From her workshop window, Mariana saw dust billowing before the car came into view. Usually, her friend Zoya, walked through the woods, but today, she had groceries to pick up. Zoya had claimed she hated grocery shopping, but after seeing her reaction to crowds, she wondered if that was the case. As hard as Zoya tried to look the part of a rebel, she couldn't pull it off. More like a teenager playing dress-up. Even the ring dangling from her small straight nose couldn't offset the big innocent brown eyes that dominated her face.
She revealed nothing, but Mariana thought the girl was on the run from something or someone. She decided once they were friends for a while, Zoya would be more forthcoming, but it'd been over three years, and the only thing Mariana had learned was that Zoya was unusual and had a good heart.
Didn't know what connection Zoya had to Miss Charamel, and the old woman never said, but when she got sick, Zoya cared for her until the end.
Once Mariana discovered the gifted girl's artistic ability, she'd asked for help with packaging her soaps and lotions. All she needed was a break to get the attention of a major chain, and the right presentation could be the key. Making the stuff was fun and all, but she really wanted her own garage one day, and to do that, she had to save money. She was helping Jerry LeBlanc to restore his old '63 Buick Riviera, but she only had so much time to herself. At least with her own garage, she could afford a babysitter or a nanny.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Tommy as he burst through the trees, stick sword in hand, towel cape pinned around his neck, fighting an imaginary foe. The child was the love of her life and she was thankful he was happy playing with common things, but he wouldn't always be six. As he got older, he'd want what other kids had, and she wouldn't be able to afford them, unless she got her business off the ground—or accepted the marriage proposal from a man she didn't love.
Not a single thing wrong with Andrew. He worked with a thriving insurance business and got along well with her son. Many in town speculated Tommy was his, but he wasn't. Andrew had been interested in her since high school, but they'd never dated until six months ago, and he'd proposed on the first date. Wasn't fair to keep putting him off, but she couldn't accept. Not yet.
Zoya pushed open the door and strolled inside. She never wore anything but black, a harsh contrast to her delicate features. Despite that, she was pretty, but didn't seem to care about her appearance, which was another incongruity since she worked at making others look good.
"What's up?"
Zoya shoved a folder forward. "Here are the drawings."
Mariana thumbed through them and stared at her friend with tears in her eyes.
Zoya's shoulders drooped. "If you don't like them, I can do more."
Mariana rushed from behind the table and threw her arms around the artist. "You're a genius. This is exactly what I had in mind."
Zoya stiffened for a second, then relaxed into her friends embrace. "Oh. Okay."
Mariana pushed away and laid the sketches on the counter. "I can't decide which is my favorite. The goat in the bubble bath or the one rubbing lotion on her face. And the way you've put the ark inside the outline of Louisiana is perfect." She gathered the pages and pressed them to her chest. "I knew they'd be great, but they're even better than I imagined."
The door swung wide, and Mariana's lifelong friend, Lemon, flew in like she was on her way to a shoe sale.
"I hate to break up this love fest, but I have something to show y'all." She stuck out her hand to display a bracelet. Mariana tried to look, but Lemon launched into an animated conversation. She rotated her hands in the air as if directing traffic "All this talk you've been doing about a home-based business got me to thinking I should come up with something. I thought about a calendar. They never go out of style and everybody needs one. You know, get some hunks to pose in the buff, but that's been done a hundred times two. Besides, I made a list and only came up with two hot guys in all of Arcadia."
Early evening light coming through the window glinted off the fake gems in Lemon's creation. She shook her head, and golden curls bounced around her face.
"Then I had this brilliant idea to use animals instead of men. Everybody is a sap for furry creatures. I could capture pictures of dogs taking a crap and call it 'Shit Happens.' I'd only need twelve and there's way more than that in town."
Mariana started to speak, but Lemon waved her off. She was on a roll and when she got this way, there was no stopping her. "I know what you're going to say. There's a calendar app." She flapped both hands. "Sure there is, but I could get my own made and still make a ton of money. But then I thought, heck, I should find something like you have. You know. Connect it to my roots. Louisiana and Arcadia, so this is my original design."
She held her arm out again and dangled her wrist in front of them. Mariana and Zoya inspected it.
"How do y'all like it? It's a beer bling bracelet, and it's just the beginning. I'll do rings, necklaces, belts, cufflinks, key chains, beer openers, the list is endless." She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. "I can get the beer caps for free. I've already talked to Ricky at the bar. He said he'd be glad for me to have them."
Lemon's excitement should have been contagious, but Mariana wasn't sure how big a market was out there for bottle caps and rhinestones, but then again, no one could have predicted the success of Crocs, the ugliest footwear ever.
The perky blond widened her eyes and raised her voice two octaves. "Oh! This is the best part. I have the perfect name for my jewelry line. Are you ready for it?" She allotted a dramatic pause for their response. They both nodded.
Palms out, fingers spread, she announced it as if on a marquee. "Louisiana Lemon's! Doesn't that sound awesome! It's destiny."
Zoya knit her brows together. "I thought your destiny was to teach second graders."
"Well, that's what I went to school for, because they didn't offer a degree for entrepreneurship. Mariana can tell you, I don't make much more than she does substituting. This jewelry idea could be big. Really big. I might end up on the Today Show. Just imagine, I, Lemon Ambrosia Fontenot, could single-handedly put Arcadia, Louisiana, population 403, on the map."
The way she punctuated the air with her finger as she talked proved she'd picked up some of her father's pulpit skills.
Zoya rolled her eyes.
Lemon smiled at Mariana. "Well, me and your Nanny Goat Soap line."
Her exuberance always made Mariana feel better. "Thanks for including me. I think it's a great idea. Maybe you can convince Zoya to design your labels. Look what she did for me."
Lemon studied the drawings. "Holy hell, these are fantastic." She gave Zoya her puppy dog eyes. "Would you do some for me?"
"Sure."
"I'll dance at your wedding."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't have a clue, it's just something my granny says when you do something nice for her. I gotta get going. While I was checking for hunks, Scott Green asked me out. We're driving over to Breaux Bridge to eat at that new Mexican place."
The jewelry mogul left with as much gusto as when she entered.
Reaching into her apron pocket, Mariana removed papers, and handed them to Zoya. "I got your shopping and banking done. Here are the receipts."
"Thanks. I need to go, too. I want to clean out a few of the Ark bird houses before it gets dark. They'll be sending scouts out soon."
"Let me help get your bags."
A feeling Zoya hadn't felt in a while bubbled in her chest. Pride. Mariana loved the drawings. Not since Charamel died had anyone praised Zoya's artistic ability. A compliment and recommendation from her friend meant a lot. The brown-eyed beauty worked hard as a substitute teacher and convenience store clerk. In what little spare time she had, she ran her goat milk business. All that and raising Tommy. When Mariana's mom couldn't babysit, sometimes Zoya helped out. He was a good kid and he liked to draw as much as she did.
She wondered about his dad, but Mariana never mentioned him. It was as if the kid had been an immaculate conception. Any man who couldn't fall in love with someone like Mariana must have a problem. Her long dark hair, olive skin, and high cheekbones belonged on magazine covers. And the fact that she was a mechanic and could fix cars better than some of the best, she was downright marriage material.
By the time Zoya got home and put away the groceries and fed the cats, it was six o'clock. Still enough daylight left to get some boxes ready. Over the years, Miss Charamel had chaired the committee to promote building and mounting little Noah's Ark ships along every county road. Because of her efforts, this little hick town was the Bird Capital of Louisiana.
Zoya gathered her supplies and headed to the fence row. She raised the lid of the first box and found the hinge screws loose. She made short work of tightening them. If Dad could see her working with hand tools, he'd laugh. Until she moved in with Charamel, she hadn't held a screwdriver or pliers.
Zoya always thought you hung a birdhouse where you wanted. Turned out, some birds were picky. The homes needed to be mounted in sunny, open spaces at least twenty-five feet apart. She dug out the old nesting straw and dumped it in her bucket, then lowered the lid.
By sunset, she had all but ten boxes clean but she'd save them for another day. Still had plenty of chores before she could lounge in a nice hot bath.
Just before midnight, she connected the iPod to the pill speaker and cranked up the music. That was a benefit of living in a secluded area. No neighbors to complain.
Sinking low in the water, she closed her eyes, inhaled a mixture of almond, coconut and honey, while Halsey crooned on about her demons.
The closer Roman got to Charamel's, the faster he drove. He'd been on the road for fourteen hours and was ready for the hot bath and feather bed waiting. As he turned onto the home stretch, excitement filled his chest. He barreled over the narrow bridge where he and Ophelia used to catch tadpoles, then past Markus Cormier's hayfield. The last few miles flew by. It'd be the first time he'd seen the old house in over nine years. Charamel'd always said she'd leave it to him, but he'd never expected when that would be, because he didn't want to think about her dying.
Silhouetted by the moon, the homestead looked eerie and an odd feeling passed over Roman. The bathroom light was on, and as he brought the motorcycle to a stop, he wondered whose car was parked in the drive. Maybe Charamel had hired a caretaker, but it was after midnight. Strange hour for maintenance duties. He removed his helmet, dismounted, unstrapped his duffel, and stepped onto the porch. He found the hidden hook holding the house key, then unlocked the front door and slipped inside.
Nothing seemed disturbed. Actually, the place looked neater than he'd ever seen. Charamel had a lot of talents, but housekeeping wasn't her strong suit. She'd rather be outside digging in the dirt. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed more changes. When did his lola get a big screen TV? And computer?
Music played from the bedroom. He edged down the short hallway and stepped to the open bathroom door.
A girl who didn't look much more than twenty, lay in Gran's tub with her eyes closed. Bubble clouds floated over her body, barely covering her breasts.
Shame thickened in his throat. He shouldn't be looking at her, but he couldn't turn away. He didn't know if it was the shock of seeing a stranger here, or that the intruder was just a girl. Whatever it was, he finally found his voice.
"Who the hell are you?"