The Road to Bayou Bridge. Liz Talley

      She wanted nothing to do with Darby.

      No ties bound them.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “YOU DIDN’T BOTHER TO mention Renny Latioles was out on the land today,” Darby said as he poured a glass of ice-cold milk into one of the tall tumblers that had occupied the kitchen for as long as he could remember.

      “No, I didn’t,” Picou said, stirring something on the huge Viking stove. It smelled like feet, but Darby wasn’t going to say as much. Maybe he’d head over to the house Nate and Annie had built a mere mile away and check out Annie’s Crock-Pot dinner.

      He took a sip. “Why?”

      His mother shrugged. “No real reason. Figured it wouldn’t really make a difference, though I suppose I should have told her you and your brother were out toting guns. Oversight on my part.”

      Darby narrowed his eyes at her erect form, covered from head to toe in black spandex. A long silver braid parted her shoulder blades, the only color on a palette of black. Odd choice in outfit even for his kooky mother, but her clothes didn’t matter. Only the fact she’d already started manipulating situations for her own reasons. What they were, he couldn’t guess.

      “Yeah. So, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

      “Yeah?”

      “About Seattle.”

      “I don’t want to hear about it, Darby.”

      “I know you don’t, but it’s where I’ll be calling home for the near future.”

      The spoon clinked against the pot. She turned and met his gaze with eyes the same color as his own. “Why would you want to live there? It rains all the time. How is that interesting?”

      “I’m not concerned with interesting. I’m ready to start a new chapter in my life and that city fits the bill, and besides, I told you I met somebody. Right now it’s not serious, but if things go as planned, I’m thinking she’s the one.”

      Picou snorted. “The one? How long have you known her? Two months? That’s not nearly long enough to know the color of her toothbrush much less if you’ll suit for the rest of your life.”

      “It’s blue, and I haven’t made any decisions regarding Shelby, but you’re the only parent I have, so I’d appreciate some support.” He wasn’t going to tell her the only reason he knew Shelby’s toothbrush was blue was because he’d watched her pick it out at the commissary. He and Shelby hadn’t been intimate yet because he didn’t want to rush their relationship. They’d both agreed to allow things to build as they got to know each other better.

      His mother looked away, spun and turned down the fire under the saucepan. “That figures.”

      “What?”

      “Blue toothbrush. Sounds boring.”

      He almost laughed. “Mom, come on. You haven’t even met her and you’re writing her off. Besides, Nate only knew Annie for three weeks before he promised happily ever after.”

      “You’re not your brother, and I’m not writing her off. I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely. I just can’t imagine you living on the West Coast. This place has always been such a part of you. Never figured you wouldn’t come home once you were done roaming.”

      “I’m home now, and there are these things called airplanes. You climb inside, buckle up and they get you where you need to go pretty quickly.”

      His mother frowned. “And cost an arm and a leg. I happen to be fond of my appendages.”

      Darby closed his eyes for a moment. Dealing with his mother had never been easy. They brushed against each other like earth along a fault line. Many said their butting heads were a result of being too much alike, but Darby knew it was because his mother tried to control every aspect of life surrounding her, including his own. Only he and his siblings saw it. Everyone else thought her harmless and loving.

      Picou had been avoiding the topic of his heading to Seattle since he’d arrived home a day before. Any time he mentioned his intent of interviewing for the position with Mackey and Associates, she snorted, sniffed or blatantly ignored him. At times she resembled his boyhood pony Marigold, but somehow he doubted feeding her an apple would appease her.

      She turned back around to face him, her face softening into the woman who’d wiped his brow when he’d vomited or blown on his boo-boos after applying antiseptic. “I understand it’s your life to live, sweetheart, but I think you should give considerable thought before making such a drastic decision. You haven’t been home in years. The distance has distorted your image of this place.”

      He blinked. “Mom, I’m not moving back to Bayou Bridge. I’m not moving into Beau Soleil. I’m nearly thirty years old, and I’ve been on my own for a long time now. I can’t go back in time.”

      “I know how old you are, and I’m not pulling out your old Star Wars sheets to put on your bed. All I’m asking, even if it sounds unreasonable, is for you to spend some time thinking about what moving to Seattle to pursue a career and wife there means in the long run.” He could see his mother tried to say the right things, the things he wanted to hear, but he knew her. On the surface she said one thing, but underneath she plotted something quite different. She wanted her baby home. She wanted him to be part of the family—a family that was finally complete with the discovery of his twin sister, Della.

      Everyone but he and Picou had believed Della to be dead. Picou proclaimed some spiritual knowledge about her children, but Darby had known. Like in his bones. When he was young, he’d dream about his sister, wake crying, asking why no one would go and get her.

      And he’d been right.

      Della had been living two hours southeast of Beau Soleil in the backwaters off Bayou Lafourche, raised by a tough old bayou woman named Enola Cheramie. Even Enola hadn’t known the girl she called Sally was the long-lost Della, for the child had been hidden there by her kidnapper, Enola’s grandson, whose body had been discovered in the waters not far from Bayou Bridge. That Della had been found was a fluke, one started when Sally discovered by accident that she wasn’t related to Enola. One thing led to another and her file had landed on Nate’s desk. His older brother said it had taken one glance to know the young teacher was a Dufrene—Della had looked almost exactly like the young Picou Dufrene in the wedding photograph sitting in the formal living room.

      So, yeah, Picou wanted to gather her brood together so she might tend them all without any interference from a husband whose will was as strong as hers. But like Martin, she’d had a hand in making Darby feel as he did. Picou had not made waves when his father sent him away. She couldn’t undo what she’d done easily.

      Picou wanted him to live the life she’d built in her head for him—living down the street, eating at her dinner table every Sunday, fishing with his brothers, basically just being at hand. But Darby had not been part of life at Beau Soleil for some time. He didn’t feel comfortable here, didn’t know what doors stuck or where Lucille hid the cookies she baked. Even hunting with Nate that afternoon had felt forced.

      Darby sighed. “I’m considering all things, Mom, but I can’t imagine a life here in Bayou Bridge. If I stayed in Louisiana, I’d be looking at New Orleans or Baton Rouge. I’m different now, and I won’t go back to being the boy I was.”

      “Whoever said you were so awful as a child? I hope the past is not keeping you away from the present,” she said, her voice soft as the velvet hanging in the windows in the front parlor.

      “Seriously? You and Dad sent me away. Remember?”

      His mother shook her head as tears gathered in her eyes. “To grow up, not become like—”

      “That’s what I did,” he interrupted. “I grew up and I became a man who recognizes responsibility and doesn’t shirk it. A man who doesn’t want to come back to