Acadian Waltz (20 page)

John leveled his
gray eyes on me. “You need to go home, Nora. We’ll talk later.”

Jean Marc came
up to my side. “Nora, I’d like you to stay.”

As my gaze
drifted from Jean Marc’s dazzling, dark eyes to John’s expressionless face, I
heard my mother’s voice in my head, begging me to make the right decision. But
what was the right decision? Did I listen to my heart or my head? Then I
recalled the thrill of dancing in Jean Marc’s arms, and my indecision rapidly
evaporated.

“I’ll stay, Jean
Marc,” I declared.

John gave me one
last outraged scowl and walked out of the emergency room waiting area. My eyes
followed his tall figure as he passed through a pair of electric glass doors
and disappeared into a sea of people dressed in green scrubs.

Somewhere in the
deepest reaches of my soul, I knew I had made an inalterable choice regarding
my future that night. I just didn’t realize at the time how monumental that
decision would turn out to be.

Chapter 16

Henri spent the
night in the intensive care unit, and on Saturday morning his eyes opened. Jean
Marc and I were waiting in the family lounge next to the ICU, along with Ms.
Marie and my Uncle Jack, when a short, fat neurologist in a dirty white coat
came to tell us the miracle had finally happened.

“Now he’s
awake,” the neurologist, a man called Binder, explained as he sat with the four
of us in a corner of the family lounge. “But his motor skills are not where they
should be,” Dr Binder confided as he sighed and lowered his eyes to the blue
carpet beneath his chair.

“What does that
mean?” Ms. Marie asked as she held on to Uncle Jack’s hand.

Dr. Binder
sighed again. “It means we may have a long haul before us. I think your son,
Mrs. Gaspard, may have some brain damage from the effects of the seizures. His
speech is very slow, and he has some right-sided weakness in his hand and foot
that may resolve with therapy. As of right now he remembers nothing about the night
of the incident.”

“Nothing at
all?” Jean Marc questioned.

“He doesn’t
remember what brought him to the hospital to begin with.” Dr. Binder went on.
“But he is aware of being in a hospital, and the year, and recalls a lot of
details about his life. That’s good news. It means most of his memory is
intact, which would just leave us the physical difficulties to deal with.”

Ms. Marie stared
at Dr. Binder. “When can my boy come home?”

“We will
transfer him out of the ICU tomorrow and start him on physical therapy to see
what kind of level we can get him up to,” Dr. Binder evasively responded. “But
your son will have to go home with special care, Mrs. Gaspard. There will be
therapy and nursing visits to help him get his strength back.” Dr. Binder
sighed yet again, a habit I was finding quite annoying. “But whether your son
will ever be as he was before the seizures, I cannot say. Only time will tell.”
He stood from his chair. “I wish I could be more hopeful, but we will just have
to wait and see.”

Jean Marc stood
up next to the physician and held out his hand to the short man. “Thank you,
Dr. Binder.”

After Dr. Binder
left, Jean Marc’s eyes went from me to his mother, who was still sitting in her
chair, holding on to Uncle Jack’s hand.

“Come on, Ms.
Marie,” I said, leaning over her. “I’ll take you back to my house so you can
rest.”

“Good idea,”
Jean Marc affirmed. “I’ll stay here and see if anything new develops.” Jean
Marc eyed Uncle Jack. “Why don’t you go, too, Jack? You look exhausted.”

Uncle Jack let
go of Ms. Marie’s hand and stood up next to Jean Marc. “Perhaps I’d best be
gettin’ back to Manchac, Jean Marc. Sounds like I’ll have things to do to get
ready for when Henri comes home.” He glanced over to Ms. Marie. “We’ll have to
move a bedroom downstairs, and make a wheelchair ramp for him.”

I watched my
uncle’s face as he went through a list of changes needed for Henri’s return
home. Then I remembered how Uncle Jack had nursed Aunt Elise through the last
two years of her life after her stroke. He knew better than Ms. Marie and Jean
Marc what was ahead for all of them.

“Jack, why don’t
you take Momma home to Manchac with you?” Jean Marc suggested. Ms. Marie opened
her mouth to protest, but Jean Marc stopped her. “Momma, there is nothing more
you can do here today. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

Ms. Marie stood
defiantly from her chair. “I must be with my son.”

Jean Marc’s eyes
pivoted to me, pleading for help.

I rested my hand
on her arm. “Ms. Marie, Jean Marc is right. Tomorrow when Henri is out of the
ICU and settled in his hospital room, you can visit with him. You should go
home with Uncle Jack and rest.”

“You need to
save up your strength, Marie,” Uncle Jack assured her. “When that boy comes
home, he’ll need lots of help. We should get ready for that.” He took her hand.
“You come home with me, and we’ll plan Henri a new bedroom in the small parlor
downstairs, close to the bathroom. You come help me get everythin’ ready, all
right?”

Ms. Marie slowly
nodded her head.

“Take care of
Jean Marc,” she whispered to me. “Don’t let him work himself into a state.”

After kissing
her son on the cheek, Ms. Marie took my uncle’s arm and left the family lounge.

“Thanks, Nora.”
Jean Marc turned to me. “She means well, but where my brother is concerned she
can see no wrong in him. I don’t want her around when I beat the living crap
out of him.” He shook his head. “What happens if it turns out he did hurt that
girl? What will Momma do if Henri is a murderer?”

“I can’t see
Henri killing anybody. John told me someone with the skills of a surgeon had
worked on that girl’s eyes. Henri is no surgeon.”

Jean Marc put
his hands in the front pockets of his blue suit pants. “Yeah, you’re right.” He
paused for a moment and grinned. “I never did apologize for beating up your
fiancé last night, did I?”

I smiled for
him. “No, but you’re forgiven. Considering the circumstances, I understand.”

“When I first
saw you in the ER, you looked so thin and pale. Then when John started letting
into you, I just lost it.” He rubbed the heavy, dark stubble across his chin.
“I guess I’m still that stringy fourteen-year-old boy chasing you all over the
docks.”

“You sure didn’t
fight like a stringy fourteen-year-old boy. Where did you learn to fight like
that?”

“Here and there.
I’ve seen my share of scrapes over the years.”

“Well, thanks
for sticking up for me.” I took in Jean Marc’s wrinkled white dress shirt,
tousled hair, and thick beard. “Look, it will be some time before Henri is
ready for visitors, so why don’t you come back to my place? You can shower and
I’ll cook us something to eat.”

“Nah, I should
stay.”

“Please, Jean
Marc.”

“Please?” He
raised one dark eyebrow to me.

“Please take a
shower.”

He chuckled.
“Are you telling me I smell?”

I grinned as I
reached for my purse. “What are friends for?”

He leaned over
and whispered, “You’re much more than a friend to me, Nora.”

My heart plunged
in my chest as I gripped my purse. “I know, Jean Marc, but I’m engaged to
John.”

“We both know
that won’t last.” He reached for his suit jacket on a nearby chair. “All right,
let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

*     *     *

An hour later,
Jean Marc was in the shower while I prepared eggs, bacon, and grits in my
kitchen. I puttered around, happy to be behaving so domestically for Jean Marc,
something I realized I had never really liked doing before with John.

“That smells
great,” a deep voice called from my bathroom down the hall.

“Ready in ten
minutes.”

I heard what
sounded like a key in my front door and then the thud of the heavy oak door
shutting. I placed my spatula down on the cooktop and went to the living room.

John was
standing by the table next to my front door, wearing his green scrubs and two
different beepers around his white coat lapel. He had a noticeable black bruise
under his left eye, and his lower lip was still slightly swollen.

“John!” I
exclaimed as I immediately thought of the man in my bathroom. “Why are you
here?”

He gave me a
quizzical look. “I thought I still called this place home, or has something
changed between us?” He deposited his keys on the table by the door.

“I just thought
after the fight last night….”

He came toward
me. “Yeah, about that. I was out of line. I should not have started a fight
with your friend.” He paused and removed his white coat. “I stopped in and saw
his brother in the ICU before I left. He’s looking better.”

“John, I need—”

Jean Marc came
out of the bathroom, dripping wet, barefoot, and dressed only in his blue suit
pants.

He walked into
the living room still toweling off his wet hair. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he said when
he saw John standing in my living room.

“What’s he doing
here?” John roared, throwing his white coat on my green couch.

“John, stop it.
He’s here getting a shower and some food.”

John’s gray eyes
turned to me. “In my house?”

I stomped my
foot on the floor. “It’s my house!”

“That’s just
great, Nora. Did you sleep with him, too?”

“No, John,” Jean
Marc protested as he came forward. “It’s not like that. I just needed a shower.
I’m here because of my brother, that’s all. When he goes back to Manchac, I’ll
be out of Nora’s hair.”

John’s body
relaxed, and then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know,” he grudgingly admitted. “I
guess I just didn’t expect to find you here like that.” He waved at Jean Marc’s
bare chest.

“I understand.”
Jean Marc turned to me. “I’ll go.”

I went to Jean
Marc’s side. “At least eat something before you go back to the hospital.”

“Yes,” John
agreed. “You don’t have to leave because of me.”

“Thanks.” Jean
Marc looked down at his half-naked body. “I’ll just finish dressing.” He
quickly departed the room.

“I thought we
might need to talk,” John clarified as soon as he saw Jean Marc leave the
living room.

I folded my arms
over my chest. “Maybe you need to apologize.”

He threw his hands
in the air. “For what?”

“For
over-reacting.” I proceeded down the hall to the kitchen.

“What was I
suppose to think, Nora?” John followed me into the kitchen. “I walk into the ER
waiting area and see you holding hands with the same man you went on and on
about to Father Delacroix. Then I find him here, half-naked, in your living
room.”

I went back to
the cooktop and picked up my spatula. “He’s my friend. Am I not allowed to have
any male friends once I become your wife?”

“No, you’re
not,” John affirmed as he stood by the breakfast table. “You’re going to be my
wife. What would you need to associate with another man for?”

I pointed the
spatula at him. “I never realized it until now, but you’re an asshole, John
Blessing.”

Jean Marc
entered the kitchen right at that moment. He had put on his white dress shirt
and black shoes. He glanced nervously from me to John. “Smells good,” he
commented as he clapped his hands together.

I motioned to
the breakfast table with the spatula. “Have a seat.”

Both Jean Marc
and John sat down at the same time, facing each other. I turned back to the
cooktop and began piling scrambled eggs, bacon, grits and toast on two plates.
After I had crammed each plate with food, I carried them to the table.

“Thank you,
Nora,” Jean Marc commented as I placed his plate before him.

“Yes, it looks great,
Nora.” John examined his plate. “Nora’s a great cook,” he enthusiastically
added.

Each man picked
up a fork and began eating. I stood by the table and watched the ballet unfold.
They filled their forks, and as they were about to place the utensils into
their mouths, they glared at each other.

“How’s the eye?”
Jean Marc inquired as he chewed on his eggs.

“Better,” John
replied. “You pack quite a punch.”

“You learn how
on the bayou, especially with a brother like Henri.” Jean Marc shrugged. “We
were always fighting.”

John picked up a
slice of toast. “What did Binder say?”

I relaxed,
somewhat confident that the two men were not going to lunge at each other from
across the breakfast table. I went back to the cooktop and picked up a piece of
bacon from the plate of leftovers.

“He says he’s
going to start him on physical therapy, and then we can take him home. But he
will need more care once he’s back in Manchac, nurses, and a therapist to help
him recover.” Jean Marc paused as he swallowed his eggs. “The police are still
waiting for the toxicology reports. In the meantime, I’ve called the family
attorney to handle things from a legal standpoint.”

“A lot of work
ahead for you and your family,” John remarked as he began to butter his toast.
“Nora knows some nurses. Maybe she can find someone to help with your brother.”

Jean Marc’s eyes
scrutinized John. Then for a split second I thought I saw something resembling
a smirk crawl across the man’s thin lips. “Actually, Nora has already
volunteered to come to Manchac and help with Henri after he’s discharged from
the hospital,” Jean Marc announced as he sat back from the table.

John almost
dropped his knife. “Has she?” His eyes immediately flew to me.

I put my bacon
down on the plate and wiped my fingers on a nearby towel. “I’m not sure yet
if—”

“But we have a
wedding to plan, Nora,” John cut in. “We have things to do here in New Orleans.
How can you spend all of your time in Manchac?”

“It’s only forty
minutes away,” Jean Marc argued.