Page 52 of Lulu’s Recipe for Cajun Sass

“Number four, you are going to be an amazing doctor, but more than that. As a pioneer in a new specialty that you’re already passionate about, I suspect you’re destined for bigger things. Your ambition, tied with your gifts, might even make you famous. That’s not going to happen here in Houma as a family doctor, which is something you offered to do for me. And, yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with general practice, but not for you.”

“Don’t burn bridges you might want to cross someday, sweetheart.”

“The bridge is already gone, Justin. I’m sorry.”

“But—”

She shook her head. The tears which had been welling in her eyes spilled over and streamed down her face. She didn’t even bother to swipe at them, even though she had to realize the tears were messing up her mascara, as well.

He used a thumb to swipe at one of the fat black tears and sighed, “Oh, sweetheart. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Let me finish while I still can,” she said on a slight sob. She took both of his hands in hers. “It’s over, Justin. It has to be. For your sake and for mine.” He must have moaned because she squeezed his hands.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” he asked over the lump in his throat the size of an orange. “Is that what this is about?”

She shook her head as tears continued to flow. “I love you, and I love the time we’ve had together. Most of all I have to thank you for bringing me out of my Big Grief over Phillipe. You helped me turn a corner that has blocked me for years.”

“Great. I do all the work so some other guy can step in.”

She slapped him playfully on the arm.

“I also have to thank you for helping me regain my Cajun Sass.”

“Fuck Cajun Sass!”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk!” she said. It was a word he’d never used around her before. But she was smiling. Smiling through her tears.

“Maybe I can find some Chicago chick who needs to learn some Cajun Sass,” he joked, though his heart was breaking. “I’m already handy with a syringe. Maybe I could inject a bit of tabasco in their veins.” Tabasco was a Louisiana invention, infused into almost every dish.

She burst out laughing.

And that’s how it ended. Tears and laughter.

* * *

And the Big Grief hits again…

The next two weeks were hard for Louise. Of course they were. She was constantly breaking out in tears and blowing her nose. Adèle told more than one of Louise’s customers who asked about her aunt’s red eyes, “Tante Lulu has a head cold.”

Didn’t matter that Louise was the one who’d ended her relationship with Justin. She loved the man, and she missed him terribly. But their situation was hopeless and had to end. And, yes, she’d gone to St. Jude for help before and after her final meeting with Justin, but the saint had remained silent in her head. Louise took that to mean that Justin was not the one for her, not for the long term, not as her husband.

So, she had to move on. Complicating matters, or perhaps helping her by forcing routine activity, was Adèle; Louise had to maintain a happy face or at least a normal face, even when inside she was screaming with pain. No lying in bed like a zombie, or running around to dive bars acting like a slut, or drinking herself into oblivion, all of which she’d done to some extent after Phillipe’s death, until she realized she was pregnant.

Preparing for kindergarten occupied some of her time, buying school clothes and supplies. Taking Adèle to the dentist for her first check-up and to Dr. Clovis for her physical. Dr. Clovis said nothing about Justin, as if sensing her pain, and she loved him for that. Would a city doctor have that kind of compassion for a patient? Would he even know her well enough to be aware of a heartbreak?

As the weeks passed, she harvested her fall vegetables and brought them to Boudreaux’s store for sale. She managed to avoid talking with his family about Justin’s current circumstances in Chicago. It was for the best that she stifled any urges to inquire about how he was doing. She would have to find some other outlet for her produce. Or increase her traiteur business which was flourishing, and stop growing so darn many fruits and vegetables.

Louise realized several things as she began to heal. She hadn’t loved Justin as much as she’d loved Phillipe. She would never get over Phillipe until she met him again in heaven. But Justin…well, she did love him. Perhaps she always would in some distant way. She did not want to diminish or negate the power of the feelings they had shared. However, slowly but surely, he was becoming a memory…a good memory. Poignant, but good. While she’d labeled her constant sorrow after Phillipe as her Big Grief, she figured her current sorrow amounted to Big-But-Survivable Grief. She would have followed Phillipe to the ends of the earth. She hadn’t been willing to follow Justin beyond Louisiana. That said something, didn’t it?

She had one big thing to thank Justin for. He’d somehow managed to kickstart her Cajun Sass back in place. And good thing, too, because some of the bayou folks who frequented the rumor mill had become very judgmental. Not all of them, but enough to be noticeable. Not knowing the whole story…whether she’d engaged in illicit sexual activity, or whether she’d dumped Justin, or vice versa, or just because she was a single woman living alone out there on the bayou where “who knew what” could go on…they gave her the snooty treatment, including Leon’s wife, Lily Rose, who was several months pregnant and proud of it, as if she was the first woman alive to get preggers. Lily Rose probably resented the fact that Louise had never made an appointment in her salon.

The last time Louise was in the store, Lily Rose approached her and said, “Louise, Louise, you poor dear. Workin’ out there in the swamps with those smelly ol’ plants. Pee-you!” She sniffed the air as if Louise smelled bad. “How does it feel to lose yer last chance fer catchin’ a husband? Maybe you need a new hairdo, or somethin’, bless yer heart.”

Louise put her hands on her hips and stared Lily Rose in her heavily made-up face before drawling out, “Frankly, my dear Lily Rose, you can kiss my go-to-hell.” Every woman in the South had seen Gone With the Wind at least two times and knew that famous “Frankly, my dear” line by heart.

“Well, I never,” Lily Rose said on a gasp.

“Ain’t that the truth, honey?” Louise replied, shaking her head as if Lily Rose was a pitiful soul, which she was.