The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance (25 page)

            “I’m
real glad you could come to dinner. Paul probably wished I wouldn’t be such a
busybody. I know you young people like to hang out without all of us old people
listening in to your business,” Mrs. Olivier said. She was smiling but
something in her dark eyes seemed not as friendly as they had been the other
day. She’d probably heard about Alice filing the petition to stop construction
by now. Maybe Mrs. Olivier wondered why Alice was suing her boyfriend because
Mrs. Olivier assumed they were dating.

            Alice
swallowed a bite of coleslaw and nodded. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s true,
I don’t usually spend a lot of time with my boyfriends’ parents.” She choked on
the last word. “No, that’s not what I meant to say. I meant to say
friends’
parents.” Alice had no idea why her mouth had decided to betray her. She
studiously avoided looking at Paul, her face burning.

            Mrs.
Olivier paused, a cookie sheet filled with barbecue ribs in her hands. She
looked from Alice to Paul and back. Then she opened the door and slid in the ribs.
“And how many boyfriends have you had, Alice?”

            “Mama,”
Paul growled under his breath. “Let the girl eat.”

            “Can
you pass the biscuits?” Andy said. “These are great. So tasty. Fluffy. Just the
right amount of…” He frowned at the one in his hand, “…dough.”

            “It’s
okay,” Alice said. She loved those two for trying to run interference, but she
knew Creole mamas. They found out the truth, whether you wanted them to or not.
“I haven’t dated that many. I like running my store. I’d like to have a family
someday but I’m not lonely.”

            “Plus,
you don’t know anybody willing to take on that many cats,” Paul said. He winked
and Alice had to laugh. He was the only person in the room who knew how
accurate that was.

            “So,
then,” Andy started to say. He looked innocent to Alice but something in his
expression must have tipped off Paul.

            “Hey,
pass back those biscuits,” Paul interrupted, a little too loudly.

            Andy
ignored him. “What would Alice Augustine look for in a boyfriend?”

            “Current
residency,” Alice said.

            Andy
guffawed in surprise.

            “Temporary
or permanent?” asked Paul.

            Alice
smiled. He’d known what she meant. “Permanent.”

            “I
guess Al’s out, then. Didn’t he say he lived in Lafayette?” Paul sounded a
little smug.

            “I
s’pose you’re right.” She pretended to be disappointed. “Or he can just drive
over here every so often.”

            “And
some people can fly over here every so often in their personal jet,” Paul said.

            “Now,
hold on.” Mrs. Olivier stood there, arms crossed. “Let’s just get to the meat of
the matter here.”

            Alice
felt her smile fade away. She obviously deserved the truth talk because she’d
just been flirting with the woman’s son, but she still knew that it wasn’t
going to feel very good.

            “How
is it that you can be fixin’ to sue Paul and want to step out with him at the
same time?”

            “I’m
not―”

            “She’s
isn’t―”

            “Oh,
y’all are givin’ me a head ache. I thought we could get some things
straightened out here but we’re goin’ in circles for the umpty-umpth time.”
Mrs. Olivier threw her hands up in the air.

            “It’s
not personal, Mama,” Paul said. He seemed chastised.

            “Well,
it should be.” She glared from one to the other. “If I expect anything from
you, it’s to keep things personal. Only big city folk act like business ain’t
personal.” She turned. “And that goes for you, too, Andy.”

            “Yes,
Mrs. Olivier,” he said. And there wasn’t a hint of a smirk.

            Alice
stared at her plate. Paul’s mom was right. Pretending that there wasn’t a
person behind ScreenStop wasn’t right. But she didn’t know how to separate this
man from the building down the street. He’d acquired a construction permit
despite the zoning bylaws and she couldn’t just ignore it, either.

            She
took a biscuit and cracked it open. She still didn’t agree with the way Andy
and Paul made a living. Games were a colossal waste of time. But she was
beginning to understand how ignoring technology wasn’t the answer, either. It
had introduced so many people to the old books that were once almost forgotten,
and the e-reader gave Bix back the ability to enjoy books again.

            She
caught Paul’s eye and looked away. She’d been so sure she was right. Now she
just didn’t know what to think.

                                                            ***

            “I’ll
walk you back,” Paul said, getting up. They were stuffed full of ribs and all
the fixin’s, happy and fed. But it was getting late and Alice looked tired. A
little sad, too.

            Mrs.
Olivier reached out and gave Alice a quick hug. “Don’t be a stranger. And pray
about that petition you filed.”

            “Mama,”
Paul groaned. That was the Christian way of saying “I know you’re wrong but you
won’t take my word for it, so God will have to explain it to you.”

            “Take
care, Alice,” Andy said, waving from his chair. He was stretched out, one leg
over the arm. His T-shirt had sauce on it but you could hardly tell. “I’m sorry
again about the holes.”

            Paul
could tell Andy felt bad, but he was also sure he didn’t really understand why
it mattered.

            “It’s
forgiven,” Alice said, smiling. “But who knows? Maybe I’ll sue
you
next.”

            Paul
snickered. It was weird that they could talk about it like it almost didn’t matter.
But legal papers were no laughing matter, especially when the opening had been
scheduled for months.

            “You
don’t have to walk me back. I live down the hall.” She smiled up at him.

            “My
mama didn’t raise me like that,” Paul said, opening the door.

            “Actually,
your mama has some sense, and would say, ‘She lives twenty feet away,’ but suit
yourself,” Mrs. Olivier said.

            Paul
pretended not to hear her comment or Andy’s laughter. He followed Alice into
the hallway, closing the door. They walked to her apartment in silence. He
wanted to say something, now that they were finally alone, but nothing occurred
to him. He wanted to reach out and take her hand again, but for some reason he
couldn’t find the courage.

            “Your
mama is a good woman. I like her,” Alice said as they reached her door.

            He
nodded. “She’s worked hard and she expects a lot from me. But she also… it’s
hard to explain. She’s got a generous spirit.”

            “Real
giving, like you? I know Bix sure appreciates his e-reader.” Her eyes were greener
than he remembered, probably from the golden light of the hallway fixtures.

            “No,
she reminds me of a Gerard Manley Hopkins line: ‘I say that we are wound with
mercy round and round as if with air.’ He paused, unsure if he should have
brought up poetry at all. “She’s merciful. When someone disappoints her, she
wraps them in mercy. I know everybody loves their own mother, but to me, she
embodies grace when it seems the world only values revenge.” His need for
revenge had brought him all the way back to Natchitoches.

            Alice’s
lips turned up in a soft smile “She’s wonderful. And my friend Mr. Perrault
loved that Manley Hopkins. He liked his line about ‘a man living with a few
strong instincts and a few plain rules, that he seemed of cheerful yesterdays
and confident tomorrows’.” Her smile faded. “It sounds nice, doesn’t it? So
simple. A recipe for the perfect life.”

            “But
it’s hard to tell which rules to make your ‘few’, right?” He understood. Some
people said it was just the Golden Rule, or just some little catchphrase, but
there were always more. You start asking questions and the rules added up until
you couldn’t keep track of them all.

            “And
which instincts do we follow?” she said, her eyes fixed on his. “Is it the
instinct to stand up for what’s right? Or the instinct to protect what’s been
passed down?” She bit her lip. “Or the instinct to love a man who seems to be
in opposition to both of those?”

            Paul
felt her words slip under his rib cage and lodge somewhere near his heart.
“Maybe that man isn’t really in opposition at all,” he said. He couldn’t
convince her that he wasn’t trying to destroy the historic district. He
couldn’t even prove that he cared about her building.

            She
stepped toward him. “I want to believe that. I really do,” she whispered.

            Paul
slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Their first kiss had been
slow and hesitant. This one was the almost the opposite, with both of them
rushing together, as if afraid they would be interrupted at any moment. If Paul
had ever wondered if Alice thought about him when he wasn’t around, he knew the
answer now. This wasn’t a casual kiss, the kind that happened as a matter of
fact at the end of a date. It was the kind of kiss that built for days and
finally came to fruition almost like a miracle.

            When
she drew back from him, her eyes were bright with some unnamed emotion. For a
woman who described herself as flint, she was warm and soft, yielding to his
touch. She let out a shaky breath, her sigh feathering against his jaw. “I
should go,” she said, her words barely more than air. Her arms were around his
neck and one hand slid down, tenderly cupping his face, then dropped to her
side.

            He
nodded, trying to focus on something other than her lips. There were so many
things he wanted to tell her, but the words just wouldn’t arrange themselves in
his brain and come out his mouth.

            She
gently untangled herself from him and stepped back, searching her pocket for
her key. He stood there while she put it in the lock, smiling a little at how
long it took her to get the door open. He would have offered to help except he
wouldn’t have been any better. He felt completely undone.

            She
slipped inside and started to close the door, smiling at him through the crack
until it met the door jam and he heard a click. Paul stood there for another
minute, still feeling his heart pound in his chest, seeing Alice’s bright green
eyes, feeling her touch.

            He
walked back down the hallway, barely noticing his surroundings. Andy had said
this was a bad idea. He said Paul and Alice were like Romeo and Juliet. Paul
had never liked that play, thinking of it as beautiful words for an ugly story
and a horror movie ending. But for the first time, Paul understood Romeo. Even
if they really were doomed to be in eternal opposition, he didn’t really care.
He wanted to be with Alice, no matter the cost. And he had never felt that way
about any woman, ever before.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A satellite has no conscience. ―Edward
R. Murrow

            For
Alice, Friday morning was starting off all wrong. Last night’s kiss was still
humming through her veins and it was hard to concentrate long enough to make
breakfast. The second time she burned her toast, she gave up and headed
downstairs. As she walked through the back door, she accidentally set off the
alarm and it took her what seemed like hours to remember the code. Completely
rattled, she turned and tripped over a cat dish, showering Darcy with water. He
let out a hiss of anger and retreated somewhere in the store to sulk and repair
his pride.

            She
really just needed some coffee. Her dreams had been fractured with vivid
flashes of city hall, her lost necklace, and Paul’s kiss. Alice set the pot and
stood there, trying to center herself. The coffee machine burbled quietly and
she felt herself gradually relax. A smile touched her lips at the memory of how
she’d been so nervous about Paul in her store, only to find him sound asleep.
He’d looked much younger there, passed out in the overstuffed red chair. She
turned, smiling at the memory, reliving that moment. The coffee machine
finished its cycle and Alice reached for the pot… only to see she’d forgotten
to add the grounds and had brewed a piping hot pot of water. She groaned in
frustration and quickly started over.

            She
smoothed back her hair and straightened her wrap dress. When she was especially
out of sorts, she liked to wear something with lots of color. The bright pink-and-purple
pattern usually lifted her spirits. But it wasn’t working today. She addressed
the front of the envelope and tried not to sigh. She had hoped to meet BWK in
person, but it was never meant to be. Still, she couldn’t help wondering what
it would be like to have a conversation with someone who loved these old books
as much as she did. That was something she hadn’t known since Mr. Perrault, and
she missed it.

            The
phone rang and Alice reached over the desk to lift the receiver.

            “Alice
Augustine? This is Peter Chatham from city hall. I wanted to let you know that
your petition for an emergency injunction was approved by the court.
Construction has been halted on the ScreenStop store.”

            “Oh.
Thank you for letting me know.” Alice cleared her throat. She should sound
happier. Or not. It was clearly a complicated situation.

            “I’ve
already notified the owners that they won’t be able to complete work on the
premises until the injunction is lifted. The court date for review is December
first.”

            “December?
That’s three months away.”

            The
man let out a sigh. “Yes, both sides usually like to have plenty of time to
gather evidence. You’ve sued to prove the zoning laws were bypassed and you
want them to be enforced. They will need to be able to produce the necessary
applications and when they were approved and by whom. These cases usually take
years to be decided.”

            “Thank
you,” Alice said slowly, and put the phone down. When she’d filed the petition
she hadn’t been thinking of years of this battle. She’d wanted the store to
somehow magically move somewhere else. But now the store may just sit there empty
for months and months. It might be more of an eyesore now than if it were
actually finished.

            Bix
came through the front door, whistling something jaunty and upbeat. “Hello,
sha
!”

            “Mornin’,
Bix. How was
Casablanca
?”

            “Oh,
it was just the way we remembered it. So romantic. It put Ruby right in the
mood and it wasn’t even morning time.”

            Alice
pretended she hadn’t heard that last part. “I’m just sending a book to the man
who runs the Browning Wordsworth Keats site. Just think,
The Duke’s Secret
will be rediscovered by thousands.”

            “Well,
that is a mighty fine thing.” He took off his hat and started to unbutton his
coat. “I’ll be able to download it as soon as it’s up.”

            “But
don’t go crazy with all these downloads. Even ninety-nine cents adds up when
you buy a few hundred books.”

            Bix
pulled the e-reader out of his pocket. “I’ve already got fifteen hundred.”

            Alice
put her hand to her mouth. Bix was on a fixed income and Ruby didn’t come from
money, either. “Just in the past few days?”

              
“Well, some are free. But Paul told me he linked it
to his account, so anything I buy comes out of his pocket. He said to get
whatever I wanted.” He slipped off his coat and hung it on the hook.

            Alice
crossed her arms over her chest. “And so you did.”

            Bix
looked up, surprised. “Of course I did. The man has more money than he knows
what to do with. If he wants to help feed my reading habit, I won’t argue.”

            She
said nothing for a moment. It was true that Paul had plenty of money, but that
didn’t seem right. “Are you sure that’s what he wanted?”

            “I
tried to refuse but he said it was already set up.” Bix flipped open the case
and touched the screen. “He’d already downloaded a bunch of different things
for me. He said he didn’t know what I’d like but thought it would get me
started. Some of ‘em look like those books from the Browning site you keep
talking about.
Beau Geste
is on here. And there’s a lot of old science
fiction I used to read when I was a lot younger. But there’s James Patterson
and Louis L’Amour, too.”

            Alice
peeked over his shoulder. It did look pretty nice, the way the books moved
across the screen like they were on some sort of literary carousel. The covers
were bright and clear. She reached out, tapping one called
The Story of San
Michel
by Axel Munthe.

            “I
read that one already. Fascinatin’ stuff. Some old doctor wrote about his life
on a tiny island in the Mediterranean at the turn of the century.” Bix looked
up. “Sounds duller than dirt but I’m tellin’ you, I could hardly turn it off.”

            Alice
smiled. “I’m so glad you get to read again.”

            “I
don’t know how to thank him. He’s given me back somethin’ I never thought I
could have again.” Bix’s brown eyes filled with tears. He shook his head. “Look
at me. A crazy old man cryin’ over some stories.”

            Alice’s
throat closed around the words she wanted to say. She’d thought people like BWK
were rare, but maybe in his own way, Paul was a little like him. “I
understand,” she said, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth of his papery
skin under her fingers. He’d brought joy to Bix in a way that she couldn’t, and
she was so grateful.

            “This
might not be the right time, but I don’t know what is.” He sighed. “I don’t
want to be tellin’ you how to run your life.”

            “But
you’re going to.” Alice braced herself. She respected Bix. Beneath all the
offbeat habits and the marital TMI, he was a man who had the wisdom of having lived
much longer than her.

            “I
know you think you’re doin’ the right thing, but I don’t see how fightin’ Paul
makes sense,” Bix said. “City hall did what you wanted but nobody’s happy.
Charlie said she wasn’t gonna work here anymore if you stopped the
construction.”

            Alice
froze. “She said that?”

            “Yep,
these kids take their technology very seriously. She feels like you’re keeping
the city in the Dark Ages.”

            “And
where did you hear that it was approved? I just got the phone call.”

            “Everybody
knows.” He shrugged. “Small town,
sha
.”

             “I
just don’t think it belongs here. Is that so bad? They didn’t follow the zoning
bylaws and nobody even got to vote.” She heard the frustration in her own
voice.

            “I
know. But it’s done now. The store will bring in a lot of business to the
boardwalk.” Bix held up his e-reader. “I don’t see how selling these is so different
than what we do.”

            “That’s
not what the store is about,” Alice said. “It’s games and gadgets and… junk that
people don’t need. We’re becoming a nation of mindless screen-gazers. Nobody
ever talks to each other anymore. It’s all Facebook and Twitter and email.”

            “I
would try to change your mind, but I don’t think a thing I say will convince
you otherwise. Once you’re set on somethin’, you follow it all the way to the
very bitter end,” Bix said. “And that’s not always a bad thing, Miss Alice.
Lots of folks can’t stay a course to save their lives. You’re stubborn, and I
like that about you. I just hope you’re ready for gettin’ your way.” When she
stayed silent Bix reached down for the bright-eyed tabby that had come to wind a
path around his ankles. “Come on Miss Elizabeth, we’ve got sorting to do.” He
put her over one shoulder and turned for the back room.

            Alice
plopped into her desk chair and stared at Van Winkle’s sleeping body. She
needed to forget about Paul and his store for a minute and do some work.
Flipping open the laptop a little more forcefully than necessary, she gritted
her teeth as it connected to the Internet.

            She
checked her email first and felt a smile touch her lips. BWK had written her
even though he didn’t seem interested in being friends in person.

           
Dear
Alice,

                
I’ve taken the liberty of contacting Mr. Crocket. Please forgive me if I’ve
overstepped the boundaries of friendship but I don’t believe anyone should be
forced to share shelf space, especially with greedy, neglectful nieces.

            Your
BWK

            
P.S.

                        We
walked too straight for Fortune’s end,

                     
We loved too true to keep a friend;

                  
  At least we’re tired, my heart and I.

                                           
             Elizabeth Barrett Browning

            Alice
read the note twice, three times. He hadn’t said ‘your friend’, just ‘your’.
She couldn’t understand how BWK knew Mr. Crocket or how he could have contacted
him. The verse was a sad post script, and her stomach rolled every time she
read it.

            She
clicked the reply button and typed out a quick response.

           
Dear
BWK,

      
I don’t understand. I know I’ll have to call Mr. Crocket to get all of the
details but let me say that I would rather battle this horrid niece for years than
lose your friendship.

            That
verse sounds suspiciously like a goodbye.

            Your
friend always,

   
                  Alice

            Alice
stood up and paced the floor, returning to refresh her inbox several times.
There was no response. She felt tears prick her eyes. She hadn’t known him very
long, but he was a friend, and she had very few friends.

            Sitting
back down in her chair, she took a deep breath and dialed Mr. Crocket’s number.
         

            “Yep,
Miss Augustine, I was expecting your call.” He sounded extremely cheerful.

            “I’m
not sure exactly what happened here. Could you give me the details?”

            There
was a short silence. “It appears you have a wealthy benefactor. He wishes to
remain anonymous but he’s compensated my client for the oversight in the will.”

            Alice
choked back a response about how it was clearly no oversight. “Compensated?
What does that mean?”

            “I’m
not at liberty to give a figure but your friend has offered a sum of money, and
we have accepted, that she feels accurately satisfied her suit.”

            She
couldn’t respond. She slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle and stared
around the store. BWK had paid of Norma Green and the store was completely
hers, as it had always been.

            Alice
knew she should take a few minutes, or a few hours, before she responded. Instead,
she pulled up her email and started to type.

           
Dear
BWK,

              
I understand now. When one party is so completely in the debt of another, can a
friendship survive? It’s true, you ‘loved too true to keep a friend’ but I’ll
always be grateful.

            I’m
sad. I can’t help it. I will miss our conversations.

            I
keep thinking of those George Meredith lines:

                  
Not until the fire is dying in the grate

                  
Look we for any kinship in the stars.

            Thank
you.

            Your
Alice

            P.S.
I’m sending
The Duke’s Secret
today. I look forward to seeing it on the
site.

           
Alice
sat back and wiped a hand across her eyes. It was silly. She hadn’t even known
him that long. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking of how fast life changed.
One day someone is trying to wrest your treasure away, the next someone is
giving it back. Along with the news about the injunction, it was a probably the
best day she’d had in weeks.

            Except
that she didn’t feel particularly happy. In fact, she was wiping tears from her
face with both hands now, small sobs escaping. She buried her face in her arms
and cried. She’d gotten what she wanted and but it didn’t feel the way she’d
thought it would. It felt like she’d ruined everything.