“Hasn’t anybody seen that? I stayed here.”
When I wanted to go. Or so she thought. Did she want to get away from Fleur? Did she really?
Or had she been the one wanting to stay?
Alma looked at the clock. Too late to call Callie or Brenna. She wished she could talk to her mother. Mama would know what to say, would give her advice without judging her. But Mama wasn’t here. And her sisters had their own lives.
You are not alone.
Alma lay there in the darkness and heard the soothing words. No, she wasn’t alone. She had the Lord. She’d always turned to God for the answers to the hard to explain questions.
And this one ranked right up there.
“Why, God?” she asked, her fingers clutching the floral sheets. “Why did Julien force me to see all my flaws? To see how wrong I’ve been all these years? How can I change? How can I prove that I’m not going to settle for anything? I have everything I need right here.”
And how could she possibly change his perspective on those flaws?
Because now that they’d come so close, she wanted more.
Much more.
Chapter Ten
J ulien’s cell phone growled rudely near his right ear. Groaning, he flipped over in bed and ran a hand through his hair.
His mother calling at five in the morning?
Not good. Even though he lived in a garage apartment behind her house, he’d always told her to call his cell in an emergency.
He sat up, grabbed the phone. “Maman?”
“Your brother’s been arrested. You have to go help him, Julien.”
Okay, he was wide-awake now. “What happened?” And why had Pierre called Mama instead of him?
“Drinking. Driving drunk.” He heard a sob, pictured his mother holding her hand to her heart. “That boy is gonna be the death of me.”
“Not if I kill him first,” Julien retorted.
“I don’t need you to kill him. Just try to get him out of jail.” His mother lapsed into Cajun French. Vivid Cajun French.
“Did he hurt anyone?”
“No. But he didn’t pass the test. You know, he couldn’t walk a straight line or hold his finger to the nose on his face. And apparently that boy has lost possession of his brain, too.”
“I’m on my way,” Julien said, grabbing clothes.
He didn’t doubt that his brother had probably been drunk, but the locals had a thing about getting bored and chasing down drivers. Fleur had a reputation as being a speed trap. He wondered as he drove through the quiet streets if his brother was being singled out for standing out. Pierre was already on the local law enforcement’s radar. This would put him front and center on their “most watched” list.
No matter. The boy didn’t need to be drinking and driving.
That was not so good.
Julien passed the Fleur Café, his bad mood going to worse. The lights were on and the crew was moving around, about to begin their day. He thought about Alma and that kiss, that accepting kiss. She’d let him in, for a brief time, to glimpse what might have been. What might could be. That’s all he had to go on right now.
He zoomed on toward the hole-in-the-wall three-man police station. How this place even had room for a jail cell was beyond Julien’s comprehension. But there sat his dour-faced brother in the holding tank, his clothes rumpled and dirty, his expression rumbly and fighting mad.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” Pierre said by way of a greeting.
“Drunk is drunk, bro,” Julien replied, his hands on the steel bars between them. “I’m gonna talk to Chief Watson, okay?”
“I’ll be here waiting,” Pierre shot back. “Hey, this ain’t the Holiday Inn, know what I mean?”
“I should just let him stew,” Julien told the chief as he entered the office.
Chief Frank Watson cleared his throat and glanced across the one-room police office into the one-room jail. “Yep. Might do the boy some good.”
“What happened?” Julien asked, grumpy from lack of sleep and no coffee.
The chief, a tall, quiet man, got up and poured two cups of rich-as-roux
When I wanted to go. Or so she thought. Did she want to get away from Fleur? Did she really?
Or had she been the one wanting to stay?
Alma looked at the clock. Too late to call Callie or Brenna. She wished she could talk to her mother. Mama would know what to say, would give her advice without judging her. But Mama wasn’t here. And her sisters had their own lives.
You are not alone.
Alma lay there in the darkness and heard the soothing words. No, she wasn’t alone. She had the Lord. She’d always turned to God for the answers to the hard to explain questions.
And this one ranked right up there.
“Why, God?” she asked, her fingers clutching the floral sheets. “Why did Julien force me to see all my flaws? To see how wrong I’ve been all these years? How can I change? How can I prove that I’m not going to settle for anything? I have everything I need right here.”
And how could she possibly change his perspective on those flaws?
Because now that they’d come so close, she wanted more.
Much more.
Chapter Ten
J ulien’s cell phone growled rudely near his right ear. Groaning, he flipped over in bed and ran a hand through his hair.
His mother calling at five in the morning?
Not good. Even though he lived in a garage apartment behind her house, he’d always told her to call his cell in an emergency.
He sat up, grabbed the phone. “Maman?”
“Your brother’s been arrested. You have to go help him, Julien.”
Okay, he was wide-awake now. “What happened?” And why had Pierre called Mama instead of him?
“Drinking. Driving drunk.” He heard a sob, pictured his mother holding her hand to her heart. “That boy is gonna be the death of me.”
“Not if I kill him first,” Julien retorted.
“I don’t need you to kill him. Just try to get him out of jail.” His mother lapsed into Cajun French. Vivid Cajun French.
“Did he hurt anyone?”
“No. But he didn’t pass the test. You know, he couldn’t walk a straight line or hold his finger to the nose on his face. And apparently that boy has lost possession of his brain, too.”
“I’m on my way,” Julien said, grabbing clothes.
He didn’t doubt that his brother had probably been drunk, but the locals had a thing about getting bored and chasing down drivers. Fleur had a reputation as being a speed trap. He wondered as he drove through the quiet streets if his brother was being singled out for standing out. Pierre was already on the local law enforcement’s radar. This would put him front and center on their “most watched” list.
No matter. The boy didn’t need to be drinking and driving.
That was not so good.
Julien passed the Fleur Café, his bad mood going to worse. The lights were on and the crew was moving around, about to begin their day. He thought about Alma and that kiss, that accepting kiss. She’d let him in, for a brief time, to glimpse what might have been. What might could be. That’s all he had to go on right now.
He zoomed on toward the hole-in-the-wall three-man police station. How this place even had room for a jail cell was beyond Julien’s comprehension. But there sat his dour-faced brother in the holding tank, his clothes rumpled and dirty, his expression rumbly and fighting mad.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” Pierre said by way of a greeting.
“Drunk is drunk, bro,” Julien replied, his hands on the steel bars between them. “I’m gonna talk to Chief Watson, okay?”
“I’ll be here waiting,” Pierre shot back. “Hey, this ain’t the Holiday Inn, know what I mean?”
“I should just let him stew,” Julien told the chief as he entered the office.
Chief Frank Watson cleared his throat and glanced across the one-room police office into the one-room jail. “Yep. Might do the boy some good.”
“What happened?” Julien asked, grumpy from lack of sleep and no coffee.
The chief, a tall, quiet man, got up and poured two cups of rich-as-roux
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