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“You know, bro, your accent is thick enough,” Justin said. “You don’t need to fake it.Meilleure chance la prochaine fois fils.”
“What does that mean?” Maggie asked
“Better luck next time, son, in Cajun French.”
They teased each other unmercifully about the difference in their voices. Justin was born and raised in the Bayou and said he had a hick’s accent, and Chris was born in upper middle-class Di Grado, a neighborhood in Mobile that was more refined. The men talked in low tones while Maggie pulled Annie aside.
“This is getting on my nerves,” Maggie whispered. “I know you’re keeping something from me. Call me tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I have a lot to tell you. He’s talking about his boys coming to live with him!”
“Okay, you need to nip that in the bud. You’re just starting out with the guy and having two college kids living with you might put a crimp on your intimacy.”
“I didn’t even think of that. I was more worried about the amount of work they’d make for me.”
“Okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.” She let go of Annie’s arm and turned to her husband. “Justin, let’s get going. My mother just texted to say Tina is still up.”
“Good. She’ll sleep in tomorrow.”
“No, she won’t and she’ll be a bitch.”
The women hugged and walked to the trucks while the men continued to joke around.
“Maybe I should drive,” Annie said when Chris finally got to the truck.
“I’m okay. I only had a beer.”
“Not that I’m counting, but I stopped counting at six. It might have been more than that. Let me drive.”
He gave her the keys. “I usually don’t like it when my woman tries to control me,” he said.
“Do you think I’m trying to control you?”
“Well, first you tell me you don’t want my sons to live with us, and now you’re counting how many beers I had. That sounds like a control issue.”
“Okay, well, I’m truly sorry, but I want to get home alive, so I’ll drive. From now on, we’ll take separate cars and you can drink until you pass out if you want.”
“Deal,” he said, chuckling.
On the ride to her house, he put his head back and promptly fell asleep. She felt sorry for the man; he had a rough day working, and then his ex showing up like that out of the blue and saying she was staying with Val, was not exactly something he needed to hear. If he took offense to her wanting to drive, they’d deal with it when his blood alcohol was less.
The bump on the curb getting into her driveway woke him up. He looked around, confused. “Wow, sorry about that. I guess I must be drunk.”
“You’re fine,” she said, patting his hand. “You’re exhausted. Get right into bed.”
“I’ll take you up on it,” he said, trying to stay upright.
Once they got inside though, he headed to her bedroom and didn’t waste any time stripping his clothing off, at least throwing it over a chair instead of letting it drop to the floor, and getting into bed while she got into the shower.
When Annie came in after shutting everything down, he was snoring. She stood over him, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead, which triggered a long, odorous beer burp.
That was her cue to sleep on the couch.
***
Val Amotte purchased Dockmaster Gus Hebert’s family home a few years earlier and had spent a small fortune restoring the beautiful Greek Revival, so popular in southeastern Louisiana two hundred years ago.
Maggie Angel’s Aunt Elizabeth and Val married shortly after Maggie moved to Bayou Cottage and that’s when the can of worms had been opened. Val’s sister’s daughter, Bridget, had her DNA done on a whim, and a long-lost first cousin, Christopher Harcourt, found her and got in touch.
