“Welcome to Bayou Rest. This y’all’s first visit to the Sunshine State?” The lanky old gentleman’s eyes held a Will Rogers twinkle beneath scruffy salt and pepper brows.
“Sure is.”
The sixtyish couple standing in front of the registration desk sported matching tropical print shirts and were flanked by two green 50’s era suitcases. The man, flushed and balding, retrieved a dingy handkerchief from the pocket of his shorts to capture a rivulet of sweat as it dripped its way toward the counter.
“The wife and I,” he indicated the short, stocky woman on his left with a sideways nod, “we’ve heard this is a great place to come for some fun in the sun. We’re real fun lovin’ — the missus and me. Don’t get much excitement up in our neck of the woods. Farm country. Early to bed, you know?
“Anyway, we’re hoping you might have a room for us, or maybe one of those little cabin jobs we saw out back? Not that far from here to those fancy-ass beach places. Figured we could bunk down here, go to the beach during the day, and it wouldn’t cost us our life savings, you know?
“Name’s Jones, by the way. Jimmy Jones, and my better half here is Shirley.”
Well, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, h’it’s a pleasure to meet y’all. And you just call me Hector. Everybody does.”
“Oh please, Hector,” the woman spoke for the first time, her voice carrying a certain fingernails-on-a-chalkboard quality. “Do call us Jimmy and Shirley. We’re not very fancy or formal.”
Hector, much accustomed to “not very fancy or formal,” gifted them with his best Sunday-go-to-meetin’ smile .
“Alright then Jimmy, Shirley, I think I can find a spot for y’all. How long you plan on stayin’?”
Jimmy hitched up his shorts, did another forehead mop. “Oh, I’d say a good two weeks. Didn’t know we’d find a place this chea... ah, reasonable down here, so we can stay a bit longer than we originally thought. No need to rush home. Just me and the missus to worry about. Never been blessed with kids or anything, you know? Dog just passed recently too. So, here we are, footloose and fancy free.”
“Sorry to hear about that dog. Pets surely are a pleasure and a comfort. Don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to my Daisy. I’ll make real sure y’all meet her later on. She loves havin’ visitors.
“Well now, y’all sure won’t think much of Southern hospitality if I keep ya standin' here all afternoon. It just so happens I had a cancellation for my best cabin. Right on the bayou it is. I’ll even give y’all a little break on the price, seein' as ya’ll will be stayin’ two weeks.”
As Shirley smiled, Hector caught a glint of gold molar.
“Why, Hector, you don’t have to do that,” she gushed.
A “hrump” and a sidelong look from Jimmy froze her smile. Removing her wide brimmed straw hat she fanned herself, trying to disguise discomfiture as a hot flash.
“Nope, wouldn’t have it any other way. Who knows, y’all may decide you never want to leave.”
The Will Rogers twinkle returned as he dropped a wink in Shirley’s direction, prompting more furious fanning as her flush deepened.
The cabin was small but livable. In the main room, a combination kitchen/dining/living room, two disreputable wicker chairs with overstuffed but sagging cushions of indefinable hue, dared the sitter to arise once seated. A coffee table, with one leg shorter than the other three, held several paperback books minus their covers. A palsied refrigerator groaned beside the screen door, and a double burner gas unit perched precariously on a canted countertop constructed in ages past of materials unknown. An overhead fan with a milk glass globe light that provided the only illumination in the room, wheezed asthmatically as it attempted to churn the still air.
The remainder of the accommodations consisted of a bedroom just large enough to hold a double bed and a single nightstand under a small grime bedecked window, and a miniscule bathroom boasting a pull chain toilet, a stained pedestal sink and a tub that would allow for a PTA bath, but not much more.
“My goodness,” squeaked Shirley, “it’s quite rustic, isn’t it?”
Hector’s chest puffed with pride as his gaze traveled the cabin’s cozy interior.
“H’it is.” His sigh was dreamy. “Been in my family far back as anyone can remember. I like to think of it as a relaxin’ change of pace from those damn condos and high rises on the other side of the bridge. It’s like a trip into the days when servin’ guests was more important than makin’ lots of money. Yup. Y’all see that sampler on the wall over yonder? My great-grandmaw hand stitched that when she was no more ‘n a girl. ‘Bayou Rest — we aim to serve our guests,’ ” he read. “’Bout sums it up for me.
“Well, I’ll leave y’all to your unpackin’ and whatever. Make yourself ta home and a little while later, Daisy and me’ll be by to see how y’all are doin’. If there’s anything ya need, just give a holler.”
“Thanks a bunch Hector.” Jimmy spoke up for the first time since their arrival at the cabin. “This place will suit us fine. Oh, by the way, not that I’m nervous about it or anything, but Shirley here... well, you know how jumpy women can be. Do we need to worry about alligators, I mean, being so close to the swamp and all, you know?”
“ALLIGATORS!” Shirley’s shriek came within a hair of shattering the old windows.
Cut to the quick, Hector turned to face his new guests.
“First of all,” he said, standing straighter and thrusting his chin forward, “this ain’t no swamp. H’it’s a bayou.
“Second of all, we don’t ‘low no gators in this here bayou, and even if we did, my Daisy would fight to the death to protect our people. Does that set your mind to rest?” The Will Rogers twinkle was gone, replaced with the glint of steel.
“Whoa! No offense, Hector. Never intended to upset you. Excuse my ignorance. Sure didn’t mean anything by it, believe me. Just asking for the sake of the little woman here, you know?”
Hector relaxed his stance, released the steely glare.
“No offense taken, Jimmy. Guess I’m just a bit touchy when it comes to Bayou Rest and our family tradition. Like I said, Daisy and me’ll be back shortly to check up on y’all.”
As the sun was beginning to set, Hector sat himself down in the old wooden rocker in front of the cabin. He’d finally finished his clean-up chores. Tourists sure could be messy. Tomorrow he’d take those duds of theirs to the consignment shop. Except for that gold molar, he probably wouldn’t make much off old Jimmy and Shirley, but that was okay. After all, it wasn’t about the money.
Popping the top on an ice cold long neck, he savored both the beer and the bayou breeze. He watched the fish jumping, then closed his eyes all the better to hear the whippoorwill’s lullaby.
“Life sure is good, ain’t it Daisy?” he opined.
Beside him in the approaching twilight, Daisy burped in contented agreement and slithered into the bayou.
