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We checked my old nursery, even the closets, checked the guest rooms, Uncle Paul's room and Mommy's. There was no sign of her.
"Where could she be in such a storm?" I mused aloud.
"Maybe she's with someone she didn't talk about much. Maybe she found an old shack and camped out in it, or maybe she went to a motel. There's nothing much you can do tonight, Pearl, with the phones out and the roads closed here and there. Might as well relax as best you can."
"I suppose you're right," I said. I sighed and realized my throat was dry and my tongue felt like a slab of granite. "I'm very thirsty."
"I brought water and some homemade blueberry wine," he said, leading me back to the stairway. "Dinner will be last night's leftovers, but I made it myself."
I laughed at the pride he took in his cooking. "And what did you make last night?"
"A batch of poached blackfish. Bart and Lefty were supposed to eat with me, but they went to a faisdodo and an all-you-can-eat crawfish party," he said as we descended the stairs.
"Why didn't you go with them?"
"Wasn't in the mood," he said.
"Don't you have a girl, Jack?" I asked. I couldn't see his face when he turned to me, but I suspected that he was smiling.
"I've had a few girlfriends, but no one serious."
"Why not?"
"That's just it," he said, "no one's serious. Most of the girls I've met are . . ."
"What?" I asked, intrigued.
"Airheads," he said, and I laughed.
"Bart says a woman doesn't need much in her head to get by with a man, but that's not the kind of woman I want," he continued.
We returned to the dining room, where he set down the lantern and began to unpack the carton. Everything was neatly wrapped in tinfoil. He poured me a glass of water.
"Thank you, Jack." The water was cold and very refreshing. I drank it quickly.
"More?"
"Not right now, thanks," I said. In the glow of the lantern, his face looked shiny but soft, and his eyes twinkled. "What kind of a woman do you want, Jack?"
"Someone who can talk to me about important things, a companion, not just a. . ."
"Just a what?"
"Just a woman," he replied, turning back to his carton. "I brought a little Sterno stove to warm up the sauce. My grandmere's recipe: three cups of homemade mayonnaise, six drops of Tabasco, four tablespoons of lemon juice, one-half cup of capers, one teaspoon of caper liquid, and two tablespoons of dry mustard."
"Sounds wonderful. I'm not much of a cook, I'm afraid. We have a cook at home, had a cook all my life." He didn't say anything. "Do you think I'm a spoiled rich girl, Jack?"
"You don't seem spoiled," he said. "I've net spoiled girls, spoiled airheads." He gazed at me and shook his head. "You're not like any of them."
"Thanks. Can I do anything?"
"You can. Here," he said taking out a tablecloth, napkins, and silverware. "Set the table."
"Yes, sir," I said.
Jack found a serving table on wheels and used it to prepare our food. He produced two light blue candles and candle holders. After placing them at the center of the table, he lit them. They didn't add that much light, but it was a warmer glow. I s
et out the plates and the glasses, and Jack took out his homemade wine.
