The two men made it to the stairs and halted. Neither took a step closer. There was no denying the way their eyes glowed like a cat’s in the dark. His grandmother had been hunting all her life. She wouldn’t fail to notice such a detail, but she simply smiled at them both.
“Any friend of Wyatt’s is welcome here. I expect you’re both hungry. There’s always food on the stove. Simple, but nourishin’.”
“Nonny, this is Ezekiel and Malichai Fortunes. My grand-mere, Grace Fontenot. Nonny.” Wyatt introduced.
He couldn’t keep the notes of love and of pride out of his voice. His grandmother had raised four big Cajun boys, pretty much on her own, and they’d been wild. In truth, he’d brought Ezekiel and Malichai home with him not only because they were his best friends, but because he felt both of them could use a good dose of his grandmother. They needed to know what home and family really was. The cat in them was always seeking to get the upper hand with its need to hunt.
“Thank you for having us, Mrs. Fontenot,” Malichai said, his tone very formal.
“Call me Nonny. Everyone around here does,” she said. “And Ezekiel, thank you for shieldin’ my grandson when you were takin’ such good care of your brother.”
Ezekiel ducked his head, embarrassed.
“Yes, ma’am – Nonny,” Malichai murmured, and came up the stairs as if there might be a hidden mine under each step. He held out his hand. “I’m Malichai. Ezekiel is my older brother.”
Her faded eyes shifted to the man standing so utterly still at the bottom of the stairs. He was so still, he nearly faded into the night. “Good Christian names,” she commented.
The two brothers exchanged a long look. “Not so much, ma’am,” Malichai said. “There’s very little Christian about us.” He nodded his head toward the shotgun. “That’s how we read people from the good book.”
“There aren’t any gators close, ma’am,” Ezekiel said. “Are you worried about squirrels or some other varmint?”
Nonny smiled at him. “Human varmints, boy, that’s what this old squirrel gun is for. Human varmints and the Rougarou.”
“Hell of a squirrel gun, Nonny,” Wyatt said, picking up the gun. It was clean and oiled and fully loaded. “It looks new to me.”
“Gator gave it to me for my birthday. I told him not to remember such things, but once I saw how beautiful it was, I was fine with him givin’ it to me.” She waved them inside.
The moment Wyatt was in the house, he was glad he’d come home. There was something always welcoming and peaceful about Grand-mere’s house. Shame shouldn’t have kept him away for so long. There were pictures of his brothers and him, all young, along the stairway. They got older in the photographs toward the bottom of the stairs, but all had the same thick, wavy black hair and laughing eyes.
Wyatt swallowed hard, keeping his face forward and his expression clear. He didn’t have those laughing eyes anymore and it was through his own stupidity. He was going to have to talk to Nonny – to confess what he’d done. Knowing her, she’d box his ears and tell him no woman was worth it – and he’d agree with her on that. He’d learned his lesson the hard way.
A hand-carved chest sat at the bottom of the stairs with a marriage quilt over it. Two more chests were lined up, both with marriage quilts over the top of them. The fourth – his brother Gator’s – was gone now. He remembered how his brother’s wife, Flame, had cried and clutched the marriage quilt to her that Nonny had made long ago. Each of the boys had one on top of their ornately carved chests. So, okay, his sister-in-law was the exception to the women-weren’t-worth-it rule. They’d keep her in the family.
He knew Nonny longed for babies. She’d hoped Flame and Gator would provide them for her, but Flame couldn’t have children. Nonny loved her dearly, but she prayed for a miracle and wasn’t quiet about her praying. Often, she glared at Wyatt as if he needed to pull babies out of a hat for their family. He avoided the subject at all costs. He glanced back at Malichai and Ezekiel. He should have warned them what a force Nonny was and how she could get you promising things you never considered.
Both men were looking around the house with wide, almost shocked eyes. Wyatt looked too. He knew what they saw. When they were growing up, the Fontenots weren’t the richest family in the bayou, not by a long shot, but there was love in the house. You couldn’t walk indoors without feeling it.
The smell of fresh bread and gumbo permeated the house. He lifted his head and found himself smiling. She’d made his favorite dessert as well. That was Nonny, she did the little things that mattered.
“I called ahead, but you didn’t tell me you felt so threatened you needed to sit outside your home with a shotgun,” Wyatt said, heading toward the kitchen.
“Best not to mention things like that right off,” Nonny replied with a shrug of her bony shoulders. “You might not have been able to come and then you woulda felt bad. There’s no need of that.”
Of course there wasn’t. Grand-mere would never want one of her boys feeling bad for her or even feeling concern. She humbled him sometimes with her generous spirit.
The pot of gumbo was right there where it always was. He couldn’t remember a time when he had come home and not found something simmering on the stove. He reached up into the cupboard to pull down the bowls.
“You’re in for a treat, boys.”
“You’re not goin’ to show them around the house first?” Nonny asked. There was laughter in her voice.
“Eatin’ is on our minds, Grand-mere,” Wyatt admitted.
“He’s been talking so much about your cooking, ma’am,” Malichai added, “that all we’ve been thinking about is food.”
“That’s good,” Nonny said, and sank into her familiar chair at the kitchen table.
Wyatt couldn’t help but think about all the times he’d sat at the table with his brothers as laughter and conversation had flowed. There was a part of him that wanted to go back to those carefree days when living on the bayou was enough – was everything.