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entirely dead.
    “Really great gumbo. Thank you for sharing, Merlin.”
    “No problem.”
    “So, tell me all about yourself.” An old chestnut, but a good one. Everyone liked to talk about themselves.
    “Not much to tell. I was born in this parish, raised in this house. I never knew we had red pine floors under all that green linoleum. Nice.” He gestured with his spoon at Jane’s pride and joy, her lovely hardwood floors liberated from several layers of ugly coverings.
    “Thank you. You went to school here as well?”
    “Yep. The public high school, not the Catholic or fancy private one. Did a couple of years of college at the university in Lafayette before I quit.”
    “Too much partying?” Jane said that with a smile, but he did seem the type to flunk out from excessive drinking. Probably excessive women, too.
    “I didn’t take to it much. I never could understand why I needed courses in English and a foreign language in order to study petroleum engineering. I mean, I already speak English and people who move here should do the same.”
    So, he was one of those guys. Figured. “Both my older brother and my dad are petroleum engineers. My brother is working in Helena now, and my father is teaching some courses at Montana State University in Bozeman since he retired.”
    “Good for them. They stayed the course. I didn’t.” He finished his wine and poured another glass full to the brim this time.
    “But, you must have gone on to get helicopter flight training.”
    “Courtesy to the U.S. Army. When college seemed a waste of time and money, I enlisted. Four years in the service, two of those in Afghanistan.”
    “That must have been an interesting experience.”
    “If you like grit in your food in summer, freezing your ass off in winter, and praying the Russkis haven’t sold the war lords any rocket propelled grenades lately. I don’t really like to talk about it.”
    Jane grasped another straw of conversation. “Your family. I met your grandmother at the closing on the house. She’s still very sharp for all her physical infirmities. You told me about your mother, and you have a step-father who shoots ducks.” She took another appreciative spoonful of gumbo. “Brothers? Sisters?”
    “Half-sister, half-brother. Brittney is a waitress out at Broussard’s Barn same as my mom. Doyle, he wanted to follow in my footsteps and signed up for the service when he should have stayed in trade school. Only he didn’t have the brains to get into flight training. He takes after my step-dad, not the brightest bulb in the bin but a good kid. Doyle thinks it’s great the army taught him to drive a truck so he can have a career like me when he gets out—if he comes out alive. I keep telling him always stay in the middle of the convoy, don’t take point or drag. If he gets blown up by an IED, it will be my fault for not being around to talk him out of it, but I was doing my second stretch in Afghanistan at the time and me getting that medal didn’t help discourage him. Now he’s over there, and I’m home safe and sound.” Merlin wiped his hand over his mouth as if he tried to stop the rush of words.
    Jane wanted to take that hand and have it lie quietly in hers. “People make their own decisions for better or worse. You can’t blame yourself for that. What did you do to win a medal?”
    He stood as abruptly as she had earlier in the evening. His gumbo bowl sat empty, his salad barely touched, and his wineglass down to the dregs again. “I didn’t deserve to be decorated. Look, I’m tired from doing your yard work. I need to leave.”
    “Won’t you stay for dessert?”
    That tight, suppressed smile appeared on his shadowed face again. “Ask me that another time and I just might, sweet cheeks. Keep the rest of the gumbo. Good night.”
    ****
    Merlin closed the door behind him and escaped from the light of the kitchen. He paused under the old pecan tree and gazed at the moon dressed in blood red by the