Sweetheart Reunion

Julien unloaded his catch of the day at the back of the Fleur Bakery, his eyes ever wary but hopeful for the sight of Alma. Wary because he knew she didn’t like having him around. Hopeful because he liked seeing her around.

Couldn’t be helped, either way, since they did business together. He occasionally provided fresh seafood to her restaurant and she cooked it up into some of the best around. And tonight, he had a few hundred pounds of fresh crawfish from the small farm he worked during the season. It looked to be a good year, even after all the heartache of storms and oil spills.

Julien loved springtime the best. It was a time of renewal and hope, a time when he remembered being young and carefree and in love. Fish jumping, fresh vegetables and fruit growing, swimming holes open and flowing, and long ago, Alma in his arms dancing at the annual spring festival. Lately, however, he didn’t seem to enjoy dancing the way he had when he was young and carefree. Nothing was the same without Alma, anyway.

Why had he waited so long to see that, to admit that?

The poet in him wanted to be young and carefree again, wanted that innocence of a first kiss, that newborn hope of a first dance.

He wanted what he’d had with Alma. That realization had hit him like a gale force wind the day they’d buried his daddy last fall. But it had taken him all winter to figure it all out.

The pragmatic side in him knew to quit dreaming and get on with the here and now. His late father’s birthday was coming up in a few days. That reminder made Julien less carefree and more somber. That and the fact that his baby brother, Pierre, twenty-one and on a path of self-destruction, needed Julien to be a better role model. No revelation there.

But Julien had managed a few epiphanies lately. He believed in signs, little hints from the Almighty. He didn’t have to be hit on the head to get it through his noggin that something in his life needed to change.

Alma walked out the back door, and both of those conflicting sides of him merged into a hopeful regret. Or maybe a regretful hope. Technically, they’d broken up in high school but Julien had never let go. Besides, they couldn’t avoid each other in such a small town. So they’d learned to be polite to each other, and over the years that politeness had aged into a patina of respect and appreciation, along with a rub of regret. He’d always been conflicted around Alma. Now he wanted to start over, all new and improved, and he wanted to win her back.

He smiled up at her now, determined not to show that conflict. Alma could sense turmoil the way an old-timer could predict a storm coming in off the gulf. She had that ability.

“Look, Alma. Got you some big, juicy bugs here.” He watched as his grumpy younger brother finished carrying the heavy bags full of still live crawfish into the storage area. Shooting Pierre a hard glance, Julien added, “Gonna be a good night on the bayou.”

Alma stood with her hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a pirate queen about to make a man walk the plank. “I reckon those will do just fine. Thank you, Julien.”

“Thanks back to you and I’ll take my check now.” He handed her a receipt, grinning to stop the pain edging through his heart. “You look tired, chère. Long day?”

Alma glanced away, irritation marring her pretty face. “It’s always a long day around here.”

Julien leaned one booted foot up onto the steps. “You work too much. You need to take some time away.”

“Since when are you so worried about my work schedule?”

Since he’d had an epiphany or two. But he couldn’t explain that to Alma. She worried about his lack of faith. She’d have him by the ear and through the church doors before he could say “Praise the Lord and pass the salt.”

So he said, “Since I’ve seen you in this place mostly every day and night for as long as I can remember.”

She fussed with checking his haul. “I get days off every week.”

“Oui, and you spend them mostly right here.”

“How do you know what I do?” Alma asked, her deep-blue eyes crashing like an angry ocean.

“I see you most every day so it’s kinda hard to miss,” Julien replied, the smile gone out of his words. “I worry for you.”

“Don’t,” she said, tossing hair away from her face. “Just get your load finished so I can get back to my customers.”

Something inside of Julien snapped. He’d had a long, hard day, too, and too long of a time thinking about her. And he was proud of his catch. He wanted Alma to be proud of him. Or maybe he just needed Alma to see him, really see him, again. She thought he was heartless, without a soul. But she’d never know how he prayed in the long, silent nights of longing for things he might not ever have. He’d prayed all right. He had faith. He just wasn’t one to go shouting it to the world.

“I think you should get away from this kitchen and your customers for a while.”

“I have work to do, Julien, so stop thinking and get back to unloading.”

“All done.” He hopped over the last two steps then said something to his brother in French. Pierre rolled his eyes but nodded then went back to the truck and cranked it.

“Your brother is leaving you,” Alma pointed out, nodding toward the roaring pickup.

“I told him to go on home,” Julien said, taking her by the hand. Then he turned to the window into the kitchen. “Miss Alma is taking a little break. Winnie, you can keep everyone happy for a while, can’t you?”

Winnie grinned into the window, her brown bangs flipped over the crinkles in her eyes. “Oui! Take your time.”

Alma pulled away. “Since when do you go ordering my staff around, Julien LeBlanc?”

He grabbed her hand and held tight. “Since you look like you’re about to fall out. Since you need to rest but you won’t do it. Since…just now when I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Alma held back, glancing through the window to frown at the still grinning Winnie. “I don’t have time for your foolishness. I have people—”

“Who can cook and clean and smile at other people while you take a walk with me along the bayou. Five minutes, Alma. That’s all I ask.”

* * *

Alma stared down at his hand in hers, wondering why his big, tanned fingers seemed to fit so closely to her own work-worn hands. And wondering why she just wanted to sit down and have a nice little cry. Why did she feel as if she’d missed out on something important?

Pushing that idea aside, she tried once again to pull away. “Julien, I’m fine. I can’t go for a walk during suppertime.”

He didn’t let go. “Yes, you can. C’mon. It’s a nice evening.”

She couldn’t argue with that. A cool spring breeze played through the bald cypress trees lining the banks, the gray-beard moss swaying against the branches like old lace falling against leather. A flock of brown pelicans flew by, the symmetry of their wings lifted high up in the sky in perfect formation over the water. The sight was as natural to her way of life as breathing. Scenes such as this normally brought her a certain calm. But with Julien nearby, her heart spurted like a burned-out boat motor.

Sighing, Alma followed Julien down the steps in spite of the need for self-control shouting in her head. “Five minutes, then I have to get back. I’ve got pies to bake tonight and bread to mix for the morning rush.”

He nodded and held her hand tight to his. “I won’t take you far.”

Oh, but he would, she knew. He could, if she let him. Julien was a ladies’ man, handsome and playful and larger than life. A man who danced with the girls at the fais-do-do. A man who charmed women with just a wink and a smile. He could take her to places she’d stopped dreaming about going. He could also break her heart again.

But Alma had enough heartbreak already to last her a long, long time. She wouldn’t add falling for Julien LeBlanc to that list. Not a second time, anyway.

“It is a nice night,” she said, just to test her voice to see if she could speak. The sweet scent of honeysuckle tickled her nose.

“It is at that.”

He glanced over at her while they strolled along the worn dirt path beside what they called Bayou Petite. It was just a small tributary shooting out of the big open canal that ran along the main road in Fleur. Big Fleur Bayou, that one was called. The town had been built around Big Fleur.

“So you had a productive day?” she asked, simply because being silent made her think way too much about him. And wonder why today of all days, she’d let him get to her.

Maybe because, today of all days, he’d actually made the effort.

“We did. Crawfish season is wide open but prices might be steep. And this year’s spring shrimp season has to be better than last fall.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m ready. More than ready.”

Alma pushed aside a low cypress branch, the greening of the tree shining in the dusk like fireflies. “It’ll soon be time for the spring festival.”