When she wrapped her hands around it, he didn’t release it. Maurice stared down into her eyes. “I’m not pushing you away, Amelie. But I mean it, wallowing won’t do justice to those who have passed. I know. I did it long enough. I sank so deep in sadness, I wanted to end my own life.”
Amelie gasped. “You?”
He nodded. “Me. That’s when I finally pulled myself up by the bootstraps and got on with the business of living. My friends, my parents and my fiancée wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living because they had. They would’ve wanted me to live my life to its fullest. For them. For me.”
Amelie nodded. “That’s what I’ve tried to do. After Armand died, I tried to fill Armand’s shoes as chef. The restaurant owner felt Chez Benoît wouldn’t survive without its namesake and head chef. They closed the restaurant for good. I couldn’t stay in Paris without a job, so I had to come back to the States. I went to work in New Orleans, as it was as close to home as I could be and still work as the chef Armand trained me to be. Not just a pâtissière.”
“Why didn’t that work?”
“I was close to home but by myself. When my apartment was broken into, I realized New Orleans wasn’t for me. Too much city for a lone woman.” She snorted softly. “That might make me a coward, but I get where Julia was coming from. I couldn’t do it on my own. I needed a support system of people I cared about and who cared about me. I had that in Paris with Armand until he died. After the break-in here, I realize,” she waved a hand to the side, “my people are here. In Bayou Mambaloa.”
“And you’ve done very well if your happy customers are anything to go on.” He stroked her hand holding the mop handle. “Any regrets?”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Luis.”
Maurice frowned. “What happened with Luis after his father died?”
“I was with him at the funeral. Before the restaurant closed, I helped him organize his father’s estate. He was clueless. Not that I had much of an idea. When the owners of Chez Benoît announced they were closing, I asked Luis to come with me to New Orleans. He chose to go back to California, where he still had some friends from when he’d been in high school.”
“How is he doing?” Maurice asked. “Do you keep in touch?”
Amelie gave Maurice a twisted smile. “I’m sure if it were up to Luis, we would have fallen out of touch. But I make it a point to call him every month.”
“And?”
She sighed. “He’s living on his inheritance. Thankfully, Armand had it placed in a trust where he only gets so much each month until he turns thirty-five. Then it will all go to him. Otherwise, I’m not sure how he would’ve handled it.”
“Did he get a job? Go back to school?”
“He went back to school as soon as he returned to California. I’m not sure what he was studying, but he said he was making good grades and was making friends. Last month, he said he’d gotten a part-time job at a restaurant, of all places. This from a guy who wouldn’t let his world-renowned chef father teach him what he knew.”
“Sounds like he might be getting his head on straight.”
“I hope so. He’s not my son, but Armand would’ve been glad to know I didn’t abandon him completely. That someone was looking out for him.”
“You’re a good person, Amelie,” Maurice said and released his hold on the mop handle.
“I feel like I’d have been better if I could’ve convinced Luis to come with me.”
“But you can’t tell a young man anything,” Maurice said. “I know. I was a young man once. No one could tell me anything. I had to learn for myself.”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “You?”
He nodded. “There were so many times I wished I’d listened to my parents. After I was in trouble. Or my drill sergeant. Again, after I was in trouble and doing a million pushups for some stupid stunt I thought was a good idea at the time.”
Amelie laughed. “Stubborn much?”
“Too much.”
She sighed. “I usually call Luis around this time every year, not so much to remind him that his father died at this time, but because thinking of Armand reminds me to call and check on his son.”
“What’s keeping you?”
She stared out a window at the gray light of dawn, just barely making the world visible outside. “It’s too early here. It’ll be even earlier in California. But I will. Later. For now, I need to finish cleaning and get on the road to New Orleans to buy supplies.”
They went back to work, finishing up as the sun rose.
Amelie followed Maurice as he carried the mop bucket out the back door. They were just in time to watch the sunrise set Bayou Mambaloa on fire with all the reds, oranges and yellows imaginable.
