Grace sat, dangled her already bare feet in the water and patted the empty spot beside her.
Luc removed his footwear then followed her example.
“Aren’t you afraid of snakes and gators, Mr. Flynn?”
Their eyes met.
There was that smile again.
“Mr. Flynn?”
He blinked and aimed his sight at the heavens. “Please, call me Luc, and no, I’ve enough backwoods bayou in me to recognize the signs of dangerous creatures. I expect you do, too.”
She nodded. “Very well, Luc it is, and you may call me Grace. Now, how much backwoods bayou can an Irishman possess?”
“I’ve lived in Louisiana longer than I ever lived in Ireland. Most of my time there was during my childhood.” He believed he would never see his homeland again. If he did, would it still feel like home? Luc sighed.
“I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”
He straightened and smiled. “Not a bit of it. Just a momentary journey into my past.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Not worth the telling.” He shook his head.
“Please.”
She was truly gorgeous when her eyes implored, and he couldn’t refuse her.
“Really, it was just a wisp of memory.”
“Memories are important… sometimes.” Sadness darted across her countenance.
Luc felt the ache of her emotional pain strengthen. Perhaps the distraction of his story would ease her distress.
“Very well, I thought for a moment of my mother at home in county Wexford. Night had fallen. I was to leave for school the next day and couldn’t sleep for the excitement. I went outside. Mother sat, staring at the moon, much like you and I are now. That moon was as full as this. She told me she feared I might never return to Wexford, that I would have gonele gealai. Literally it means ‘gone with the moon’.’ The folk understanding is that I would be moonstruck and wander the world witless.”
Which is what happened to me, in a manner of speaking.
“Did you ever return?” Grace whispered.
“No.” He kept his face turned to the moon. If she looked at him with pity, Luc wouldn’t survive it.
“I’m sorry.”
He felt her hand on his arm.
“Look at me, Luc, please.”
He complied. Pity did not swim in the pools that filled her mist green gaze. Rather, he saw a strange sort of resignation-tinged empathy.
“That you didn’t go back is sad. Especially if you never saw your mother again.”
“Aye,” he said slowly. What was her point?
“The thing is,” Grace said. “You have time to go back. You can visit, and maybe, by visiting, put that sadness you carry to rest.”
Was that possible? Maybe, if ever the curse is lifted. How did Grace know he carried sadness?
