“Do you have the music?” I ask anxiously as Jean-Pierre skirts the bar, stopping momentarily to scratch Yard’s ears, before placing a kiss on my cheek.
“Me, I got it all right here,cher.” He pats the phone in his hip pocket.
Yesterday I took the list labeled Popular Songs of Our Time from the time capsule Luc and Cash buried beneath the Singing Oak and gave it to Jean-Pierre. I asked him to use it to make a playlist for today’s service.
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
He bats a hand. “That goes without sayin’,maisyeah?” Then he gets serious. “You doin’ okay?”
I swallow as tears flood my eyes. The mourning process is so strange. You think you’re okay, youfeelokay, and then someone asks you if you’re okay, and that’s when it hits you that you’re not. Not at all.
I sniffle and shake my head. He pulls me into a hug.
“Sorry I’m late!” The front door bursts open and Vee glides in. “We got stuck behind a wedding procession, but I’m here now. Not to worry. And I padded the schedule by fifteen minutes, so that should give us plenty of time to get the food arranged before everyone starts arriving.”
She directs the three caterers loaded down with trays toward the back of the bar, where I’ve set up long folding tables. I left the food choices up to her. Everything but the beignets, which I picked up fresh and piping hot half an hour ago.
“Thank you so much for taking care of this,” I tell her, leaning over the bar to accept the kiss she plants on my cheek.
“What are sisters for?” Her eyes are bright with sympathy when she sees my own are red and puffy.
“Whewee!” Jean-Pierre takes off his fedora and fans his face with it, giving Vee the onceover. “Who knew you had all dat goin’ on under all dem fancy pantsuits?”
Vee’s wearing a flannel shirt tied at her waist and a pair of jeans that show off her curves. She blushes, but plays it off by striking a pose, hand on hip. “Eat your heart out,” she tells Jean-Pierre.
Then she notices Yard has made his way over to the food tables and is looking mighty intently at the dishes the caterers are in the process of uncovering. She mumbles something under her breath about cutting off another of his legs if he so much as puts a nose above the table, and marches in his direction.
The door opens again to admit Luc’s mom, and the outside air wafts in after her, bringing with it the smell of late winter. It’s an indefinable scent of wet streets and dry leaves mixed with a tinge of budding foliage.
It’s the smell of an ending and a beginning, all rolled into one.
As I glance again from Cash’s picture over to Luc, who’s folding his mother into a bear hug, I can’t help thinking how fitting that smell is. How apropos for everything that’s happening.
Helene puts a hand on Luc’s cheek, looking up at him as only a mother can, and then she swings in my direction. I square my shoulders and paste on a smile as she rounds the bar. But it slides off my face when she stops in front of me, her expression tender. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
Tears, never far from the surface these days, fill my eyes and slip over my bottom lids.
“Come here.” She pulls me in for a hug. I close my eyes, accepting the comfort she offers.
When other people would let go and step back, she hangs on. And that makes the tears come faster. But eventually, she holds me at arm’s length and uses her thumbs to brush the salty wetness from my cheeks.
“I won’t offer you any platitudes,” she tells me. “You know they’re nothing but claptrap anyway. But I’m here for you if you need me. I could never replace your own momma, but I’ve got a momma’s ear I’d be happy to lend you.”
“Thank you, Helene.” My voice is gritty and raw. It matches the state of my heart.
She slips an arm around my waist, and we turn to see Luc quietly arranging the tables and chairs, affording us a moment of privacy. He instinctively understands that the grief shared between two people—and any consolation they can give each other in a moment—is unique to them and them alone.
“You raised one heck of a good man,” I whisper to her. “Thank you for that.”
Her smile is soft. Her eyes are softer as she stares at her son. “I wish I could take all the credit. But he’s got so much of his daddy in him.”
“I wish I’d met him,” I admit quietly.
“He would’ve loved you for how much you love his boy and how happy you make him. Lord knowsIlove you for it.”
I take her hands into my own. “Idolove Luc,” I swear to her. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I don’t know why it took me so long tounderstand.But I see now. I understand now. And I want to make him happy, always. I never want to cause him a moment’s pain.”
She shakes her head. “Well, that’ll be impossible. True love is beautiful, but it isn’t easy. When the hard times come, you’re bound to hurt each other. But if and when that happens, you have to do three things. Remember why you fell in love in the first place. Be quick to forgive each other for mistakes or words spoken in anger. And promise never to give up on each other.”
