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"As I said," he continued, "don't think I was
checking up on you. You don't owe me any
explanations, Ruby," he added quickly.
Over the cypress trees that walled the swamps,
I saw a marsh hawk lift itself and float downward,
probably to pluck some unwary prey. It caused a half
dozen rice birds to scatter. Beyond the trees, a ceiling
of bruised clouds made its slow but determined journey in our direction, promising torrents of rain before the day ended. I felt a cloud burst within me, releasing drops of ice over my heart. They streamed down into my stomach and into my legs, filling me
with a cold numbness.
"I wasn't in the hotel, Paul," I said slowly. "I
was with Beau."
I turned quickly to catch the confirmation in his
face. He was caught in a tug-of-war of emotions. He
had known, but I knew he didn't want to know; and
yet he did. He wanted to face reality, but he was
hoping it wasn't the reality he dreaded. Pain flashed in
his eyes. I shrank into a tighter ball.
"How could you do that? How could you be
with that man after the way he deserted you?" "Paul. . ."
"No, I'd like to know. Don't you have any selfrespect? He left you to have his baby while he went
off and enjoyed Paris and who knows how many
Frenchwomen. Then he married your sister and
inherited half your wealth. Now you go running back
to him, sneaking in the night."
"Paul, I didn't mean to be deceitful. Really . . ." He turned quickly to me. "That was your real
purpose for going to New Orleans, wasn't it? It wasn't the paintings, your art career. It was to run to his arms
again. Have you planned other sneaky rendezvous?" "I was going to tell you," I said. "Eventually." "Sure," he said. He sat back and pulled up his
shoulders. "What have you two decided to do?" "Decided to do?"
"Is he going to divorce Gisselle?"
"No such proposal was discussed," I said.
