The Vigil Read Online Free

school and coming home to the tantalizing aroma of her Cajun cooking.
    “I’m in the kitchen.” Vivian’s voice drifted down the hallway.
    Once I made my way to the large country kitchen, there she stood in all her glory doing what she did best—cooking. Steam from a large iron pot floated toward the exposed beams of her ceiling and curled the small strands of bleached-blonde hair around her temples. Today she wore a purple blouse over dark jeans. Her violet-blue eyes and curling hair reminded me of my brother, Anthony. He’d inherited the blond hair, beautiful-eyed genes, while I had my father’s brown eyes and hair.
    “Hi, sugah. How was your day?”
    “Good.” I slid my purse off my shoulder and onto her large antique table. She liked the distressed look. This table looked like it had been beat with an anchor chain and then left in a barn for fifty years. Six chairs, of different form and color surrounded the table. She also liked the eclectic look.
    She pointed to the pots on her stove. “I’ve got all your favorites here.”
    The woman loved to cook, but mostly she loved to watch people eat the mountains of food she prepared. It was her greatest joy.
    She smiled. “I’m so glad you’re havin’ suppa with us.”
    The first hour Mama and I spent together usually fared well. After that, neither of us could predict how things would go. Even though we had the same blood, we were like a Southern woman wearing a pastel dress and white shoes after Labor Day. We clashed.
    “Thanks for inviting me.” I slid onto the bar stool at the center island where the gas stovetop held cast iron pots in bright red, purple, and aqua. Each spouted steam trails toward the twelve-foot ceiling. I curled my hair behind my ears and then leaned over the bar and sniffed. “My favorites, huh?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Shrimp okra gumbo and fresh green beans with salt pork.” My mother wiped the counter around the stovetop, and then glanced at an index card on the counter.
    Wow. I braced myself. She never cooked my favorite dishes unless she wanted something. I knew better than to say anything, yet.
    “Thanks.”
    “I met Beau at the post office yesterday.” She peered over the top of her cat-eye reading glasses. “He told me he saw you.”
    This was why I left Bijou Bayou in the first place. This place was too small to keep my business my own. “Yes.”
    “Did he tell you about his wife?”
    “He did.” I leaned back into the barstool.
    “Well?”
    “Well, what?”
    Her fisted hands flew to her hips. “Are you planning to talk to him again?”
    “I’m sure if I run into him, we’ll have a conversation, but if you’re asking if I’ve made plans to see him again, the answer is no. He’s married.”
    “I know he’s married.” She huffed and then lifted the heavy cover from the large, bright red pot, the one that held the gumbo, and stirred. She continued to stir, never looking up at me. “I just thought that maybe you two could become friends again. He could use a friend, you know.”
    “I doubt it. Besides that’s not a good idea. There’s a lot of water under that bridge.”
    “What about Jarrod? Are you going to give him another chance? You know he makes good money.”
    I couldn’t believe she asked that question, but then again I somewhat expected it. She allowed her abusive husband, Elray, to drive both my brother and I away when we’d graduated from high school. She’d chosen him over us shortly after our dad died. Hard to understand when you’re five and your brother is eight.
    “No. There is no second chance for Jarrod. I can’t believe I was with him in the first place.” I shifted on the stool. At sixty-one, Mama’s beauty remained. Her violet-blue eyes with specks of gold reminded me of the sky just before sunset.
    “Well, sometimes women have to make certain sacrifices.” She tapped the side of the pot with her spoon.
    “What? Are you serious?” I slid off the stool ready to have this long