The Vigil Page 8

  “Way to go, Anthony.”

  My over exuberant pup came barreling around the corner and yipped his excitement. He searched around the kitchen. I’d deducted that his excitement and searching meant he thought his favorite Uncle Tony was here. I picked him up and let him lick my chin. “Down you go.” He slid from my hands onto the floor. I grabbed another treat from the box and let him retrieve it from my fingertips. I pushed the button for the next message.

  “Cheryl, it’s Debra Hebert, used to be Debra Sanders. Remember me? We worked on the high school yearbook together. I heard you were back in town and got your number from a friend. We’re planning the July 4th fais do do and wondered if you’d like to help. I remembered we worked on it together when we were in high school. Call me.” She left her number.

  I was amazed to hear from her. We had been good friends in high school. Another friendship I’d let lapse because when I left I wanted to put as much distance as possible between Bijou Bayou and me.

  Debra had moved to Bijou Bayou in sixth grade and became the most popular girl in our school. She’d kept that title later as homecoming queen and our valedictorian. She still lived here. Surprising. With the last name of Hebert, she must have married someone from here. Had she gone to college and come back?

  My curiosity grew as well as my guilt. Some friend I’d been. Another lost opportunity. Was this my chance to make up for ignoring her all these years?

  Onze

  I returned Debra’s call and agreed to help with the fais do do. Our conversation lasted over an hour as we caught up with each other’s lives. She’d married the local bad boy and seemed happy.

  I left out why I’d left Jarrod. Maybe later, but not in this first conversation. Our first planning committee meeting was scheduled for tomorrow night, and I looked forward to it.

  Once in bed, I tossed and fought a no-win battle with my sheets. Carlton and Lady S consumed my thoughts. I couldn’t imagine Beau’s grandmother writing those letters. They were written by someone passionate and loving. Sylvia Mouton did not fit that image. But then again, a broken heart can change a person. What had happened to Carlton and his Lady S?

  ****

  Carlton sat up against his headboard and rasped out his greeting. “Missed you this weekend.”

  “Well, look at you. Sitting up. That’s got to feel pretty good.” I checked his water cup and the new medication schedule.

  Darcy had left everything in great order as usual.

  He nodded. “Feelin’ a lil bit…better today.”

  I figured the change in his medications had been responsible. “Good for you.” I smiled and tried to ignore the sadness in his smile. “More reading today?”

  “You bet.” He pointed toward the stack of letters.

  Dare I ask him about Lady S? Would today be a good day since he was feeling better or would my question set him back? I sat in my usual seat, reached for the letters, and opened the next one. A quick glance toward Carlton rewarded me with a wink. I smiled and began to read.

  Dear Carlton,

  Today’s been unusually hot for this time of year. Christmas is just around the corner, and Mama is getting a little anxious because the whole family is coming here for Christmas dinner. Our aunts from Arkansas will be here and their children. The house will be full. I’m looking forward to spending time with all my cousins. Sure wish you were here. It would be so nice to tell everyone about our engagement at Christmas dinner. I know Papa would be mad, but I believe once he got to know the real you, he would support us. Maybe we can get him to sell us that piece of the farm that borders the bayou and we can build our own house there. Wouldn’t that be nice? We’d be close to both our families. Then again, I’m not sure that would be a good idea.

  Mrs. Guillot at the dress shop said she might have a job for me after Christmas. She said I could work from nine to five Tuesday through Saturdays. I’m so excited. She has catalogs with wedding dresses! Wouldn’t that be fun to scour the pages for the perfect wedding dress? Oh, Carlton, I do miss you so much. I hope you’re being careful. I was a little concerned when it took so long for you to write back to me. But I understand your troops are moving so much. It’s a wonder any of these letters get delivered. I’m so glad the memory of our day at the watering hole keeps you happy. Hold on to that memory. When you get back, we’ll spend another afternoon there.

  I saw your mama at the meat market the other day. She looked very sad. She avoided me, and I guess that’s a good thing. I’m sure she didn’t want to get the rumor mill going again about us. Are you writing to her, too? I’m sure she’s worried about you like I am. And with your brother at war, too, it must be hard for her.

  Well, Mama needs me to help get the Christmas decorations from the barn. Remember, I love you and miss you. I’m praying for your safety.

  Your Lady S

  Carlton stared at the letter in my hands. His breaths came in short shallow gasps. He gazed into my eyes. “She...was...special,” he said.

  “She seems to be. Was she your first love?”

  He blinked a few times and then nodded. “First and only.”

  Could now be when he would tell me who she was? “Does she still live in Bijou Bayou?” I held my breath. Would he answer me?

  He paused, and I wondered if he’d heard me. His eyes never left mine, and the intensity sent tiny chills through me. “Yep...she does.”

  Dare I ask her name? “Carlton, would you like me to contact her so you can see her?”

  Fear, anger, or regret—I’m not sure which—flashed, but his expression shifted to a glare, and the lines around his eyes deepened. “Don’t.” His lips set into a tight line. “Never...tell...her...never—” he labored to take each breath “—about me...here.”

  I stood and took in a deep breath. Why the response? I’d never seen this emotion from him. I leaned over his bed. “Carlton, I don’t know who she is. I won’t tell. I promise.” I patted his arm and leaned closer to him. “Carlton?” His emotions took him to a place far away. I suspected an unpleasant place from his furrowed brow and frown.

  He struggled for air. I replaced his nasal cannula with an air mask. After a few minutes, he calmed, and his breathing, while still labored, settled.

  Why couldn’t I just share this time with him and quit worrying about who Lady S was? I’d upset him and felt like a heathen. “Carlton, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I won’t tell. I promise.” I repeated the phrase until he drifted to sleep.

  When he awoke three hours later, he seemed calm and didn’t mention the earlier episode.

  We had lunch and played a few games of rummy in the afternoon. He usually beat me, but today I won three of the four games we played.

  After the fourth game, I asked, “Do you want me to read more letters to you?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, not today.”

  My heart sank. Had I ruined his enjoyment of our time reading the letters? I hoped not. It was the only joy he had, and I wanted to give him as much as I could in his remaining days, however many there were.

  “Do you...believe...in God?” Carlton asked. Had he spoken to me?

  I wasn’t sure because he stared out the window across the room. How to answer his question? My life had surely not been an example of someone who followed God. I’d fallen short in that department. But did I believe? I sat straighter in my chair and stared out the same window.

  The leaves of a large sycamore tree near the corner of the house fluttered in the afternoon breeze.

  “Yes, I do. But I haven’t been very good at living like I do. Do you believe?” I glanced his way.

  “I used to.” He turned from the window and closed his eyes.

  Was this the sadness of everyone who bordered so close to death or a man who had loved so deeply and lost? Or of someone filled with much regret.

  “Maybe we can find Him again. Together.”

  “He...doesn’t...want me.” His lips separated the bare minimum.

  My chest expanded wi
th grief for this man. What could he have done to make him feel God had abandoned him? I patted his arm. “I bet he does.” I instantly regretted the simple and weak response. As I revisited the words, their lameness battered me. Was that all I could come up with at such a crucial moment?

  He shrugged his shoulders, closed his eyes, and turned his head away. His breathing slowed and before long, the raspy, steady breaths of sleep took over.

  As I gathered my things to go home, Carlton’s question rubbed me and left a pounding dissonance. Did he think about God because death seemed so close? And what about my life? Where was God there?

  ****

  Later that evening, I sat next to Debra and awaited the arrival of the other fais do do committee members.

  “Cheryl, thanks so much for helping with this.” Debra squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll have to meet for coffee sometime and catch up.”

  “I’d like that. And thanks for asking me to help. It’ll be nice to be involved in something fun.” Fun had been lacking in my life for the past year it seemed.

  “Well, this fais do do has grown quite a bit since our high school days. Close to a thousand or so people come each year.”

  “Wow, it has grown. Who are the other committee members?”

  Just as Debra pulled her list of names, several people entered the room.

  At the sight of Beau Battice, my hand flew to my throat and my breath caught. Great. Spending this much time with him was not what I wanted, but I’d already volunteered. I couldn’t back out now.

  He sat next to me—the brown in his eyes intensified by the bright fluorescent bulbs in the town hall. “Hi, Cheryl. I didn’t know you were on this committee.”

  I smiled. “Just volunteered last night.” I shot Debra a we’ve-got-to-talk look. She simply smiled and began to call roll.

  ****

  Beau milled about in the corner of the room with a few of the members after the meeting ended.

  “Cheryl, wait.” His voice rendered my every muscle useless. He walked along as I headed toward the parking lot. “It’s good to see you on this committee, getting involved in the community. Maybe you’ll want to stay.”

  I slowed. “It feels good to get involved.” I turned toward him. “I had a good visit with Annie.”

  “Did you? Were you the one who painted her nails?”

  I nodded, and he laughed. “I knew it. She told me about that silly promise you gals made in Junior High.”

  We stood at my car, Beau smiling as he shared his wife’s memory with me. I smiled too. “I’m glad I went to see her.”

  He opened my car door. “I’m glad you did, too. I know she enjoyed it. Why had I never thought about painting her nails?” He tapped the top of his head.

  I slid into my car seat. “Sorry, Beau. It’s a girl thing. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t had a million other things on your mind.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’m grateful for you. Thanks, again.”

  “No need to thank me. I think it did me more good than Annie.”

  He smiled. “My sweet Annie. She has a way of doing that, doesn’t she?”

  “That she does.” I pulled the door, but before I could close it, Beau pulled it back.

  “Say, have you unraveled the mystery of your couple from the past? It sounds intriguing. I wish I had the whole story.”

  I hadn’t told him all the details about Carlton. Only enough, it seemed to pique his interest. “I wish I had the whole story, too. I’m still working on it. I’ll let you know if I learn more.”

  “Good night, Cheryl.” He gently closed my car door.

  Good night, Beau,” I whispered in the car as I watched him walk away. I wiped the perspiration from my palms onto my jeans and started the engine. As I drove out the parking lot, I glimpsed Beau getting into his car. Still handsome after all these years. Should I include Beau in my hunt for Lady S? A tiny voice in my head answered. No.

  Douze

  “Good morning, Carlton.” I stood at the foot of his bed and hoped he had forgotten yesterday’s episode or at least forgiven my prying.

  “Hey...I’m sorry ‘bout yester...day,” he said. He hadn’t forgotten.

  I sensed a change in him today. Carlton wasn’t the type to apologize, so I tugged on his big toe. “No problem.” I should give up trying to find Lady S.

  I reviewed the night shift’s notes and took care of his needs before settling in the chair next to his bed. “Would you like me to read the letters today?”

  He nodded. As I reached for the letters, he grabbed my hand. His blue eyes pierced. “She can’t know I’m here.” The intensity from yesterday flashed in his eyes.

  Fear snaked through me. I didn’t want to upset him. “Carlton, is it better if we don’t read the letters?”

  He shook his head and released his grip. “No. I need them.”

  “OK. Your secret is safe with me.” I stood and leaned over his bed. “You know that don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  The question about God continued to nag at me. Should I call a priest or pastor to minister to him?

  I returned to my seat, grabbed the letters from the nightstand, and pulled the next one out of the string-tied bundle. “Carlton, before I read, I have a question for you. Just answer yes or no. OK?”

  He nodded.

  “Would you like for me to call a priest or pastor to come visit you?”

  “Why?”

  “You asked about God yesterday, and they’d be able to answer your questions better than I can.”

  “Devil’s...got me.”

  I paused. Had I heard him correctly?

  “Really? Why would you think that?” No sooner had the words escaped my lips, my stomach pitted. I had no right to ask that question, but the more he revealed the more of a mystery he became.

  I didn’t give him time to answer. “It’s not too late.”

  “It is for me.”

  “You never answered my question about calling someone.”

  He shrugged his shoulders but didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Can...we read?”

  I slid the letter from the envelope and thought about his response. He hadn’t said no, so I could ask around for a priest or pastor who could minister to Carlton. Maybe Aunt Melanie’s pastor. It was the least I could do. And what if he died before he could repent of whatever sin had been eating away at him more feverishly than the cancer cells? Could I ever forgive myself for not trying?

  He gazed at the letter in my hands. He cleared his throat, lifted his eyebrows, and pointed toward the letter.

  “OK, OK.” I smiled. “I’m ready, already. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

  He smiled back—an unexpected response. “Don’t wear...panties. Boxers.”

  I laughed, shook my head, and began reading the sixth letter.

  My dearest Carlton,

  Merry Christmas! It breaks my heart wondering where you are tonight. Are you safe? Are you warm? My biggest wish this Christmas is that you return safely to me. I would give up a lifetime of Christmas presents just to have that one.

  The family is here, my Aunt and her girls made the trip from Arkansas. It has been so nice to see everyone again and be with family. My heart still has this big empty spot because you are not here. Any word on getting leave? I have been saving my money, and maybe I could fly somewhere so we could see each other?

  I pray you are safe and will continue to pray for you every day until you are in my arms. Then I will pray for our life together.

  All my love,

  Your Lady S.

  I glanced toward Carlton. His attention was fixed on the letter in my hand and a single tear streamed down his cheek. He was engrossed in his world, and I imagined Lady S there with him. I reached for the tissue box next to his bed. As gently as possible, I wiped the moisture from his cheek careful not to disturb his reverie. Typical of our past readings, he didn’t speak or acknowledge my pres
ence.

  I returned the letter to the nightstand and slipped out of his room. From the kitchen window, I watched the field grass blow in the slight breeze until the sight blurred from my tears. Had Carlton’s questions about God sparked something long dead in me? Oh Lord, what can I do?

  The day flew by. I didn’t offer to read any more letters, and Carlton didn’t ask. He stayed longer in his world after each reading, and I felt guilty for being the one to put him there. Although, I sensed a deep regret in him and suspected the memories tormented him, the letters seemed to bring temporary peace. What could have happened between him and Lady S to cause this much anguish and pain? Had he hurt her in some way? Had she hurt him? I knew she was still alive. He’d said so. Did he really not want to see her? Maybe, just maybe, if he could apologize, he could die in peace?

  “Quit, Cheryl.” I chastised myself. Once again I was trying to do exactly what Carlton didn’t want. Why couldn’t I leave things alone?

  ****

  Notes for the upcoming fais do do lay strewn on my dining room table amid the take-out shrimp salad I’d picked up.

  Debra sat next to me, reviewing each idea. “We could call the fais do do, The Revolution,” she said.

  “That sounds a little too revolting.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No pun intended, of course.”

  I laughed. It felt good to laugh and forget all the heavy things occupying my mind. “Totally intended.”

  “It has to be something in tune with Independence Day but also something that reflects our life here in South Louisiana.”

  I nodded. “How about a costume fais do do that reflects the importance of community? Have people dress as their favorite person. It could be a friend, relative, shop owner, public official, or even just their neighbor. Make it a hometown fais do do.”

  “Oh, that sounds fun. I like it. We can present it to the committee members at our next meeting,” she said.