A Second Chance

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“MELANIE, COME IN.” Luc opened the door wider to admit his cousin, who’d come to Indigo to check out the facilities and the site of the banquet.

She looked around with wide eyes. “This place is incredible. I remember coming here once when I was a little girl. The whole house was trashed.”

“It was pretty bad,” Luc agreed. “But it was fun fixing it up.”

“You didn’t just fix it up, you transformed it.” Melanie inspected the furniture, the pictures, the rugs. “You really have an eye for color. Where’s Grand-mère?”

“She’s out.”

“Out? Out where?”

“I’m not sure. She doesn’t give me her agenda.”

“Luc, she’s almost eighty-six years old. You can’t just let her go gallivanting around the countryside by herself. What if she falls? What if she gets sick?”

“Like I have any say over what she does? When was the last time you tried to tell her she couldn’t do something?”

“Good point. But aren’t you worried?”

“She’s not alone. She has a boyfriend.”

Melanie’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

“Apparently they were in love way back when, before she married our grandfather. They’ve rekindled the flame.”

“Luc, this is dangerous. What if he’s a fortune hunter? Celeste has millions.”

Luc shook his head. “He’s not a fortune hunter. He’s the town doctor, salt of the earth, and I believe he genuinely cares for Celeste.”

Melanie gave him a suspicious look. “How do I know you didn’t cook all this up? You could be in cahoots with this guy.”

Luc thought he couldn’t feel any worse than he did after Loretta dumped him, but Melanie’s lack of faith made him feel sick inside. For the first time, he had to come face-to-face with the fact that he might never fully regain his family’s trust.

“I don’t blame you for thinking that,” he said. “Celeste should be back in a little while. You can talk to her, and to Doc. Hell, talk to anyone in this town about Doc. It’ll put your mind at ease.”

Melanie looked down at her shoes. “I’m sorry, Luc. I don’t know what made me say that. Celeste isn’t feeble-minded, and she’s never been a sucker. She believes in you, and she obviously believes in this Doc person, so I will, too.”

She suddenly stepped forward and hugged Luc, and he couldn’t have been more surprised. He squeezed her back. “Thanks, Melanie. Let me show you the kitchen, and then we can go look at the opera house. Celeste will probably be back by then.”

“Has it been awful, having her here?” Melanie asked in a whisper, as if the walls might overhear and report back to Celeste. “I love Queen Cee, but I’d go crazy having her around all the time, looking over my shoulder, criticizing.”

“You know, surprisingly, it hasn’t been too bad. I think she’s getting soft in her old age.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

Luc shrugged. “You’ll see.”

Melanie inspected Luc’s kitchen like an army general inspecting the troops. He’d cleaned it until it sparkled this morning, so she wouldn’t find anything wanting.

“You sprang for some decent appliances, I’ll say that,” she said appreciatively.

“Celeste did. She understood the need for professional grade. On weekends when I’m cooking breakfast for ten or twelve people, I’m grateful.”

Melanie nodded approvingly and made a few notations in a small notebook.

“Let’s go see the opera house. Didn’t it used to be an antique store?”

“Until recently. The shop’s owner, Maude Picard, passed away. Her goddaughter moved the business to a little storefront.”

They made the short drive in Luc’s Tahoe. Melanie admired the opera house’s simplified Greek revival style and paused to read the tarnished brass plaque identifying the building as having been designed by a famous New Orleans architect, James Gallier Jr.

Marjo had said she would leave a key in the mailbox for Luc, but the door was already open when they arrived, so they walked in.

“This is gorgeous,” Melanie said, gawking at the opera house’s faded elegance. “Imagine what it must have been like in its glory days.”

“The city is hoping to see it like that again. If the festival is a success, it should draw a lot of musicians and music lovers. The idea is that the opera house will be a center for Cajun and zydeco music-sort of a mini-Grand Ole Opry for the region.”

“I can definitely see that.” After locating all the working electrical outlets, Melanie took out a tape measure and checked the dimensions of the lobby. “It’ll be a tight fit, serving a sit-down dinner for fifty, but it’s doable. Have you rented the tables and chairs?”

“And the linens, china, flatware and crystal. If people are paying fifty bucks a plate, I figure they shouldn’t have to eat off paper plates.”

“Excellent. You’ve thought of everything. How did you get to be so good at event planning?”

“Hanging out at hotels all my life. Watching and learning.”

“If you ever need a job…” She stopped, realizing what she was about to say.

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect the family to employ me once my probation is up.”

“Don’t rule out the possibility.”

Luc didn’t believe in a million years that his Aunt Anne or Cousin Charlotte, kind as they were, would want him back at the Hotel Marchand. Not after what he’d done.

They heard laughter coming from up in the balconies and realized they weren’t alone. Melanie’s eyebrows flew up. “Is the opera house haunted?”

Luc grinned. “You don’t recognize the laughter?”

“No, why should I? I don’t know anyone in-” Then it hit her. “That was Celeste? That giggle?”

“I think you’ll be surprised what love has done for our Grand-mère.”

They walked up the narrow stairs with the threadbare carpet to the gallery that surrounded the auditorium. The walls had been draped with luxurious silks and velvets in deep, rich colors, and Celeste and Doc were busy hanging the photographs Celeste had brought with her from New Orleans.

Although the opera house was in poor repair, enough funds had been raised to patch the roof, damaged during the hurricane, so the photos and artifacts would remain dry.

Celeste turned at the sound of the creaky stairs, and her face lit up with the sweetest of smiles. “Melanie, mon petit chou, what a surprise. Did that husband of yours actually unchain you from the kitchen?”

The two women hugged. “Grand-mère, you know the kitchen is where I want to be most of the time.”

Celeste pulled away from the hug. “Melanie, I want you to meet someone. This is Dr. Michel Landry, a very old and very dear friend.”

“How do you do, Dr. Landry?” Melanie shook Doc’s hand, polite as could be, while her eyes searched his face for some sign of duplicity.

“My pleasure,” Doc said with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “Now, you can call me Doc, everyone else does.”

Luc could see Melanie was immediately taken in by the older man’s charm and obvious sincerity. Celeste dragged her around, showing her the various photographs, proud that she was donating the future museum’s very first collection.

Doc, meanwhile, took Luc aside. “Any change in the status?”

“You mean with Loretta? No, she won’t return my calls. She didn’t even deliver any muffins this morning.”

“You can’t let her put you off forever. Take it from me, you don’t want to be an octogenarian, wondering what could have been.”

“I haven’t given up, if that’s what you’re thinking.” However long it took-another year, five years, ten-he would prove that he’d changed, that he was not like her first husband.

When he realized the direction his thoughts had just taken, he was so surprised his knees went weak. He lowered himself to a nearby folding chair so he could think it through without falling over.

He was in love with Loretta. There was no other explanation. If he was ready to spend the rest of his life in Indigo, proving he was worthy of her-that didn’t sound like a crush or infatuation or some passing fancy.

“Luc? You all right? Your face just went white.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be all right again. I’m afraid that woman has ruined me for good.”

Celeste and Melanie returned from their “museum tour,” chattering like a couple of teenagers making plans for a big Friday night. “C’mon, Luc,” Melanie said. “Up, up, up. I need to see Loretta’s cooking facilities. Where is she, anyway? I thought this dinner was her bailiwick.”

Celeste and Doc exchanged a worried look.

“I took it over,” Luc said. “Loretta has too many things to do.”

“But she’s still going to let me use her kitchen, right?”

Celeste took Melanie’s hand. “I’ll walk over to the bakery with you, dear. I believe Luc and Michel have some business to take care of.”

Luc shot his grandmother a grateful look. The last thing he wanted was to barge in on Loretta unannounced and have her go ballistic on him. Melanie didn’t even know Luc and Loretta had been together, much less that they’d split up. It still surprised him that Celeste didn’t use his disastrous romance as a platform to criticize him or compare him to his father. But she hadn’t made a single negative comment.

Love really was transformative, as Loretta had pointed out on their one and only date. He was certainly a different man from the one he’d been when he’d arrived in Indigo. He’d come here counting the months until he’d be free. Now his freedom meant little. He’d just as soon be tied down to Indigo forever. But what were the chances?

FOR THE FIRST TIME in weeks, Loretta was caught up. She had the vendors lined up for the music festival. They’d all signed the appropriate contracts and returned them to her. They’d finished wrangling over the size of their signs and the locations of their booths, and the fact the festival had an exclusive contract with one soft drink megacorporation and couldn’t serve drinks from the other.

She’d finished baking three pies of different varieties for tonight’s bingo game at the church. They only needed to be boxed up. She’d swept and mopped and polished everything in sight, and she had nothing left to do-except think about Luc.

She alternated between being furious with him, and then all weepy, though she somehow managed to hold herself together whenever a customer came in. One woman had walked out without buying anything after accusing Loretta of having a cold and spreading her germs all over the baked goods.

She was in her own kitchen in the house, washing dishes from last night, when she heard the bell on the bakery door jangle. She quickly dried her hands and hurried out, then stopped short when she saw Celeste Robichaux and Melanie Marchand.

Panic rose in her throat. What did they want?

She schooled her face to reveal no emotion. “May I help you?”

“Oh, Loretta, your bakery is absolutely adorable!” Melanie enthused, coming forward to squeeze Loretta’s cold hands. “I love how you built it onto the front of your house. How convenient, to just roll out of bed and right to work!”

“It is convenient,” Loretta said, warming slightly. It was hard to be cold around Melanie, since she was so friendly herself. And she was doing Loretta a heckuva favor. She would do well to remember that.

“I just came to check out your cooking facilities, for the dinner,” Melanie said, her gaze focused on the wood-burning stove, which dominated one corner of the bakery.

“Please, make yourself at home. Anything you need, it’s yours. And don’t hesitate if you need me to purchase anything special-long as it doesn’t break my budget.”

“Luc’s pretty much got everything covered.” Melanie could resist no longer. The oven drew her toward it. “Where did you get this fabulous oven?”

“My father and I built it. Well, mostly my dad, but I helped. The door is an antique we scavenged from a junkyard.”

“It’s absolutely awe-inspiring. No wonder your breads are so fantastic. I want to buy some before I leave.”

“Please, you can take whatever you want.”

Celeste hadn’t said a word. She’d seated herself at the scarred oak table and watched Loretta with curious, probing eyes.

Clearly Celeste knew what had happened between Loretta and Luc, but Melanie didn’t have a clue.

“Would you ladies like some tea?” Loretta asked. Her quarrel wasn’t with Luc’s grandmother or his cousin, after all.

“I’d love some,” Melanie said, just as Celeste issued a stern, “No, thank you.”

Fine. Of course Celeste’s loyalties would lie with her grandson. But did she have to be so unpleasant about it? Who was the wronged party here? Who’d been deceived?

Or…the thought occurred to her as she moved through the familiar motions of brewing a pot of tea for Melanie, perhaps Celeste didn’t know of Luc’s…escapades. Maybe he had lied to his grandmother about his criminal past, and about their breakup. He could have told her anything.

Loretta tried to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. She set the teapot on the table, along with two mugs, sugar, lemon and cream. “There’s a second mug there, Celeste, if you change your mind.

“Thank you, but no.”

Loretta decided tiptoeing around the subject was too difficult. “Celeste, just because Luc and I are no longer together doesn’t mean you and I can’t be friends.”

Celeste looked startled by Loretta’s direct words, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say.

Melanie just looked uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Melanie,” Loretta said. “You shouldn’t get stuck in the middle of this. Your cousin and I were briefly…an item. But that’s no longer the case.”

“Someone probably should have warned you,” Melanie said. “Luc is a charmer. Women always fall all over him. It must be hard for a guy like that to be, you know, steady.”

“Luc’s steadiness is not the issue,” Celeste said. “There are no other women, and there haven’t been any other women. Not since he moved to Indigo.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Melanie asked.

Now Loretta desperately wished she hadn’t brought up the subject of Luc. “I’d rather not get into it,” she said, but her objection had no effect.

“The problem,” Celeste declared, “is Luc’s criminal record. I advised Luc to be honest with her. He was going to tell her after the music festival, but unfortunately, she found out by other means.”

“Oh.” Melanie busied herself pouring tea.

Just then the front door burst open, and Zara whirled in like a dust devil, head down. “Hi, Mama. Bye, Mama.” She tried to make her escape, not even acknowledging her new friend, “Tante Celeste.”

“Zara, hold on.”

Zara didn’t stop. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Sensing something was up, Loretta practically chased her daughter down, catching her just before she reached the door leading out of the bakery and into the house. She caught her by the straps of her backpack and swiveled her around.

Zara had a black eye.

“Zara, what happened?”

“I’m not telling.”

“You better tell me.”

“It’s your fault!” Zara cried. “You told me I could go fishing with Luc and I told everybody at school and then you changed your mind and I told Kiki and then she told everybody and Thomas said I was a big fat liar and I kicked him and he punched me in the face.”

A host of emotions bombarded Loretta-anger that her daughter was still fighting, fury that a little boy would punch her baby in the face, guilt for being the root cause of the conflict.

Mother’s guilt won out. “Oh, Zara.”

Loretta tried to hug her daughter, but Zara would have none of it. “I don’t want to be hugged right now. I’m mad and I want to be mad for a while.”

This was new. “O-okay, honey.”

Zara stalked out of the bakery, and Loretta let her go.

Celeste and Melanie were pretending not to listen, but there was no way they could have missed any detail of the argument. She returned to them.

“You see what I’m dealing with?”

Celeste stood up decisively. “Loretta, I’m sure you think you’re being a good mother. But the least you could do is make a small effort to find out what happened with Luc.”

“It doesn’t matter. Unless he was falsely convicted. He wasn’t, was he?”

Celeste wouldn’t meet her gaze. “No. He committed a crime. But there were extenuating circumstances.”

“I know all about extenuating circumstances. Jim, my husband, had a basket full of them. He was always blaming someone else for his bad behavior. But excuses didn’t save him from going to prison, and they didn’t save him from being murdered himself.”

“Oh, jeez,” Melanie murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Loretta said. “This conversation has gotten completely out of hand. Can we forget about it and move on, please?” she pleaded.

“Of course,” Celeste replied, ever polite. “But let me pass along a bit of wisdom-and at eighty-five years old, I’m allowed my wisdom. Forgiveness is a powerfully healing emotion. Just think about that for a few days. Melanie, come.” She got up from the table and regally sailed out of the bakery.

Melanie gave a parting shrug and an apologetic smile as she followed her grandmother into the crisp autumn afternoon.