The sun had just begun slipping through the tall kitchen windows, catching the glass jars Annette kept lined along the sill. The house still carried the quiet of early morning—only the soft clink of dishes and the steady hum of the coffee pot breaking it.
Annette stood at the stove in her robe, stirring something slowly in a small saucepan.
Behind her, the phone rang.
She wiped her hands on the towel draped over her shoulder and picked it up.
“Aldrich house.”
On the other end MJ’s voice came through, already carrying the impatience of a man who had been up longer than he wanted to be.
“Ma.”
Annette leaned one hip against the counter.
“Well good morning to you too.”
“You seen Bootney?”
Annette glanced down the hallway toward the back bedrooms.
“He here.”
MJ paused.
“He what?”
“He here,” she repeated calmly. “Stayed the night.”
Another pause.
“He ain’t come home.”
“Well that’s because he stayed here.”
“You ain’t tell me that last night?”
Annette lifted one eyebrow even though he couldn’t see her.
“You ain’t ask me last night.”
From the living room Marcel’s voice drifted toward the kitchen.
“Who that?”
Annette turned her head slightly.
“Your son.”
Marcel chuckled.
“My only one?”
“Yes, Marcel,” she said dryly. “Your only one.”
MJ sighed on the other end of the phone.
“Daddy over there?”
“He sitting in that chair like he always is.”
From the living room Marcel called out louder now.
“Tell him his boy alive and well.”
MJ groaned.
“That’s the problem. Daddy let him do whatever he want.”
Annette shook her head slightly.
“You raised that boy too, MJ.”
“That ain’t the point.”
“Well what is the point?”
MJ paused again.
“Just tell him when he wake up I need him to come by the house.”
Annette nodded.
“I’ll tell him.”
“And Ma?”
“Yes?”
“Tell Daddy stop letting that boy run around like he still seventeen.”
Annette glanced toward the living room where Marcel sat reading the newspaper like the conversation had nothing to do with him.
“You know your daddy don’t listen to nobody.”
MJ huffed softly.
“Yeah… I know.”
She hung up the phone and set it back on the counter.
From the living room Marcel asked,
“What he want?”
“Looking for his son.”
Marcel folded the newspaper slightly.
“He in the back room.”
Annette turned back to the stove.
“You gon wake him?”
Marcel leaned back in his chair.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“That boy been working all week.”
Annette smirked.
“You just like having him here.”
Marcel didn’t answer.
But the corner of his mouth lifted just a little.
Across town, the morning had already started moving faster.
Amaris Aldrich stepped out of her apartment building with a travel mug of warm tea in one hand and a stack of papers tucked under her arm.
Magnolia Grove Apartments sat on the edge of Saint Delphine, just far enough from Sage Road that she could pretend she had her own life.
The air carried that soft coastal warmth even in the early hours.
She unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
Grandaddy
She smiled before answering.
“Yes sir.”
Marcel’s voice came through steady and warm.
“You up?”
“I’m in the car.”
“Going to work already?”
“Yes.”
Marcel paused a moment.
“You eating breakfast?”
Amaris laughed softly.
“Grandaddy…”
“That ain’t an answer.”
“I have tea”
Marcel made a low disapproving sound.
“That ain’t food.”
“I’ll eat something later.”
Marcel sighed like a man who had lost the argument before it even started.
“Your grandma cooking.”
Amaris groaned.
“You not about to do this again.”
“She made biscuits.”
“That’s not fair.”
Marcel chuckled.
“Come by after work.”
“I always come by after work.”
“Good.”
She could hear Annette in the background.
“Who you talking to?”
“Your granddaughter.”
“Tell her stop letting you talk her into eating over here every night.”
Amaris laughed.
“Too late.”
Annette’s voice came closer to the phone.
“Baby you come over if you want.”
“I will.”
Marcel cleared his throat.
“Drive safe.”
“Yes sir.”
She hung up and started the car.
As she pulled onto the road, Saint Delphine was just beginning to wake—store doors opening, school buses rumbling past, the same slow rhythm the town had carried for generations.
And like most mornings, the road eventually curved toward Delphine Parish High School.
Where Amaris Aldrich’s day was just beginning
Amaris parked beneath the same oak tree she always chose at the edge of the faculty lot.
The branches hung low, Spanish moss swaying gently in the warm morning air. Delphine Parish High sat just beyond it, the old brick building catching the first full stretch of sunlight.
She grabbed her bag, her stack of papers, and the tea she had already decided wasn’t enough to get her through the morning.
Inside, the hallway was already alive.
Lockers slamming.
Students calling to each other.
Someone running even though the first bell hadn’t rung yet.
Amaris stepped into her classroom and set her things down on the desk.
Her room looked like a history teacher actually lived there.
Posters and framed photos lined the walls—Claudette Colvin, Nat Turner, Ida B. Wells, Zora Neale Hurston, James Baldwin. In one corner hung a small framed photo of Marcel and Annette taken years ago, Marcel younger but still unmistakably himself, Annette smiling beside him.
By the time the first bell rang, the room was nearly full.
Amaris leaned against the edge of her desk.
“Alright,” she said.
“Who remembers what we talked about yesterday?”
A few hands lifted slowly.
One student in the back groaned dramatically.
“Miss Aldrich… it’s eight in the morning.”
Amaris folded her arms.
“And history still happened before you woke up.”
The class laughed.
She smiled slightly.
“Now. Reconstruction.”
A boy near the window raised his hand.
“Miss Aldrich?”
“Yes.”
“Why they ain’t teach this the same way in middle school?”
Amaris tilted her head.
“That’s a good question.”
The bell for second period eventually came, and then third.
By the time lunch arrived the school had settled into its usual rhythm.
Amaris stepped outside with her tray and sat at one of the shaded tables near the faculty parking lot.
She took two bites of her sandwich before pulling out her phone.
Then she dialed.
The phone rang twice.
“Yeah.”
“Hey Bootney.”
There was a pause.
Then a long sigh.
“My name is B or Kari, boe.”
Amaris laughed immediately.
“Oh please.”
“I’m serious.”
“You been serious about that since we was twelve.”
“Because y’all keep calling me that.”
“That’s what Grandaddy call you.”
“Granddaddy been calling me that since I was five.”
“Well that’s what I’m gonna call you too.”
Bakari groaned.
“Lord have mercy.”
Amaris grinned into the phone.
“What you doing?”
“Working.”
“Doing what?”
“Welding.”
Amaris nodded like he could see her.
“Mhm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“I just know you loud in somebody shop right now.”
Bakari snorted.
“You calling me loud like you ain’t related to me.”
“Grandaddy say you loud.”
“Granddaddy say everybody loud except him.”
Amaris laughed.
“Grandaddy called me this morning, still sitting in that chair.”
“Of course he is.”
Bakari paused a second.
“You going over there tonight?”
“When do I not go over there?”
“True.”
She leaned back in her chair and watched a group of students walk across the courtyard.
“Uncle MJ called this morning looking for you.”
Bakari groaned immediately.
“I know.”
“You in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then why you sound like that?”
“Because he talking about I need to come home earlier.”
Amaris laughed softly.
“You damn near thirty”
“Exactly.”
“Well maybe stop staying at Grandaddy house every other night.”
Bakari scoffed.
“Mind your business ”
She smiled.
“aight”
The bell rang again in the distance.
Amaris stood up.
“I gotta go.”
“Alright.”
“Bye Bootney.”
“Girl—”
She hung up before he could finish.
Across town, in a welding shop filled with sparks and steel, Bakari looked down at his phone and shook his head.
“That girl,” he muttered.
But he was smiling.
The welding torch went quiet for a minute.
Bakari pushed his hood up and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, stepping away from the metal table while the last orange sparks cooled.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out and looked down.
Granddaddy
Bakari already knew what the call was about.
He answered anyway.
“Yeah.”
Marcel’s voice came through steady and calm.
“Boy.”
“Yes sir.”
“You working?”
“Yeah.”
“You still at that shop?”
“Yeah.”
There was a short pause on the other end.
Then Marcel said,
“You coming over here tonight?”
Bakari leaned against the workbench.
“For dinner?”
“No,” Marcel said dryly. “To sit on my porch and look at the road.”
Bakari laughed.
“Yes sir. For dinner.”
Another pause.
Then Marcel let out a long, aggravated sigh.
“Mhm.”
Bakari grinned.
“What?”
“That mean I gotta make more rice.”
Bakari laughed louder.
“Granddaddy you ain’t cooking.”
“Your grandma cooking.”
“Well then why you mad at me?”
“I ain’t mad.”
“You sound mad.”
“I sound like somebody who know you gon eat half the food in this house.”
Bakari shook his head.
“I do not.”
Marcel snorted.
“Bootney.”
“Yes sir.”
“You eat like somebody paying you.”
Bakari laughed.
“Grandma don’t complain.”
“Because your grandma too nice.”
“Granddaddy you eat just as much as I do.”
Marcel ignored that.
“What time you getting off?”
“Probably around five.”
“Well don’t come in my house all loud.”
Bakari grinned.
“I’m always loud.”
“I know.”
Bakari leaned back against the table and smirked a little.
“Let me ask you something.”
“What.”
“Why you always calling me asking if I’m coming over to eat if you gon be mad when I say yeah?”
There was silence for a moment.
Then Marcel exhaled through his nose.
“Boy.”
“I’m serious.”
“You always complaining when I say I’m coming.”
Another pause.
And when Marcel spoke again, his voice had softened just a little.
Not enough for most people to notice.
But enough for Bakari to hear it.
“Because I know you gon show up.”
Bakari frowned slightly.
“What that mean?”
Marcel shifted in his chair on the other end of the phone.
“Mean I know where you at.”
Bakari didn’t say anything.
Marcel continued, quieter now.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with a man knowing where his people at.”
Another small pause.
Then Marcel cleared his throat and went right back to sounding like himself.
“So get your loud self over here when you get off.”
Bakari laughed again.
“Yes sir.”
“And boy.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t make me come looking for you.”
Bakari rolled his eyes even though Marcel couldn’t see him.
“I’m coming.”
Marcel hung up without another word.
Bakari stared at the phone for a second.
Then he shook his head and chuckled.
“Man,” he muttered.
“Old people.”
Marcel set the phone down on the small table beside his chair.
The house was quiet again except for the low sound of the ceiling fan turning slowly above him.
From the kitchen came the soft rhythm of Annette moving around—pots shifting, cabinet doors opening and closing, the faint smell of onions and smoked turkey already filling the house.
Annette stepped into the doorway wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“You get him?”
Marcel leaned back in his chair.
“Mhm.”
“He coming?”
Marcel sighed like the news personally offended him.
“Yeah.”
Annette folded her arms.
“And you already acting aggravated about it.”
Marcel looked over at her.
“I ain’t aggravated.”
Annette raised one eyebrow.
“Marcel Aldrich.”
“What.”
“Every time that boy say he coming over here you act like you don’t want nobody in this house.”
Marcel shrugged.
“I don’t.”
Annette walked a little farther into the living room.
“You know that ain’t true.”
Marcel didn’t answer.
Annette studied him for a moment before shaking her head softly.
“You know that boy got your heart.”
Marcel’s eyes flicked toward her but he stayed quiet.
Annette leaned one shoulder against the wall.
“His daddy might’ve been your first son…”
Marcel shifted slightly in the chair.
“But Bakari Marcellus Aldrich…” she said gently.
“That was your first baby.”
Marcel’s jaw tightened just a little.
He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb slowly across the side of his palm.
Annette knew the story better than anybody.
MJ had been twenty-three when Bakari was born.
Still young, still figuring out how to be a father.
And Marcel—forty-two by then—had stepped in without hesitation.
Feeding him.
Rocking him.
Walking the floors with him in the middle of the night.
Teaching him to swing a hammer before he could properly tie his shoes.
Annette smiled faintly.
“You remember when he used to sleep on your chest?”
Marcel snorted quietly.
“That boy used to drool all over me.”
“You didn’t mind.”
“I did mind.”
Annette laughed softly.
“No you didn’t.”
Marcel leaned back deeper into the chair, shaking his head.
Annette turned toward the kitchen again.
“You better stop acting like you don’t want him over here.”
Marcel watched her go.
Annette paused in the doorway and looked back one more time.
“You know good and well that boy walk through that door…”
She smiled just a little.
“…and you gon sit up a little straighter in that chair.”
Marcel grunted under his breath.
“I been sitting in this chair the same way for twenty years.”
Annette just shook her head and disappeared back into the kitchen.
And a moment later, Marcel sat up just a little straighter.
Marcel sat in the living room a moment longer after Annette disappeared back into the kitchen.
The house carried that comfortable late-afternoon quiet that only came when the sun started leaning toward evening. Outside, a breeze moved through the oaks on Sage Road, the Spanish moss shifting softly like it always had.
From the kitchen, the sound of a cabinet closing echoed down the hallway.
Then Annette’s voice came again.
“Eti?”
Marcel looked toward the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“You want some of this sweet tea?”
Marcel shifted in his chair.
“Yeah, bring me a glass.”
Annette appeared again a moment later with two tall glasses, the ice clinking gently against the sides. She handed one to him and kept the other for herself.
Marcel took a long sip.
“Mm.”
Annette sat on the arm of the couch across from him.
“He still at work?”
“Yeah.”
“He say what time he getting off?”
“Bout five.”
Annette nodded.
“Well the food’ll be ready.”
She took a sip of her tea, then stood up again.
“I gotta go finish this kitchen.”
Marcel nodded once.
Annette walked back toward the kitchen, her footsteps fading into the steady rhythm of pots and cabinet doors again.
Marcel sat there quietly for a moment, the glass of sweet tea resting in his hand.
The house felt full even when it was quiet.
His eyes drifted toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
Then toward the front door.
Then back to the floor.
He shook his head slightly and muttered to himself under his breath.
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“Marcel… if you call my name one more time and you don’t need nothing, I swear to the Lord—”
“I do need something.”
Annette didn’t turn around yet. She stood at the kitchen sink, one hand resting on the edge of the counter while the other dried the same plate she’d been drying for the last thirty seconds.
From the living room Marcel leaned back in his chair like a man who had been sitting there all day and had no plans of moving any time soon.
“What you need?” she asked.
Marcel paused long enough for her to know he was about to say something foolish.
“Come here.”
Annette closed her eyes.
“Marcel Aldrich…”
“Come here a minute.”
She finally turned around and looked at him through the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room.
That man sat there with his long legs stretched out, one arm resting on the arm of the chair, looking exactly the way he had looked for the last fifty years whenever he wanted attention.
“You called me all the way in here for that?” she said.
“For what?”
“For me to walk in here and stand in front of you.”
Marcel shrugged a little.
“You came, didn’t you?”
Annette shook her head slowly.
“Marcel… gon somewhere hea.”
From the porch outside the screen door, Bakari’s laugh burst through the house like a thunderclap.
“Granddaddy bothering Grandma again?”
Marcel didn’t even look toward the door.
“I like seeing her come to me,” he said calmly.
Annette rolled her eyes but she was smiling now.
Bakari pushed the door open and stepped inside, tall and loud and carrying the evening air with him.
“You been doing that your whole life?” he asked.
Marcel looked at his grandson like the answer should have been obvious.
“Boy,” he said, “that’s how I kept your grandma.”
Annette snorted from the kitchen.
“You kept me because the Lord said marriage is for life.”
Marcel leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and looked toward the hallway where the old wooden floors creaked softly under the weight of years.
“No,” he said.
“I kept you because you loved me too much to leave.”
Annette pointed the dish towel at him.
“You better hush.”
But the smile never left her face.
Outside, the oak trees along Sage Road moved slowly in the late evening wind, Spanish moss swaying like old secrets that had been hanging there longer than anyone in the house could remember.
akari dropped into one of the dining chairs like he had lived in that house his whole life—which, in a way, he had.
The old wooden legs scraped the floor.
Annette glanced toward the sound.
“Boy don’t drag my chairs across that floor like that.”
“Yes ma’am,” Bakari said immediately, though he didn’t move the chair an inch.
Marcel watched the whole thing from his spot in the living room like a man observing a play he had seen many times before.
“Bootney,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Quit all that loud talkin’. You gon blow my eardrums.”
Bakari leaned back in the chair and grinned.
“You been saying that since I was ten.”
“And you been loud since you was born.”
Annette stepped out of the kitchen doorway with the dish towel still in her hand.
“You hungry?” she asked.
Bakari’s eyes widened.
“You cooking?”
Marcel scoffed.
“Boy you know she cooking. That woman cook every day like she feeding a church.”
Annette shot him a look.
“You eat the most out of anybody in this house.”
“That’s because I work.”
Bakari laughed.
“You been sitting in that chair all afternoon.”
Marcel turned his head slowly and looked at him.
“I was thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
Marcel gestured toward the kitchen.
“How lucky I am.”
Annette rolled her eyes again and started wiping the counter beside the sink.
“You so full of it.”
Marcel stood up slowly then, stretching his back.
Even at seventy-one he still carried himself like a man who had spent most of his life building things with his hands.
He walked into the kitchen and leaned one shoulder against the counter near her.
For a moment he just watched her moving around the room.
Then softly he said,
“Ma chère.”
Annette paused.
She didn’t look up right away, but the corners of her mouth lifted just a little.
“What you want now?”
Marcel shrugged.
“Nothing.”
Bakari called from the dining room.
“Granddaddy lying again!”
Marcel ignored him.
He reached over and lightly tapped the dish towel in Annette’s hand.
“You almost done?”
“Yeah.”
“Well when you finish,” he said, “come sit down a minute.”
She looked up at him then.
“Why?”
Marcel smiled in that quiet way of his.
“Because I like looking at you.”
From the other room Bakari groaned loudly.
“Oh Lord.”
Annette shook her head and pushed Marcel gently with her elbow.
“You better go sit down somewhere before that boy start talking again.”
Marcel chuckled and walked back toward the living room.
As he passed Bakari he muttered,
“Don’t make me come looking for you.”
Bakari leaned back in the chair again.
“I ain’t even doing nothing.”
Marcel sat down in his chair and looked around the house for a moment.
The same house he had built with his own hands.
The same house where every one of his children and grandchildren had come through those doors at one time or another.
After a minute he said quietly,
“You know something, Bootney?”
“What?”
Marcel nodded toward the kitchen where Annette was still moving around.
“That woman in there?”
Bakari followed his gaze.
“Yeah?”
Marcel leaned back in his chair again.
“She got a piece of whatever God is inside her.”
Bakari nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I figured that out a long time ago.”
Bakari stayed sitting at the dining table a minute longer, rocking the chair back on two legs while Marcel leaned back in his own chair across the room.
The house had gone quiet in that comfortable way old houses do at night.
The kitchen light still glowed warm through the doorway where Annette moved slowly, rinsing the last dish.
Bakari tipped his head back toward Marcel.
“You been talking about Grandma like that my whole life.”
Marcel didn’t look at him yet.
“Because it been true your whole life.”
Bakari chuckled.
“Granddaddy you act like that woman hung the moon.”
Marcel finally turned his head and looked at him.
“I ain’t say all that.”
Bakari lifted his eyebrow.
“You basically did.”
Marcel rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded toward the kitchen where Annette was moving around.
“Boy… I done lived a long time.”
Bakari waited.
“And in all that time,” Marcel said quietly, “I ain’t met nobody quite like that woman in there.”
From the kitchen Annette called out without turning around,
“I can still hear both of y’all.”
Bakari grinned.
“See? She hear everything.”
Marcel shook his head slowly.
“Fifty something years of marriage, boy. A man learn things.”
“Like what?”
Marcel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Like when to talk.”
Bakari laughed.
“And when not to?”
Marcel nodded toward the kitchen again.
“Especially when not to.”
Annette stepped out of the kitchen then, drying her hands on the dish towel.
“You still sitting there, Bootney?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“You ain’t got nowhere to be?”
Bakari looked at Marcel.
Marcel shrugged.
“You done been in my house too long.”
Bakari laughed.
“That’s what you said earlier.”
“Well I meant it earlier.”
“So you want me to go?”
Marcel glanced toward the clock on the wall.
It read 10:30 PM.
He shook his head.
“Nah.”
Bakari smiled.
“I knew it.”
Marcel pointed toward the hallway.
“Go on down there to that back room and stay the night.”
Bakari stood up.
“Yes sir.”
“And Bootney.”
Bakari stopped halfway to the hallway.
“What?”
“Don’t make me come looking for you.”
Bakari rolled his eyes.
“I’m going to sleep.”
Annette shook her head.
“That boy been hearing that since he was five.”
Marcel leaned back in his chair again.
“And he still alive ain’t he?”
Bakari disappeared down the hallway, the old wooden floors creaking under his steps.
For a moment the house was quiet again.
Annette looked at Marcel from across the room.
“You ready to go to bed?”
Marcel shook his head slowly.
“Not yet.”
“What you doing then?”
He looked around the living room — the wooden floors, the walls he had framed himself, the house that had held almost every moment of his life.
“Just sitting in my house,” he said.
Annette crossed the room and stood beside his chair.
“You say that like it’s something special.”
Marcel looked up at her and smiled a little.
“It is.”
She shook her head.
“You a strange man.”
Marcel reached up and took her hand.
“Ma chère.”
Annette sighed softly.
“What now?”
He looked at her the same way he had when they were young.
“Sit down with me a minute.”
She rolled her eyes — but she sat down anyway.
“You always got something,” she muttered.
Instead of taking the chair beside him, she lowered herself onto the couch across from him, folding her hands in her lap like she had come to attend a meeting.
“There,” she said. “I’m sitting.”
Marcel looked at her.
Then he slowly shook his head.
“Uh uh.”
Annette narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Come here.”
“I am here.”
Marcel patted his knee.
“Come sit on my lap.”
Annette stared at him like he had lost his mind.
“Marcel Aldrich.”
“What?”
“You seventy-one years old.”
“And?”
“And I am not sitting on your lap like we twenty.”
Marcel leaned back in the chair, completely unbothered.
“Your legs still work.”
Annette let out a small laugh she tried to hide.
“Boy you better hush.”
From down the hallway Bakari’s voice drifted back into the room.
“I can still hear y’all.”
Marcel didn’t even turn his head.
“Go to sleep.”
“I’m trying!”
Annette shook her head.
“That boy been nosy since he was born.”
Marcel looked back at her again.
“You coming over here or not?”
Annette crossed her arms.
“You stubborn.”
Marcel smiled a little.
“You married me.”
She stood there another moment like she was debating whether she should give in.
Then she walked across the room.
“Move your elbow.”
Marcel shifted just enough to make space.
Annette sat sideways on his lap, careful and slow, settling there like it was something she had done a thousand times before.
Marcel wrapped one arm around her waist.
She looked down at him.
“You happy now?”
He nodded once.
“Yeah.”
Annette rested her arm across his shoulder and leaned back slightly.
Outside the windows the wind moved softly through the oak trees.
The house was quiet again.
After a moment she said softly,
“You been thinking again.”
Marcel nodded.
“I do that sometimes.”
“About what?”
He looked around the room.
The walls he had framed.
The floors he had laid.
The house that had held their whole life.
“About how long we been sitting in this house.”
Annette smiled faintly.
“Long time.”
Marcel squeezed her hand gently.
“Not long enough.”
She looked down at him again.
“You ain’t going nowhere.”
Marcel chuckled under his breath.
“That’s good,” he said.
“Because I ain’t finished sitting here yet.”
Annette shifted a little on his lap, settling more comfortably against him. The house had grown quiet now, the kind of quiet that only came after everyone had settled in for the night. Even the old floors seemed to rest.
Marcel still had one arm around her waist, his thumb moving slowly across the back of her hand.
After a minute she leaned down slightly and spoke softly, her words slipping into Creole the way they sometimes did when she was teasing him.
“Ou se on keksoz ankò, Marcel Aldrich…”
But the rhythm of it carried the soft drawl of South Carolina instead of Louisiana, the vowels stretching just a little longer than they were supposed to.
Marcel burst out laughing.
Not loud—just that deep, warm laugh that started in his chest.
Annette looked down at him.
“What you laughing at?”
“You,” he said.
“What about me?”
“That accent.”
Annette rolled her eyes.
“You been trying to teach me that language for fifty years.”
“And you still talking like you from South Carolina.”
“Well that’s because I am from South Carolina.”
Marcel laughed again and shook his head.
“Ma chère… you sound like Louisiana passed through Charleston on the way to the kitchen.”
Annette smacked his shoulder lightly.
“Don’t start.”
Then she stood up slowly from his lap and straightened the hem of her dress.
“Come on,” she said, reaching for his hand.
“Let’s go to bed.”
Marcel looked up at her for a moment before taking her hand and pulling himself to his feet.
“You sure?”
Annette raised one eyebrow.
“Marcel Aldrich.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“You done talked enough for one night.”
He chuckled softly.
“Yes ma’am.”
They turned off the living room lamp together, the house falling into darkness except for the faint glow of the hallway light.
As they walked down the hall, the old wooden floor creaked under their steps, the same way it had for decades.
Behind them, the living room settled into the quiet again.
Romantic toward Annette even after decades of marriage
Hardworking to the point of stubbornness
Speaks Louisiana Creole when emotional
Character Notes
Marcel came to Saint Delphine from Louisiana as a young man and built the Aldrich house himself. Over time he became one of the most respected men in town. Though he rarely raises his voice, people know not to test him or his family.
Despite his serious demeanor, he enjoys teasing Annette and his grandchildren.
One thing Marcel says often to the people he loves is:
“Don’t make me come looking for you.”
In the Aldrich family this phrase means:
stay safe
stay out of trouble
remember who you belong to
It is both a joke and a quiet warning.
Everyone in the family has heard Marcel say it to them at least once.
Annette Grace Aldrich (née Walter)
Age: ~69
Role: Matriarch of the Aldrich family
Occupation: Seamstress
Personality
Strong-willed
Warm and nurturing
Deeply faithful
Protective of her husband and children
Practical and emotionally intelligent
Character Notes
Annette comes from the Walter family, one of Saint Delphine’s founding families. She is the emotional center of the Aldrich household. She keeps the family grounded and is known in town for her kindness as well as her firmness when necessary.
Her favorite phrase toward Marcel is:
“Marcel… gon somewhere hea.”
Everyone in the family knows that Marcel may run the house in many ways, but Annette is the one who keeps it steady.
Second Generation
Marcel “MJ” Aldrich Jr.
Age: 52
Role: Oldest Aldrich child
Personality
Responsible
Quiet and steady
Protective father
Loyal to family
Practical thinker
Character Notes
MJ grew up watching his father build both a house and a reputation in Saint Delphine. Becoming a father young forced him to mature quickly. He carries a strong sense of duty toward his family and often acts as the steady presence among the siblings.
Marcel often tells MJ:
“You got your mama patience and my stubbornness. Lord help everybody”
Meaning MJ is more like him than he may want him to be.
Child:
Bakari Marcellus “Bootney” Aldrich
Cherie Aldrich
Age: 44
Role: Middle Aldrich child
Occupation: CNA
Personality
Warm
Compassionate
Easygoing
Protective of Amaris
Loyal to her parents
Character Notes
Cherie became a mother young when she had Amaris at sixteen. Though the situation caused tension at first, the family rallied around her. She has always remained close to the Aldrich house and maintains a strong bond with both Marcel and Annette.
Marcel often says to her:
“Girl, you got your mama’s heart.”
Child:
Amaris Shansai "Maris" Aldrich
Analyse Reed (Nee Aldrich)
Age: 39
Role: Youngest Aldrich sibling
Personality
Organized
Nurturing
Balanced and calm
Family-oriented
Protective of siblings
Character Notes
Analyse is the sibling whose life appears the most traditionally settled. She has her own home, a husband, and four children. Within the family she often acts as a quiet mediator and caretaker, making sure everyone stays connected.
Marcel often tells her:
“You the one keepin’ everybody together.”
Third Generation
Bakari Marcellus “Bootney” Aldrich
Age: 29
Occupation: Welder
Personality
Loud
Charismatic
Loyal
Playful
Protective of family
Character Notes
Bakari is MJ’s son and Marcel’s first grandchild. His nickname “Bootney” has followed him since childhood. He is extremely skilled at welding and occasionally helps with carpentry work. Though he gets on Marcel’s nerves with his loud personality, the two share a deep bond.
Marcel constantly tells him:
“Bootney, quit all that loud talkin’. You gon blow my eardrums.”
Amaris Shansai "Maris" Aldrich
Age: 28
Occupation: High school history teacher at Delphine Parish High
Personality
Thoughtful
Intelligent
Observant
Soft-spoken with new people
Passionate about history
Character Notes
Amaris is the Daughter of Cherie. She was raised largely in the Aldrich house by Marcel and Annette. She spent summers in Haiti with her father until he passed when she was 15. She teaches African-American history at the local high school and is widely respected by her students. Though she keeps to herself, she maintains close friendships and strong ties to her family.
