passion for me. Fate had turned him into a thirsty man
forever hovering above cool, clear water, but
forbidding him to drink. If only there were a way to
get him to hate me, I thought with irony. It would be
painful for me, but it would be so much better for him.
Between us, like a raw wound that refused to heal,
lingered our regrets and sadness.
"Well," he said finally, "let's not speak of
unhappy things right now. We have too many other
problems at the moment. You're certain about us not
seeking another nanny?"
"For the time being, yes."
"Okay, but I hate to see you put your career on
hold. I'm supposed to be married to a famous Cajun
artist. I did a great deal of bragging in Baton Rouge.
There are at least a dozen rich oil men eager to buy
one of your paintings."
"Oh, Paul, you shouldn't do that. I'm not that
good."
"Yes you are," he insisted, and rose. "I have to
stop at the cannery and speak to my father, but I'll be
home early."
"Good, because I invited Jeanne and James to
dinner. She called earlier and sounded like she wanted
to see us very much," I said.
"Oh? Fine." He leaned over to kiss me, but he
was much more tentative about it and his kiss was
much more perfunctory: a quick snap of his lips
against my cheek, the way he would kiss his sister or
his mother. A new wall had fallen between us, and