

The church members and all the others gathered and silently found the chairs and brought them back underneath the tent. Soon the event, haphazard and quickly arranged, became a silent and somber meeting of hundreds of anxious, worried people.

Reverend Guidry waited until everyone had found a seat, then he began to pray. He asked the Lord to provide, no matter the day, no matter the need. He asked that God give strength to those waiting to hear about their loved ones.

“Comfort those waiting here, Lord. Bring Alma and her sisters, Callie and Brenna, the peace beyond understanding. Bring their beloved daddy back safe. Help Mrs. LeBlanc and sustain her until she knows the fate of her two sons, Julien and Pierre. Help Mrs. Laborde and her son Tebow, who went out to help a friend. Help all of us, Lord, to understand the ways of nature, but please, Lord, help those out there searching. Bring our loved ones back to us.”

Alma followed the prayer, waiting, hoping, sending up her own promises and pleas.

After the prayer ended, she glanced over at Mrs. LeBlanc. Virginia’s smile was bittersweet, but it still held that radiant hope Alma had seen last night. She smiled at Julien’s mother, then blinked back the tears she refused to cry. She could be strong. She’d been strong during her mother’s illness and death. She’d been strong when she made the decision to stay here with her daddy and Callie. She’d be strong now, while she waited and wondered and prayed for Julien and the others to come back.

Reverend Guidry suggested a hymn.

And so they sang “Peace Like A River,” at first without instruments or an organ, but then someone stepped up with a fiddle and the soft notes hit the air with a sweet intensity. The music, low and full of praise, lifted over the trees and drowned out the slow Sunday traffic.

Then Mollie stepped up to stand with the fiddler and she began to sing the lyrics in Cajun French.
Paix comme une rivière dans mon âme…

“I’ve got peace like a river in my soul.”

Alma heard the simple words of peace, love and joy and she thought of the river and the bayou and the vast bay that lead to the ocean. This was her life, her water, her land. Her home.

But she couldn’t stay here without Julien.

She closed her eyes and listened to Mollie’s voice lifting out over the sky and asked God to show her some of that peace.

* * *

Julien watched as the Coast Guard chopper airlifted Mr. Blanchard out of the swamp. They were administering treatment and taking him to the nearby hospital. Pierre was with Julien and Tebow in Tebow’s boat. He’d refused any further treatment beyond some water and being checked for vital signs.

From what Julien could tell, other than a few scrapes, bruises and bug bites, his brother was okay. But Ramon Blanchard had hit his head when the boat was tossed up into the marshes. He was still unconscious.

Pierre, unharmed physically, was beside himself. “He wouldn’t let me go out there by myself, bro. He knew I’d been drinking but he got in that boat and he refused to leave me.” He wiped at his red eyes. “Mr. Blanchard told me about how much it hurt to lose his wife, Miss Lila. He sat there and he cried. Then I cried out there in the wind and the rain. Then the storm got worse and we held on. We held on.” He stared at the chopper. “He can’t die, Julien. He saved my life. He was trying to get us back home.”

Julien’s heart opened wide for the man who’d scowled at him for most of his life. Mr. Blanchard had probably saved Pierre’s life in more ways than one.

After they’d called the emergency alert, two Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries boats had responded, followed by a Coast Guard helicopter. The helicopter had sent down a medic and a stretcher.

Now Julien had to get back to Fleur and tell Alma her father was still alive. The search party was over. The LDWF officers were escorting them home.

Home.

Home and into Alma’s arms.

But would she forgive him if her father didn’t make it?

Would she forgive him for being a dolt and silently accusing her of the very thing he’d feared for most of his life?

That she’d leave him?

Why did you wait ten long years to win her back then lose her all over again?

Julien had no answers for the many questions flowing like the current inside his tired brain. He only knew he wanted to be in Alma’s arms again. Forever.

So he braced himself against the wind and the currents and he held on while the men who’d helped rescue them taxied him back to the people he loved.

* * *

She heard the helicopter’s heavy hover over the sound of the fiddle. Alma stopped singing and ran out from under the tent to stare up into the sky, her hands shielding her eyes.

“The Coast Guard,” she shouted, tears forming in her eyes.

Then everyone started talking at once.

“They found ’em,” one man shouted. “Not sure what kind of condition.”

Callie and Brenna stood with her, watching until the helicopter disappeared over the treeline.

“They could be headed to the hospital,” Brenna said. “Or they might be taking someone to a bigger hospital in New Orleans.”

“But who?” Alma’s heart sat frozen in place. She couldn’t find her next breath.

Ignoring the shouts coming from inside the tent, she started walking toward the marina. Then before she knew it, she was running, running toward the water.

She heard motors humming as the flotilla of search boats started returning to the docks. Alma strained to see if Tebow’s boat or the skiff were among them. She didn’t see either.

Behind her, she heard footsteps and saw that the crowd from the worship service had made its way to the marina, too.

Her sisters caught up with her and stood nearby, waiting. She felt the collective breath of the whole town, holding, waiting, wondering what had happened. And who had survived.

And then she heard the roar of another motor and saw the LDWF agents escorting one more boat into the marina.

Tebow’s battered speed boat.

And three men were on that boat.

Alma gulped in air, swallowed a sob. One of the men was Julien.

“I don’t see Daddy,” Brenna said. “Alma, where is Papa?”

Alma couldn’t stop the tears then. Julien was alive. Pierre was with him and so was Tebow. But where was her daddy?

* * *

Julien searched the marina and spotted Alma there apart from the rest of the crowd, wearing jeans and a blue cotton top. Her hair was down and flowing around her face, the wind lifting it like a silky scarf.

He got out of the boat and hurried to her. She moved toward him, hurrying, running, until he could hear her flip-flops hitting the weathered boards of the boardwalk. Julien started running, too, his tiredness gone now, his pulse pumping new life with each beat of her footsteps.

And then he had her in his arms and he was holding her tight and kissing her hair. He murmured words, long held and long thought, in her ear.
“Je suis désolé, chère. Désolé. Je t’aime. Je t’aime toujours.”

Alma lifted her head, her eyes holding his. “Why are you sorry, Julien? Where is my papa? Please tell me the truth? Is he still alive?”

Julien hated the pain and fear he saw in her eyes. Had she heard him tell her how much he loved her? “
Oui,
he’s alive.”

“But that was him, on the chopper?”

“Yes. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

He let her go when he saw Pierre hugging their mother. Julien did the same. “I’m okay,
Maman
. We’re both all right.” Then he explained about Ramon Blanchard. “He…he went with Pierre, to help the boy. To talk to him. Mr. Blanchard was driving the boat the whole time.”

People came running before he could finish.

“I’m fine, everyone. Tebow can fill y’all in on the rest. Now I need to get Alma and her sisters to the Fleur Medical Center to see how her daddy’s doing.”

* * *

Alma sat in the waiting room, holding a cold cup of bad coffee. “Why haven’t we heard something?”

Brenna and Callie sat nearby. “They have to stabilize him,” Brenna explained. “You heard the intern.”

“I heard, but I want to see him,” Alma replied.

She glanced up to where Julien stood staring out a big window. Putting down the coffee, she went to him, her arm touching his dirty shirt. “Julien, we can get you some clean clothes.”

He tugged her close. “I’m okay. I don’t want to leave you. Besides, if I know my mama, she’ll be here soon with clothes and food.” Kissing her hair, he said, “I’m just glad to be with you again.”

Alma leaned into him, the smell of mud and the bayou as much a part of him as the scent of spice she usually associated with him. “Julien, about yesterday…”

“Hush, hush,” he said, a finger to her lips. “Remember that old saying, ‘Where there is love, there is forgiveness,’
oui?
” Then he leaned down to kiss her. “Can you forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive,” Alma said. “I just wanted you to know—I’m not leaving Fleur, ever.”

Julien pulled back to stare at her. “Now, don’t go making any rash decisions. I was wrong to assume you’d be leaving anyway. I only heard what I feared,
catin
.”