Page 153

"Yes, Paul. I've-come home. It's too long a story to tell you on the phone, but I wanted you to know."

"You're returning to the shack?" he asked incredulously. "Yes." I explained where I was and he told me not to take another step.

"I'll be there before you can blink your eyes," he promised. It did seem like only a few minutes later that he pulled up in his car and hopped out excitedly. We embraced each other, me holding onto him as tightly as he held onto me.

"Something terrible has happened, hasn't it? What has Daphne done now? Or is it Gisselle? What could either of them do that would send you back here?" he asked, then noticed I had no luggage. "What did you do, run off?"

"Yes, Paul," I said, bursting into tears. He got me into his car and held me until I could speak. It must have sounded like crazy babble to him, for I burst forth with the whole story, inserting almost everything and anything that had been done to me, including Gisselle's planting a bottle of rum in my dorm room. But when I described my pregnancy and the butcher doctor in the dirty office, Paul's face turned pale white and then flashed red with anger.

"She would do that to you? You were right to run away. I'm glad you've returned."

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet," I said, wiping away my tears and taking a deep breath. "I just want to go back to the shack for now."

"Your grandpere ."

"What about him?"

"He's been on a real tear lately. Yesterday when I drove by, he was digging up the front and shouting into the wind, his arms waving. My father says he's run out of money for rotgut whiskey and he's got the DTs. He thinks it's almost the end for him. Most everyone is surprised he's gone on this long, Ruby. I don't know as I should take you back there."

"I've got to go back there, Paul, It's my only home now," I said, determined.

"I know, but . you're going to find it a terrible mess, I'm sure. It'll break your heart. My father says your grandmere must be spinning in her grave something terrible."

"Take me home, Paul. Please," I begged.

He nodded. "Okay, for now," he said. "But I'm going to look after you, Ruby. I swear I will."

"I know you will, Paul, but I don't want to be a burden to you, to anyone. get back to doing the work Grandmere Catherine and I did, so I can keep myself."

"Nonsense," he said. He started the engine. "I got way more than I'm ever going to need. I told you, I'm a manager now. I've already approved the plans for my own home. Ruby..."

"Don't talk about the future, Paul. Please. I don't believe in the future anymore."

"All right," he said. "But you're going to be fine as long as I'm

around. That's a promise you can take to the bank," he bragged.

I smiled. He did look much older. He had always been more mature and responsible than other boys his age, and his father had not hesitated to give him important work. "Thank you, Paul."

I don't think there was a way I could have prepared myself for what the shack and the grounds around it would look like when I set eyes on it again. I was lucky I was arriving at night when so much of it wasn't visible, but I saw the deep holes dug in the front, and when I set eyes on the galerie and saw the way it leaned, the railings cracked and broken, the floorboards torn up in places, my heart sank. One of the front windows was broken wide open. Grandmere Catherine would have been in tears.

"You sure you want to go in there?" Paul asked when we came to a stop.

"Yes, Paul. I'm sure. No matter what it looks like now. It was once my home and my grandmere's home."

"Okay. I'll go in with you and see what he's up to. He might not even remember you, the way he is," Paul declared.

"Careful," Paul said when we stepped up to the galerie. The boards complained loudly; the front door squeaked on its rusted hinges and threatened to fall right off when we opened it, and 'the house itself smelled like every swamp creature had made some part of it its home.

There was only a single lantern lit on the old kitchen table. Its tiny flame flickered precariously as the breeze flowed unabated through the shack from the opened rear windows.

"All the bugs in the bayou have come in here, I'm sure," Paul said.

The kitchen was a filthy mess. There were empty whiskey bottles on the floor, under the tables and chairs, and on the counters. The sink was filled with dishes caked with old food and the floor had food drippings decomposing on it, some of it looking like it had been there for weeks, if not months

The living room was in no better condition. The table was turned over, as well as the chair in which Grandmere used to sit and fall asleep every night. There were empty bottles in here too. The floor was plastered with mud, grime, and swamp grass. We heard something scurry along the wall,

"Probably rats," Paul said. "Or at least field mice. Maybe even a raccoon."