Bayou Sweetheart

“What I heard is I’ll be let go.”

Callie listened to the whispers of conversations going on around her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Tomas Delacorte had come here with a purpose, all right. But she hadn’t quite decided if his intentions were good or bad.

Or maybe a little of both. In a voice as smooth as French roast coffee and as commanding as a sea captain, he’d announced that the Fleur Shipyard would be shut down indefinitely in one month. Then after the chaos had finally turned to shocked disbelief, he’d also announced that he would merge the Fleur Shipyard with two others he’d recently acquired, to form Delacorte Shipbuilding and Repair, LLC. This would become a full-service industry with new state-of-the-art technology and the ability to build supply vessels and research vessels and to obtain naval contracts, all backed by a vessel repair service that would be the best in the country. This would be good for the state of Louisiana and especially for Fleur and several other small towns along the Gulf.

That was the press-release, polished version.

Callie wanted the truth, from him.

Brenna poked Callie in the ribs. “What do you think?”

Alma had hopped up to talk to Julien, but Brenna remained beside Callie. Callie glanced around. “I don’t know what to think. Papa’s not smiling.”

“Papa rarely smiles.”

“Tomas is not smiling, either.”

“He never smiles.”

But Callie had seen him smile, kind of. Now he simply sat back and let the discussion continue until it had reached fever pitch. The meeting was over now, after several shouted questions, after mass panic, after reassurances by both Nick and Tomas and after each council member had given it either a blessing or a nay.

“He could have given us this information in a more gradual way,” Alma said as she sank back down beside Callie. “I think the old shipyard could use some improvements but I don’t know. Steel. This is all about steel. I guess it’s a good thing.”

“And industry,” Callie finally said. “He’s bringing new industry to our area. He did tell me that, in a word.”

“Only no one wants things to change,” Alma replied. “We want the old shipyard. The workers want that one to stay open and running even if it’s on its last legs.”

“They should want this,” Brenna retorted. “A new shipyard is a big change, and if what Tomas told us is true, it could mean jobs, lots of jobs.”

“But he also said he might have to let a lot of workers go before he can put his plan into motion,” Alma replied. “What will happen to them?”

Brenna lowered her voice. “Some of them are near retirement anyway. He’s going to buy them out. He’s going to bring in more qualified, more educated, skilled craftsmen. Or at least that’s what he just told us.”

“Did you know all of this?” Callie asked Brenna.

“No.” Her sister shifted on her chair. “I knew he was coming here to do a buyout, but Nick had to be careful about what he said. He’s not actually involved in the buyout. He’s only involved in building and renovating offices. He’ll hire locals for that, at least.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Alma said. “A very bad feeling.”

Callie didn’t know what to say. Did Tomas Delacorte have good intentions? Or was there some other motive for his actions? How long would he leave this town hanging on his promises?

“Surely he has some heavy-duty investors,” she said. “I mean, shipyards don’t come cheap. You can’t just roll into town and say ‘I’d like one shipyard, please.’”

“Or two or three.” Brenna nodded. “He has investors, yes. Big-shot investors. But he’s also a very wealthy man.”

“How did he get that way?”

“I’m not sure. Oil and gas, naval contracts, lots of industry.”

“Industry.” Callie said the word once again. “He wasn’t lying about that.”

“He’s not lying about anything,” Brenna replied. “He’s a businessman. I don’t think he’s out to do us harm.”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Callie finally said. “It’s a done deal. The council approved it even if it was just symbolic. This is more of a state thing—approval, permits, logistics. But they seemed to think eventually this will be a good thing.”

Brenna glanced behind them. “Yes, but barely. I thought Mrs. Laborde was going to keel over.”

“She’s a widow who lives on her husband’s pension, and that’s very little as it is.” Alma crossed her arms and stared at the now-empty council chairs. “I don’t know. A lot of new jobs will bring a lot of new people to town. The Fleur Café will be busy. We might have to hire more people ourselves.”

“That’s the right attitude,” Brenna replied. “Think positive.”

Callie got up and lifted her shoulder bag onto her arm. “I’m going home.”

Her sisters stood, too. “Are you all right?” Alma asked.

“I’m fine. New people will mean new homes, and they’ll need someone to help with landscaping and plants and trees and bushes and, you know, I’m an industry. I mean, I run an industry myself. Small scale but...”

“You are a smart businesswoman,” Brenna said, latching on to the few good notes in the symphony of fear moving through the room. “This will work out fine. Nick wouldn’t work for a man who intended to shut this town down.”

Callie walked with her sisters to the door. Outside, the night was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. The wind played against the old oaks while all sorts of scenarios played out inside her head.

She headed to her battered red pickup truck and stood, digging her keys out of her purse. She wanted to get home and into her pajamas and into her bed. She needed to think, to pray. To sleep.

“Callie?”

She closed her eyes and stilled.

Tomas.

“Yes?” She didn’t dare turn around.

But she didn’t have to. He was there beside her, urging her around. “You left without saying good-night.”

“Good night.” She couldn’t look at him.

Tomas leaned down so she was forced to face him. “You’re not too happy about this, are you?”

Finally, she glanced up and into his unreadable eyes. “No. You’re shutting down the shipyard with a vague promise of opening it back up. We’ve heard that kind of vague promise before. It never is good. We need a solid assurance. We need jobs.”

He leaned a hand against her car, trapping her too close. “I have my reasons.”

“And those reasons are?”

“It’s time for a change. I think I can make that change.”

“It’s you taking over and telling us that we no longer matter,” she blurted. “You gave a good spiel and you made a lot of promises, but—”

“I’m not taking over anyone. I don’t want to own this town. I don’t need this town.”