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"Of course."

r /> Evelyn was impressed. "What did she say?"

"She asked me to describe the young man, and after I had, she sat down with a look on her face like I had never seen. She was quiet for the longest time. Finally I asked her what was wrong, and she then told me the story of the young fisherman who was thought to be the handsomest young man in the bayou. She said young women would swoon at the sight of him, but she said he was too handsome for a man to be and he knew it. No one was more arrogant about his looks.

"One day he went into the swamps to fish and never returned."

"Are you saying your mother said the man who kissed you was a ghost?" Yvette asked. I nodded.

"It's why I never heard him approaching. He glided on the air, I think."

Neither Yvette nor Evelyn spoke for a moment.

"Did he feel like a ghost when he kissed you?" Evelyn inquired skeptically.

"No. He felt real, very real."

"Did you ever see him again?"

"No, but sometimes I think I sense him."

"You still go out alone?" Yvette asked, incredulous. "Yes. He didn't hurt me. Mama says he's a lonely soul.

Punished for being too much like a Greek god. The story she remembers from her grandmere is, the day he finds someone who can see the goodness in his heart and love him for that and not for his good looks, that's the day he can return to the world to live out his life, but . . ."

"But what?" Evelyn asked.

"Yes, but what?" Yvette followed.

"But whoever does love him that way dies and takes his place in the swamp. It's sort of an exchange of souls for a while."

"How horrible."

"And dangerous," Yvette said. "You had better not go into the swamp alone so much."

"I don't," I said. "As much."

"I don't know if that counts," Evelyn declared after a moment's thought. "Kissed by a ghost isn't the same thing as being kissed by a live man."

"How do you know?" Yvette said. "Only Gabriel knows for sure."

"It felt wonderful at the time," I replied. "Now, remember. You swore on Saint Medad, and if you violate this oath, you might bring bad luck to your husbands."

They were wide-eyed. The daughter of a traiteur had some credibility when it came to this sort of thing.

"I'll never tell," Yvette said.

"Me neither."

"I got to go home. See you tomorrow."

"Oui. See you tomorrow," Evelyn said.

I watched them hurry off and then continued down the road. In my heart I wished that what had happened to me yesterday was what I had described to them. It was my fantasy, and for a while at least, I would use it to cloak the ugly truth.

When I arrived home, I found Mama doing just what I feared she would be doing: slaving over the stove, chaining herself to the kitchen to prepare for my graduation celebration. She told me she had already sent word to a dozen of her friends and people she often treated.

"Some are offering to make food, too. It's going to be a great party, honey. We'll have music and loads of good food."