I thought about Jack and the things Mommy had said. Maybe she was right; maybe I was in a weak and vulnerable state when we met, but why did that have to mean what we felt for each other was just illusion? And why did that have to mean that Jack was less sincere than I thought he was? Sometimes tragic and difficult times bring together people who are meant to be together, I reasoned. Mommy was understandably wary, but I needn't live like that, too.

I didn't regret anything that had happened between Jack and me. Our loving remained an oasis of happiness in a sea of turmoil and pain. Everyone was always warning me about the dangers inherent in first love. It was better to be cautious, modest, reasonable, everyone said.

But I was convinced that what I felt in my heart now for Jack was more than just a young girl's first infatuation. He and I had found depths of feelings together that were beyond the reach of mere girlish crushes.

No, Mommy, I thought. Don't worry about my relationship with Jack. It's built on solid ground, not swampland, and the only illusion for us was the idea that we could ever forget each other and what we had come to mean to each other.

I sped up. The rain started just before we reached New Orleans, but it was a slow, steady drizzle rather than a blinding downpour. Mommy woke up after we crossed the bridge and started down the city streets toward the Garden District. In the gray light of morning, the city looked tired, worn. Without the glow of neon signs, the rainbow colors of costumes, and the sound of music, New Orleans in the morning resembled an aging woman caught without her make-up. Street cleaners were still trying to remove the debris cast about by frenzied partygoers. Sleepy store owners opened their doors and squinted at the daylight.

The rain slowed to a sprinkle, but the air was so hot and humid already that the sidewalks looked steamy. "Are you all right, Mommy?" I asked.

She flashed a smile and nodded. "There were moments when I thought I would never set eyes on this city again," she said. "But that's over." She squeezed my hand. "Let's get Daddy and go to Pierre."

The rain came to a complete stop when we reached the Garden District. I pulled into our driveway, and we hurried up the steps to the front door. Aubrey, who knew we were on our way, must have been waiting by the window, for the door was thrust open before we reached it.

"Welcome home, madame," he said quickly. The warmth in his moist eyes was as much emotion as Aubrey had ever shown.

Mommy surprised him with a quick embrace. "Where's Monsieur Andreas?" she asked.

Aubrey was flustered for a moment. "Monsieur Andreas . . . oh, upstairs. I helped him dress. He's practicing with the crutches."

We charged up the stairway. When we reached the open door to Mommy and Daddy's suite, I stepped back. Daddy was up, leaning on his crutches, his leg in a cast. He stopped and looked at Mommy for a moment. "Ruby," he said, teetering.

She rushed forward, and he embraced her, the crutches falling to the floor. She held him firmly, and they stood there clinging to each other for a long moment. Their embrace sent my fugitive tears flowing freely down my cheeks. After another moment I picked up Daddy's crutches and held them out to him.

"What are you wearing?" he asked me with a quizzical smile.

"These are Jack's clothes, Daddy."

"Why?" He looked at Mommy.

"It's a bit of a horror tale," she said. "Let her shower and change. I need to shower, too. Then we'll go to the hospital, and Pearl will tell you all of it."

"But where have you been, Ruby? What have you been doing?"

"I'll tell you everything, too, Beau. Just give me a chance to catch my breath."

"Are you in any pain, Daddy?" I asked.

"Nothing I can't endure now," he said, shifting his eyes away shamefully. He knew I was aware of what had happened, but this wasn't the time or the place to blame anyone for anything. None of that seemed important anyway.

I kissed him quickly on the cheek and hurried to shower and dress, praying that it wasn't too late to help Pierre._

Mommy wasn't prepared for the sight she would see in the ICU. Even I, who had seen Pierre here before, was frightened by the pallid skin and the way his ashen complexion almost turned his hair gray. His lips were colorless. The skin on the back of his hands looked wrinkled. He lay so still he resembled a mannequin. The nurse explained that he had just had a dialysis treatment.

Mommy stood staring at Pierre. She was a few feet from the bed. It was as if the last twenty or thirty inches were impassable after the emotional journey she had just taken. Daddy stood beside her, leaning on his crutches.

"He looks as if he's shrinking," Mommy moaned. "I don't remember him being so small."

"It's just because he's in such a big bed, Mommy," I said. "Come, talk to him. I'm sure he'll hear you."

She nodded and finally stepped up to the bed. I got her a chair and she sat down, holding Pierre's hand in hers.

"Pierre, my darling. My sweet baby, please get well. I'm here now, here to help you," she said. "We need you to get well, Pierre. Please try."

The tears were streaming down her cheeks. She leaned over and kissed Pierre's cheek, but it must have been like kissing a corpse. His eyelids didn't flutter; his lips didn't move. All we heard was the beep, beep, beep of heart monitors and other hospital machinery.

Mommy turned desperately to Daddy. He bit down on his lower lip and shook his head.

"Where's the doctor?" Mommy asked me.

"I'll go see." I went to the nurses' station. Dr. LeFevre wasn't expected until midafternoon, but Dr. Lasky expected to visit his patients in about an hour.

"We can go downstairs to the hospital cafeteria and have something to eat while we wait, Mommy," I told her. She was just staring at Pierre.

"No, you go ahead, dear," she said. "Take Daddy. I must stay here now."

I thought the nurse might not like it, but this ICU nurse was more compassionate and understanding. She just nodded. Daddy and I went to the cafeteria. After I got us some sandwiches and drinks and brought them to the table, I began to tell Daddy about my near tragedy in the bayou and what had happened to Buster Trahaw.

Daddy sat listening with his mouth open. "I let you down," he said. "I let everyone down by drinking myself into a stupor and falling down the stairs, breaking my leg. There you were, doing the things I should have been doing and endangering yourself, while I lay in a stupor. I don't deserve any good luck or happiness."

It was as if a transfusion of iron had been shot through my veins and into my spine. I straightened up quickly and snapped at him. "Stop this right now, Daddy. I don't want to hear another note of self-pity from your lips. Mommy desperately needs us to be strong for her, and Pierre will need us more than ever. There isn't any time to sit around bemoaning all the tragedy."

He looked up, surprised at my harsh tone, but I couldn't help speaking to him that way.

"When I was alone in that canoe, drifting from one canal to the other, lost and exhausted, I could think of only one terrible thing: I had let you and Pierre and Mommy down. If we just dwell on ourselves, we will become pitiful, and whatever evil looms around us will have its day with us," I concluded sternly.

"You, Pearl?" Daddy said, starting to smile. "You have come to believe in the power of spirits?"

"I believe in the power of the soul, yes. I believe we can do battle with what seems to be our destiny. If you don't try, you will be carried away by the winds of darkness. I don't believe in voodoo rituals or have faith in good-luck charms, but at least the people who do have faith in these things believe they can change their destiny. They have some grit," I added, and Daddy laughed.

Then he grew dark and serious.

"You seem to have grown years older in just a few days, Pearl. I sense a greater maturity in you. It's as if you have leaped over time." He sat back and stared at me a moment. "This Jack Clovis, he was a great help?"

"Yes," I said.

"You've become very fond of him?"

"Yes," I admitted. "And in a mature way," I added.

Daddy nodded. He looked very sad again for a moment and then sighed. "It's not easy to see your little girl become a woman. Goodness knows, no one knows the dangers that befall young people better than we now know them, but there's a wall of innocence around a young girl. Her pains and disappointments are all small compared to what she can endure later: a boy she likes doesn't ask her to the prom, her hair isn't as soft or as stylish as she would like, she has a pimple on her chin.

"I bet you've forgotten the time when you were in third grade and some boy said your head was far too big for the rest of you. You came running home crying that day, and Mommy was out visiting an art gallery where one of her exhibitions was being staged. I was in the office, and you came to my door in tears. I had to run a tape measure around your head and then work out the proportions to prove you weren't a freak. How easy it was to drive the demons away from you then. How hard it becomes now."

"Why must there be any demons, Daddy?"

"It just seems there always are," he said. "But I suppose if you find the right man he will have the weapons with which to protect you. I hope you will find a man who can do better for the woman he loves than I have."

"Stop it, Daddy!" I ordered.

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands. "I'll be the man you think I am." He straightened up. "You're right. There isn't any time for self-pity." He bit into his sandwich. "Tell me more about this Jack Clovis."