He has my heart {A Jay Paul Fanfiction Story}

Chapter One: Home Sweet Home

I rolled down the window on my Tahoe.  A smile crept across my face as I took in a deep breath of fresh air. 

“Sweet Louisiana,” I mumbled while banging my fist on the steering wheel.   My phone began to ring and I answered.  My dad’s voice filled the truck from the speakers. 

“The road is about two miles up Nah.  Go extremely slow because this is Louisiana and you know how the roads are,” he cautioned. 

“Ok daddy,” I chirped and ended the call.  Two miles later, I was creeping off the main highway onto a small road that led to, it seemed, nowhere. 

“I’M HOME BABY!” I yelled into the windshield!  

Ten minutes later, we pulled up to our new home.  It was nice and something different, something I’d been craving for since elementary school.  The house was a two story log house with a light blue tin top.  Personally, I thought it was a tacky combination wood and light blue tin, but it was home.  My dad got out of his pickup and my mom got out of her jeep. We all came together and stared at the house for a few seconds. 

“Well?” my dad asked in anticipation.  My mom turned to see my expression.

  I held a glare for three seconds and then smiled and shrieked.  They knew I was happy. I’d begged for so long to return to Louisiana.   In a full sprint, I ran to the porch or gallerie, as it is known to many in South Louisiana.   I wrapped my arm around the wooden post and squeezed tightly.

  “It’s perfect,” I whispered into the wood. 

We got to work unloading and unpacking things.  I checked my watch and the time showed five forty-five. 

“Mom, I’ll start dinner!” I yelled up the stairs. 

“Ok, we’re almost finished up here.  By the time dinner is ready it will be unpacked,” she replied.

 I baked some chicken and made lasagna.  They were finished thirty minutes before the food was ready.   My dad set the table and I went to wash up.  We sat down and had our first family dinner in Louisiana for the first time in thirteen years.  Everything was working in our favor.  We didn’t have the cable hooked up yet. Instead, we talked about our long journey back home.  We laughed, cried, got angry all through the night.  At midnight, we decided to retire to bed.

The next morning, Monday, my mom asked me to come with her to the funeral home. I agreed since I had nothing else planned.  We were talking to the funeral director when a guy came in.  He introduced himself as RJ Molinere.  My mom and the funeral director, Phil, spoke and shook hands with RJ. I, being the sheltered, antisocial person I am, backed away to avoid his touch. 

“Jacee,” Rj addressed my mother.

“Yes RJ,” my mother answered.

“I take it you didn’t tell Naliah ‘bout the Louisiana hospitality we have around hea,” RJ said with a slight accent.  I watched him, a safe distance away, with curiosity.  

“It’s been a long time since she’s encountered nice folks like you guys,” my mom piped. 

She turned to me and beckoned me closer.  The first time I didn’t move, but, I figured I might as get it over with. Slowly, I approached the three.  This time RJ watched me as if I was a spooked animal that he wanted to get close enough to touch. That thought made smile and it eased the tension in RJ’s face.

“That’s better,” he spoke softly. 

I couldn’t help but notice how fit he was and the cultural haircut he sported.  

“Houma,” I murmured to myself, noticing the tribal carving on his belt. 

“That’s right, I’m Native American and I’m a part of the Houma tribe,” RJ replied to my murmur.  That snapped me out my admiration.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare or anything.  I’m a history major and I love learning about everything Louisiana and I’ve read some about the Houma tribe,” I tried explaining.

  I could feel my face turning red and I hated myself for not being darker.  I thought to myself, “What’s the purpose of being Black if you can’t hide when you blush!”  

“Hey, it’s quite alright.  I love meeting someone with an interest in history. I love history myself,” RJ stated. 

I was shocked.  I know it’s wrong to try to judge people by their looks, but, he didn’t look like a history buff.

“If you want you can come back to the house with me.  I’ll let you go through all of my tribe artifacts and documents,” he offered.  This perked me up.  

“Mom, I’ll be home later,” I told her as I followed RJ out to his truck.   I’d never been a chatter box but the silence in the truck was awkward. 

  “Ya kno ya parents and I go way back,” he spoke up to fill the silence.  I looked at him, trying to recall if I saw him on any old pictures.  I couldn’t recall his face. 

“I’ll tell you more about it later when you meet my family,” he added. 

This caught my attention.  His family?  The thought of meeting more people panicked me a little.  Did he have a daughter or daughters? They probably wouldn’t like me.  I never have fit in, with anyone.  I have always been considered weird.  RJ was pretty good at sensing panic because he told me to relax and that his family would like me just fine.  I worried because he didn’t specify anything about them and referred to them collectively as ‘his family.’

We pulled up to a nice house.  I marveled at its simplicity.  It managed to be a complex work of art and appear simple at the same time. 

“She’s beautiful,” he stated.

  I nodded in agreement amazed at the beauty of nature and man living in harmony. 

“True to the land and customs of the tribe…” I let my thoughts linger.  I managed to tear my eyes away from the beautiful forest about 400 yards behind the house and looked over to RJ.

“Let’s go meet the folks,” he said with a sweep of his hand.  We walked towards the house.  We walked onto the porch and he reached for the door…..