Page 41 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

I stifle a laugh. If nothing else, these guys keep me entertained. Well, the twenty dollars they leave me for occupying the counter for several hours each day and keeping my sweet tea the freshest in Cameron Parish helps, too.

It’s nearly November, which is late in storm season, so I’m guessing this one will bypass us, too. Hogwash residents used to have big storm parties, with everyone gathering at the largest homes or the community center. Funny that it could survive an atom bomb attack, but the swamp has just about reclaimed it. Then again, I did see a parish truck over there the other day, probably assessing how to best demolish it.

While Molly, with her loud mouth, broadcasts everyone’s business in town, I notice everything but keep my mouth shut—okay, maybe my lips are parted a little bit. Through the window, Maddock looks good this morning in dark jeans and a fitted flannel with thick hair that’s freshly trimmed—he must be coming from the salon. But he doesn’t cross the street. Instead, he struts into the Coffee Loft.

I stick my tongue out. “Traitor. Tallula is the real beauty queen in town. Sorry, Maddock, she’s taken. She and our sheriff are newly hitched.”

All three guys at the counter stare at me.

I realize I spoke all of that out loud.

“I’ll just go write the lunch special on the board now.”

Dick shakes his head. “Honey, I don’t like what I’m seeing to the east. I reckon you should close early today. Go home, kick up your feet, and watch the rain not rip off your roof.”

Last year, before Leonie came along, after a particularly wet fall, I came home to a tree branch, a nest, and a mama bird in my living room. Thankfully, my books were spared and not a soggy mess. At the time, second to the Porsche, the contents of my bookshelves were my most prized possessions—I should probably return a few of the first editions to the chateau’s library. Mama said to help myself, so I did, by learning all about ancient world history right up to the founding of this country. The lesson is history repeats itself and wisdom can prevent revisiting the bad parts.

Anyway, a week after the tree took the top off my house, the “Roof fairy” visited while I was here at the restaurant and replaced it. Good as new. I had a hunch these guys were behind it and refused to serve them sweet tea for a week.

Words were exchanged. They said not to kick a gift horse in the mouth. Not to bite the hand that feeds or some such nonsense.

Finally, Mrs. Daley left the farm to have a chat with me. She said it’s rude to turn down generosity. For instance, back in the day, she looked the other way when we used the paved road out by her house as a drag strip. My pride ripped and roared about that. But I got her point and reinstated sweet tea rights.

The guys get to their feet. Without a word, Hank starts sweeping up. Dick takes out the trash, and Hank is in the back talking to Antoine.

“I’ll have to ask Honey,” he says in his deep voice.

Hank hollers, “Did you ever get the generator repaired?”

“It’s on my to-do list,” I holler back. My mile-long to-do list.

“Then you’ll want to take anything perishable home.”

I pop my head into the food delivery window. “You think the power is going to go out?”

“Good chance. I’m going to bring my spare generator over for the freezer. But if there’s anything perishable in the fridge, I’d clear it out,” Hank says.

“Antoine, you have the biggest family, you take what you can.” I’ve ridden out countless storms, so I’m not nervous, except this will be a first with a baby if it comes to that.

I say, “The good thing is we won’t get our big delivery until Monday, so we’re fresh out of most things. But I’ll take the sandwich cold cuts and cheese. You take the eggs.”

I insist Buck, Dick, and Hank also take some food home, including the pies to their wives who I know will appreciate them—especially the apple which I only make seasonally.

By the time I pick Leonie up from Mara’s, the wind howls something fierce and the bare branches wave and scratch the dark gray sky like fingernails. The thick clouds roll closer with nothing to stop them.

Just past sunset, a loud pop explodes outside on the street, instantly submerging us in darkness. Leonie startles and cries with fright.

I pace and sing until she settles, watching the scene outside as the fire crew shows up, the wind and rain lashing them. Lights flash. A large truck appears. Voices rise and fall.

Someone bangs on the screen door. Leonie cries again. I kiss her fuzzy little head and sing until she’s quiet, wondering if this was what it was like for my mother, living in this very same trailer. What finally broke her? Or had she been that way all along?

Struggling against the wind to open the door, I find Jesse on the other side. Water drips from his broad sheriff’s hat.

“Honey, you alright in there?”

“We’re Hoggers. Of course we are,” I say as the storm whips up a fierce tantrum outside.

“Sorry to bother you this late. A transformer blew and a live line is down out on the street. We’re alerting all the residents to stay put or else risk electric shock.

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