to,” I whisper back.
Deacon chuckles, and asks, “Are you even Catholic?”
“Yes, I am. Well, I used to be . . . was. I don’t know. It’s been years since I’ve been in a church,” I confess. There, that’s my confession. I mean, everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?
“Now, that’s just a cryin’ shame. Don’t y’all have family time on Sundays up in the big city?”
I look around the church to make sure our conversation isn’t bothering anyone before answering. “No, I don’t really do family time on Sundays . . . or any other day, for that matter,” I whisper, leaving it at that. If I say too much, it’ll sound like a sob story, and I hate when people feel sorry for me.
Deacon pulls back from me a bit and his face falls. “Well, Ms. Dani, I’m real sorry to hear that, but don’t you worry. The Landrys will make sure you get plenty of family time while you’re here with us.” He squeezes my shoulder and faces the front of the sanctuary where the priest seems to be finishing up. I glance up and see Micah smiling at me, as if he heard my conversation with Deacon. His blue eyes show kindness and concern. I quickly return his smile and look away, feeling a bit uncomfortable and exposed.
When the main part of the service is over, Deacon excuses himself. “I got some confessin’ to do. It’s good for the soul, ya know.” He slides past me and heads toward the back of the church while everyone else files out of the pews.
Not only is Sunday Mass a requirement when you’re with the Landry family, apparently so is Sunday lunch. Annie mentioned either she or Micah usually cook a big family-style spread on Sundays, but since I’m here, they’d like to take me out and show me a little more of the area, which I appreciate. With each glimpse of this place, I grow increasingly excited to share what I find with the readers of Southern Style . I don’t want to ruin this quiet, quaint town, but people should know how beautiful it is down here.
As I step out of the car at the restaurant, I notice we’re at another locally owned establishment. There are two things French Settlement doesn’t have: stop lights and restaurant chains. I had forgotten what that was like. After living in New York City for as long as I have, where there’s a deli on every corner and a new place to eat for every meal, it seems strange to be so limited, but in the same breath, it’s relaxing. Everything about this place makes me feel calm.
When we walk in, we’re greeted by not only the owner and the wait staff, but the other patrons as well. The patrons say hello as we pass the tables; a couple people stop Sam or Annie, asking about this or that. Of course, in a town this size, everyone is going to know you. But what I also notice are the glances in my direction. I’m sure they’re trying to figure out who I am and where I belong within the family. It’s a funny feeling, but I like it. I don’t mind being associated with the Landrys. They’re good people.
After we’re seated at a long table, everyone quickly looks over their menus. I order seafood gumboand iced tea, making it my own personal mission to eat as much authentic Cajun food as I can possibly stand while I’m here.
Once our meals are served and the casual chatter dies down, Annie asks, “So, what’s your work schedule gonna be like this week, Dani?”
“Well, since I knocked out a lot of the exterior shots yesterday, I’d like to start on the interior tomorrow. But I’d also like to come back at different intervals throughout the day to capture the variances in the natural lighting, if that’s okay?” I ask, hoping I’m not being too much of an inconvenience.
“Oh, honey, of course that’s okay. Whatever you need, Dani, just ask. It’ll be our pleasure, and don’t feel like you’re intruding. Consider yourself one of the family.” She smiles, and it’s so sincere. “Oh, and these boys will be at your beck and call. If you need an
Deacon chuckles, and asks, “Are you even Catholic?”
“Yes, I am. Well, I used to be . . . was. I don’t know. It’s been years since I’ve been in a church,” I confess. There, that’s my confession. I mean, everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?
“Now, that’s just a cryin’ shame. Don’t y’all have family time on Sundays up in the big city?”
I look around the church to make sure our conversation isn’t bothering anyone before answering. “No, I don’t really do family time on Sundays . . . or any other day, for that matter,” I whisper, leaving it at that. If I say too much, it’ll sound like a sob story, and I hate when people feel sorry for me.
Deacon pulls back from me a bit and his face falls. “Well, Ms. Dani, I’m real sorry to hear that, but don’t you worry. The Landrys will make sure you get plenty of family time while you’re here with us.” He squeezes my shoulder and faces the front of the sanctuary where the priest seems to be finishing up. I glance up and see Micah smiling at me, as if he heard my conversation with Deacon. His blue eyes show kindness and concern. I quickly return his smile and look away, feeling a bit uncomfortable and exposed.
When the main part of the service is over, Deacon excuses himself. “I got some confessin’ to do. It’s good for the soul, ya know.” He slides past me and heads toward the back of the church while everyone else files out of the pews.
Not only is Sunday Mass a requirement when you’re with the Landry family, apparently so is Sunday lunch. Annie mentioned either she or Micah usually cook a big family-style spread on Sundays, but since I’m here, they’d like to take me out and show me a little more of the area, which I appreciate. With each glimpse of this place, I grow increasingly excited to share what I find with the readers of Southern Style . I don’t want to ruin this quiet, quaint town, but people should know how beautiful it is down here.
As I step out of the car at the restaurant, I notice we’re at another locally owned establishment. There are two things French Settlement doesn’t have: stop lights and restaurant chains. I had forgotten what that was like. After living in New York City for as long as I have, where there’s a deli on every corner and a new place to eat for every meal, it seems strange to be so limited, but in the same breath, it’s relaxing. Everything about this place makes me feel calm.
When we walk in, we’re greeted by not only the owner and the wait staff, but the other patrons as well. The patrons say hello as we pass the tables; a couple people stop Sam or Annie, asking about this or that. Of course, in a town this size, everyone is going to know you. But what I also notice are the glances in my direction. I’m sure they’re trying to figure out who I am and where I belong within the family. It’s a funny feeling, but I like it. I don’t mind being associated with the Landrys. They’re good people.
After we’re seated at a long table, everyone quickly looks over their menus. I order seafood gumboand iced tea, making it my own personal mission to eat as much authentic Cajun food as I can possibly stand while I’m here.
Once our meals are served and the casual chatter dies down, Annie asks, “So, what’s your work schedule gonna be like this week, Dani?”
“Well, since I knocked out a lot of the exterior shots yesterday, I’d like to start on the interior tomorrow. But I’d also like to come back at different intervals throughout the day to capture the variances in the natural lighting, if that’s okay?” I ask, hoping I’m not being too much of an inconvenience.
“Oh, honey, of course that’s okay. Whatever you need, Dani, just ask. It’ll be our pleasure, and don’t feel like you’re intruding. Consider yourself one of the family.” She smiles, and it’s so sincere. “Oh, and these boys will be at your beck and call. If you need an
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