Johnny Gator Read Free Page B

remained soft and level.
    “Yes.   I like it here.”
    Johnny
laughed. “Even with the mosquitoes, snakes, and gators?”
    “You
took care of the skeeters ,” she said. “The snakes
have stayed out of my way and so have most of the alligators.   I know they must be there but there’s just
one I see on a regular basis.   He’s good-sized
and beautiful.”
    “Is dat right?” Sometimes his Cajun accent intensified.
“You think gators are beautiful?”
    Truth
was , she did. “Yes, I do that one.   He has the most amazing eyes,” she said. “You
know, they’re a lot like yours, emerald green.”
    His
hands stilled from whittling a piece of wood, but he didn’t turn around.
“Aren’t you afraid of a big gator like that?”
    “No,”
she replied. “In fact, I keep thinking how much I’d like to pet it but I don’t
dare.   Haven’t you seen it around?”
    A
long minute passed before he answered. “Might’ve. A
few gators here, not many, not like at home in Louisiana.”
    His
hesitation combined with an odd note in his voice prompted her to ask, “Is
something bothering you, Jean Batiste?”
    Again,
he took his time to reply. “No, cher ,” he said but without his usual savoir faire .
    Something
had shifted but she had no idea what. “Aren’t you pleased I’m going to stay?”
    “ Mais oui ,” he
said. “I’m glad, yes.”
    “I
mean, I don’t know yet how I’ll handle the financial end of it, although for
now I have savings in the bank.   I might
consider teaching, I suppose.   It would
be different in a much smaller school district.” Aware she babbled , Nola couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m looking forward to
watching the seasons change here.   Fall
and winter should be different but beautiful.”
    Johnny
said nothing.   The muscles in his back
rippled as he sheathed his knife and stood.   He handed her the piece of wood he’d been carving.   She cried out with delight when she realized
it was a small alligator. “Thank you!”
    “Yeah,
you’re welcome.   I been making it for a while, not just because you mentioned the gator today.”
    In
the month she’d known him, he’d always been whittling but she had never paid
attention to what. “It’s cute,” she told him. “It’s very artistic.”
    Standing
a few feet away, he grinned, a brief flash, and then the expression vanished.
“I’m no artist,” he told her. “I paint, though, or did once. Not much anymore.”
    Intrigued,
Nola asked, “What did you paint?”
    He
spread his hand out wide. “Caddo,” he said. “I painted the lake, nature,
critters, all of it. I had a show once, over at Shreveport.”
    “I’d
like to see your work someday,” she said. “Maybe you could bring a painting
over or I could come see them.   Do you
have a studio?”
    As
she spoke, she realized he always came to her place and had never invited her
to his.
    His
green eyes met hers and held steady. “No, cher , I just use the spare bedroom. It’s not a big deal, really.”
    “Can
I come see your work sometime?”
    Johnny
shook his head. “Probably not, although I wish you could see the paintings,
tell me what you think.   I don’t know if
they’re any good or not.   But there are
things you don’t know about me, things you’re better off not finding out, so
unless I bring a painting here, no.”
    He’s talking in riddles and I
have no idea what he means.   Is he
married? Did he do jail time? What could it be? “Then will you bring one over so
I can see it?”
    With
a wry expression, he shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, I don’t know.”
    Confused
and more than a little upset at his odd behavior, Nola asked, “What made you
stop painting? You sound like you enjoyed it and if you had a show, you must
have been pretty good.”
    He
frowned. “Something happened to me, something that changed everything about my
life and who I was, cher .   That’s all.”
    Nola
noticed how he’d begun to fidget, hands twitching, feet tapping.