Justine fanned herself languidly, ineffectively, as the temperature in the cab of the old blue Blazer rose steadily, even with the windows down. Their pace through the maze of tracks and dirt roads was of necessity slow, due in part to the large amount of log debris left over from Katrina, added to by Sandy, Harvey, and subsequent, less destructive, but still bothersome flooding.
Most of it was heaped by the roadside in bleached mounds, but the occasional trunk still buried in the muddy, little-used tracks by the storms’ fury was enough to make Johnny mindful of his Blazer’s suspension. That, and the narrow roads and sharp, unexpected turns and turn-offs that could fool even the best driver, and Johnny was still the best, at least here where he knew every twist and turn.
“How much further, Johnny-Bear?” she asked, “I’m just about melting here. What’s the temperature out there, baby?”
Johnny looked at the almost-reliable binnacle-mounted air temperature gauge and grinned.
“This thing says 80 degrees, but I’d say it got to be closer 95 degrees out there; we in the swamp country now, Minou, it get real hot an’ humid out here this time o’ year, sometimes up high as hundred degrees in the shade. Jes’ think cool thoughts, Minou, we be at Lubin’s place afore long, he got real icy aircon there, even got backup generator jes’ fo’ th’ aircon fo’ when they get browned-out.”
Justine slumped back in her seat, wriggling her shoulders uncomfortably at the feel of her sweat-damp T-shirt clammy and sticky against her back, but still managing to grin at her Johnny-Bear’s exaggerated, bayou-boy accent.
“Just make it soon, please, otherwise you’re gonna have to scrape me off this seat with a squeegee!”
Johnny laughed out loud even as he patted her thigh (her long, smooth, firm, round thigh, noted another part of his brain entirely…)
“Don’ you worry Minou, we make bayou-folks outta you real soon; jes’ remember, it get down to ’bout forty degrees hereabouts come winter; you be rememberin’ this heat real nostalgic-like roun’ ’bout then!”
Justine grinned and fanned herself some more, resigning herself to more of this wretched heat and humidity. Johnny never seemed to think in term of hours and minutes, especially when she tried to get a guesstimate of their arrival time out of him; his standard response always seemed to be ‘time be time, li’l gal; we come there when we come there, don’cha-all fret now!”
The drive through endless canebrakes and barely visible tracks, lined with huge, tangled honeysuckle bushes, their sweet, heady fragrance heavy in the hot, still air lulled her somewhat, but when they passed through a large stand of Live Oaks, she thought she could hear another engine, one with a different, harsher note than the Blazer’s, echoing behind them through the long, winding ranks of hardwoods. She looked inquiringly at Johnny, but he seemed oblivious, his brow wrinkled in concentration as the Blazer bucked and bounced along the uneven surface.
“Johnny, there’s someone behind us!” she hissed, memories of the three armed men in New Iberia crowding in on her, but Johnny merely nodded.
“Likely so, Minou; this ain’t no private road or nuthin’; prolly local folks, an’ nuthin’ to do with us, mos’ likely ‘shiners; pay no mind to them an’ they do likewise; lotsa folks down thisaway got trucks an’ this a useful way to ‘void the ATF.”
Justine fretted nervously anyway; after almost running into the people looking for them she was understandably jumpy, so kept an eye behind them, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was back there. The more she listened, the more certain she was that there was another truck coming up behind them, and not making any attempt at concealment, either; whoever it was, they were gunning the motor, almost like they were trying to catch up.
As she strained to see anything in the light flickering between the trees, suddenly there it was: a flash of dark orange, no more than a glimpse, but it was out of place against the lush greenery and vivid pink slashes of the bunched honeysuckle blossoms. The flash was enough to confirm that there really was someone behind them, and trying hard to catch up. She looked worriedly at Johnny, but he still seemed completely unconcerned.
“Johnny…” she murmured worriedly, but he just shook his head.
“Don’ worry none, Minou; we almost there, jes’ take it easy; I swear, ain’t no reason to worry; you see me frettin’? Relax, Angel-May, t’ain’t nuthin’ to worry ’bout!”
The track eventually widened out into a dusty rural road, then met a single lane blacktop. Justine gasped at the view: endless marshy flats, as far as the eye could see, the myriad pools and sloughs shimmering in the sun as light breezes ruffled their surfaces, reflecting imperfectly the cloudless blue above them, like abstract mirrors in the endless flat greenery of the marshes.
Johnny pulled over to the side and rested his crossed arms on the wheel. His eyes were distant, far away, his whole posture one of almost complete relaxation. Justine leaned over to check him out, and he smiled at her, a small, almost wistful smile, like he was recalling something from long ago and far away.
“Johnny…” she murmured once again, twisting around to scan their back-trail, searching for another glimpse of the vehicle following them, one that she could hear clearly now, but he didn’t move, just gazed at the miles of low-lying, swampy marshland and glinting pools, his eyes soft and unfocused.
“This where I grew up, Minou…” he murmured, ignoring her worried tone, “this my back yard; me, an’ Big Jean, Jean-Noel, Jean-Martin, Randy Broussard, Ofie LeGay, Mack ‘n’ Hoagie Doubillier, couple others, we all come out here catfishin’, sticking bullfrogs an’ dippin’ blue crabs, mebbe a couple mute ducks if we real sneaky-like, an’ have us camp-outs, fry up a mess o’ legs an’ tell ghost stories. Over that way, that where ole Papa Joubert store use to be; Maw-maw Lucianne, his wife, she make the best hot cinnamon candy in Terrebonne; li’l Mel an’ Odie allus come on out here with me an’ eat fried legs an’ candy ’til they sick, then I got to explain to Tante Amice why they so sick an’ sticky an’ stained-up; boy, she whup me good, but they was still good days…”
Justine watched his face as his memory unreeled, seeing the years drop away and the naughty, adorable boy Amice had told her about emerging again; her expression softened at the sight of Johnny so lost in his memories, a side of him she’d only ever seen fleeting glimpses of before.
But still that truck coming up behind them worried her; it worried her that they were out here in the middle of nowhere, alone and in the open, that they were only one jump ahead of whoever was looking for them, and that Johnny wasn’t in the least bit concerned. Even as she pondered how to snap him out of it, there came the sound she’d been dreading, loud and clear: the other truck had caught up with them, and then an old but immaculate stepside painted a dusky orange, the exact same shade as a ripe persimmon, bucketed around the corner concealing them and purred to a halt right behind them.
“Johnny, JOHNNY!!” hissed Justine, punching his arm to wake him out of his reverie as the driver and passenger doors swung open. Johnny roused, looked around and behind him, and grinned.
“Stan’ down, Justy; Welcome Wagon jes’ ‘rived!” he grinned. Justine jumped when a pretty brunette girl poked her head into the cab of the Blazer and grinned at her. An equally pretty blonde girl did the same on the driver’s side, and Johnny smiled and winked at both of them.
“Hi baby-girls, you-all took your time gettin’ here; I saw you back up along Bayou Blue, what you do, stop fo’ li’l catfishin’?”
The blonde girl climbed up on the running-board, grabbed his head, and planted a big kiss on his cheek, then grinned happily.
“Well hello to you too, Li’l Jean! We been watchin’ your back-trail last thirty mile or so, saw couple sneaky-lookin’ trucks with blacked-out glass an’ Noo Yawk plates gettin’ theyselves lost in the cane; we stayed back a ways an’ made sure they good an’ lost, jus’ in case, then double-back and play tag with you last twenty miles. Hi, my name Melette,” she beamed at Justine. “Jean-Bastienne here my cousin, that my twin sister Odelie over there, this here Terrebonne Parish an’ we the Welcome Wagon! You mus’ be Johnny’s gal we been hearin’ ’bout; all the boys dyin’ to meet you, watch them, some o’ them kinda wild an’ woodsy, they ain’t been round anyplace much but they mean well. Tell you the truth, there ain’t much to do here in the parish but we makes our own fun!”
Justine felt breathless just from listening to the girl rattle away nineteen to the dozen, but she smiled back when the cute little blonde grinned happily at her.
“So get yo’ ass outta there, John-Boy, where your manners, ain’t you-all gonna say ‘hello’ prop’ly?”
Johnny smiled back at her as he unclipped his seat-belt. Justine couldn’t help but notice how his whole attitude had changed; now, instead of pensive and careful, he seemed almost boyish, young and happy again. The blonde girl stepped back as he swung the door open, and as he climbed out of the cab, she jumped on him, wrapping her legs around his waist as she hugged him in a neck-breaker.
“Whoa, easy there, li’l gal, you ain’t no baby no more!” he grinned, staggering back under her weight.
As he staggered, Melette turned her head and winked at Justine, who grinned at Johnny spluttering as he tried to fend off the barrage of kisses she planted on his face and neck.
“Get offa me, what wrong with you, baby-girl, I ain’t been gone that long, cut it out!” he blustered, mindful of Justine sitting just five feet away, watching a very pretty girl kissing him frenziedly.
Melette smiled at Justine and slid off him, to be replaced by Odelie, who went through the whole performance again, wrapping her legs around him and kissing him just as frenziedly.
Johnny managed to untangle himself from the little brunette and kissed both girls on top of their heads as he circled them in his arms.