Acadian Waltz (28 page)

He leaned back
on his bed and folded his arms across his chest, looking smug. “I guess that
means you’re gonna help me.”

“Yes, Henri, I
will help you. But once you leave town, I never want to see you again.”

He snorted with
disgust. “Trust me, once I’m out of here I’ll never come back. Let Jean Marc
keep this hellhole.”

I opened the
parlor doors. “Your therapist should be here shortly. I’ll check back with
you,” I stated loud enough for the rest of the house to hear.

I returned to my
room and took a few moments to cool down from my conversation with Henri.
Thinking ahead to my next uncomfortable confrontation, I flopped down on the
bed. I groaned as I reached for my purse on the night table next to me. I retrieved
my cell phone and stared at it, dreading what was about to happen.

“Oh, to hell
with it.” I dialed the number to John’s cell phone.

“Nora!” he
shouted into the phone. “Where in the hell have you been? Why haven’t you
called me? It’s been two days since I’ve talked to you. Do you know how worried
I’ve been?”

“Yes, John, I
know it’s been a while since we have talked, but I’ve been busy.”

“Busy? Do you
know what I have been going through these past few days? Worrying about you
taking care of that murder suspect in that house with only an old man to
protect you?”

“Jean Marc’s
around,” I assured him.

“Is that
supposed to make me feel better? When are you going to come home? I need you
here with me. We have things to plan. Father Delacroix has called me three
times wanting to schedule the rest of our Pre-Cana sessions. The dress maker
needs another fitting, and your mother is screaming about the guest list.”

“Yes, I heard.”
I sighed, sensing the difficulty of the task ahead. “John, I already spoke to
Mother. I know about all the wedding stuff, and to tell you the truth.…” I held
my breath for a moment. “I really don’t care.”

“You don’t care?
What is it you don’t care about, Nora? Is it the wedding, or is it something
else, like me? Is that what you’re saying?” He paused. “Or is it someone else?
It’s that Jean Marc asshole, right? Is he talking you out of the wedding?
Goddamn it! I told you that man wanted you, and then you go up there and put
yourself at his mercy.”

“I’m not at his
mercy,” I asserted. “For one thing, I’ve known Jean Marc a hell of a lot longer
than you. He’s my friend, and I’m fed up with hearing from you and my mother
about who I should associate with.”

“What in the
hell is wrong with you? Why are you snapping at me? I knew I should never have
let you go up there.”

My grip
tightened on my cell phone. “Never let me come up here? John, I don’t need your
permission to do anything. I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants and what
she doesn’t want. And the one thing I don’t want right now is your bullshit!”

“Nora, do not
speak to me in that manner. You’re not being rational! I’m coming to get you.”

“No, John, I
don’t want you here, and I am being rational. For the first time in a long
time, I’m speaking my mind! This is the real me.”

There was a tense
silence on the other end of the line. “Nora, I know you have been under a lot
of stress lately, and I figured some time away would help you, but—”

“John, didn’t
you hear what I said? It’s not the stress, it’s not the wedding, it’s me.” I
paused and summoned my courage. “I can’t marry you,” I proclaimed.

“Can’t or
won’t?” he quickly asked.

“Does it
matter?”

“Think very
carefully about this, Nora,” John warned, his voice seething with rage. “I’m
willing to give you time to sort things out. You get over whatever is going on
with you while you’re in Manchac, but when you come home all of this erratic
behavior better be out of your system. I will not change our plans. We either
get married in September, or we do not get married at all.”

“Then we don’t
get married at all,” I calmly affirmed.

“I will not
accept that as your final answer. You need some time to think about this,” he
growled.

“I’ve made my
decision, John. I’m sorry, I really am, but I don’t want to marry you. I don’t
want to live by your plans anymore. I just want to live. Good-bye, John.” I
hung up my cell phone.

Naturally, the
phone started ringing again immediately after I hung up. I checked the caller
ID and found it no surprise that the number shown was John’s. I shook my head,
turned off my phone, and returned it to my purse.

I sat on my bed,
enjoying the uplifting sensation of being free of John and unburdened of all
the silly wedding plans. My thoughts then drifted to the reason why I had
canceled my wedding, and to the man I had turned my life upside down for; or
perhaps turned my life right side up for.

Jean Marc’s face
and body filled my mind, and just when my memories of our night together began
to get really interesting, a knock on my bedroom door startled me.

“Nora T,” Uncle
Jack called out from the other side of the heavy cypress door. “Your mama’s on
the house phone.”

When I opened
the door, I found Uncle Jack holding his blue cap in his hands, frowning at me.

“She sounds tres
boudé. She keeps yellin’ at me in French.”

“I’m sure she is
mad. I just told John that the wedding is off. He’s probably already been on
the phone to her.”

Uncle Jack
smiled at me, but his blue eyes still had a hint of uncertainty in them. “You
wanna tell me why you called off the weddin’?”

“I think you
know the answer to that, Uncle Jack.”

“Jean Marc, he
knows about the weddin’?”

“He knows.” I
stepped into the hallway. “He’s the reason the wedding is off.”

Uncle Jack
placed the blue cap back on his head. “Guess I’ll get started on them trellises
Ms. Marie wants for her rose garden.” He stepped over to the stairway behind
him. “I ‘spect you’ll be stayin’ on here instead of goin’ back to the city.”

I nodded. “I’ll
be staying.”

“Well then. I’ll
just go and tell your mama that you’re too busy to come to the phone.”

“Thanks, Uncle
Jack.”

He turned and
winked at me. “You made the right decision, girl. You’ll be happy now.” Uncle
Jack made his way down the steps to the first floor.

As I stood on
the landing and listened to my uncle’s heavy boots treading along the wood
floors to the kitchen, I realized he was right. I was happy, because for the
first time in a long time, I was myself. Not the busy woman I had been prior to
John’s appearance, but I was once again the little girl who had been passionate
for all life had to offer. Jean Marc had taken that passion with him when he
went to Texas all those years ago. Last night he had put that missing puzzle
piece of me back into place, and I was complete.

Suddenly, a loud
crash, followed by a lot of expletives, came from the downstairs parlor. I
quickly ran down the stairs, heading toward the ruckus. I made it to Henri’s
bedroom and threw open the old cypress doors.

Before me was a
rather buxom woman dressed in blue scrubs and pinned to the floor beneath
Henri. He had his arms about her, and for a brief second it looked as if his
good hand was trying to go up the poor woman’s scrub shirt.

“Should I come
back later?” I joked.

“Oh, Ms. Nora.”
The young woman struggled to her feet. “I was trying to show Mr. Gaspard how to
use his new cane when we took a nosedive to the floor.”

“I…fell.” Henri
laughed and his black eyes glowed with mischief.

I glared at him.
“Yes, I can see that. You need to be careful, Henri; not all women like to be
on the bottom.”

He grinned and
then he placed his head against the floor, as if he was trying to hide his true
response to my comment.

“Let’s get you
up, Romeo.” I struggled to get Henri back on his feet and over to the nearby
pale blue chair.

“I’m so sorry,
Ms. Nora.” The young chestnut-haired therapist kneeled before Henri and began
checking his arms for injury. “I thought he was strong enough for a cane,” she
explained as she lifted his blue T-shirt and examined his chest.

“Oh, he is,
Margie. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. I think Henri just bit off more than
he could chew today.” I shook my finger at Henri. “I told you not to push too
hard.”

“Sorry,” he
said, sulking in the chair like a punished child.

“Perhaps I
should take him in for x-rays,” Margie fretted as she slowly began groping her way
up Henri’s left pant leg. “I want to make sure he didn’t hurt himself,” she
added.

I noticed the
way Henri was smiling as he watched Margie’s progress up his leg. I quickly
grabbed her hands. “Stop, Margie, he’s fine. Probably just tired from all the exercise
we did yesterday.” I let go of her hands and stepped back.

Henri gave me a
dirty look.

“Yes, perhaps
that’s it,” Margie agreed as she stood up next to Henri’s chair.

“Why don’t you
call it a day?” I suggested.

“If you think
that’s best.” She nodded and her pretty blue eyes worriedly scanned Henri’s
face. “You’re sure you’re all right, Mr. Gaspard?”

Henri grinned
for Margie. “Fine,” he answered.

Margie nodded to
me. “I’ll just get my bag.”

“I’ll see you
out,” I told her.

After I got the
overly compassionate Margie on to her next appointment, I went back into
Henri’s room to find him still sitting in the chair where I had left him.

“What in the
hell were you trying to do to that poor girl?” I whispered as I shut the parlor
doors.

He waved toward
the doors with his good hand. “The silly cow tripped me. It’s not my fault.”

I went to his
chair. “No, but it sure looked like you were taking advantage of the situation
once you had the girl pinned beneath you.”

“Can I help it
if she finds stupid men attractive? She’s been hot for me ever since she
arrived here.”

“Shut up, Henri.
Get up and get back in your bed.”

He struggled to
rise from his chair, but then once on his feet he walked slowly to his hospital
bed. I listened as his tennis shoes squeaked along the hardwood floor as his
right foot dragged alongside him. When Henri sat down on the edge of the bed,
he held out his arms to me.

“Are you going
to inspect me all over for bruises? I know where you can start.” He playfully
raised his eyebrows and then let his eyes travel down to his crotch.

“Spare me.” I
folded my arms over my chest and kept my distance from the bed. “Don’t go
molesting the therapists. If you do that again, they will want to put you away
in a psychiatric facility.”

“You would love
to see that happen, wouldn’t you? Sorry, Nora, but I’ll be out of here before
any more horny therapists try to have another roll on the floor with me.”

“When exactly
did you plan on leaving?”

“I figured by
next Wednesday, Thursday at the latest, my foot will be good enough to drive.
If not, I’ll use my left and just steal automatics.”

“Can you use
your foot?” I inquired as I stepped a little closer to the bed.

He raised his
right leg and bent the foot about forty-five degrees up and down.

He winced
slightly as he lowered his leg. “I figure that’s good enough for driving.
Another few days and it will be stronger.”

I pointed to his
right hand. “What about the hand?”

He held his
right hand up but I did not see any movement.

“This is as good
as it gets, I’m afraid. I’ll just have to become a lefty from now on.” He
cupped his right hand with his left, then his eyes returned to me. “So, now you
know my plans, what are yours?”

“What do you
mean?”

“What are you
going to do about Jean Marc and that fiancé back in New Orleans?”

“Ex-fiancé. I’ve
already called John and canceled the wedding.”

Henri cocked his
head to the side. “Giving him back that rock?”

I nodded warily.

“Why don’t you
give it to me?” He smiled, or should I say leered. “I could use that to make my
way out of the state.”

“What about your
money? I would have thought being an enlightened leader of a cult would have
been a lucrative venture?”

“It was, but by
now the gentlemen who set me up in the spiritual business have raided my
apartment on Royal Street, taken all the cash I had hidden away, and made off
with the best of my clothes, jewelry, and anything else that might have struck
their fancy. Besides, if I go back they will know my memory has come around,
and I can’t have that.”

“What if I try
to get you some money?”

He stared at me,
his black eyes filled with doubt. “Why would you do that? Just give me your
ring. I can hock it at a place I know outside of Baton Rouge.”

“I can’t give
you my engagement ring. It belongs to John, not me.”

He shrugged his
bony shoulders. “Just tell John I stole it. Once I’m gone, who cares what
happens?”

“I care, Henri.”
I shook my head and turned away from him. “I’m not going to hurt people who
have been good to me. I’m not like you.”

“Maybe not
one-hundred-percent like me, but I’d swear there’s a little of me in you. Only
dirty angels ever make deals with the devil.” He snickered behind me.

“I’m no angel,
Henri,” I assured him as I reached for the parlor doors. “I would kiss the
devil himself, if it would get you out of my life.”

I quietly shut
the doors behind me and then let out a long sigh. This was going to be harder
than I thought.

Chapter 24

That evening,
while Ms. Marie’s church friends came by to read the bible to Henri, I went to
the back porch to see if Jean Marc’s cottage lights were on. The hot, humid air
engulfed me as my eyes peered through the thick brush.

“He’s home all
right,” Uncle Jack called from around the side of the porch. “I saw his truck
drive down the lane to his place about thirty minutes ago.”