Rising Tides by Emilie Richards Page A

came to mind when someone looked at you nowadays.”
    She cleared the sink of dirty dishes and ran a dish cloth around it. Then she filled it with hot soapy water, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt while she waited for him to elaborate.
    “Once upon a time, a lead-in like that would have had you brimming with curiosity,” Ben said.
    “Once upon a time? In a fairy tale, you mean?”
    “It probably was a fairy tale.”
    “Without the traditional ending.”
    He elaborated, since she had refused to pick up on his cue. “The adjective that comes to mind now is determined. ”
    “Neat choice. Not positive, not negative. Ambiguous enough to please anybody who likes to free-associate.”
    “I’ll give it a whirl. Determined to get through this ordeal. Determined to be polite. Determined not to show any feelings. Determined to point out how much you’ve changed.”
    “Only parts of me have changed. None of the things you condemned have changed at all.” She slid plates into the sink and began to wash. “ Condemned is a strong word.”
    “You’re a journalist. You know it’s important to be accurate.”
    She had finished the plates and glasses and started on the serving dishes before he spoke again. When he did, she realized he was standing beside her. He held out a perfectly shelled shrimp. “These are superb.”
    “You’ve forgotten. We do some things well in Louisiana.”
    He dangled it inches from her lips. “And a few of them aren’t illegal or immoral.”
    She took the shrimp between her teeth, sucking it slowly until it was gone. “I’m surprised you could bear to bring yourself back here to the wellspring of all evil. You must have been unbearably curious about my grandmother’s invitation to risk your soul this way.”
    “I was.” He didn’t move away. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Aren’t you?”
    “More than a little.”
    “Now that you’ve had a few hours to think, you must have a theory. Tell me about it.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’d like to hear it.”
    “And that should be reason enough?” She didn’t have to turn her head far to look at him. He was a foot away. Moonlight gleamed through the window and silvered the lock of wheat-colored hair falling over his forehead. “Shall I tell you one of the ways I’ve changed? I don’t turn to butter inside anymore when a man tells me he wants something from me. Now Iexpect reasons before I do anything. Good ones. Then I still think it over.”
    “I didn’t mean to patronize you.”
    “Didn’t you? Then you’ve changed, too.”
    “I have. You’re absolutely right.”
    “I’ll tell you my theory because I don’t mind sharing it.” She shook her hair back over her shoulders. One strand resisted and clung to her damp cheek. “I think my grandmother had a sense of the dramatic that none of us ever appreciated. I think she must have died with a smile on her lips, imagining the scene we’re playing here, all of us, not just you and me. She cast the most unlikely people she could bring together, then she pulled strings to be sure the play hit the big time. And somewhere, she’s watching us now and clapping her hands.”
    He tucked the rebellious strand over her ear so deftly that he was finished before she could protest the intimacy. “In other words, you have no more idea than the rest of us why she invited us here.”
    “None.”
    “And your uncle?”
    She finished the last bowl before she spoke. “Well, I doubt Uncle Hugh is clapping along.”
    “I don’t know. Father Hugh had a sense of the dramatic to rival your grandmother’s. The larger his audience, the more effective he was.”
    “His death was particularly effective, then. His audience was worldwide, thanks to the press.”
    “If effective is a synonym for tragic. ”
    “And some of the people who mourned him mourned more than the death of a saint. They mourned a man they’d always loved.” She pulled the stopper and let the water drain