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Why didn't you just do what Daphne wanted and get rid of the baby? Look at what you gave up.
Your darling twin sister,
Gisselle
"Bad news?' Paul asked when I lay down the letter and sat back. Tears filled my eyes, but I smiled.
"You know how my sister is always trying to hurt me," I said through my tears.
"Ruby. . ."
"She makes things up; she just sits around and thinks . What would hurt Ruby the most? And then she writes it in the letter. That's all. That's what she's doing. That's all."
My tears flowed faster. Paul rushed to me and embraced me.
"Oh Ruby, my Ruby, don't cry. Please."
"It's all right," I said, catching my breath. "I'll be all right."
"She wrote something about him, didn't she?" Paul asked perceptively. I nodded. "It may not be a lie, Ruby."
"I know."
"I'm still here for you."
I looked up at him and saw that his face was full of love and sympathy for me. I probably wouldn't ever find anyone as devoted, but I couldn't agree to the arrangement he was proposing. It wouldn't be fair to him.
"I'll be fine. Thanks, Paul," I said, wiping away my tears. "A young woman like you, alone here and pregnant," he muttered. "It worries me."
"You know everything's been fine," I said. He had taken me to see the doctor twice, which only added to the rumor that my child was his. In our small community, it didn't take long for people to find out the news, but he didn't care, even after I had told him what Grandmere Catherine's friends believed.
During the last half of my seventh month and the first half of my eighth, Paul was at my house every day, sometimes appearing more than once. It wasn't really until the eighth month that I started to grow real big and carry low. I never complained to him, but a couple of mornings he came upon me without my realizing he was present and he caught me moaning and groaning, my hands on my lower back. By this time I felt like a- duck, because I waddled when I walked.
When the doctor told me he couldn't be exactly sure when I would give birth but that it would be sometime within the next week or so, Paul decided he would spend every night with me. I could always reach him or someone else during the day, but he was afraid of what could happen at night.
Early one afternoon at the beginning of my ninth month, Paul arrived, his face flushed with excitement.
"Everyone's saying we're going to be hit with a hurricane," he declared. "I want you to come to my house."
"Oh no, Paul. I can't do that."
"It's not safe here," he declared. "Look at the sky." He pointed to the dull red sunset caused by a thin haze of clouds. "You can practically smell it," he added. The air had become hot and sticky, and the little breeze we had had all day had all but died.
But I couldn't go to his house and be with his family. I was too ashamed and afraid of his father's and his mother's eyes.
Surely they resented me for returning and creating all these rumors.
"I'll be all right here," I said. "We've been here for storms before."
"You're as stubborn as your grandpere," Paul said. He was angry with me, but I wouldn't budge. Instead, I went in and prepared some dinner for us. Paul went into his car to listen to the radio. The weathermen were making dire predictions. He came into the house and started to button down whatever he could. I set out two bowls of gumbo, but the moment we sat down, the wind began to howl something fierce. Paul looked out the rear of the house toward the canals and groaned. A dark storm cloud had appeared quickly, and the torrential rains could be seen approaching.
"Here she comes," he announced. After what seemed like only seconds later, the rain and the wind hit. Water poured down the roof and found every crack in the building. The wind lashed at the loose boards. We heard things lifted and thrown, some of them bashing against the house, slamming so hard i tto the walls we thought they would come clear through. I screamed and retreated to the living room, where I cowered on the sofa. Paul rushed about, closing up and tying down whatever openings he could, but the wind threaded itself right through the house, blowing things off shelves and counters and even turning over a chair. I thought the tin roof would lift away and in moments we would be exposed to the jaws of this raging storm.
"We should have left!" Paul cried. I was sobbing and holding myself. Paul gave up trying to tie anything down and came over to embrace me. We sat beside each other, holding each other and listening to the howling, thundering wind tear trees from their roots.
Suddenly, just as quickly as it had started, the storm stopped. A deadly calm fell over the bayou. The darkness lifted. I caught my breath and Paul got up to survey the damage. We both gazed out the window and shook our heads in shock at the sight of the trees that had been split. The world looked topsy-turvy.
And then Paul's eyes widened when the little patch of blue above us started to disappear.
