Dead on the Bayou. June Shaw

bring her.”

      “Good. Now if you give me a minute to lock up, I’ll drive back to town with you.” He hustled back inside.

      I didn’t need his truck on the road with mine, but somehow the image of his large midnight blue truck following mine brought comfort. He came out a couple of minutes later and walked to the driveway. Apprehension made me stand in place, feeling like a schoolgirl who wondered if we should kiss each other good-bye.

      We shouldn’t, I figured, at least not now.

      The whine of an electric saw made me grateful for its distraction. Dave and I glanced toward the source of its sound on the neighboring wharf and then looked at each other. I swallowed when his gaze found my lips.

      “I should go.” I made myself turn away, threw myself into my truck, and started the motor.

      A mirror let me see he watched, a tight smile on his face with what I felt was a knowing expression. He knew I cared about him. I didn’t want it so obvious.

      * * * *

      Eve wasn’t excited about checking out the building, even if it meant the man who normally thrilled her would be there. She kept making dark marks on canvas when I got back to town and told her about him wanting us there.

      “I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” I said and hoped she would let me.

      There was no use trying to get her to work with me now on the remodeling job we already had going for a customer. The job was large, would pay well, and while my shoulder took whatever time it needed to heal, we were having the subcontractors and helpers we often used complete parts of it. The young couple had bought the house because they loved the location and its basic floorplan and didn’t want to start with a new one. They wanted the brick house refinished in stucco to give it a modern feel. That was possible, we’d told them. They’d asked to have the nondescript front door replaced with a wide, attractive entrance. I looked over paperwork and plans we’d agreed on so far and drove off to see how things were coming along.

      The number of trucks at their place pleased me. We hadn’t had our summer rains yet, so working conditions had been good. Georgia Andrews walked out of the house with her alligator purse when I drove up.

      “Hey, Sunny, I need to go, but come in for a minute and see the front door we chose.”

      I exchanged greetings with workers and followed her to what would become her office. House plans, books, and magazines took up most space on the large desk. She grabbed the magazine on top of the others and turned to the pages she had marked. “Look at this.”

      “Wow, that is fabulous, Georgia.” I leaned closer to view the outstanding stained-glass double door with rounded tops. Full-length matching sidelites ran up and circled above the doors.

      “I chose this one because the curves throughout it remind me of my roses.”

      “Lovely.” I knew her plan was to cover much of the front yard with knockout roses she admired so much. “And are you going to use a satin nickel trim instead of black?”

      “Absolutely.” She gave me a bright smile. “Now I need to go.”

      “I love your choices,” I said, and she waved and rushed out. I closed her magazine and walked outside to see how the men were coming along in the garage.

      “This looks like a whole new room,” I told the foreman. “Great job.”

      “Yeah, the guy that bought this place loves what we got done in here. I told him don’t put his stuff in here, but he’s been doing it already. He says he feels like he has a brand-new house.”

      “If you don’t mind, I’ll check it out.”

      “Go ahead.”

      It was a garage, after all, but at first glance, didn’t look like one. While the foreman and crew continued their work, I looked closer, satisfied that Eve and I had suggested they start in here, something we had done because when we went to their current house, although it was large and in a great neighborhood, the garage was a mess. Theirs had been built for three cars, just like this one, and held their pair of top-dollar cars and his motorcycle and absolutely anything else they could jam in there. Boxes and devices and tools scattered alongside ice chests and buckets and folding chairs that jutted into a walkway. I’d bumped my leg on a barbecue pit that had been shoved right beyond a large box.

      The workmanship here pleased me. Eve and I needed this business of ours to survive, so while I was under doctor’s orders not to perform any carpentry work yet myself, I was satisfied that for the time being, my sister and I could work with house plans to help people remodel their homes, and others could do most of the actual labor.

      There was no mess in this space. These workers cleaned up after themselves as they worked, which I admired. The beauty of this garage began with something I had suggested that the couple hadn’t known about. Instead of harsh, cold concrete, they had used this durable floor finish that would resist chipping or stains. They could wipe away any spills from the floor that was now mauve. Georgia had chosen the color, which blended beautifully with the cabinets. Light-paneled floor-to-ceiling cabinet doors with slim perpendicular handles covered most walls.

      “Great job,” I called to all the workers who thanked me and continued their chores.

      At home, I made sketches with ideas that might work in their new home and looked over their existing plans. After a while, my mind shifted to Eve and to Dave. Conflicting emotions wore me out, so I got to sleep earlier than normal.

      In the morning, I focused on helping others. I set a large pot on the stove and pulled out ingredients for a seafood gumbo. I sautéed onions, garlic, bell peppers, and celery, added smothered okra from my freezer, a fresh tomato, shrimp, three quarts of water, a pinch of Worcestershire sauce, and salt and pepper. I let that simmer while I put eggs and potatoes to boil and fixed myself a tasty breakfast of cinnamon-laced lost bread with milk. Once I showered and dressed in slacks and casual moccasins, I added a pint of oysters and two pounds of crabmeat to the mixture on the stove, got the rice ready, made the potato salad, adding sweet relish to the mixture, and swiped mascara across my lashes and pale pink lipstick on my lips.

      With everything prepared, I drove the meal and two loaves of crusty French bread out to our community center. The building was small and old, but had been donated and lovingly spruced up by volunteers. Now the walls were painted bright white instead of the dull finish they’d had before, and cheerful posters with positive quotes lined the walls. This was a soup kitchen of sorts that had become more of a gumbo kitchen since that’s what most of us contributed and the needy enjoyed. No one sat at any of the long tables yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Ladies in the kitchen took my offerings and set them near pots and bowls of others that emitted the most enticing aromas.

      My high school friend Amy Matthews ran the kitchen. “Yum, girl, I smelled that gumbo when you walked in.” Her skin was cappuccino and her clothes vibrant. “Thank you.”

      “No problem.”

      She stepped out of the kitchen with me. “So tell me about your love life with that guy.” Her big eyes widened.

      “I just met Dave a handful of times at the coffee shop downtown.”

      “Yes, and…?”

      “I’ve told him how I felt about not hurting my sister. He won’t try to advance our relationship until I’m ready.”

      “Sunny, you deserve a good relationship with a man.”

      I sighed. “I know. I want to be ready. But I wanted Eve to find somebody else—she always has before—and you know….”

      She learned farther back. “I do know—your sister who died. You won’t cause this one anguish.”

      “Not if I can help it.” I gave her a hug around the neck and trotted out of the building.

      In the afternoon, I showed up at Eve’s house, afraid I would need to convince her to get out of her nightgown