Part 24 (1/2)
Simon sucked at his bottom lip. He probably shouldn't have said something that Julian could see right through. G.o.d knows, and Julian did too, it wasn't just a piece of land. More like a piece of his heart, his daddy Jacob's heart and soul. He wanted to reach out to Julian, wipe away the film of sadness that veiled those young eyes, but he was never too good at comforting. That had been Ladeena's job. It was always Ladeena who'd kissed the bruised knee, the wounded elbow, rubbed salve on the congested chest. Made life's bogeymen disappear. He only knew how to do what men like him did best; offer distraction from whatever the problem was.
”Good to see Velmyra again. She sure is a nice young lady.”
”She was trying to help us-me and Kevin-get the land back.”
”Umm, hmm, well, that sure was nice.” Simon looked down at the skillet, stirred at the vegetables with the knife. ”Son, as long as you're standing there, reach into that drawer and hand me that mixing spoon.”
Julian opened the drawer and found the wooden spoon. But when he pulled it from the drawer, something fell onto the floor. He reached down and picked up a leatherbound journal, frayed and weathered with age.
Simon looked up from the pot. ”Oh, that's Auntie Maree's cookbook. She wrote all the recipes down she made up. Said one day she'd publish it, but she never did.”
Julian held it in his hands and tried to open it, but the crinkled pages were stuck together.
”It's so old, lots of secrets in that book. It first belonged to Claudinette, then she gave it to Liza, and Liza gave it to Maree. I can't read a word of Claudinette's writing. Some of it's in French-that's what Claudinette spoke. She was your...let me see...”
”My great-great-grandmother. John Michel's wife.”
Another shock. He'd not talked to him about Claudinette since he was a child, since he could still get him to listen to the family tales.
When he got the middle pages separated, Julian ran his fingers over the wrinkled sheets of linen, considering the old woman's script-written half in French and half in English, wondering just how many times Claudinette had stood in the very spot where he was standing. Wondering what was on her mind when she wrote the page before him. Thinking about all the generations of Fortiers in this kitchen between that day and this one. He put the book back into the drawer.
”Anything I can do to help?”
Simon looked up. ”Yes. You can stop your moping, boy. This ain't the end of the world, and I'ma tell you, things got a way of turning out the way they should. Why don't you go out there and talk to that pretty young lady?” He winked at him. ”Awful nice of her to come, but only a fool would think she only came here to see me.”
Julian went back to the porch where Genevieve, Pastor Jackson, Sylvia and Kevin sat talking and drinking iced tea spiked with Genevieve's white lightning.
”Join us?” Sylvia pointed to an empty rocker next to her.
”In a little bit. Where's Vel?”
Sylvia pointed around the side of the cabin, and he found her, sitting crosslegged on the gra.s.s, sketchbook in her lap, a piece of charcoal in hand, drawing the huge live oaks in the yard.
”Hey.”
”Hey.”
”Daddy kicked me out of the kitchen. He sent me out here to talk to you.”
She smiled, and looked up from the sketch, a teasing light in her eyes. ”Anything in particular he tell you to say?”
Julian looked back toward the house. ”Uh, let me go and find out. I'll be right back.”
She laughed, her eyes catching the play of afternoon light from the sun.
”Listen,” he said. ”That painting. The alb.u.m cover? Wow. Thank you.”
Her eyes widened. ”You like it?”
”Like's the wrong word. More like 'humbled' by it. I'd forgotten how good you were.”
She patted the ground next to her.
”Come. Sit.”
He sat facing her, his knees bent and his arms around them.
She tilted her head, squinted from the light. ”So when did you find out your father was going to be here?”
”When I drove up and saw him sitting on the porch.”
”You mean you didn't know, and you just happened to show up on the day he arrived?”
”Exactly. Crazy coincidence.”
Velmyra smiled, nodded. ”Well, you know I don't believe in coincidence. Synchronicity, maybe. Like twins who know what the other is feeling, or parents who know when one of their children is in trouble.”
”Yeah, maybe so.”
She looked up as a cloud pa.s.sed over the sun, fading the shade on the ground and deepening the color of the leaves of the nearby pecans. ”It's so amazing, this place. I just wish there was something we could do.”
He looked across the road as a red-tailed hawk left its perch on the pine tree and flew toward the creek.
”Sylvia told me something the other day after you left. Something about how hard it is to live your life without regrets. Well, for me, they've been stacking up lately.”
”Don't be too hard on yourself.”
He looked toward the porch, the rockers moving in disparate rhythms, the air so quiet he could hear the creak of wood and the clink of ice tea gla.s.ses from where he sat.
”I regret not seeing this place earlier, for what it is, what it means.” He turned to look at her. ”And I regret what happened between us. You were right, about a lot of stuff, really. I couldn't see it then. I'm sorry for that.”
Velmyra closed her sketchpad and placed it on the ground next to her.
”Julian, I want to tell you something. You wondered why I got married so soon.”
He blinked. ”You don't have to tell me that.”
”No. I want to.”
He shrugged, frowned. ”OK. Tell me.”
She halted, looking away, her eyes searching the sky as if cues were written in the clouds. She leaned over and touched her forehead with her hand. ”Something happened, something that would have stopped you in your tracks. After it happened, I think I had to prove to myself that I wouldn't do just anything to make you stay.”
He looked puzzled. ”What do you mean?”
She let out a deep sigh. ”Something happened.”
She stared at him narrowing her eyes long and hard, long enough for the tears to form, and for the meaning of her words, spoken and not, to settle into his mind.