EILEEN CADDY “Louisiana? What’s in Louisiana?” Gwennie sounded like she had a cold, but the Manhattan connection was not always clear. “Louisiana as in New Orleans or wherever it is Luke’s gone for the art show,” said Saphora. It was Metairie, but that was nearly New Orleans. Her feet were soaking in a tub, still sore from the rash of dances that followed her talk-of-the-town speech last night. “That doesn’t make sense, Mama. He was expecting me in town.” “He said he didn’t have to tell you that he wasn’t going to be here after all. You canceled first.” “If that’s true, then why wouldn’t he just tell me?” she asked. “Not that I care, Mama, I’m just saying it’s strange that you’re delivering the news.” “I’m guessing, Gwennie, but it could be he didn’t want to tell you in the first place. You made it easier. Luke knows, like you know, it’s not going to work between the two of you.” The salt water stung the tops of her blistered toes. “He told you that?”
