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enjoying every moment of my disaster. Before him on
the table was a mug of steaming Cajun coffee and a
bowl of gumbo.
"Our unexpected swim has made me
ravenously hungry," he explained. "And I am glad of
that because this is absolutely the most delicious
shrimp gumbo I've ever eaten. So you see . . . at the
end of every storm, there is some sort of rainbow." I started to smile, but Mama raised her
eyebrows.
"Sit down," she directed, "and get some
nourishment in your stomach, too. Honestly, Gabriel,
how could you take Monsieur Dumas into the swamp
to show him a pond filled with alligators and snapping
turtles and snakes and then be so careless as to fall out
of your canoe?"
"I didn't take him to any pond filled with
alligators, Mama."
Pierre's smile widened. Just as I sat, we heard a
car horn. "Customers," Mama said.
"I'll get my own gumbo, Mama. Thank you." She gave us a once-over, her eyes filled with
suspicion and reprimand, before hurrying out to the
stand.
"Your mother's wonderful," Pierre said. "The
sort of woman who takes command. I was afraid to
say no to anything."
"When you leave, she will bawl me out for
endangering a rich gentleman from New Orleans," I
told him, and dipped into the black cast-iron pot to
ladle out some gumbo for myself. I, too, was suddenly
starving.
