"Wha . . . Ruby?"
"Oh, Daddy, no!" I cried. I stared at him for a moment and, realizing he wouldn't be able to drive anyway, and would certainly sleep all the way there, I turned and went to the desk. I found a pen and wrote a quick note explaining what Jack had said and where I had gone. Then, to be sure he read it, I pinned it to his shirt and left him, sprawled out drunk in his office.
I had never driven the car for as long a journey as this one was going to be, and at night, too. The thought crossed my mind to call someone to accompany me. I considered Catherine, but remembered she was on holiday. I certainly didn't want to call Claude or any of his friends. No one would want to go traveling into the bayou this time of night anyway, I thought. I had to do this alone, and I had to do it now.
Thinking about some of those dark side roads put a tremor into my legs and made my fingers shake when I finally got behind the wheel and turned the key. I took a deep breath, checked to see that I had enough gas, and then pulled out of the driveway, turning slowly into the city streets and leaving Daddy and the house behind me.
Somewhere ahead of me in the night Mommy waited. At least, I prayed so. Whenever I had any doubts I just conjured up Pierre's image and the plea in his eyes.
"Get Mommy," he had asked. "Make her come home."
I sped onto the highway and into the night to do just that.
11
Kiss
Ten minutes out of the city, the sky that had looked heavy and forbidding delivered on its threat. The rain fell, driven by a furious wind that splattered the heavy drops like eggs against the car windshield. The wipers groaned with the effort to keep the window clear. Oncoming car headlights blurred. It was like a monsoon. My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath with every turn.
Suddenly I felt the car sliding, and I panicked, hitting the brakes too hard, which sent the vehicle sideways. I screamed as the car rammed into a tree and the rear end whipped out, leaving me facing the side of the road, my front wheels in a ditch. Other drivers, whizzing by, sounded their horns as if in anger, fearful I would back out onto the road again and into their path.
But all I could do was sit and cry, my hands frozen to the steering wheel. I couldn't move a muscle. My heart was a wild frantic animal in my chest, thudding hard against my ribs. Tears coursed down my face and dropped from my chin.
The wipers were still going, even though the engine had stalled. I sucked in my breath and tried desperately to calm down. The rain sounded like giant fingers drumming the roof. More horns blared, and then a pair of huge headlights came bearing down on me. It was a tractor trailer truck, and I thought it was going to plow right into me. But the driver brought it to a stop about a dozen feet away. I saw him get out and run over to open my door.
He was a lean man in a faded white T-shirt and jeans. He had a well-trimmed dark mustache and thin brown hair. "You all right?" he asked.
"I think so. Yes," I said wiping my tears away.
"Your rear end is sticking out in the highway. You're gonna get smacked for sure. Did you try to back up and straighten out?"
"No, sir."
He was getting soaked standing there in the rain, but he didn't seem to care.
"Well, go on, see if she'll start," he said. I turned the key. The engine turned over and over, but the car didn't start. "We might need a tow truck," he muttered.
"Oh, no. I've got to get to Houma tonight!" He thought a moment.
"Let me come around and try it," he said. I slid over, and he got behind the wheel. "Might be flooded." He kept his foot down on the accelerator and turned the ignition. It churned and churned and then suddenly sputtered and started. "Let's see how bad you're hung up in this ditch," he said and put the car into reverse. Then he accelerated. The car lifted and fell, lifted and fell. He shook his head. "I don't know. We could rip something out if we force her."
"I've got to get to Houma, monsieur. It's a matter of life or death."
"Ain't it always?" he muttered and looked at me. "You sure you're old enough to be driving?"
"Oh, yes. I have my license right here," I said fumbling for my purse.
"That's all right. I ain't the police. Your folks know you're out in this weather?"
"I'm trying to get to my mother," I said.
He nodded. "All right. I'll try something. I got a chain in the truck. Give me a few minutes to hook it up to your car and I'll see if I can tug you over the ditch here."
"Thank you, monsieur. Thank you."
He smiled at me and shook his head. "Women drivers," he muttered and got out. I waited. The rain didn't ease a bit. I saw him working, seemingly oblivious to the downpour. I was sure he was soaked to the skin. Finally he tapped on my window.
"Just hold the steering wheel steady. If she comes up and out, turn to the right so you straighten up, okay? Got it?"
"Yes, monsieur. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he said. He ran back to his truck. I waited, and then I heard the chain tighten and I felt the car move back a few inches at a time. As it lifted, I did what he told me to do, and moments later I was free. My heart beat with joy instead of fear.
"Okay," he said, returning to the window. "You're out. If you're going to continue driving in this storm, you had better keep it slow, understand?"
"Yes, monsieur. How can I repay you?"
"Send me a thank-you card," he said and rushed away.
"But, monsieur . . ."
I waited. He got into his truck and drove off, beeping his horn as he went by. I never even got to know his name.
Minutes later I was back on the highway, driving with exaggerated care until the rain eased. It slowed to a drizzle, and then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. I chanced accelerating, feeling more confident as I put more miles behind me and the road looked drier and drier. Even so, traveling along highways with trucks and cars whizzing by and so few lighted houses made me nervous. If something happened to me, Mommy would never know and Pierre would never get well, I thought. Daddy would be left alone and would surely die, too. Just the thought of all this tragedy brought stinging tears to my eyes.
A half hour or so later I saw the clouds had broken up. Stars were visible, blinking their promises. It warmed my heart, and I felt even more self-assured. The horrible accident that had begun my journey became just a memory. When I drew closer to Houma, however, I realized I had forgotten the exact side road Daddy had taken to bring us to Cypress Woods. I slowed down and studied the roads, but they all looked the same now. Desperate, I decided to stop at the first shack with lights on inside. This journey that was supposed to take me about two hours had already taken nearly three. A house appeared on my right, so I slowed down and turned into the driveway.
As soon as I got out of the car, two gray squirrels scampered up a nearby cypress tree, their sudden movement making me gasp. They peered down at me curiously from the branch over my head. I laughed at them and walked up a gravel path to the galerie of the shack.
It was a paintless wood-frame building with orange stained screens on the windows. Some windows had shutters, some didn't. The yard was cluttered with used automobiles, washing machines, and damaged pirogues. The galerie had square columns that were barely holding up the tin roof, and the first step on the short stairway was broken. I hadn't picked the best place to stop for directions, but I wasn't sure how far away the next one was and I didn't want to get any more lost than I was. So I drew closer.
Zydeco music was coming from inside, and through the opening in the batten plank shutter, I saw a man playing a harmonica, another playing a washboard, and a third playing a fiddle. There was the sound of a woman's laughter and then someone shouted, "Laissez les bon temps rouler"—let the good times roll. More shouting was followed by more laughter and the sound of someone dancing on the plank floor. This close I could smell the heavy aroma of a seafood gumbo.