Johnny Gator Read Free Page A

instinct proved true. Before she could gather words to answer,
Johnny added, “I know what it’s like to have something you don’t deserve happen
to you and change everything.   You got to
roll with the flow and take what comes.”
    Just
what she needed, she thought, some kind of grassroots Cajun philosopher.   But his words provided a tiny measure of
comfort.   Nola nodded. “That’s true and
I’m working on it.”
    His
face split in a wide grin. “Good, that’s good.   Mind if I sit on your porch and smoke? I like a good cigar after a good
meal.”
    Nola
stood and gathered up their dirty dishes. “Sure, and I’ll wash these, then join
you outside although I don’t smoke.”
    “The
fresh air will do you a world of good, cher . ”
    “It
will if the skeeters aren’t biting.”
    “I’ll
show you how to keep them away,” he told her.
    She
dredged up an answer from the past. “ Merci beaucoup.”
    His
eyes lit up at the French and he grinned. “See you on the porch, cher .”
    Hands
deep in warm, soapy water, Nola pondered the man and his presence.   He had her trust, she realized, which was nothing short of miraculous.   She liked his genial demeanor and his accent reminded her of happy times
with her grandparents.   More than
anything, she wanted to know him.
    As
soon as she finished the kitchen chores, Nola joined him and they sat talking
till dusk about nothing of any importance.   A sweet relaxation crept over her tense body and when he rose to go
home, she said, “Come back and see me, okay?”
    Johnny
looked back at her and nodded. “Oh, I will, Nola.   You can count on it.”
    Nola
gazed at him and knew he would.
     

Chapter Two
     
    As
promised, Johnny Loutrel returned.   The next morning he brought her a bouquet of
white swamp lilies with the stems wrapped in wet newspaper, and she asked him
if he’d like to stay for coffee.   Nola
brewed it strong, the way she liked it, and he pronounced it to be perfect.
    After
that, he showed up almost every day, sometimes morning, sometimes afternoon,
but he always brought something.   Once it
was a jug of sweet Muscatine homemade wine, another time a mess of crawfish,
okra from his garden, and a pair of muffuletta sandwiches.   Johnny—who loved it when she
called him Jean Batiste—brought a pair of homemade mosquito traps.   Made with an odd combination of water, brown
sugar, and some yeast housed in empty two-liter soda bottles, the damn things
actually appeared to work because the number of mosquitoes dwindled to almost
none.
    By
the end of the first two days, they were good neighbors, and after a week, they
were fast friends.   They ate the fish he
caught and used the other things he carried to her.   Johnny told her stories, sang songs, and
sometimes brought his guitar.   He didn’t
play traditional Cajun music but country-western tunes and folk music.  
    When
the last days of spring shifted into summer, Nola made up her mind she would
stay past fall.   Although her body had
healed, her invisible scars remained.   Johnny provided good company, and she saw Aunt Ronnie at least once a
week.   She’d been to town several times
and even visited a supermarket, although she had broken out in a cold sweat and
almost hyperventilated.   No way could she
handle going back to the Dallas metro area yet, if ever, and she knew she
wasn’t up to handling students.
    ****
    “So
the school district sent me a contract for the coming year,” she told him. They
sat on her porch as dusk fell.   A giant
crane flew graceful against the darkening sky as she watched, waiting for his
reaction.   Johnny sat on the top step,
below where she rocked back and forth, content.
    “Did
you sign it, boo?” he asked. Although they had yet to kiss, he called her many
endearments, both Cajun and American.
    Nola
let out a long sigh. “No,” she told him. “I didn’t.   I don’t want to go back, not now anyway.”
    “You’re
staying then.” His voice