“It means something?”
“Just ask him.” She sighs. “Oh, you poor sweet child. My Declan is a smart man. I think that out of all of our children, he’s the most like his father.” She points to a headstone, and I’m surprised to find that we’re sitting right in front of Declan’s father’s grave.
Beauregard Francois Boudreaux
1947 ~ 2012
Beloved Husband & Father
I’ve adjusted my sails.
“I’ve adjusted my sails,” I read softly. “Declan told me once that I’ve adjusted mine.”
“We’re always adjusting our sails,” Mama says with a smile. “My Beauregard was a very smart man. He had a cunning business sense, and our Beau and Eli both inherited that love of business, carrying on an empire that was once just a very profitable business. But my husband wanted more than that. He wanted to take the family business and make it more. You see, my husband was also a dreamer, and that’s what I see in my Declan. I see a very smart man who is also a dreamer. That’s the artist in him.
“That boy could pick up an instrument, spend ten minutes tinkering with it, and before you knew it, he was playing it like he’d been taking lessons for years.”
“Declan’s never had lessons?” I ask, surprised.
“No, ma’am. It’s a God-given gift, the way he can hear the music in his head. We knew early on that the family business wasn’t meant for Declan, and that was just fine with his father.”
“Your husband sounds wonderful,” I tell her, almost envious that she had such a solid, dependable man in her life.
“He was wonderful. And there were plenty of days that I wanted to hit him with the cast iron skillet I fry chicken in.”
She laughs when I stare at her with surprised eyes.
“Oh, honey, no marriage is easy. We had more than forty wonderful years together. But any relationship is work. And one important thing that I finally learned, after a few very frustrating years, is no one can read minds.”
I frown and stare ahead, reading over and over again, I’ve adjusted my sails.
“I had to learn to talk to my husband, to tell him what I needed. And with time, he learned the same. He was a smart man, but he was still a man, and men have that pride gene that seems to make us women madder than a honey badger.”
“Yes, they do have that gene.”
“But we have the he should know what I’m thinking gene that just confuses the dickens out of them.”
Is that what I’ve done?
“I don’t know what’s happening between you and my boy, but I want to tell you that the first time he brought you out here to dinner, and I saw the two of you together, I saw a connection there that just doesn’t happen every day. I’ve known about Declan’s reputation, and as his mother, it didn’t necessarily make me proud. But when he looked at you, it reminded me of the way his father looked at me. And I can tell you, the Boudreaux men, when they love, they love. It’s black and white for them. There is no grey area.
“And it’s the best thing that will ever happen to you.”
“I’m not so sure he loves me,” I murmur, remembering that morning that we made love. “And I also don’t know if we have anything in common.”
“You have one very big thing in common,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re crazy about each other. And if you doubt what he feels for you, well, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought you were.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The walk. Listening to me.”
“Oh, dawlin’, it was my pleasure. I like you, Callie.”
We stand to walk back to the house, and come face to face with Declan, as he walks toward the fence bordering the cemetery.
“Well, seems you’re not done talking for today,” Mama says and pats my arm. She walks to Declan, kisses his cheek, and walks away, leaving us staring at each other, just like we did the other night.
Chapter Nineteen