About eleven o'clock Paul drove up on his motor scooter. Grandmere Catherine and I exchanged a quick look, but she said nothing more to me as Paul approached.
'Hello, Mrs. Landry,' he began. 'My cheek is practically all healed and my lip feels fine,' he quickly added. The bruise had diminished considerably. There was just a slight pink area on his cheekbone. 'Thanks again.'
'You're welcome,' Grandmere said, 'but don't forget your promise to me.'
'I won't.' He laughed and turned to me. 'Hi.'
'Hi,' I said quickly, and unfolded and folded a blanket so it would rest more neatly on the shelves of the stall. 'How come you're not working in the cannery today?' I asked, without looking at him.
He stepped closer so Grandmere wouldn't hear.
'My father and I had it out last night. I'm not working for him anymore and I can't use the car until he says so, which might be never unless—'
'Unless you stop seeing me,' I finished for him, then turned around. The look in his eyes told me I was right.
'I don't care what he says. I don't need the car. I bought the scooter with my own money, so I'll just ride around on it. All I care about doing is getting here to see you as quickly as I can. Nothing else matters,' he declared firmly.
'That's not true, Paul. I can't let you do this to your parents and to yourself. Maybe not now, but weeks, months, even years from now, you'll regret driving your parents away from you,' I told him sternly. Even I could hear the new, cold tone in my voice. It pained me to be this way, but I had to do it, I had to find a way to stop what could never be.
'What?' He smiled. 'You know the only thing I care about is getting to be with you, Ruby. Let them adjust if they don't want to drive us apart. It's all their fault. They're snobby and selfish and—'
'No, they're not, Paul,' I said quickly. His face hardened with confusion. 'It's only natural for them to want the best for you.'
'We've been over this before, Ruby. I told you, you're the best for me,' he said. I looked away. I couldn't face him when I spoke these words. We had no customers at the moment, so I walked away from the stall, Paul trailing behind me as closely and as silently as my shadow. I paused at one of our cypress log benches and sat down, facing the swamp.
'What's wrong?' he asked softly.
'I've been thinking it all over,' I said. 'I'm not sure you're the best for me.'
'What?'
Out in the swamp, perched on a big sycamore tree, the old marsh owl stared at us as if he could hear and understand the words we were saying. He was so still, he looked stuffed.
'After you left last night, I gave everything more thought. know there are many girls my age or slightly older who are already married in the bayou. There are even younger ones, but I don't just want to be married and live happily ever after in the bayou. I want to do more, be more. I want to be an artist.'
'So? I would never stop you. I'd do everything I could to—'
'An artist, a true artist, has to experience many things, travel, meet many different kinds of people, expand her vision,' I said, turning back to him. He looked smaller, diminished by my words. He shook his head.
'What are you saying?'
'We shouldn't be so serious,' I explained.
'But I thought . . .' He shook his head. 'This is all because I made a fool of myself last night, isn't it? Your grandmother is really very upset with me.'
'No, she's not. Last night just made me think harder, that's all.'
'It's my fault,' he repeated.
'It isn't anyone's fault. Or, at least it isn't our fault,' I added, recalling Grandmere Catherine's revelations last night. 'It's just the way things are.'
'What do you want me to do?' he asked.
'I want you to . . . to do what I'm going to do . . see other people, too.'
'There's someone else then?' he followed, incredulous. 'How could you be the way you were last night with me and the days and nights before that and like someone else?'
'There's not someone else just yet,' I muttered.
'There is,' he insisted. I looked up at him. His sadness was being replaced with anger rapidly. The softness in his eyes evaporated and a fury took its place. His shoulders rose and his face became as crimson as his bruised cheek. His lips whitened in the corners. He looked like he could exhale fire like a dragon. I hated what I was doing to him. I wished I could just vanish.
'My father told me I was a fool to put my heart and trust in you, in a—'
'In a Landry,' I coached sadly.
'Yes. In a Landry. He said the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'
I lowered my head. I thought about my mother letting herself be used by Paul's father for his pleasure and I thought about Grandpere Jack caring more about getting money than what had happened to his daughter.
'He was right.'
'I don't believe you,' Paul shot back. When I looked at him again, I saw the tears that had washed over his
