to see them march, and that was enough.
“Look, there’s Mommy!” Angela yelled, and the others waved, little five-year-old Rumor confused but going with the flow. Mommy wasn’t around as much as she used to be, but there were other nice women caring for him.
“Grrrr,” Calista growled.
“Smile!” Katrina said through clenched teeth.
Alphé ignored Lola. “I wish she’d go back under her rock.”
In the month since their first meeting, Calista and Katrina had become each other’s lifeline. As much as she’d fought it, Katrina was enmeshed in the lives of Alphé’s children, worrying about them, supporting them, because she loved them. And Calista’s two, nine-year-old Porter and six-year-old Davina, were becoming important to her, as well.
Porter, Noel and Pris were the three musketeers, and Rumor and Davina, the twins from hell. Angela, fast becoming a teenager, loved them and protected them, but was slowly pulling away from the younger ones.
“Rumor and Davina shouldn’t be left alone,” Angela said. “I caught them with matches, trying to light a Barbie Doll’s hair on fire.”
“Those two will lay waste to the cove,” Alphé said, concerned. “Don’t let them out of your sight for a minute.”
Alphé took them out in the boat over the weekends to give everyone a break. On the water, they were different children: observant, interested, and quiet. They loved fishing, and Calista taught them how to clean and prepare the fish they caught.
But on Fat Tuesday, Alphé, Katrina and Calista were hosting a party for their neighbors and the families of their little friends. Soon, the long, narrow house and backyard were filled with children and their parents. Two folding tables groaned under the weight of the potluck dishes the guests brought, every Mardi Gras delicacy known to man.
After they ate, they returned to Main Street for more parades and partying.
The next-to-last parade was the horse parade. This year, Justin and Maggie, dressed up as famous people in French history, rode Spooky, leading the riders. Dressed up as a shirtless Louis XVI, Justin wore a white wig, and it took every ounce of self-control he was able to muster up not to laugh the entire time. Of course, Maggie was Marie Antoinette.
Joan of Arc, Napoléon and Victor Hugo were among the honored guests.
At the end of the parade, Justin and Maggie were named king and queen of the parade and would reign the rest of the day.
“Does this mean we can’t go home?” Justin whined as the photographer posed them for photos.
Maggie grabbed his hand and they laughed, wishing they could just get back on the horse and return to Bayou Cottage.
“Just think, Justy, someday we can show these pictures to our children. The time mom and dad were king and queen. Not everyone can say that.”
“Whose idea was this anyway?”
“Why, I’m pretty sure it was yours,” Maggie said.
But time went fast, the parades continued, and soon the barn was lit up again, so festive, and zydeco music rang out over the street.
“We need to get back before dark,” Justin explained to the master of ceremonies, Alfonso Casson. “I hope we won’t let anyone down by leaving so early.”
“You go ahead,” Alfonso said. “This ain’t New Orleans.”
They’d changed out of the costumes at Aunt Elizabeth’s house and, in jeans and sweatshirts, got back on Spooky and headed for Bayou Cottage. Maggie wrapped her arms around Justin as they rode, the shadows growing longer back in the woods, but Spooky knew the trail well and walked at a good pace.
“The past month was so much fun, Justin. Thank you.”
Resting her head on his back, she felt his voice vibrating.
“It was a lot of fun. I’m glad Lent starts tomorrow, though, because my belt is on the last hole. I’ll go to church before clinic starts and get marked with ashes so my clients don’t judge me.”
“Are you okay that I’m not going?”
“Of course, Maggie. What you do is between you and God.”
“Oh, jeez, don’t put it that way,” Maggie cried, giggling. “Now I’m feeling convicted.”
“Really, there’s no reason to. It’s the way I was raised. Everyone here was raised the same. It’s the ebb and flow of the season. So I ate and drank like a pig, and now for forty days I’ll give that up in preparation for Easter. But there’s one thing I’m not giving up.”
“And what is that?” she said, tightening her grip around his waist.
“You,” he said.
Her hands inched down a little further below his waist, and she could feel him chuckling.
“You’d better watch it, Maggie. I spotted a