The Vigil (2 page)

Carlton's coughing eased, allowing him to take shallow breaths.

I wanted to know more about this elusive man. Until today he'd asked for and said very little. Asking for a haircut seemed to move me up to a higher level of trust. Yet I shivered to think that he could be a person so cold as to chase away anyone who once loved him. Was I mistaken to think that beneath the crude exterior, a layer of compassion and depth wrapped his heart?

I refitted the prongs of the nasal cannula into his nostrils and wrapped the tubing around his ears. Tightening the adjustment ring beneath his chin, I took extra care to avoid snagging the hanging skin around his neck. A quick glance toward the dial on the concentrator showed his oxygen level at six liters per minute—more than enough to sustain life. But his lungs ruled. In their malfunctioning and diseased state, they resisted what the tubing offered.

I handed him the glass of water from the nightstand and guided the straw to his cracked lips. While he sipped, I collected the shavings of hair and threw them into the small can next to the bed.

I stared at the discarded curls.

“It's true, Sherri, so true. Death can come long before the body quits.”

I couldn't believe he had spoken the lengthy sentence. His words, driven by conviction, came from deep within. His violet eyes glistened making my heart swell. What had beaten the cancer cells to kill this man?

I started to remind him, for probably the fiftieth time, that my name was Cheryl, not Sherri, but didn't. It wasn't important. He'd mentioned the name several times during his drug-induced ranting. He seemed to derive some small measure of delight from saying the name, so I didn't press the issue. I didn't understand a lot about him. The sparseness of his home spoke volumes of the simple man, but I suspected there was more to Carlton than simplicity. The grimy dresser tops held no framed photographs. His walls were bare, with the exception of a calendar from a tool vendor, opened to February, three months and two years ago. Was that month and year significant in Mr. Perlouix's life?

Within an hour, I'd buzzed the remaining curls from his head with the clippers, leaving a quarter inch of hair, and then swept the bed and floor. With his shaking hand, he rubbed the top of his head, nodded, and smiled. A huge toothy smile. It warmth me. My time had been well spent.

When Darcy, my high school friend and the night-shift nurse appeared, Carlton had allowed the morphine to carry him to the place he seldom went, deep sleep.

“How'd he do today?” Darcy asked.

“Not bad. He let me give him a haircut.”

“Wow, that's an improvement. He looks a little better.”

As I gathered my things, Darcy reviewed the chart we kept on Carlton. I stopped on the way out the door and squeezed her shoulder. “Darcy, thanks again for recommending me for this job.”

“Hey, that's what old friends do.” She gave me a quick hug. “I'm just glad to have you back in town. Have a good night, hon. I'll see you in the morning.”

“You, too.” I glanced back toward Carlton. “He should sleep for a while.”

Part of me hated I couldn't tell him good night. What if he didn't wake up? But another part was happy he could rest. His mind surely needed a break from his haunting memories as well as the pain tormenting his body. Somehow talking about the war had triggered a change in him. His usual gruffness melted into a deeper melancholy I'd not seen before.

Today held many firsts.

The first time I'd seen him smile, the first time he'd asked me to do something out of the ordinary for him, and the first time he'd said anything about his past.

 

****

 

I steered my car along the winding road from Carlton's house. Mighty live oaks lined either side of the road. Their moss-filled branches provided shade to the small two-lane road leading to the one-lane bridge crossing the bayou. Its iron and wood moaned under the weight of my car.

What had Carlton's life been like? What had he been like as a younger man? A soldier. Had he been handsome? Brave? I merged into the late afternoon traffic of I-10 west headed home. What would he be like tomorrow? Each night driving home, his mysteries filled my thoughts.

I approached my exit, and switched lanes to accommodate the sharp ramp. I'd only been home two months and the familiar rushed back. My small town had scarcely changed, like so many South Louisiana communities.

Dread had followed me home, but I'd had little choice. I had to come back here to deal with the demons that had driven me away in the first place. Besides, I had to find a safe refuge. This was the place for both.

I liked the opportunity to get a place of my own in the hometown I'd abandoned thirteen years before. But was I coming home to freedom? Time would tell. Of course, it was better than moving in with my mother. We'd never survive living under the same roof. Dwelling in the same town was bad enough. She was my mother and I honored her, but that didn't mean I had to like her or agree with her. Then again, as much as I hated to admit it, I had become the very thing I detested in her.

I crossed the drawbridge, which carried me over Bijou Bayou and into the small community which I now called home again. The purple flowers of the full bloom hyacinths floating on the water danced with the cattails at the water's edge. All the things that made Bijou Bayou unique brought rushing memories of both the good and the bad of my childhood. Guess I couldn't embrace one and escape the other.

While I zipped into the parking lot of Marvin's IGA, I made a mental list of the items I needed for dinner.

Leaning on the grocery cart for support, I scanned the aisles. The day's events had sucked the last vestiges of my energy, more so than I'd realized. Seemed encroaching death had a way of doing that. I craved nothing more than to hurry home to a hot bath.

I picked up a bag of salad and examined the leaves for freshness.

“Cheryl? Is that you?”

That voice. The one that filled my heart during my younger years tickled my ears.

He
stood amidst a backdrop of fresh pineapples and mandarins, wearing navy slacks with a light blue oxford shirt, his paisley tie loosened and the first button opened.

A little paunchier than I remembered with his dark hair, shorter and thinner, but the dark electrifying eyes remained. And now, they beamed on me and zapped a hole right through me. Just like before. Just like I remembered. Just like I'd once loved.

“Beau...hello.” I kept my hands firmly planted on the plastic bag and prayed he wouldn't extend his. I couldn't touch his skin. Not with my clammy hands. Not ever. Heaven only knew what would happen to me if we touched. “How are you?”

He hesitated as though measuring his words before he spoke. “I-I-I'm good.”

Beau, the man I decided at seventeen was the love of my life stood before me, and now thirteen years later, I couldn't think of anything to say to him. He'd stayed in Bijou Bayou, married my friend, Annie Melancon, and last I'd heard, had a son.

“How's your family?” I reverted to the typical Louisiana questions.

He fingered the plastic flap of the cart's seat. “We're managing. You know Mama passed away last year. She and Daddy are finally together. Got a son, Steven, he's ten and growing up into a fine young man. And Annie…is still holding on.”

Holding on? What kind of response was that?

I paused. I'm sure confusion painted my face.

“You haven't heard?” He leaned onto the handle of the shopping cart.

“I don't think so.”

“Annie was in a car accident two years ago. She's in a long term care facility in Lafayette.” He squeezed his lips together and blinked a few times. “In a coma.”

“Oh.” I dropped the salad bag into my cart and paused, unable to find words. I ached for him and his son. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know.”

“You wouldn't have.”

“Any chance…?” I asked.

He shook his head, gazed at me, and then into his cart. The package of crawfish boudin sitting on top became the object of his focus. I hated that my question had initiated such a response. There had been nothing Beau Battice and I hadn't talked about and dreamed about. Now we stood in IGA with enough baggage between us to keep a therapist busy for years. And the worst part, we didn't have anything to say to each other.

I wanted to say the right words to take his pain away, to make up for the pain I'd caused him. He didn't deserve this hand dealt him.

He was a good man—the kind who would be your best friend as well as your husband. A man who'd bring you breakfast in bed and know exactly how to fix your coffee. The kind who would never strike a woman.

He looked up, his eyes drooping at the corners. “I heard you were back in town.”

“Yes. Been back a couple of weeks.” Seeing him stung like stepping on a box of thumbtacks. Each time our eyes met, a prick shot directly into my heart. His gentle eyes reminded me of the biggest mistake of my life. I couldn't look at him for any length of time for fear that he would see through my eyes and straight into my soul.

His lips twitched into a half smile and a touch of mischief twinkled in his eyes. “How does it feel to be back in…let's see…” He pointed his finger in the air, or was it at the carefully stacked mound of cantaloupes? “…Podunk Bayou Dullsville? I believe that's what you called it.”

Ouch, who said words couldn't hurt? Although I knew he was kidding, his words stung like a poison dart into my chest, real enough to take my breath away. I met the compassion in his warm eyes and smiled as best I could through the pain. I deserved this. And more. “Touché.”

He grinned—the sweet grin that had melted my heart more times than I could count. Today was no different. “Sorry,
Te',
I couldn't resist. You look good. I like the shorter haircut.”

Double ouch. The nickname I'd not heard since I'd left seared a path through my heart. My lips curled despite the bittersweet emotion. The nickname stirred something long dead and brought back the familiar stirrings of youth, eternal hope, and invincibility. Funny he should comment on my hair. He'd loved my long curly locks.

“You're forgiven.”

He shuffled toward the Red Delicious apples. “Well, I guess I'd better get going. Steven has a baseball game tonight. Playing at Toucoin's Park. You should come out sometime.”

Dare I ever set foot at Toucoin's Park again? “Maybe.”

“It's been good seeing you.” He patted my shoulder with an awkward tap.

“Same here.” Dare I return his touch? It had been good to see him, more than he would know. But I hoped I wouldn't run into him again. Seeing him brought back a rush of emotions I'd spent years running from. Could he easily capture my heart again if things were different? Who knew? But they weren't. I ran from a past of shame and fear while he was committed to a wife who could never love him or watch her son play baseball at Toucoin's Park. I saw no reason to flirt with the danger that seeing him again would bring. Especially seeing him at Toucoin's Park.

 

 

 

 

Trois

 

“Well, hello, Mister Bojangles.” My new friend ran circles at my feet. The fifteen-pound Schnauzer barked his delight that I'd returned to bow to his every wish. I led him toward the laundry room and his leash.

I loved coming to my home here in Bijou Bayou. I'd grown to hate going home to the apartment in Houston. There I knew Jarrod would either be calling or coming by soon. At first, I welcomed his presence, but then my blood ran cold at the thought of a visit or call from him. Why had I not seen the selfish, insecure man he was from the very beginning?

“Cheryl, are you home?” My grandma's scratchy voice filtered through the screened door behind me.

“Hello, Mawmaw.” I attached the leash to Mister Bojangles and led him through the screened door. “Are you out for your afternoon walk?” I'd rented the shotgun style house two blocks north of Mawmaw's and enjoyed her daily visits.

“I am. It's finally cooled down a bit, and I need all the exercise I can get. These old bones get awfully tired sitting around. Care to come over for suppa? I made stuffed crabs and black eye peas.”

My stomach growled in response, but I was determined to shed a few pounds and resigned myself to the salad I'd picked up at the IGA. “I'll pass this time.”

“What's wrong?” She cocked her head to the side. “Is it that no-good ex-boyfriend?”

I shook my head. “No. I haven't heard from him.” Mr. Bojangles tugged on the leash.

“Had a bad day with your patient today?”

I led my pooch off the porch and into the front yard. “No, it was better than usual. He actually smiled today.”

Mawmaw stood at the porch railing. “Sure wish you'd tell me who he is.”

“Sorry, you know the rules. I can't tell.”

“I know. I know. Privacy thing and all that malarkey.” She flapped her hand in her unique way of dismissing anything she didn't like.

I heard this same thing from my mama a few days ago. Both my mother and grandmother were curious to know the identity of my new patient. I'm still amazed that in such a small town as Bijou Bayou, they hadn't heard. But then again, Mr. Perlouix did live in a neighboring town and from what I gathered from Darcy, he'd only been back a few months. I never imagined thirty miles could help keep his privacy.

My short gray-haired-ball-of-fire grandma walked down the steps toward me. Her face contorted into an overabundance of creases. She placed her soft, wrinkled hand on my arm. “Be strong, Cheryl. Don't let a man lay a hand on you again, OK? Understand? Never.” She squeezed my arm.

I nodded and followed her attention to a spot on the yard where the grass was a lighter circle of green, thanks to Mr. Bojangles.