One of Remi’s friends from LSU knew she was looking for an investor and had made the call on her behalf. She had set up the meeting on a whim—the woman was only in town for a day, leaving Remi with no time to prep, no time to overthink it, no time to worry about her hair or to second-guess her pitch. In her rush to get there, she had forgotten to run the details past Gerard. Instead, she had gone in and sealed the deal on her own. Thinking he would be proud that she’d taken the initiative to catapult their business to the next level. But now, what was supposed to be a shared victory suddenlydidn’t feel like it at all. Gerard was unmoved by her revelation.
For years she had placed her dreams on the back burner, completely immersed herself into Zoe’s world and Gerard’s ambitions. But today, this was hers. A day that belonged entirely to her, and it felt damn good.
Still, guilt crept in. The aroma from Gerard’s dinner with his colleagues still lingered in the air. He’d prepared something Creole and spicy. Gerald was one of the best cooks she knew, and she was sure that he had impressed his client. She stood in the center of the great room of their home—a home they’d purchased twenty years ago, with its perfectly buffed hardwood flooring, floor-to-ceiling windows, the dazzling antique crystal chandelier that hung just above the wingback chair. They’d been so excited to move into their new home—a step up from the Seventh Ward neighborhood she’d grown up in, with its tree-lined streets and its vibrant, Caribbean-inspired colors. No, their 1920s renovated East Carrollton home was a far cry from her upbringing.
They’d fallen in love with the architecture, the charm, the screened-in wraparound front porch, the French doors that opened to the pool area and the chef’s kitchen, which Gerard used often. A chef in the making, he could prepare just about everything—all their New Orleans favorites: red beans and rice, étouffée, jambalaya, and his dishes were much better than the ones in any of the fancy restaurants in the French Quarter. He did most of the cooking for their family, and whenever they entertained or threw one of their elaborate parties, their guests expected a Gerard-inspired meal. They’d started their family in this house. Their daughter, Zoe, had taken her first steps on that front porch.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that you were meeting with an investor.” Gerard shook his head, a frown on his face. He paced the length of the great room. “An investor, Remi?”
She followed him with her eyes but didn’t move from her place by the chair. It wasn’t the response she was looking for,at all. “Anytime I brought it up—setting up meetings, finding investors—you either discouraged me or told me to wait. Someone had to take the bull by the horns, Gerard.”
“Listen, don’t get me wrong.” He must’ve realized that he was being too harsh. His tone softened just a bit. “I’m not against opening the winery, but …”
“But what? Zoe’s grown. She’s in college. I have more free time than I know what to do with. This is the perfect time.” She sank into the chair, removed the dressy pumps from her aching feet. Her whole body ached. She reached up, pulled the colorful wrap from her hair, and set her coils free. She closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled. “I can’t tell if you’re more upset that I missed your dinner or that I’m doing this … finally doing something for myself.”
Gerard stopped pacing and turned to face her. “I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me about it first. You went behind my back and made a major decision about our lives without even consulting me.” His voice rose, not loud but firm. It was accusatory. His jaw clenched and his lip curled, his eyes searching hers as if begging for an explanation.
Remi rose slowly. “This was a decision aboutmy life.”
Gerard’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you saying, Remi? That you’re in this marriage alone?”
The question floated between them. The room felt like it was closing in around her, and she wanted to change the conversation—didn’t want to open old wounds about his absence from home during times when shehadfelt alone in their marriage. Times when he’d left for work early and arrived home late. It would be so easy to lash out; to talk about all the days it had been just her and Zoe, and all the evenings she’d eaten dinner without him. To remind him of all theconversations started and never finished because his work couldn’t wait. But she didn’t go there. Not now. Not tonight.
Instead, she forced herself to breathe.
“Of course not!” Her tone was quieter, more measured now. “I’m not saying I’ve been alone in our marriage. I’m saying, I need this.For me.I want this for us—but mostly I want it formyself.”
Gerard was unusually silent. Had he conceded? Finally seen her side? Remi watched him carefully, her pulse still quick from the heat of their exchange.
“Hello, earth to Gerard,” she teased half-heartedly, trying to get a response. “Don’t grow quiet on me now.”
Still nothing.
He stood motionless by the fireplace, shoulders square but tense. A strange stillness settled onto his tall frame. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, although the fireplace was off. It wasn’t the heat.
“Gerard?” Her voice lost its edge, softened.
His hand reached out, trembling slightly as he moved toward the wingback chair. He gripped the arm of it tightly, like he needed it to hold him up. The rhythm of his breathing seemed off, shallow and unsteady. Then short. Tears filled his eyes. Gerard stumbled toward the mahogany antique coffee table. The piece had been his great-grandmother’s. Many of the pieces of furniture in their house were antiques—the nineteenth-century Victorian coffee table with beautiful art in the center, the antique lamps, the vintage settee, and the chair that had been reupholstered. All the furniture had been in the Landry family for years.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” She stood and rushed across the room to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tried to steady him, although he was much taller, more stout, and his body was much too heavy for her to stabilize. His legs buckled under him, and he collapsed next to the antique table.
What was happening?
Remi dropped to her knees.
“Gerard,” she cried, shaking him. “Stay with me, baby, please. …”
His lips moved, but barely a whisper came out.
She grabbed her phone from the chair and dialed. Her fingers shook so hard she almost dropped it. Remi cleared her throat. “Yes, I need an ambulance … please … my husband just collapsed. He’s not responding.”
The room spun. All the furniture, the antiques, the life they’d built, even the argument—none of it was important now. All that mattered was the man on the floor.
“Ma’am, where is your husband right now?”
“He’s on the floor, holding onto his chest.” Her heart raced and her muscles tensed. Her breath was so short, she felt as if she was having a panic attack.
She heard the operator say, “If you have an aspirin somewhere in a medicine cabinet, please give it to him right away, if he’s not allergic …”