Beau looked very reluctant to leave, but he did so. phoned Mrs. Flemming and heard that everything was fine at home. Then I went up to what had once been my own room and lay down on the bed in which I had dreamed often of Beau and myself together, happy. I closed my eyes and in moments, I was asleep.

I woke up to the sound of laughter rising from the base of the stairway and listened.

"Come by in an hour to take us to the wake," I heard Gisselle call out, and then I heard her pound up the stairs. She stopped in my doorway and I sat up, grinding the drowsiness out of my eyes.

"Hi," she said. "We had such a nice time. There was a wonderful breeze at the Riverwalk and we sat and watched the tourists and the artists. You should have come along. Are you well rested? Because we have to go to the funeral parlor for the wake. I'm not having people at the house until after the funeral," she said.

"Yes."

"Then get dressed," she sang. "Beau's coming for us in an hour."

She hurried off and I wondered how even she could be in such a party mood on such a dark occasion. But at the wake she behaved properly, producing tears whenever she wanted them. Despite the role he had played in the little conspiracies against my father, I couldn't help but feel some pity for Bruce, who stood alone in a corner most of the time. Apparently the truth about his relationship with Daphne was no secret, and now that Daphne was gone, everyone understood Bruce had little power and relatively little wealth.

All of Daphne's social friends and many of her business associates stopped by to greet us. Our attorneys were there to introduce them. I sensed that Gisselle was becoming impatient and tired of the somber atmosphere. After an hour or so, she was ready to leave. But Beau was at her side imploring her to stay a little longer. Mourners were still arriving. When she gave in, I realized how strong and good an influence he was on her and smiled to myself.

Periodically I would shift my eyes toward him. He and I would gaze at each other and I would feel my heart start to pitter-patter. I was afraid that someone else would see in my face the warm feelings that still flowed through my body whenever I was close to him or he spoke to me, so I tried to avoid him. But it was like trying to avoid a tall glass of cold water after spending days in the dry desert. I couldn't keep my eyes from shifting in his direction, and every time I heard his voice, I stopped speaking and listening to anyone else. It was still music to my ears, but it was difficult for us to spend any time alone, and the next morning, Paul arrived early to accompany me to the funeral.

I knew we were a great curiosity to many people who had heard about my marriage and new life in the bayou. When Daphne's coffin was slid into the Dumas family vault, my thoughts went to Daddy. In my heart I believed he would have rather been laid to rest beside my real mother. I hoped that spiritually, wherever souls went to spend eternity, they had found each other again, and Daphne . . . would be delivered to another place.

After the funeral most of Gisselle's old friends returned with us to the house. The first hour was quiet, but I saw how heavily Bruce was drinking and how angrily he was muttering to his few friends while he eyed Gisselle and me with a growing fury. I had explained the reason to Paul.

Suddenly Bruce dropped the glass in his hand and it shattered on the floor. The crowd of mourners stopped talking. He smiled and wobbled forward.

"What are you all looking at?" he demanded. "You don't have to whisper behind my back anymore. I know what you're thinking. I served my purpose and now I'm to be discarded, is that it?"

"Bruce," I said, stepping forward. "This isn't the time."

"No, La Ruby, this isn't the time. But if you and your sister have your way, there'll never be the time, will there? Well, all right. Enjoy what you've got now, because you won't have it forever. I've got my rights. I know I do, no matter what your high-paid attorneys say," he assured us. Everyone was speechless. Then he smiled and bowed.

"I will take my leave of this fine, upper-class gathering, for I have been informed that I am persona non grata. In short, my presence is no longer appreciated. Not that it ever was. So be it," he said, "for now." He pivoted so sharply, he almost toppled, and then started for the door, followed by two of his associates who took his arms quickly.

The chatter started again. I looked at Gisselle.

"Good riddance to him," she flared, her face red and very angry. "I don't know what he's complaining about. He got more than he deserves anyway. Beau," she suddenly cried weakly. He rushed to her side. "Wasn't that just awful?"

"Yes," he said. "He's just drunk."

"This on top of everything else. I can't stand a moment more. Please, Beau. Help me to my room," she pleaded, and he guided her out, her head on his shoulder as she muttered her apologizes to the people who had stopped by. After that, people began to leave.

"I want to go home tonight, Paul," I declared suddenly.

"Really? But I thought . . ."

"I don't care about any financial arrangements, anything. I just want to go home."

He nodded. He had flown into New Orleans from Baton Rouge, so we would drive back in my car. I went up to my room to pack my suitcase. While I was doing so, I heard a gentle knock on the partially opened door.

"Yes?"

Beau stepped in. "You're going home tonight?"

"Yes, Beau. I can't stay here any longer. It's the longest I've been away from Pearl," I added.

"I'm sorry that I haven't asked you more about her. I just felt . . . like I had no right to ask," he said.

"She is your daughter," I reminded him.

He nodded. "I know. Paul seems to have accepted everything completely. I mean, from the short conversations we've been able to have, I think so."

"He loves Pearl, yes."

"And he loves you," Beau said.

I looked down at my suitcase without replying for a moment. "Gisselle tries to be different when she's with you. I can see that," I said. "Maybe you are good for her."

"Ruby," he said, coming closer. "The only reason I started with her again was that when I looked at her, I could pretend, imagine, I was looking at you. I have this dream that I can make her into you, but it's a foolish dream. There can't be another you and I can't stand the thought that I've lost you and the life we might have had together."

Tears came to my eyes, but I didn't turn around so he could see them. I swallowed down the throat lump and completed my packing, only muttering, "Don't, Beau. Please."

"I can't help it, Ruby. I'll never stop loving you, and if it means I have to live forever with an illusion, then that's what do."

"Beau, illusions die quickly and leave us far worse off than if we had faced reality," I warned.

"I can't face a reality without you, Ruby. I know that now."

We heard footsteps on the stairway. I snapped my suitcase closed just as Paul came to the door.

"The car's ready," he said, looking suspiciously from Beau to me.

"Good. Good-bye, Beau. You must try to come to the bayou soon."

"Yes, I will."

"I'll just say good-bye to Gisselle, Paul."

"Fine," he said, and took my suitcase.

"I'll go down with you, Paul," Beau said. As the two of them headed for the stairway, I went to Gisselle's room. She was lying on the bed with a damp washcloth over her forehead.

"I'm leaving now, Gisselle," I said.

Her eyes fluttered open as if she weren't sure she had heard a real voice. "What? Is that you, Ruby?"

"Yes. I'm leaving for Cypress Woods tonight."

"Why?" she asked sitting up, suddenly rejuvenated. "We'll have a big breakfast tomorrow and maybe the four of us will do something that's fun for a change."

"I've got to get back to Pearl, and Paul has a lot of business to tend to," I said.

"Oh, pooh on all that. You just want to run away from all this sadness and ugliness with Bruce," she accused.

"Yes, that, too," I admitted.

Her expression softened and then her lips quivered. "What will become of me?" she cried.

"You have Beau now," I said. "You will do just fine."

"Yes," she said, pulling her face into a full, gleeful smile. "I guess I will."

I turned and hurried away, my heart pounding. How she enjoyed reminding me I had lost Beau again.


8

  From Bad to Worse

During our ride back to the bayou, Paul tried to make small talk and then he tried to get me excited about some new things that were happening not only in our business, but also in politics. I listened with half an ear, filling every silence between us with the sound of Beau's voice, and filling every dark mile along the way with the images of Beau smiling, talking, gazing at me with that look of anguish in his eyes and yes, that look of love.

I tried to keep myself busy and not think about him during the days immediately following our New Orleans trip, but for the first few days I couldn't get myself to draw a line. I would just stare at the blank paper and think about my studio in New Orleans and Beau. I tried sketching and painting animals, flowers, trees, everything and anything but people, for I knew that every man I would envision would be a man who had Beau's hair, Beau's eyes, Beau's mouth.

What made it even worse was gazing at Pearl, who had developed more distinct facial features and had begun to look more like Beau. Maybe it was just that I was seeing him everywhere since the funeral, but when Pearl laughed and smiled, I heard Beau's laugh and saw his smile.

One afternoon a few weeks after we had returned from Daphne's funeral, I sat on the patio and tried to read a book while Mrs. Flemming played with Pearl on the grass. It was one of those rare days in the bayou when there was barely a breeze and the clouds looked pasted against the soft blue sky. It made everyone feel lazy. Even the birds barely flitted from tree to tree. They sat quietly on branches, looking more like stuffed animals. From off in the distance, I could hear the dull thump, thump, thump of one of our oil drills and occasionally the voices of the men shouting things to each other. But other than that, it was very quiet so that Pearl's laughter rippled over the grass toward the canals, a tiny tinkle of a laugh, making me feel we were all in a toy world.

Suddenly James came rushing out of the house carrying a large envelope.

"This was just brought special delivery for you, madame," he said excitedly, and handed it to me.

"Thank you, James."

He nodded and left while I undid the fastener and pulled a newspaper out of the envelope. Mrs. Flemming gazed at me curiously and I shrugged.

"It's just a New Orleans newspaper, two days old," I said. I gazed at it, wondering why it had been sent special delivery, when I saw that an inside page had been marked with a bright red clip. I opened to the page and gazed at a circled story. It was a wedding announcement, describing the marriage of Beau Andreas to Gisselle Dumas. They had eloped.

I reread the story to confirm that the words actually said what I thought they said, and for a moment it felt as if the air around me had been sucked away. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't swallow, and I was afraid if I tried too hard, I would gag and turn blue. My heart seemed to sink deeper into my chest, making me feel empty and cold inside.

"Something not unpleasant, I hope," Mrs. Flemming said.

I stared at her for a moment and then found my voice. "My sister . . . she eloped," I said.

"Oh. With a nice young man?"

"Yes. A very nice young man," I said. "I have to go upstairs for a moment," I added, and rose quickly so I could turn and walk away before any tears showed themselves on my cheeks. I charged through the house and up the stairs and threw myself on my bed, where I buried my face in my pillow. Of course, I knew that this might happen, but I had lived with the wish that Beau would come to his senses and not succumb. Now some of his last words spoken to me returned, words that had suggested otherwise.

I can't help it, Ruby. I'll never stop loving you, and if it means I have to live forever with an illusion, then that's what I'll do.

Apparently he had decided to do it. Could I be happy knowing that every time he kissed my sister's lips, he closed his eyes and made himself believe he was kissing mine? That every time he woke in the morning and gazed at her face, he convinced himself he was gazing at me? He was in love with me; he would always be in love with me. I knew that Gisselle thought she had achieved some sort of victory by winning him back and getting him to marry her, although in her heart she must know that it was a shallow victory, and that he was using her like some magic mirror into which he could gaze and see the woman he really loved.