"Do you know where he is or when he will return?" asked with desperation in my voice.
"He's on his way to the airport, mademoiselle." "Tonight? He's going away tonight?"
"Oui, mademoiselle. I am sorry. Is there a message, mademoiselle?"
"No," I said weakly. "No message. Merci beaucoup, Garton."
I cradled the receiver slowly and let my head fall against the phone. Beau was leaving before we had even had a chance to say goodbye. Why didn't he just run away and come to me? I asked myself but then realized how unreasonable and foolish such an act would have been. What good would it have done for him to give up his family and his future?
I sighed deeply and sat back. The dark clouds that had covered the moon slipped off and the pale white light illuminated the road, making it look like a trail of bones that led into yet deeper darkness. I had made a decision back there, I thought. There was nothing to do now but carry it out. I started to walk again.
The sound of a truck horn blaring behind me spun me around just as the driver of a tractor-trailer slowed it down to a stop. He leaned out the passenger-side window and gazed down at me.
"What in all tarnation are you doin' walking along this highway in the dead of night?" he demanded. "Don't you know how dangerous that is?"
"I'm going home," I said.
"And where's that?"
"Houma."
He roared. "You're planning on walking to Houma?"
"Yes sir," I said in a sorrowful voice. The realization of just how many miles I had to go set in when he laughed at me.
"Well, you're in luck. I'm passing through Houma," he said, and swung the door open. "Git yourself up and in here. Come on," he added, when I hesitated, "fore I change my mind."
I stepped up and into the truck and closed the door. "Now how is it a girl your age is walkin' all by herself on this highway?" he asked, without taking his eyes off the road. He looked like a man in his fifties and had some gray hair mixed in with his dark brown.
"I just decided to go home," I said,
He turned and looked at me, then nodded with understanding. "I got a daughter about your age. She run off once. Got about five miles away before she realized people want money for food and lodging, and strangers don't usually give a tinker's damn about you. She high-tailed it back as fast as she could when a skunk of a man made her a nasty offer. Git my meaning?"
"Yes sir."
"Same could have happened to you tonight, walking this lonely road all by yerself. Your parents are probably out of their mind with worry too. Now don't you feel foolish?"
"Yes sir, I do."
"Good. Well, fortunately, no harm come of it, but before you go runnin' off to what you think are greener pastures next time, you better sit yourself down and count the blessings you have," he advised.
I smiled. "I certainly will do that," I said.
"Well, no harm done," he said. "Truth is, when I was about your age . . . no," he added, looking at me again, "I guess younger . . . I done run off myself." He laughed at the memory and then began to tell me his story. I realized that driving a truck for long distances was a lonely life, and this kind man had picked me up for the company as much as to do a good deed.
By the time we'd pulled into Houma, I had learned how he and his family had left Texas, where he had gone to school, why he'd married his childhood sweetheart, how he'd built his own home, and how he'd become a truck driver. He wasn't aware of how much he had been talking until he brought the truck to a stop.
"Tarnation! We're here already and I didn't even ask you your name, did I?"
"It's Ruby," I said. And then, as if to symbolically emphasize my return, I added, "Ruby Landry," for I was a Landry again as far as the people of Houma were concerned. "Thank you," I said.
"All right. You think twice 'fore you go running off to be a big-city girl, hear?"
"I will." I got out of the truck. After I had watched him pull away and disappear around a turn, I started to walk home. As I ambled down the familiar streets, I recalled the many times Grandmère Catherine and I came into town together or went visiting one of her friends together. I recalled the times she took me with her on one of her traiteur missions, and I remembered how much the people loved and respected her. Suddenly the thought of returning to that toothpick-legged shack of ours without her being there seemed terrifying, and then there was the prospect of confronting Grandpère Jack. Paul had told me so many sad stories about him.
I paused at another pay phone and dug some more change out of my purse, this time to call Paul. His sister Jeanne answered.
"Ruby?" she said. "My gosh! It's been so long since I've spoken to you. Are you calling from New Orleans?"
"No," I said.
"Where are you?"
"I'm . . . here," I said.
"Here? Oh, that's wonderful. Paul!" she screamed. "Come to the phone. It's Ruby, and she's here!"
A moment later I heard his warm and loving voice, a voice that I needed so desperately to give me comfort and hope.
"Ruby? You're here?"
"Yes, Paul. I've come home. It's too long a story to tell you on the phone, but I wanted you to know."
"You're returning to the shack?" he asked incredulously. "Yes." I explained where I was and he told me not to take another step.
"I'll be there before you can blink your eyes," he promised. It did seem like only a few minutes later that he pulled up in his car and hopped out excitedly. We embraced each other, me holding onto him as tightly as he held onto me.
"Something terrible has happened, hasn't it? What has Daphne done now? Or is it Gisselle? What could either of them do that would send you back here?" he asked, then noticed I had no luggage. "What did you do, run off?"
"Yes, Paul," I said, bursting into tears. He got me into his car and held me until I could speak. It must have sounded like crazy babble to him, for I burst forth with the whole story, inserting almost everything and anything that had been done to me, including Gisselle's planting a bottle of rum in my dorm room. But when I described my pregnancy and the butcher doctor in the dirty office, Paul's face turned pale white and then flashed red with anger.
"She would do that to you? You were right to run away. I'm glad you've returned."
"I don't know what I'm going to do yet," I said, wiping away my tears and taking a deep breath. "I just want to go back to the shack for now."
"Your Grandpère . . ."
"What about him?"
"He's been on a real tear lately. Yesterday when I drove by, he was digging up the front and shouting into the wind, his arms waving. My father says he's run out of money for rotgut whiskey and he's got the DTs. He thinks it's almost the end for him. Most everyone is surprised he's gone on this long, Ruby. I don't know as I should take you back there."
"I've got to go back there, Paul, It's my only home now," I said, determined.
"I know, but . . . you're going to find it a terrible mess, I'm sure. It'll break your heart. My father says your Grandmère must be spinning in her grave something terrible."
"Take me home, Paul. Please," I begged.
He nodded. "Okay, for now," he said. "But I'm going to look after you, Ruby. I swear I will."
"I know you will, Paul, but I don't want to be a burden to you, to anyone. get back to doing the work Grandmère Catherine and I did, so I can keep myself."
"Nonsense," he said. He started the engine. "I got way more than I'm ever going to need. I told you, I'm a manager now. I've already approved the plans for my own home. Ruby..."
"Don't talk about the future, Paul. Please. I don't believe in the future anymore."
"All right," he said. "But you're going to be fine as long as I'm around. That's a promise you can take to the bank," he bragged.
I smiled. He did look much older. He had always been more mature and responsible than other boys his age, and his father had not hesitated to give him important work. "Thank you, Paul."