Page 51 of Lulu’s Recipe for Cajun Sass

She started to say, “It’s not—”

But he clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent the words from coming out. Which was silly. So, he removed his hand and stood abruptly, turning away from her so that she wouldn’t see the tears that scalded his eyes. He blinked several times, then turned to face her.

She stood, too, but didn’t move any closer. “Tell me the truth, Justin. Have you already accepted the Chicago offer?”

This was not the way he’d wanted, even rehearsed, this conversation going. But it was too late now. “Yes,” he said, quickly adding, “But I’ve got a plan that will work out for all of us, I promise, even Adèle. I assume she’s sleeping.”

Louise nodded. “I’ll listen, Justin, but I really have made up my mind.”

“Don’t tell me,” he said in a panic. “Let me talk first.”

“Okay,” she said on a sigh that was not promising. She sat down again on the couch and patted the cushion for him to sit, as well.

He sat, and before beginning his spiel, he drank down the remainder of wine in his glass in one gulp, then did the same with what remained of Louise’s.

She arched her brows at him, knowing he was not a heavy drinker. “Justin! You’re as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. You have nothing to be nervous about with me.”

“I have everything to be nervous about with you,” he disagreed. “I love you and can’t imagine a life without you in it. I know we started out in agreement that this would be just an affair…a short one, but be honest, we both fell hard and fast.”

She didn’t disagree, but the determined expression on her face didn’t soften either.

“Let’s get one thing out of the way first. I don’t give a hoot in hell’s hollow whether Adèle is your daughter or your niece. I should have realized the bond between you two wouldn’t withstand a separation of even a few weeks, let alone months or years. Blame it on pure male egotism, or selfishness, or just not thinking. But, sweetheart, the bond between you and me is just as strong. At least, it is from my end.”

“Oh, Justin. This isn’t about whether you love me or not. Can’t you see—”

He put a forefinger to her lips to silence her. “Hear me out, sweetheart. I’ve been practicing this spiel all day. People on the two-day train ride from Boston probably thought I’d lost a few screws…or was just one of those crazy redneck Southerners.”

She smiled, but only slightly.

“I phoned my contact at the hospital in Chicago and we had a long talk about my situation. He didn’t think I would have any time outside my studies and residency to get a job to supplement my income so we could find better living arrangements, but he did say that the wives of some of the married residents got work in the hospital…offices, cafeteria, that kind of thing.”

“And where would Adèle be when we were both working?”

“You could get hours while she’s in school.”

“Kindergarten is only half a day, Justin.”

“I know that. I could also get a loan from my parents, though they’re not wealthy by any means. Honey, I’m just trying to say that we, together, could find a way that would work for us. And it would only be temporary.”

“Temporary to an adult is different than temporary to a child,” she argued. “A month is like a year to a child. Three years would be like forever for Adèle. As for borrowing money from your parents, I would never do that. Never!”

“That was just an example. I would be a good risk for a bank loan.”

“Pfff!”

“I’m trying to look at the bigger picture. In three years, I’ll probably be able to name my salary. We would have more than enough in the long term to have a home in a good neighborhood, a family including more children if you want, two cars, a few luxuries. Wouldn’t that be worth the sacrifice?”

“You’re missing my bigger picture, Justin.”

His heart sank. He was losing this battle.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think this week, and I’ve come to some conclusions.” The sadness in her beautiful eyes crushed him with foreboding.

“Number one, I am a mother, and Adèle and what is best for her, comes first. Living in a city would not be good for her.

“Number two, like Adèle, living in a city would kill my soul. I didn’t realize, until faced with the possibility of losing it, that the bayou is part of my identity. It’s who I am. My heritage. The way I feel when I breathe in the bayou air. The plants and animals that give me sustenance.

“Number three, I am a traiteur. Folk healing is a gift passed down through all the female generations in my family. But I am specifically a bayou traiteur. My skills would not fit in a city setting.