The Vigil (7 page)

Melanie shrugged. “I can't speak for your mother or explain her way of thinking.”

I backed off. I'm sure over the years my aunt had been put in this same position and had learned the hard way to stay neutral.

There were some things I couldn't let go. “What's the big deal? I could have understood this more than her unwillingness to get out of a bad situation.”

“I can't answer for your mom, but I do know she did the best she could. Her determination to keep you and Anthony together as a family drove her to make some hard decisions. She wouldn't move back in with Mama. I offered to come back from France, but she wouldn't hear of it. So she married Elray.”

“But with her men...her medical issues, couldn't Mawmaw have intervened?”

“Cheryl, as dependent as your mother is, she can be fiercely independent about certain things. She guarded her family and her decision-making like an alligator guarding her eggs. She made her own decision and dared anyone to question her. Another thing, I suspect after this morning's episode, that she's stopped taking those meds. Having you pick them up is an indication that she's going back on them. It's been a vicious and dangerous cycle.”

“That is dangerous. Those are not the type of drugs you just stop taking. Have they been able to find a dosage that works for her?”

“It's been hit and miss. But when she starts to feel better, she stops taking them. Or something else makes her stop. I'm not sure. As close as we are, it's one area that she doesn't talk much about.” Aunt Mel placed her hand on my arm. “Try to understand.”

I battled with understanding. It was hard to forget the past and its pain. I stared at the tapestry of dull grays, greens, and blues of the institutional carpeting in the waiting room. Its design seemed to mimic my life at this point—random with no clear pattern.

My mother's loud whisper broke the silence. “She's awake, Cheryl. Do you want to come in to see her?”

My mother, a beautiful woman despite the smudged mascara, stood with shoulders erect, gleaming blonde hair with arresting violet eyes. The epitome of self-confidence, even in this unlikely place. For a brief moment, I doubted the meds I picked up today belonged to her.

 

****

 

The next few days, our family took turns keeping watch over Mawmaw. Her steady progress gave us hope she would return to her normal self soon. The stroke had not been as severe as her doctor first thought, which brought a collective sense of gratefulness to the whole family. Especially Mama.

I visited the hospital in the evenings after my shift ended with Carlton. Unlike my Mawmaw, his condition worsened, and his medications did not offer the same level of relief as in the beginning. His increased dosages cast him into long hours of fitful sleep. I performed the nursing tasks required and then sat and watched him sleep. The letters from Lady S sat on the nightstand like a patient lover, waiting to be embraced.

After a week of watching him sleep, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end for Carlton. Would he ever be lucid again, and would I ever get to know the real Carlton? Know the identity of Lady S? Had I read the last of her letters to Carlton?

I finished lunch and settled in next to his bed to work on the knitting project I'd started yesterday—a winter hat with a matching scarf. It seemed like a simple project and one I could actually complete. Although, in Bijou Bayou with its mild winters, I'd probably never wear it.

“Where you been?” Carlton's raspy voice echoed through the quiet bedroom.

I lowered my yarn and needles into the basket on the floor and leaned toward him. His gaze locked onto mine. Did he know how happy I was to see those eyes again?

“Right here next to you,” I answered. “How ya feeling?”

“Like I been hit by a wrecking ball. Twice.”

I placed my hand on his arm. “I'm sorry. Can I get you anything?”

“Water.”

I lifted the head of his bed. He followed my movements with a tender smile and kind eyes. I reached for the full glass and guided the straw toward him. Surprisingly, he didn't try to take the glass from me as he'd done in the past but let me place the straw between his dry lips. After he'd taken all he wanted, I wiped his lips with a moistened towel and applied lip balm.

He nodded when I'd finished and then pointed to the stack of letters on the nightstand. “I miss my Lady.”

I'd missed her, too. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“Please.”

I smiled when he said the word. “Be careful being so polite. I might mistake you for a nice guy.”

He smiled and then his lips bent downward and a crease formed between his brows. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Won't happen. I'm not…a nice…” He leaned his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

Troubled by his response, I searched for what to say. After a few moments, he looked at the stack of letters and pointed.

I unfolded the next letter and began to read.

 

Dear Carlton,

I loved getting your letter the other day. It was so nice to hear about the other men in your regiment. Things are getting busier here at home as we get closer to Christmas. I really wish we had married before you left. At least if I couldn't be with you, I could celebrate Christmas as Mrs. Carlton Perlouix. Papa got really mad the other day at your Papa. Seems one of your family's horses broke the fence to our pasture, and several of Papa's precious cows got free. He had to chase them down the road about a mile before he could corral them. I wonder if they'll ever give up arguing over such mundane things. Maybe when we announce our engagement, we'll shake up their long-suffering, silly feud. I can't wait. Of course, they'll probably argue about me being too young to get married. I don't think seventeen is too young. Do you? I've been thinking. If you come home by next May, we could have a June wedding. I'll be almost eighteen by then. Do you think that may be a possibility? I hope so. I would love to be a June bride. When we go to town, I sneak down to the Woolworths and look through the patterns of wedding dresses. I'm looking forward to walking down the aisle and seeing you waiting there for me. I know you will be so handsome. Well, my love. I hear Mama calling. Stay warm and dry. Remember, I am praying for your safe return and waiting for you.

All my love,

Your Lady S

 

Carlton rested on his pillow, his thin lids covered his eyes and a tender smile graced his face. Not wanting to disturb his memories, I returned the letter to the envelope making as little noise as possible. The Carlton of these letters must have been a good guy. What had changed if his assessment of himself faired true?

I walked to the kitchen with a heavy heart. Would I ever feel for someone the way Lady S had for Carlton? Regardless of what had happened between them, they had loved one another. At thirty years old, I had yet to find that kind of love. Or had I? Could Beau and I have been that couple if I'd let things follow their natural course? If I had not run away?

I gazed out the window above the sink at the open field next to Carlton's house. The howling wind of a brewing thunderstorm blew the tall grass toward the east and rattled through the wind chimes left over from a happier time. Had Carlton put the chimes up? Or were they forgotten by the people who lived here before he did? The melody increased in intensity as the wind ravaged the chimes from different directions. The harsh notes and anguished tune grated against my nerves, reflecting the myriad of emotions eating away at my peace.

Was this just a case of self-pity?

 

****

 

Mawmaw improved daily. Conversations with Mama consisted of updates. She and Aunt Melanie made sure Mawmaw got the best care possible. They prepared Mama's house for her homecoming. There hadn't been any disagreements in quite some time.

Carlton's condition stabilized. He wasn't getting better, but the last few days he'd not gotten worse. The letters calmed him and gave him a reason to hold on. What would happen when I read the last letter?

Carlton said Lady S still lived. What if he could see her before he died? I glanced out the window and into my own reflection. I'd allowed fear to control so many of my choices and had missed countless opportunities because I'd done so. So many regrets haunted me. I couldn't let Carlton die without seeing his precious Lady S one last time, could I?

There were many things I couldn't let go.

I hadn't heard from Beau about Wednesday breakfast. Had he decided it was best not to pursue our friendship? I'd still plan to visit Annie Saturday.

I couldn't accept Mama's illness. Why? I'd treated many patients with the same diagnosis. Was my deep-rooted anger keeping me from accepting the truth? How different—better would I be had my childhood been different?

One thing was certain—I didn't want another regret on my conscious. “I'm going to find out who Lady S is.”

The words floated through the empty kitchen and when they came back to me as a whisper, I knew it would happen. I would find her.

 

 

 

 

Neuf

 

I navigated my car between hedges of purple azaleas running along Beau's grandmother's driveway. Before my shift ended, he'd called to see if I was OK after he'd seen a car like mine overturned in a ditch a few miles from his house. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I'd agreed to have dinner with Beau, his son, and his grandmother.

His grandmother would be the right age. Maybe she'd know who Lady S could be. I'd have to be careful with how I asked. But maybe, just maybe, she'd know. It was worth the effort.

Now that I'd decided to find Lady S, I plowed forward like a bulldozer. If the letters calmed Carlton, then maybe her presence would do much more. And maybe he could leave this earth with a clear conscience. Not that I knew he didn't—have a clear conscience, that is—but judging from his actions and words, I suspected something deep within him needed to release. And that something had everything to do with Lady S.

When I reached the top of the driveway, I saw Beau's black Chevy pickup parked next to the garage. Beau, in faded jeans and a green polo shirt, stood waiting at the front door. “Hello, I'm glad you could come.” His smiled widened. “Shrimp boulettes with white beans and rice.”

“Sounds great.” My willpower skills for eating in moderation would have to kick into overdrive tonight. “Thanks for inviting me.”

His grandmother approached. She was dressed in a flowered silk dress, tall and elegant even at eighty. The scent of fried seafood and gardenias accompanied her. “Cheryl, Cheryl Broussard. I didn't know you came back home. I don't get around town as much as I used to.” Her slender arms wrapped around my shoulders. She pulled me close, and her red lips kissed the air next to my cheek. “I'm glad you could have suppa with us tonight.” She strolled toward the kitchen. “Food is ready when y'all are.”

Beau leaned into the adjoining living room. “Steven, turn the TV off and get in here.”

I followed Mrs. Mouton into the kitchen and waited by the table. Beau walked in moments later led by a lanky kid with the same chocolate brown eyes and thick, coffee colored hair.

He placed his hands on Steven's shoulders. “Cheryl, I'd like you to meet my son, Steven. Miss Cheryl and I went to school together. She's been a friend for a long time.”

The lingering sent of fried shrimp boulettes hung in the air like our past. Steven's likeness to Beau took me back to our younger years. I extended my hand. “Hello, Steven. It's very nice to meet you. I've known your dad since he was about your age.”

He shook my hand with a firm grip.

“And he looked just like you.”

Steven turned to Beau. “Really? You looked like me?”

“It's more like you look like I did. C'mon. Let's get our food. Nana's ready to eat.”

Steven reached for a plate and handed it to me. “Here ya go, Miss Cheryl. You can tell me more about dad while we eat.”

“Sure thing.”

We served our plates at the stove and met at the dining room table. The white molding on the charcoal walls gave the room a regal look, not unlike its owner. Mrs. Mouton's silver bun gathered at the nape of her neck showcased her dangling pearl and diamond earrings. She sat at the head of the table, posture upright, and her head level above her shoulders with her sharp green eyes settled on Beau. “How is Annie today?” she asked.

Had she asked the question to remind me Beau was married? Beau remained Beau and didn't let her rouse him. “I called before I came here. She's the same. No change.”

I hung my head. Maybe this had not been a good idea. “Are you still involved in the Junior League?” I asked remembering she'd headed up their cookbook committee for many years.

She shook her head. “No. Gave that up about a year ago. Don't like driving to Lafayette.”

Steven snickered. “Especially, since you backed into the garage door. Remember that, Nana?”

She turned to him and smiled. “I remember.” Then she turned back to me.

I racked my brain in search of other things she'd been involved in when we were in high school, but I couldn't remember anything. I squirmed under her intense gaze.

If she knew anything, now would be the time to ask. I'd told Beau I searched for information about a couple in the fifties, but I had not said much else. “Mrs. Mouton, I'm trying to find a couple from Bijou Bayou who were seeing each other around 1950.”

The green of her eyes lit up and her pupils dilated. “Really. How interesting.” She leaned forward. “Do you have any names?”

I paused. I hadn't said anything about one member of the couple being a patient, but I didn't want Beau to make the connection. “The man would have gone off to war. Korean War.”