sun dat always shines.”
I raise my beer and tip it back, reluctantly gulping down the godawful flavor. “Like piss water.”
“Ah, you been drinkin’ dat fancy stuff too long, Cous’. Need to return to your roots.”
“Pretty sure I swallowed one just now.”
The day rolls on, as we stop at each spot, collecting the traps that Luc set the night before, and by mid-afternoon, we’ve got about forty pounds of crawfish, sorted and sacked. Kicked back beside Luc, I watch Jordan and Céleste leaning over the edge of the boat, Céleste snapping pictures, while Jordan tosses lunch meat to a gator. The sound of her laughter makes me want to smile, in spite of the turmoil brewing inside my head.
“I need a favor,” I say to my cousin beside me.
“Anything you want. All you gotta do is aks.”
“I have to go out of town for a couple days. I need you to keep an eye on Céleste for me.”
“She in trouble, her?”
“Someone’s taken an interest in her, yes.”
“Da ones you work for?” Perhaps Luc is more perceptive than I give him credit for, most times. At my silence, he smirks and takes a sip of his beer.
“There are things I can’t divulge. For your safety.”
“I’ve known for a while, Cous’. Have to be deaf and blind not to see you got yourself tangled up in a line.”
“One I’m hoping to untangle soon.”
“Well, you can count on me to keep a close watch on your fille. And, I promise, I won’t lay a finger on her. But I will happily break anyone’s finger dat touches her.”
“You’re a good man, Luc.”
A scream swings my attention back to Céleste, who shoots up onto her knees, hands covering her mouth on a gasp, as Jordan jumps into the water.
“Oh, my God! What are you doing?” she calls after him.
A split second of tension settles and I push to my feet and cross the boat. Peering over the edge shows Jordan inching his way toward the gator, and when he slips beneath the water, I feel Céleste’s hand squeeze my arm.
A few seconds later, the gator rises up out of the water with Jordan’s head pressed into its underbelly. The guy is known throughout the bayou, and particularly amongst tourists, as the Gator Boy. He runs a swamp tour and makes a spectacle of himself, jumping in to swim with the gators. Shit luck, is what I call it, but he’s made quite a name for himself, even showing up on YouTube a few times.
“That’s one crazy couillon,” I say over Luc’s hooting, shaking my head as the guy lowers the gator back into the water.
Céleste laughs, snapping pictures of him. “I’ve known some certifiable lunatics in my life, but you’re all the craziest bunch I’ve ever met.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it.”
“Who’s ready to head back an’ eat some crawfish!” Luc fires up the engine, and I reach down to help Jordan back into the boat.
Shaking the water off himself, he lets out a howl, and Luc tosses him another beer.
I take a seat beside Céleste, wrapping my arm around her, as she tucks herself into my side.
Back at Luc’s, a few of the neighbors’ pop in for a crawfish boil, all of us gathered around a picnic table lined in newspapers, over which hundreds of spicy Valir crawfish have been scattered with corn and red potatoes. The music and laughter takes me back to my youth, as I quietly watch Luc show Céleste how to pinch the tail and suck the heads, just like our grandparents taught us.
In some ways, I miss these simple days, hanging out with Luc out on the water all afternoon, drinking with friends in the evening. Not a care in the world. But I feel as if I’m watching through the eyes of a stranger now. A man no longer welcome at the table. One who’s spent too many years doing despicable things, while everyone else has enjoyed life.
How quickly the days of innocent fun faded to a pitch blackness that I’ve been blindly navigating ever since.
Once everyone leaves, I take Céleste by the hand, leading her to a narrow walkway across the swamp, a wooden bridge, where cypress trees stand at either side and the sound of bullfrogs, owls, and insects add a peaceful soundtrack to the surrounding darkness. A place where Luc and I used to sit until nightfall, fishing, sipping Cokes, and talking about girls.
Céleste and I settle down onto the bridge, legs hanging over the