"What she told me wasn't in a sacramental situation, but I shouldn't say any more," he replied.
I walked up the aisle and sat in the pew behind Lila.
"You ever have a guy try to pick you up in church before?" I asked.
She turned and stared at me, her face cut by a column of sunshine. The powder and down on her cheeks glowed as though illuminated by klieg lights. Her milky green eyes were wide with expectation that seemed to have no source.
"I was just thinking about you," she said.
"I bet."
"We're all going to die, Dave."
"You're right. But probably not today. Let's take a ride."
"It's strange I'd end up sitting here under the Crucifixion. Do you know the Hanged Man in the Tarot?"
"Sure," I said.
"That's the death card."
"No, it's St. Sebastian, a Roman soldier who was martyred for his faith. It represents self-sacrifice," I said.
"The priest wouldn't give me absolution. I'm sure I was baptized Catholic before I was baptized Protestant. My mother was a Catholic," she said.
Helen stood at the end of Lila's pew, chewing gum, her thumbs hooked in her gunbelt. She rested three fingers on Lila's shoulders.
"How about taking us to dinner?" she said.
AN HOUR LATER WE crossed the parish line into St. Mary. The air was mauve-colored, the bayou dimpled with the feeding of bream, the wind hot and smelling of tar from the highway. We drove up the brick-paved drive of the Terrebonne home. Lila's father stood on the portico, a cigar in his hand, his shoulder propped against a brick pillar.
I pulled the cruiser to a stop and started to get out.
"Stay here, Dave. I'm going to take Lila to the door," Helen said.
"That isn't necessary. I'm feeling much better now. I shouldn't have had a drink with that medication. It always makes me a bit otherworldly," Lila said.
"Your father doesn't like us, Lila. If he wants to say something, he should have the chance," Helen said.
But evidently Archer Terrebonne was not up to confronting Helen Soileau that evening. He took a puff from his cigar, then walked inside and closed the heavy door audibly behind him.
The portico and brick parking area were deep in shadow now, the gold and scarlet four-o'clock flowers in full bloom. Helen walked toward the portico with her arm around Lila's shoulders, then watched her go in the house and close the door. Helen continued to look at the door, working the gum in her jaw, the flat of one hand pushed down in the back of her gunbelt.
She opened the passenger door and got in.
"I'd say leapers and vodka," I said.
"No odor, fried terminals. Yeah, that sounds right. Great combo for a coronary," she replied.
I turned around in front of the house and drove toward the service road and the bridge over the bayou. Helen kept looking over the seat through the rear window.
"I wanted to kick her old man's ass. With a baton, broken teeth and bones, a real job," she said. "Not good, huh, bwana?"
"He's one of those guys who inspire thoughts like that. I wouldn't worry about it."
"I had him made for a child molester. I was wrong. That woman's been raped, Dave."
* * *