Page 45 of A Boy Called Lovesong

It rattled its way slowly toward the lower floor before stopping with a dramatic jolt.

I opened the doors and released Chet, and we followed the sounds of chatter and the smell of Cajun food into the dining room.

There were the cotton pickers and Leroy and Maybelle… and Lovesong… all still dressed in their church clothes, eating and laughing and passing a big pot of some kind of stew and another pot of grits around the table.

“Well, if it ain’t the Devil himself,” chuckled Maybelle. “Come join us, Satan. Take our jambalaya, just spare our souls.”

Everyone at the table laughed, and at first, I wasn’t sure if they were mocking me or the reverend.

That’s when Lovesong said, “Is Noah here? Please don’t tell me you heard my father’s sermon. I’m sorry I invited you to join us. He gets a little carried away.”

“So, hewastalking about me?” I asked, knowing the answer but still feeling decidedly offended.

Lovesong patted the empty chair beside him. “Ignore my father. He gets carried away. Come, sit by me. I’m pretty sure you ain’t the Devil. I should know.”

I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but my stomach was grumbling, and Chet was already scooting about under the tables begging for scraps of chicken and shrimp which everyone seemed happy to give him.

I was reluctant to take up Lovesong’s offer, but the seat beside him was the only empty one at the table.

I took a deep breath and sat down.

Someone passed him the pot of jambalaya, taking him by the hand and guiding his grip to the pot handles before he turned to me and said, “Jambalaya? It’s Maybelle’s secret recipe. You ain’t tasted jambalaya till you tasted Maybelle’s jambalaya.”

“I ain’t tasted anyone’s jambalaya before,” I said, then promptly corrected my grammar. “I mean, Ihaven’ttasted anyone’s jambalaya before… I meant to sayhaven’t.”

“I know what you meant. Don’t matter how you say it, I know what you meant.” He felt for the ladle in the pot. “Here, bring your bowl near. Clink it against the side of the pot so’s I know where it is.”

As the others continued their chatter and laughter, I picked up my empty bowl and noticed the number of chips around the rim. I guessed Lovesong enjoyed serving people their meals. There must have been a lot of pot-clinking going on.

I clinked my bowl against the pot now.

He slopped a generous spoonful of the Cajun stew into my dish.

“Did I miss? I didn’t spill any on you, did I? If I did, I apologize.”

“You didn’t spill any at all.”

“Good. But there is one other thing I need to apologize for.”

“What’s that?”

Did he know why I was here?

Did he know all too well what he had done?

My back stiffened and I clenched my gut. I was unprepared for him to beat me to the very purpose of me being here, and I was certainly unprepared to have some kind of confrontation in front of everyone at the table. I gave a nervous chuckle. “What on earth do you have to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry I called you an asshole when we first met.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh God, forget it. I’ve been called worse in my time. I’m sorry I was so stupid about…” I wasn’t sure what to call it, which made me feel stupid all over again.

“You mean me being blind and all?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been blind my whole life. I’ve learned to live with it. It’s only really a problem when I try to eat and miss my mouth. Which happens all the time.”

He lifted a spoonful of dripping jambalaya to his face, and I panicked.

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