Acadian Waltz (11 page)

“Uncle Jack?” I
softly said to his back as he sat on the bar stool before me.

My uncle never
faced me. He just picked up his shot glass filled with dark liquid and brought
it to his lips. He emptied the small glass with one gulp.

“Don’t do this,”
I begged as I took a seat on the torn red leather stool next to him.

“They took my
boat.” He slammed the glass down on the bar. “They took my
Rosalie
. She
was my boat. She was my son’s boat. Been on that boat better than twenty
years.” He turned to me and I could see the dark circles underneath his
bloodshot eyes. “How in the hell am I to make a livin’ now, Nora T?”

“You could go to
New Orleans. Move in with Momma and Lou.” 

“Move in with
your mama?” He crossed himself as if he had seen an evil spirit. “Livin’ with
that woman would be the death of me. She’s been the death of two husbands
already, and Lou don’t look so good these days.”

“Stop it, Uncle
Jack. I talked to the new captain of the
Rosalie
, Teddy Breaux, and he
told me that the Gaspard’s insurance company won’t cover you anymore because of
this.” I pointed to the shot glass on the bar. “The insurance company thinks
you’re a liability.”

“Insurance
company, ha!” He spit on to the floor. “When I started in this business over
forty years ago, we don’t have no insurance on these boats.” He held up his
callused hands to me. “These the only insurance a man had. If you had hands,
you could work.”

“Times are
different, Uncle Jack. Jean Marc has to do things by the book.” I was about to
give him a lecture on his drinking when I heard footsteps come up behind my
stool.

Uncle Jack was
the first to wheel around. Before I even knew what was going on, my uncle swung
his big fist to hit the person standing behind me. I turned in time to see Jean
Marc Gaspard duck expertly out of danger. When he missed connecting with Jean
Marc’s jaw, my uncle lost his balance and fell from his stool.

“Merde!” Uncle
Jack hollered as he hit the cement floor. 

Jean Marc was
the first to his side. I jumped from my stool, and knelt down beside him.

“Get away from
me,” Uncle Jack growled at Jean Marc.

Jean Marc took a
step back as I helped my uncle to his feet. He appeared unharmed as my eyes did
a quick assessment of his body.

“What you doin’
here, boy? Passé!” Uncle Jack howled as his blue eyes spewed venom at Jean
Marc.

“Uncle Jack,
shut up.” 

“Look, I came to
see how he was,” Jean Marc explained.

“You just like
that possedé brother of yours, stabbin’ men in the back,” Jack shouted as he
made a move toward Jean Marc.

I jumped in
between the two men. It was then I noticed a few of the patrons intently
watching our every move. I nodded at Jean Marc. “Let’s get him home.”

But Uncle Jack
would have none of Jean Marc touching him. Instead, he grabbed his faded blue
cap from the bar and then proceeded to the entrance. I followed him as Jean
Marc fell in step behind me.

Once outside in
the full light of day, Uncle Jack did not appear as steady on his feet as he
had inside the bar. I went to him and placed my arm about his waist.

“Come on, Uncle
Jack,” I urged as I tried to guide him to the parking lot.

He pulled away
from my arm. “Non, I’m not goin’ home. Too early to go home. I got things to
do. I should rewire some crab traps and run a new tow line, but….” He pointed
at Jean Marc. “He took that away from me.”

“You did it to
yourself, Jack,” Jean Marc insisted. “Once that hospital filed a report with
our health insurance company, you were screwed. The doctor at the hospital ran
a blood alcohol level on him.” He came up to my side. “When he ran the blood
tests to check his liver. The doctor made a diagnosis of chronic alcoholism on
the insurance report. Once it was filed, my insurance company called me and
told me I had no choice but to pull him from the boat, otherwise they would not
cover him for liability.” Jean Marc turned back to Jack and threw up his hands.
“There was nothing I could do. I even tried to get you coverage working dry
dock, at least around the boats, since you couldn’t be out hauling. But the
insurance company nixed that, as well.” Jean Marc placed his hands in the front
pockets of his black slacks. “I can’t hide the drinking anymore, Jack.”

I gave Jean Marc
a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you did all you could.”

“Don’t you take
his side,” Uncle Jack barked at me, and then without warning he fell back against
the shell-covered lot, passed out cold.

“Uncle Jack!” I
cried out as I ran to him.

Jean Marc picked
up my uncle like a sack of crawfish and slung him over his broad shoulder.
“I’ll put him in the back of my truck.”  

I followed him
to a red Ford pick up truck, newer than the others in the lot, but still old
compared to the standards of city folk. Jean Marc tenderly laid my uncle out in
his truck bed and covered him with an old blanket he had folded up in the back
of his cab.

“Follow me in
your car,” Jean Marc instructed. “We’ll get him home and put him to bed.”

As we drove out
of the parking lot, I watched his bright red taillights in front of my car and
thought about all that Jean Marc had said. Silently berating myself for not
stepping in sooner and curtailing my uncle’s drinking, at that moment I swore I
would take a more active roll in my uncle’s life, even if it meant spending
time away from John and my responsibilities in the city. When I began to
consider the hours away from my home and fiancé, I realized I didn’t feel
anxious or upset. I was relieved. And that feeling, more than my uncle’s guarded
health, disturbed me.

*     *     *

My uncle lived
in a two-bedroom cypress cottage next to a small bayou. His front yard was
filled with several imposing bald cypress trees and a vast collection of
painted ceramic animals. My Aunt Elise had decorated each of the ducks,
squirrels, rabbits, frogs, and turtles that lay scattered about the lawn. Her
artistry had not stopped there; Aunt Elise had also painted every color of the
rainbow on the exterior of her home. The little raised Cajun cottage resembled
something out of a child’s drawing. But even after so many years since her
death, the paint still looked fresh and vibrant thanks to my uncle’s loving care.

When the red pickup
truck stopped in front of the old porch, I jumped from my car and ran ahead to
open the front door for Jean Marc. Being from the city, I was surprised to find
the door unlocked, but I figured that was probably the way people were on the
bayou. Trust was a commodity still evident in small communities across rural
Louisiana. It was only the city folk, like me, who were jaded and disheartened by
the cruel acts of others.

“Thank you,” I
said after Jean Marc had carried my uncle to his bedroom and laid him out on
his old oak bed.

“You’re welcome.
I was worried about him,” he told me as he walked out of the bedroom with its
pink wallpaper and paintings of Jesus covering the walls.

I followed him
down a dark-paneled hall to the kitchen.

Jean Marc pulled
out a chair next to the pine breakfast table that filled the tiny yellow
kitchen. He sat down with a thud, looking as if all his energy had been
siphoned away. “One of my men told me he was at Merle’s,” he admitted.

I took the seat
across from him. “When did you find out about the insurance?”

“Wednesday
afternoon, after I got back in town from a business trip.”

I placed my
hands on the table before me. “You told him then?”

He rubbed his
face in his large hands. “I told him after he came in from trawling that day.
But he didn’t believe me. Not until he saw Teddy Breaux taking his boat out the
next morning.” Jean Marc paused and I could see his dark brown eyes were
distorted by anguish. “I’ve known your uncle all my life. He taught me how to rebuild
a boat engine, gut a catfish, even how to ask a girl out on a date. Telling him
he could not shrimp anymore was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

“I didn’t
realize you and my uncle were so close.”

Jean Marc
smiled, a warm and uplifting smile that muted the sadness in his eyes. “Jack
was always a second father to me. My dad was too busy with the business, and
when he wasn’t doing that, he was bailing Henri out of some mess.”

“I’m sorry. I’m
his niece. I should have been more involved, and then maybe I could have helped
him.”

Jean Marc
reached across the table for my hand. “Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t know.
You aren’t responsible for your uncle, Nora.”

“Then why are
you?” I questioned, feeling a sudden twinge of something strange as his strong
hand held mine.

“Your uncle has
been good to me.” He let go of my hand. “He’s been there for me and listened to
me.” He lowered his eyes to the worn surface of the old pine table. “I owe him
a debt.”

I shook my head.
“You owe him the debt of friendship. I owe him the debt of family.”

“‘It’s better to
owe a debt of love than blood,’ my grandfather used to always say. I never
realized what he meant until now.” He paused and the chill returned to his dark
eyes. “I can look after Jack here. You won’t have time to keep coming back and
forth.”

I stared at him,
a little taken aback by his comment. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Nora, you have
a great deal going on in your life. You have your wedding to plan and all the
changes your new life will bring.”

“Did Uncle Jack
tell you I was getting married?”

“He mentioned
you were going to marry a doctor.” He paused and once again his eyes changed
and a glint of warmth appeared in their darkness. “But he doesn’t believe
you’re in love with this guy.”

I sat back in my
chair, feeling slightly dumbfounded. “He said that?”

Jean Marc rose
from his chair. “Make sure you love the man you’re going to marry, Nora.
Otherwise, marriage can be a real bitch.”

I looked up into
his face. “You were married once, weren’t you?”

He nodded.
“Lasted less than a year. She was the daughter of a business associate I knew
in Dallas. It was wrong from the start.”

“Wrong?” I
asked, realizing how little I actually knew about the man.

He snapped his
fingers. “There was no spark, no passion between Cynthia and me. Love needs
passion to ignite. Without it you just have hormones.” He directed his
attention to the small clock on the far wall. “You’d better get back to the
city. It’s getting late. I’ll come back in a few hours and check on him. He’s much
more reasonable when he’s sober.” Jean Marc placed a reassuring hand on my
shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something for him to do at the crawfish farms
or, if need be, at the house.” He gave me an encouraging smile.

I stood from my
chair. “Thank you, Jean Marc. You’ve been a good friend to my uncle and I’m
very grateful.” And then, without thinking, I stood on my toes and gently
kissed his lips.

The electricity
that passed between us was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I could feel
my body throb with the touch of his lips against mine. But before I could pull
away, he threw his muscular arms about me and deepened his kiss. I could smell
his woody cologne mixed with the scent of the bayou out back. I could hear the
wild chirping of the birds in the trees along with the pounding of my heart.
All my senses came to life, and the effect made me slightly dizzy. John’s
kisses had never been like this.

I pulled away
first, overwhelmed by the frenzy of sensations raging within me.

He took a step
back from me. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, but the way the light reflected in his
eyes, I sensed he really wasn’t.

I smiled, trying
to appear unflustered. “Don’t worry about it.” I turned to go and grabbed on to
the back of the chair beside me to keep my knees from giving way.

“Nora?” Jean
Marc whispered.

I straightened
up and faced him. My stomach clenched as I took in his smug grin and the way he
was dissecting my features as if he were a detective interrogating a murder
suspect.

After several
agonizing seconds, he finally said, “Are you sure you want to marry that
doctor?”

I hastily
lowered my gaze to the old linoleum floor. “You don’t know John. We are a good
team and—”

But before I
could finish, he stormed out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard the gun
of an engine and the screech of tires on my uncle’s shell-covered drive.

I kicked the
little pine table next to me. “Damn it!”

I fought to
regain control over my emotions. I was engaged to another man, so how could I
possibly have feelings for a man I had always despised? I assured myself that I
was simply exhibiting some nerves over my impending marriage; at least, I hoped
that’s all it was. To consider any other reason was, quite simply, dangerous.

Chapter 8

I returned home
to find John preparing dinner in my kitchen. Standing next to my green
cabinets, he was holding a mixing bowl, and stirring what appeared to be
biscuit dough. He still had heavy dark circles under his eyes and was dressed in
only his scrub pants. The pale skin on his thin chest and lean shoulders looked
gray under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.

I eased up next
to him and tenderly kissed his rough cheek. “Tough night?”

“Knife and gun
club after ten every weekend at University. I had three gang fights. Four guys
with knife wounds, six with gunshots. Lost about half. But that wasn’t the
worst of it.”

I patted his
chest. “Damn drugs. Sorry it was so bad.” 

“I’m used to
it.” He put his bowl of dough down on the white-tiled counter. “But I will
never get used to the really weird stuff. Had a woman last night, about twenty,
who was involved in some bizarre cult thing. She was even wearing a long white
robe when she came in.” He picked up his blue coffee mug. “Her musculature
supporting both eyeballs had been cut away. Never seen anything like it. Looked
like a surgeon’s work. Left both eyeballs just hanging by the retina; no blood
and no blunt trauma to the head. Luckily, the woman was out of it…some drug
they gave her at whatever twisted ritual they performed.” He let a long sigh escape
his lips. “She’s on a ventilator now. Probably won’t survive the night. The
things people do to each other, and then we have to clean it up.” He took a sip
from his mug.