she started receiving quotes from the seemingly endless list of vendors necessary to pull off the gala, and her hopes dwindled almost as fast as the cash in the temporary account.
“I’ve got to make this work.” The penguins in the picture didn’t respond.
Gracie rolled back in her chair and closed her eyes. Not only was the destiny of a group of innocent birds counting on her, but in a way, she felt pressure even from beyond the grave. Carter’s father—Reverend Alexander—was the one who had secured her job at the aquarium. The penguin exhibit had been one of his favorite places in America—hence his generous annual donations. She had fought to have this new wing named in his honor. If she failed the penguins now, she failed Carter’s father—the one man in her life who’d been a constant. He deserved better than that, especially after the way Carter had treated him. She had to figure something out.
The office door opened and Lori flopped into the chair across from Gracie’s desk. She tossed her a rubber penguin keychain. “Here, we got a new shipment. From the blue cloud gathering outside your office, I thought you might need cheering up.”
“Am I that obvious?” Gracie squeezed the belly of the penguin. A light shone from its open beak and she laughed.
Lori crossed her legs. “So it’s not going so great, huh?”
“It was going great until I realized our money ran out and we still need decoration funding, not to mention extra advertising dollars.” Gracie rested her elbows on the desk. “What kind of Christmas gala is it going to be if no one hears about it, and there’s all this great food and entertainment in a completely bare, boring room? We want to wow the people so that they’ll donate money to fund the new exhibit.”
“What if I did it?”
“Did what?”
“Decorate! You know I went to design school for a few years. I majored in creating on a low budget.” Lori winked.
“Did you minor in creating on no budget?”
“Hey, in college—same difference.”
Gracie squinted, trying to envision the possibilities. Maybe her friend was on to something.
“My stepmother loves this aquarium. I bet she’d donate a bunch of poinsettias for the cause, and I can go to the dollar store and load up on lights and ornaments for a tree.” Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And you know those wreaths in our attic I usually hang on the windows at Christmas? I can let you use them for the gala instead.”
“That might actually work.” Hope sprung for the first time in hours.
Lori tossed back her long hair and tilted her nose toward the ceiling. “Of course. I’m a genius.”
Gracie’s cell phone rang next to a stack of papers on the desk. She flipped the cover, still smiling at her friend’s generosity, and said hello.
“Ms. Broussard?”
“This is she.” Gracie didn’t recognize the voice. She picked up a pencil and grabbed a pad of sticky notes in case it was fund-raiser-related.
“This is John Stevens with the Creole Boys band.”
“Yes?” A knot stuck in Gracie’s throat, but she tried to think positively. John could be calling to confirm the dates or—
“I’m afraid I have some bad news about your event.”
Gracie clenched the pencil with suddenly sweaty fingers. “Oh?”
“The Creole Boys are going to have to cancel.”
Gracie rubbed her bare arms against the cool fall breeze blowing off the river. Late autumn had officially arrived in all its glory, scattering golden leaves across her path and casting dusky shadows under storefront awnings.
After Lori finished her closing duties at the gift store, they decided to share a bowl of gumbo at Gumbo Shop before heading to their townhouse. They could brainstorm what to do about the gala over a steaming bowl of sausage and rice. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.
Lori tugged down the long sleeves of her uniform shirt. “Whew! It’s getting chilly.”
“You’ll warm up after a few bites.” The hanging wooden sign of the famous restaurant swung into view. Gracie quickened her pace and breathed in the spicy aroma hovering outside the door. A few more steps, and she’d be inhaling the best gumbo this side of the Mississippi. She reached for the handle, her stomach growling in anticipation.
A deep, familiar laugh penetrated the air.
Grace’s fingers slipped off the door and she stared unseeing down the street. The bustling city sidewalks, the resonance of wind and boots scuffling leaves faded until only one sound reached her ears. Her back straightened and she drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Did you hear that?”
“What? Your stomach growl?” Lori reached for the door of the restaurant.
“No.” Gracie shoved the door shut and pulled Lori to one side. “That laugh.”
Lori frowned. “I hear people laughing all the time. It’s a common expression of pleasure or enjoyment. You should try it more—”
“It’s Carter.” Gracie slumped against the wall by the door. The husky, unique chuckle sounded again from the corner, and she knew without looking he must be a part of the crowd gathered around the performing street mime. His voice wrapped around her soul, pressing forbidden memories into the cracked pieces yet to heal. She’d missed that laugh.
Lori’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
Oh, she was sure. Her heart knew his voice—the same voice that serenaded the ripples in the Black Bayou Lake, that sang reassurances when they were ten years old and snuck out to watch a meteor shower and got lost on the way home. The same laugh that echoed across the dirty lake water while splashing waves in her face. No, she wouldn’t forget it—couldn’t. She nodded once.
“Let’s go talk to him.”
“Are you crazy?” Gracie stared at Lori in shock. “I don’t want to talk to him.” Yet some morbid, curious piece of her did.
“He’s famous around this area, Gracie. You’ve gotta admit that’s pretty cool, jerk or not.” Lori craned her head to peer up the street at the patrons gathered around the clown.
Bitterness crept back into the hollow places and Gracie’s fists clenched at her sides. It was always about Carter and his music, never about anything else. Never about his family—the way he hurt them with his rebellion and didn’t care. The way he broke his poor father’s heart by leaving town and never looking back. Never about his schoolwork and responsibilities, never about getting good grades for college, never about the church and the youth group.
Never about her.
His laugh sounded again, rising above the other chuckles in the crowd, and it sounded closer this time. Panic pounded in equal rhythm with her pulse. She couldn’t sit inside the Gumbo Shop now, couldn’t spoon rice from a bowl knowing Carter was mere feet away.
“Let’s
