A Doctor's Confession. Dianne Drake

      “How so?”

      “You want everybody to be as deliriously happy as you are right now. Even if, like me, they don’t want to be. Or if, like me again, they’re satisfied with their life the way it is.”

      “Maybe you want to be happy the way I am, and you just don’t know it yet. I was like that when I first met Justin. Wasn’t ready to let go of the past and move on. It took me a while to come round, but when I did …”

      “You decided the whole world has to act just like you did. Except my world is complicated.”

      “And mine wasn’t?” Mellette asked. “I had to remove a wedding ring given me by someone I loved very much in order to make room for Justin. And I also had a daughter who was very much involved in my move forward. And you have …” She folded her arms across her fat belly and faked a contemplative frown.

      “Let’s see. You have none of that. You’re moving away from a boring boyfriend, followed by a chauvinist rebound, you’re at the top of your law school class, you have a killer job that you claim to love. And that sweaty guy over there keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Nothing about that sounds complicated at all. In fact, it seems pretty straightforward to me.”

      “I’m in transition. Give me some time.”

      “Seriously, Maggie? That’s the best you can do?”

      Maggie took a quick peek at the guy in the jeans, then concentrated on her lemonade. “I’m sure his story is a long, sad one. You know, dumped by the love of his life who ran off to marry a rodeo clown, and now he sits at home alone every night, sniffing the scent of her left on the pillow while petting FruFru, the fluffy white poodle over which they fought for custody.”

      “First thing is, he’s definitely not the poodle type. German shepherd, I think. Yes, he’d definitely have a German shepherd. And, Maggie, if you think he sits home alone every night, you probably don’t deserve to serve him lemonade. He’s one catchable hunk of man if I’ve ever seen one, and the only reason he’d be staying home is because he wants to.” She took a sip of her lemonade.

      “Or he’s a serial killer.”

      “A serial killer with drop-dead-gorgeous blue eyes,” Mellette continued.

      “They’re green,” Maggie corrected.

      “You looked!”

      “And I saw his sandy blond hair, wide shoulders and six-pack abs. Sure, I noticed, and that’s not counted as looking. It’s being observant. And I’ll have a good description ready for the police if he is a serial killer.”

      “He’s a sexy drinker with drop-dead-gorgeous green eyes you can describe right down to his abs. So does he have a birthmark?”

      “You said they’re drop-dead gorgeous,” Maggie challenged. “I didn’t.”

      “And you’re going to contend they aren’t, madame lawyer?”

      “Not a lawyer yet. And I’m not contending anything other than the fact that they’re green.” A very nice, tranquil green. “And that he is handsome.” With coloring that nearly matched hers, with green eyes just a shade lighter than the green in her eyes.

      “Because you were gazing longingly into them.”

      “If you weren’t so pregnant, I’d challenge you to a fight, right here, right now,” Maggie said in good-natured fun. “The way we used to when we were kids.”

      “Remember how Daddy would encourage us, even lay down bets on who’d win the wrestling match? So then we’d go at each other for a while, then Mother would come in and Daddy would pretend he knew nothing about it? Then he’d get all stern and try correcting us, and we’d jump all over him.”

      Both sisters laughed over the memory.

      “Between you and me,” Maggie said, “I’m glad you’re having a girl. I like the idea that Leonie will have a sister the way I had all of you, and I love the idea of having another niece since the first one I got was so great. I mean, boys are nice, but I don’t know how one would fit into the family. We’re so used to girls.” She was referring to her six other siblings. At age thirty-three, Maggie fell middle in line of the seven Doucet girls. With long, honey-blonde hair and green eyes, she stood out as the different one—she being fair while the others ranged in skin complexion from medium dark to dark.

      Being the fairest of the group, people had taken for granted she was also the weakest or most vulnerable. Except that wasn’t true. There wasn’t a weak, vulnerable Doucet girl in the bunch. Admittedly, Mellette was probably the strongest of them all, and that had helped her through the death of her first husband and into a life with a new love.

      Maggie wasn’t far behind Mellette in strength, though. Only hers was directed at her career. First a nurse, and now studying to be a lawyer who defended medical malpractice suits—a career change that had come about after her hand, placed directly on a patient’s heart with the intent of squeezing the life back into him, had saved him but also caused him an infection.

      The ungrateful man hadn’t thanked her for saving him but he had sued her for infecting him, which, for a while, had shattered her world and her desire to be in medicine. But like the typical Doucet she was, she’d come back swinging, decided to go to work as a malpractice investigator and, true to her strong nature, decided after that it wasn’t enough. Now, with just over nine months to go, she’d be the lawyer fighting back on behalf of the doctors and nurses who got sued unjustly.

      “I think Justin’s glad it’s a girl, too. He loves Leonie, and while he’s never said as much, I think he likes the fact that Daddy reigns over an empire of girls. Maybe sees himself in a similar position.”

      “You want seven, like Mother had?” Maggie questioned.

      Mellette shook her head vigorously. “This one, maybe one more. Although I will say that Mr. Drop-Dead-Sexy Carpenter over there looks like he’s got some boys in him, in case you want to change the direction of the Doucet family.”

      “Pregnant or not, I am going to wrestle you to the floor,” Maggie said, giving her sister a pretend slap on the arm.

      “Over what?” Justin Bergeron asked, stepping out onto the front porch. Justin, a general surgeon and part-time general practitioner at Eula’s House, was also a medical crime novelist, with a burgeoning screenwriting career added to his résumé.

      Both sisters looked up at him and started laughing.

      “And I’ll take that as my cue to go back inside,” Justin said.

      “You can stay,” Mellette said. “We were just … You know, sister talk.” She glanced over at her sister, who was glancing out at the carpenter. “About silly things. You and Amos are welcome to join us out here for lemonade.”

      Amos Picou, an old Bergeron family friend, stepped past Justin and hurried down the steps. A direct descendent of African lineage, he was a part of the local legend, a friend to all and an all-round good man. “Sorry, ladies, but I’m off to catch me some crawdads for a nice gumbo Justin’s going to be fixing later on. Gotta hurry since he’s got to get that gumbo on to simmering pretty soon, but later, after I get back, that lemonade will sure hit the spot.”

      Maggie’s eyes opened wider. “Did I hear someone say gumbo? And did I hear an invitation to dinner to help eat some of that gumbo?”

      “I’ll bet Justin will fix enough for one more, if you want to go over and ask Mr. Tool Belt to join us,” Mellette said.

      “I’m not going to go ask Mr. Tool Belt anything!” Maggie said, almost too defensively.

      Mellette smiled and poured a glass of lemonade. “Just give this to him. Ask him if you want to, or don’t.” With that, she hurried inside, then watched her sister from the front window.

      They were