Liz Talley - Under the Autumn Sky

She nodded and walked out.

What else could she do?

Both she and the too-delicious-to-have-even-contemplated-in-the-first-place coach had screwed up—and the innocent might end up suffering because she wanted to play Cinderella.

Something ached in her chest, a sort of regret for what would not be. Not that she’d entertained ideas about the man who’d made her feel enchanting as they danced beneath the moonlight. She’d known he was passing through, but the regret was for having the moment in the first place.

Did she think anything could have been different?

She was who she was, and she’d figured out many years ago her situation wouldn’t change until Waylon and Lori claimed lives of their own. Since their parents had died, she’d tried to keep Waylon and Lori’s interests above hers. Not because she was a crazed martyr, but because they were all she had left. All she had to ensure something good would result from her temporarily giving up her dreams. She needed them to be safe and happy. Needed them to succeed. Because if they could get out of Bonnet Creek and reach their goals, then so could she.

Maybe it was selfish.

But she needed Waylon to go to college, to get a full ride. She needed Lori to do well on her SAT, to get her own free ride. She needed to see her sacrifice pay off. Really needed to know all those nights she baked cookies for snack day, turned down dates to attend school plays and called out spelling words had been worthwhile.

Okay, yeah. It was definitely selfish.

But it didn’t change the fact her future lay in Lori and Waylon succeeding.

And not in pursuing crazy romantic fantasies like a twelve-year-old, starstruck girl.

CHAPTER FIVE

PICOU DUFRENE BLEW out the candles and everyone seated around the gleaming dining room table gave an obligatory clap.

“Happy 65th birthday, Mom,” Abram said from his place at the end of the table. He’d intentionally sat away from his sister because trying to carry on a conversation with Sally was more uncomfortable than hemorrhoids.

Not that he’d ever had hemorrhoids. But he could imagine.

Sally had come back into their lives only five months before and the transition hadn’t been easy. They all walked around each other like mines were planted beneath Beau Soleil’s polished floors and body parts might fly at any moment.

“Thank you,” Picou said, plucking a candle from the cake Lucille had made from scratch and sucking the frosting off. “Delicious, Lucille, as always.”

Lucille sat next to his mother, like a round, black cherub, smiling at the compliment. She’d been at Beau Soleil for as long as Abram could remember, and she was the best friend Picou had. Scratch that, Lucille was family.

“I know what you like, Picou. Real buttercream frosting just like my Aunt Lula Mae used to make for the governor, and that man wasn’t half the person you are. You more deservin’ than that ol’ rat.”

His mother laughed, and everyone else smiled. Abram’s brother Nate and his wife Annie took the cake to the antique sideboard and started slicing generous pieces onto Picou’s Royal Doulton wedding china, adding the sterling forks to each plate. The sterling had belonged to Picou’s mother. All things at Beau Soleil were useful and priceless—the Old South way.

Sally sat quietly, her big eyes taking in the atypical family dinner. His younger sister wasn’t accustomed to their ways since she’d been taken when she was three years old by the family gardener. Sal Comeaux and his partner, who was due for parole in a few months, had concocted a kidnapping scheme that went afoul. They’d taken Della, now known as Sally, and left a ransom note in the Dufrene sugar mill. Sal was supposed to kill Della, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to do so. He’d taken the child to his grandmother, a tough old Bayou woman, and passed her off as family before he himself disappeared. The Dufrenes had spent twenty-four years believing Della to be dead.

She might have stayed unknown to them if the woman who’d raised her, Enola Cheramie, hadn’t fallen ill. Failing kidneys led to Sally being tested, a careless remark about blood markers had led to questions, and an inquiry at the Lafourche Sheriff’s office had led to a file being placed on his brother Nate’s desk.

Nate had worked with the St. Martin Parish detective unit for over ten years, and when he’d received the file on Sally Cheramie, he had known they’d finally gotten a lead on Della’s disappearance. It had almost been too much to hope for, but Nate said when he saw Sally Cheramie for the first time, he knew he’d found his sister.

Sally had her twin brother Darby’s eyes—uniquely violet-blue—and mirrored the young Picou in her wedding portraits. But physical similarities only went so far. Sally wouldn’t open up to them and the gulf between her and the family never seemed to shrink.

“I certainly wish Darby could be here,” Picou sighed, patting Sally’s hand. Sally swallowed and Abram could see she wanted to move her hand. The girl they’d once called Della was like a cat in a room of rockers when she was among the Dufrenes. “He’ll be home before too long, and he can’t wait to see you.”

Nate turned from the sideboard and glanced at his sister.

Sally tried to smile. “It’ll be nice to meet him finally. Well, I suppose it’s more like see him again. When does he resign his commission?”

She spoke with a heavy accent—a distinct dialect spoken by the people inhabiting the bayou south of Cutoff, Louisiana. With a slender frame, long dark hair and bright blue eyes, Sally drew people to her with quiet, unassuming beauty. The woman who raised her had pushed her to excel in school so she might leave the bayou and spread her wings. Sally had used the education she’d gained at ULL to become a teacher, and currently taught second grade in the school she’d once attended in Galliano. She hadn’t stretched her wings very wide, and instead clung to the community and the still-ill Enola Cheramie.

He wondered if she would ever accept being the long-lost Della Dufrene.

“Do you not remember Darby at all, Sally?” Annie asked, setting a dessert plate in front of Abram. He looked at the huge piece of cake. He’d be doing an extra mile tomorrow morning for this indulgence. He picked up the fork.

Sally frowned. “Not really, though I must have missed him when I was little. I called my blankie Dobby.”

Abram listened with half an ear after that. What lay ahead for him had his stomach twisting. He couldn’t put to bed all that had passed earlier that week—not with an early morning meeting with compliance and the director of recruiting on Monday. Afterward, he’d face Coach Holt before the man headed out to Bristol to film a commercial for ESPN. Abram didn’t want to see the disappointment in his mentor’s eyes.

After having a brush with the NCAA over the use of a shady recruiting service and allegations of “pay for players,” the powers-that-be at ULBR were gun-shy about any other incidents popping up within the program. Small things could be dealt with. They happened. But a newsworthy splash like a sex scandal would do lasting damage and jeopardize the reputation of a program, not to mention cost things like scholarships and bowl games. And all Abram had intended for himself, all his dreams of one day becoming a head coach of a Division I team, would come crashing down around him.

Abram wished it would all go away. Wished he could undo missing the damn exit and stopping for a beer. Wished he’d told Mary Belle an emphatic no when she’d asked him to pretend to be Louise’s date.

But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

Or at least that’s what Lucille had always told him when he wished for cookies, something fun to do or better grades on his report card.