great friend, sometimes with benefits, but we both knew this wasn’t going anywhere long term.
"Go see your grandmother and get some rest doll, you’ve been working that fabulous ass off for too damn long."
"Thanks Si, see you next month."
Chapter Two
I found myself driving down the 329, heading south to Avery Island just a week later. I hadn’t told grand-mére I was coming; I just hopped a flight to Houston at the last minute. After two days at my home in LA, I knew I couldn’t take three months on my own. Once I made the decision, I packed a bag with the essentials, thinking I’d just hit the local Wal-Mart for the things I might need while I was home.
The girl at the car rental place in Houston recognized me, despite my attempt at disguise.
"Are you headin’ home Ms. Leroux?" She hissed loudly as I scrawled my autograph on her copy of my latest CD.
"Just takin’ a drive to see some friends in Baton Rouge," I lied. It wouldn’t do to let the press get wind of my destination; they’d been trying for years to get me to confirm my hometown. Everyone who’d heard me speak could tell I was a Cajun from the bayou, but I never wanted to ruin the beauty of Avery Island by drawing the world’s attention to it. The paparazzi would swarm the Parrish looking for anyone who might have known me before I was famous, and then the town would never be the same, everyone would blame me for it, and hate me all the more.
"Have a good trip Elise." The girl flashed a wink, like we were now the best of friends.
"Thanks sweetheart." I forced my best smile and threw my small suitcase in the backseat.
As soon as I hit bayou country, I rolled the windows down and the warm humidity mixed with the scent of the swamps, wet cypress trees and Spanish moss, took me back to my childhood.
The tears came when I drove past my old high school and I thought about my life back then. I had a happy childhood, and sometimes I wondered if I had been happy at all since those days with my best friends - and Avery. It did not bode well that I was thinking of him so much lately. I was both anxious and afraid of seeing him again.
Could we possibly be friends again? I wondered as I drove. I missed our friendship the most and I knew I’d be happy with just a fraction of what we once had. If he doesn’t still hate me.
Grand-mére Léoma lived deep in the swamp, down by old Willow Pond in a small palafitte house, built up on stilts to avoid flooding when the waters rose. My grand-pére, Henri built the house and my mother had grown up in it, until she died giving birth to me, not long after my father died in a tragic accident. Grand-pére Henri died when I was four, so it had always just been me and gran.
She was sitting on the back porch, weaving baskets made of swamp grass. Back when I was a child she sold them to tourists passing through our little town. The money she made from her baskets, put clothes on my back and a little cash in my purse and I loved her for it. I hated seeing her work her fingers to the bone making them now. She didn’t need to worry about money ever again, but she rarely touched the money I put in her account every month. It felt like a slap in the face that my own grandmother was too ashamed of me to let me take care of her.
"Elise? Honey is that you?" She stood, letting her basket fall to the ground where the wind caught it, sending it into the murky pond below.
"Grand-mére!" I grinned, charging up the rickety porch steps to catch her in a warm embrace.
"Oh, honey, I am so glad to see you! Why didn’t you call?"
"I wanted to surprise you!"
"Well, you could knock me over with a feather, cher . How long you stayin’ this time?"
"All summer if you’ll have me."
"Darlin, this is your home, you’re always welcome. Come on in, I’ll make you some lemonade and you can tell me all about your tour. Didja get to go to China again?"
"Yes, and I got dozens of pictures of the Great Wall this time!" I said, draping my
"Go see your grandmother and get some rest doll, you’ve been working that fabulous ass off for too damn long."
"Thanks Si, see you next month."
Chapter Two
I found myself driving down the 329, heading south to Avery Island just a week later. I hadn’t told grand-mére I was coming; I just hopped a flight to Houston at the last minute. After two days at my home in LA, I knew I couldn’t take three months on my own. Once I made the decision, I packed a bag with the essentials, thinking I’d just hit the local Wal-Mart for the things I might need while I was home.
The girl at the car rental place in Houston recognized me, despite my attempt at disguise.
"Are you headin’ home Ms. Leroux?" She hissed loudly as I scrawled my autograph on her copy of my latest CD.
"Just takin’ a drive to see some friends in Baton Rouge," I lied. It wouldn’t do to let the press get wind of my destination; they’d been trying for years to get me to confirm my hometown. Everyone who’d heard me speak could tell I was a Cajun from the bayou, but I never wanted to ruin the beauty of Avery Island by drawing the world’s attention to it. The paparazzi would swarm the Parrish looking for anyone who might have known me before I was famous, and then the town would never be the same, everyone would blame me for it, and hate me all the more.
"Have a good trip Elise." The girl flashed a wink, like we were now the best of friends.
"Thanks sweetheart." I forced my best smile and threw my small suitcase in the backseat.
As soon as I hit bayou country, I rolled the windows down and the warm humidity mixed with the scent of the swamps, wet cypress trees and Spanish moss, took me back to my childhood.
The tears came when I drove past my old high school and I thought about my life back then. I had a happy childhood, and sometimes I wondered if I had been happy at all since those days with my best friends - and Avery. It did not bode well that I was thinking of him so much lately. I was both anxious and afraid of seeing him again.
Could we possibly be friends again? I wondered as I drove. I missed our friendship the most and I knew I’d be happy with just a fraction of what we once had. If he doesn’t still hate me.
Grand-mére Léoma lived deep in the swamp, down by old Willow Pond in a small palafitte house, built up on stilts to avoid flooding when the waters rose. My grand-pére, Henri built the house and my mother had grown up in it, until she died giving birth to me, not long after my father died in a tragic accident. Grand-pére Henri died when I was four, so it had always just been me and gran.
She was sitting on the back porch, weaving baskets made of swamp grass. Back when I was a child she sold them to tourists passing through our little town. The money she made from her baskets, put clothes on my back and a little cash in my purse and I loved her for it. I hated seeing her work her fingers to the bone making them now. She didn’t need to worry about money ever again, but she rarely touched the money I put in her account every month. It felt like a slap in the face that my own grandmother was too ashamed of me to let me take care of her.
"Elise? Honey is that you?" She stood, letting her basket fall to the ground where the wind caught it, sending it into the murky pond below.
"Grand-mére!" I grinned, charging up the rickety porch steps to catch her in a warm embrace.
"Oh, honey, I am so glad to see you! Why didn’t you call?"
"I wanted to surprise you!"
"Well, you could knock me over with a feather, cher . How long you stayin’ this time?"
"All summer if you’ll have me."
"Darlin, this is your home, you’re always welcome. Come on in, I’ll make you some lemonade and you can tell me all about your tour. Didja get to go to China again?"
"Yes, and I got dozens of pictures of the Great Wall this time!" I said, draping my
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