Ironically, just before he left Sylvie’s house, he had a crazy thought. Wouldn’t it be nice if there really were a love potion? If only he could have Sylvie pop a pill and love him again!
He started up his Jeep, and if the jalopy hadn’t been making its usual rumbling commotion, he might have heard the feminine voice behind him, calling out from Sylvie’s front door, “Luc, come back!”
But it was too late.
Chapter Eighteen
“I have a present for you,” Tante Lulu said without preamble when Sylvie opened her front door.
It was a week later, Luc hadn’t called her, she hadn’t called him, and life was miserable. So, actually, Sylvie welcomed a little distraction. Only she’d been hoping it was Luc. They’d both been involved in an unspoken battle of wills over who would take the first step.
First steps were hell. She was learning that lesson too well as the days separating them grew.
Her life was going down the toilet and Luc had apparently given up on her, no thanks to Sylvie’s stubborn pride, and here was his aunt about to give her a gift. “A pre-present?” she stammered.
“Yep,” the old lady said. She was wearing bib overalls today and a John Deere cap. There was a tiny insignia near the shoulder strap that read, “Redneck this!” surrounded by what looked like “the finger,” but Sylvie didn’t want to peer too close. Maybe it was a rake or rifle or cigarette or bottle of booze or something.
It was not surprising when Tante Lulu added with a jerk of her head toward the street, “Can you help me get your present out of my truck?”
A pickup truck. What else! “Can I assume you traded in the Harley?”
“Luc made me do it. The boy has no sense of humor anymore. I tell you, chère, he’s lost his joie de vivre.” She sliced Sylvie with a glower that clearly laid the blame on her.
But maybe that was a good sign… that Luc was no longer joyous. If he was as miserable as she was, perhaps he was ready to crack. Yep, he would probably be ready to take the first step any minute now.
Yeah, right.
Sylvie helped Tante Lulu carry a huge cardboard carton about the size of a refrigerator crate, only much lighter, into the house, with a little assistance from two passing neighbor boys. When it was sitting in Sylvie’s den, Sylvie went for a butcher knife to cut open the box, and a puffing Tante Lulu glanced around the room, her gaze stopping on the two rat cages.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I separated Samson and Delilah?” Sylvie inquired as she began working on the carton.
“Nope. I can see why. That mama’s about ready to drop a litter of rats.”
“Huh?” Sylvie straightened and glanced at the rat cage holding Delilah, who now that it was mentioned, did look a mite chubby. Then Sylvie glanced at Tante Lulu. “I separated them when Delilah seemed to lose interest in Samson. I assumed it was because the love potion had worn off.”
“Well, of course, she lost interest. I been catchin’ babies down on the bayou for forty years and more. Mos’ women start gettin’ tetchy round their menfolks as the time approaches. Those randy goats are the one’s who put them in this predicament, dontcha see? You should hear the language that comes out of the mouths of some of those females when the big pain hits.” She rolled her eyes and made an “Aiyeee!” sound. “Don’ worry none. Delilah will be hot to trot again, once the little ones are born.”
Sylvie threw her head back and laughed gloriously… the first time she’d laughed in such a long time. How could she not have seen what was going on in front of her nose?
That thought brought her up short, and she tapped her forefinger against her chin pensively. Was it possible there were other things she’d failed to see, too? Suddenly, new hope sprang up in Sylvie… hope that the love potion really did work, and hope for her and Luc, too.
“You gonna open your present or not?” Tante Lulu grumbled. “I gotta get down to the bingo hall by seven. There’s a thousand-dollar jackpot tonight. Wanna come?”