“Yeah,” he says. “Oh hell. Okay, I’m coming to the tent now,” he says then ends the call. “That was Dale. Judging is about to start and they’re going to introduce us and talk about the non-profit,” he says smiling with tremendous pride.
“Okay, hurry! I’ll be around,” I look around us. Sy slips his fingers around the nape of my neck and lays a kiss on me that will probably never in my lifetime be matched.
I wander around the fairgrounds for a while, thinking about what Sy said. So much of me wants to say yes. So much of me knows I could be happy but there are things he doesn’t know, things I can’t forget. Then there is the small issue of my career. He can’t leave Louisiana and knowing how therapeutic it is for him to help other people with his non-profit, I wouldn’t ask him to. I could try to work remotely and travel when it’s necessary, perhaps. Sy could continue his work here with me helping and working as a campaign consultant when I can. It’s worth seeing if it’s even possible. Maybe I can’t say yes just yet but I can entertain the possibility. I smile to myself as a sense of ease spreads through my chest like warm honey, coating my heart completely. I don’t have a yes for him but I have a maybe and that is everything considering everything.
By the time I make it to the judging tent the actual tasting is over and the judges are sitting at the long table in front of the stage, giving their marks for each contender. People are chatting loudly as they wait for the final say regarding who in Cattail Parish makes the best jambalaya, a title that comes with endless notoriety you’d think by the looks of the people waiting for the judges to render their verdict. I slip up quietly near Sy’s seat at the table. A large vinyl banner with his non-profit’s information and website instructing people how they can donate is hanging from a tripod stand at his back. I move to step around the banner and scare him as he had scared me at the photo booth but the mention of my name makes me freeze and shamelessly eavesdrop.
“I worry about your friend Raegan having anything to do with the non-profit,” says Mr. Yoder.
“That’s ridiculous. Rae made our fundraiser. Why would you not want her involved with BCF??” Sy asks flatly, not bothering to look up from the scorecards on the table in front of him.
“Well, frankly son, she’s a viper. Her reputation is not all that flattering and given the news about her carrying on with a married man…” he trails off and my blood boils in my veins. Who the hell does he think he is? “I just worry that attaching a negative image to Buzzsaw and to you now will only hurt us more at a time when we’re already in bad shape. Even with the success we had with the fundraiser—”
“Thanks to Rae,” Sy interjects.
“We still have a way to go if you expect to expand this operation. We need more love from the public and I’m sorry to say it but the woman leaves no shortage of enemies in her wake. I already told you Jennings withdrew his standing annual donation on account of her. Jennings relayed to me several extremely unflattering things she said to him. She even threatened him. Who else will decline to support BCF once they know she is associated with it and you?”
Sy snorts humorlessly. “Yoder, you know I appreciate you, right?”
“Yes of course.”
“You know I care very much for you not only as BCF’s accountant, but as a friend and a mentor, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So you won’t take offense when I tell you to let me find a way to win more favor from the public to keep Buzzsaw moving in the right direction at the same time that I make that woman my wife. It’s been a long time coming.” Sy inhales deeply then goes on like a star lawyer making his closing arguments. “As for Jennings, well, it sucks to see his money go but if his support is conditional, then I don’t need or want it. I’ll find other donors. Rae, will help me find more donors. The most successful folks in this world are the only ones with no shortage of enemies, Gene. Rae’s in that group of folks because she’s worked hard to get there. Don’t punish her for it.”
“And what if things take a turn for the worse after you marry her? This new cancel culture thing is alive and well. People will attack you simply on account of you being with her. You’ll inherit every enemy she’s ever made or will make. You’d give up your work with the non-profit for her?” I peek around the edge of the vinyl banner in time to see Sy look up from his scorecards, leveling his unflinching gaze with Mr. Yoder.
“I absolutely would. In a heartbeat,” he says with the utmost sincerity and it’s standing here in this moment that I know my answer to his photo booth proposal without need for further thought.
The cherry on top was the email that made my phone ding as I trudged away feeling beaten by life.
Subject: Great news!
Sweeney’s PA just emailed me. Scheduled a face-to-face for Monday, 9 AM. Not official yet but it looks like you’re IN! Congratulations! When should I book your flight?
I tap out my email on autopilot and send it refusing to allow myself to take another look back at the judging tent where I left Sylas. This isn’t the first time I have forced myself to walk away from Sy. It’s not even the second time, but I do hope it will be the last. It hurts entirely too much.
Subject: re-Great news!
ASAP.
Chapter 25
Raegan
Three years ago…
“I’m sorry ma’am but the ICU is off limits to visitors with exception to family.”
“Listen—” I begin to do whatever it takes, say whatever I have to gain access to the wing where Sylas is admitted.
“Rae?” I spin in place to see Audrey Broussard behind me with red puffy eyes and a deep wrinkle knitting her brows.
“Audrey,” I whisper then clear my throat and try again. “Audrey,” I say a bit clearer.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Yes, well…” I look around unsure of what to say.
“You want to come with me to see him?”
“Ma’am it’s family only at this time,” the administrator begins to say again.
“Raegan Potter is family,” Audrey says simply brooking no room for argument.
“Yes ma’am. Please sign in here,” the woman instructs me then quickly prints a sticky nametag that will give me access to visit Sylas.
“Come on,” Audrey loops her arm in mine and we walk in silence down a wide corridor with glistening, clean floors that the fluorescent lighting seems to bounce off of. “He’s here.”
“Okay,” I whisper, swallowing thickly.
“He’s on lots of pain medication so he’s not awake.”