"Oh, Mrs. Flemming. I'm so sorry," 1 said.

"Thank you, dear. I hate to leave, you know. You've made me feel like part of the family. I know you're very excited about your artistic career and need me to help with Pearl."

"Nonsense. You must go. I'll pray for you and your daughter," I said.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, the tears streaming down her face. "It's sad how it takes bad things to bring loved ones closer," she said. I hugged her and kissed her cheek.

When James brought my things up, he brought hers down. She had a taxicab on order.

"Kiss the little one for me every morning," she said.

"I know she'll miss you terribly. Please, let us know how things go and what we can do for you, Mrs. Flemming."

She promised and then left. It was as if a hurricane had come and blown my happy home apart. I couldn't help wondering if capricious Fate had decided to punish those close to me for any sins I might commit.

Nina Jackson, the Dumas cook, used to tell me that maybe a long time ago someone burned a black candle against us. Grandmère Catherine, being a spiritual healer, kept the evil away, but after she died, the devil, Papa La Bas, started coming around again, peeping in on my life, waiting for an opportunity.

Had I just given him one?


10

  Picture Perfect

Paul phoned that night from Baton Rouge and I told him about Mrs. Flemming.

"I'll come right home," he said.

"You don't have to, Paul. We're all right. I'm just very sad for her and for her daughter."

"I like to be with you when you're sad, Ruby. I don't like your being alone at times like this," he said.

"You can't protect me from every little storm that befalls me, Paul. Besides, I didn't have a nanny helping me when I lived in the shack and things were twice as difficult, did I?" I replied, my tone of voice harder than I had intended.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest you couldn't do everything for Pearl yourself," he said in a small voice.

"You don't have to be sorry, Paul. I'm not angry. I'm just . . . upset about Mrs. Flemming."

"Which is why I should be home," he insisted. "Paul, do what you have to do and then come home. I'll be all right. Really," I said.

"Okay. I should be able to leave here before lunch tomorrow anyway," he said. There was a short pause and then he asked how things went in New Orleans.

"Fine. Dominique and I made all the arrangements, but I think I'll postpone it until things get calmer around here."

"We'll begin a search for a new nanny as soon as I come home," he said. "There's no need to postpone your show, Ruby."

"Let's not talk about it now, Paul. Suddenly that's not as important to me anyway, and I don't want to go out and get a new nanny just yet. Let's wait and see what happens with Mrs. Flemming and her daughter."

"Whatever you want."

"Besides, I think I can be a full-time mother and an artist at the same time."

"Okay," he said. "I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Don't speed, Paul," I warned. "We don't need another car accident."

"I won't," he promised. "See you soon. 'Bye." "Goodbye, Paul."

The day's ride on an emotional roller coaster exhausted me. After I put Pearl to sleep, I crawled into bed myself. I lay there for a while with my eyes open debating about calling Beau. I just dreaded the thought that Gisselle would find out I was calling, however, and I decided against it. I would wait for him to call me. I shut my eyes, but despite my fatigue, I tossed and turned, fretting in and out of nightmares, some of which had terrible things happening to Paul and some had terrible things happening to Beau. How fragile our lives were, I thought. In seconds, everything we had, everything we learned, everything we built, could become dust. It made me question what were really the most important things and what were not.

I knew Paul must have driven fast despite his promises, because he was at Cypress Woods very early in the afternoon the next day. When I accused him of it, he swore he had been able to end his meetings earlier than anticipated. I was just finishing my lunch and having coffee on the patio. Pearl was beside me in her playpen, sitting comfortably and coloring with her crayons. She couldn't stay within the lines, but she was content smearing the colors over the faces and figures, pretending she was doing what Mommy did. Occasionally she would stop and raise her eyes to see if I was watching and admiring her work.

"Another artist in the family," Paul declared when he sat down.

"She thinks she is. Did your meetings go well, then?"

"I signed a new contract. I don't want to tell you the numbers. You'll tell me they're obscene, just like you did the last time."

"They are. I can't help feeling guilty about making so much money when there are so many people in need of the simple, basic things."

"True, but our industrious work and clever arrangements will create hundreds of new jobs and provide employment, opportunities, and money for many people, Ruby."

"You're beginning to sound like a big businessman, all right," I said, and he laughed.

"I suppose in my heart I always was. Remember when I was only ten and I had my roadside stand, selling my Cajun peanuts, the dried shrimp, from my father's cannery?"

"Yes. You were very cute, dressing yourself neatly in your shirt and little tie, having your cigar box of change."

He smiled at his memories. "I never wanted to charge you and your Grandmère Catherine when you walked by and stopped, but she wouldn't take it for nothing. 'You can't stay in business that way,' she told me."

I nodded, remembering.

Paul gazed at Pearl for a moment and then turned back to me. There was a deep dark look in his blue eyes. I could see the hesitation, too.

"What is it, Paul?"

"I don't want you to think I was checking up on you. I just called to see how you were."

"Called? When? Where?"

"The night before last, when you were at the hotel in New Orleans," he said.

My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath. "What time?" I asked softly.

"After eleven. I didn't want to call too late for fear I might wake you, but . . ."

I turned away.

"As I said," he continued, "don't think I was checking up on you. You don't owe me any explanations, Ruby," he added quickly.

Over the cypress trees that walled the swamps, I saw a marsh hawk lift itself and float downward, probably to pluck some unwary prey. It caused a half dozen rice birds to scatter. Beyond the trees, a ceiling of bruised clouds made its slow but determined journey in our direction, promising torrents of rain before the day ended. I felt a cloud burst within me, releasing drops of ice over my heart. They streamed down into my stomach and into my legs, filling me with a cold numbness.

"I wasn't in the hotel, Paul," I said slowly. "I was with Beau."

I turned quickly to catch the confirmation in his face. He was caught in a tug-of-war of emotions. He had known, but I knew he didn't want to know; and yet he did. He wanted to face reality, but he was hoping it wasn't the reality he dreaded. Pain flashed in his eyes. I shrank into a tighter ball.

"How could you do that? How could you be with that man after the way he deserted you?"

"Paul . . ."

"No, I'd like to know. Don't you have any self-respect? He left you to have his baby while he went off and enjoyed Paris and who knows how many Frenchwomen. Then he married your sister and inherited half your wealth. Now you go running back to him, sneaking in the night."

"Paul, I didn't mean to be deceitful. Really . . ."

He turned quickly to me. "That was your real purpose for going to New Orleans, wasn't it? It wasn't the paintings, your art career. It was to run to his arms again. Have you planned other sneaky rendezvous?"

"I was going to tell you," I said. "Eventually."

"Sure," he said. He sat back and pulled up his shoulders. "What have you two decided to do?"

"Decided to do?"

"Is he going to divorce Gisselle?"

"No such proposal was discussed," I said. "Except we both know what our religious beliefs are and how divorce is not an acceptable option, especially to his family. Besides, I can't imagine Gisselle being cooperative, can you?"

"Hardly," Paul said.

"Just the opposite would happen. She would feed on the scandal. She would help write the headline: One Twin Steals the Other's Husband. You can just imagine what it would do to Beau and his family in New Orleans, and . . . it wouldn't be fair to you, Paul. These people here . . ."

"Really?" he said with a smirk.

"Paul, please. I feel dreadful about this. There's no one I want to hurt less than you."

He looked away so I wouldn't see the tears and anger in his face. "It's nothing I haven't brought on myself," he muttered. "Mother said it would happen eventually." He was silent.

"Don't just sit there like that, Paul. Scream at me. Throw me out."

He turned slowly. The pain in his face was like a sword in my heart. "You know I won't do that, Ruby. I can't stop myself from loving you."

"I know," I said sadly. "I wish you didn't. I wish you could hate me," I said.

He smiled. "You might as well wish for the earth to stop spinning, the sun to stop coming up in the morning and going down at night."

We gazed at each other and I thought how cruel it was for Fate to cause him to have such unrequited passion for me. Fate had turned him into a thirsty man forever hovering above cool, clear water, but forbidding him to drink. If only there were a way to get him to hate me, I thought with irony. It would be painful for me, but it would be so much better for him. Between us, like a raw wound that refused to heal, lingered our regrets and sadness.