Sweet Magnolia: A Novel

La Famille Summer felt the bumps of ancient tree roots beneath her thin flip-flops as she balanced the containers holding the French king cake and chocolate pecan pie through the maze of trees. On her way to the picnic table, she passed the Hens, her father’s twin sisters, Evelyn and Rose, joined by her Aunt Joy, her mother’s sister. There they were, perched on their thrones, fluttering church fans, near the murky bayou. She was tempted to tell all three of them to get off their royalties and help unload some of the other bags out of the car. But she was raised to be a lady, a Southern lady, no less, and to always respect her elders. She couldn’t help but think they were quite beautiful in this setting, each one in her own pastel linen sundress and oversize round sunglasses. Rose and Joy wore opulent straw hats, but not Aunt Evelyn. She refused to cover the latest selection from her extravagant wig collection, no matter how beautiful, ornate, or regal a hat could be. This piece was her “one of a kind” Lola Folana look. So instead of donning a crown, she held a bright yellow parasol, shielding herself from the vibrant sun. “Summer, get those lazy teenagers to tote the rest of those bags. I don’t understand these young people, Generation Next or whatever y’all call them.” Her Aunt Evelyn hiked the bottom of her ruffled dress to the top of her slightly parted knees, unashamed of the white bloomers peeking beneath. Her flabby arm swung like a shutter in the wind as she cooled herself with a faded church fan. Rose and Joy engaged in their “catching up” as they would call it, because Ledouxs and Rousseaus never gossiped, of course. Rousseau was Hannah’s maiden name, and she’d always managed to keep both sides of the family in check. In an instant, eight little feet scurried by Summer with Frisbees, a hula hoop, wiffle balls, and other games in tow. Her Grandmother Hannah, or Grandmere as they often called her, had banned all electronic games and gadgets at family reunions. “Those games will zap your creativity, fry your brain, or give you cancer,” she’d say. Hannah thought everything could give you cancer. The family still kept Hannah’s rules despite her passing several years ago. Summer’s cousin Reese had four adorable “crumb snatchers” despite her constant proclamations that she was “about to leave her husband, Efrem Joseph LaSalle, M.D., any day now.” That day had stretched to seven years. Summer eyed the next generation, wanting to drop her bags and run away with them. As the wave of youthful energy encircled Summer, one of the children bumped into her knee. Before she could yell he sped past her, leaving only a trace of giggles as she resumed her mission to get her treasured desserts to a safe resting place. “Finally,” she huffed. As she reached the closest picnic table, it became a challenge to find a home for her prized possession among the spread of potato salad, grilled shrimp, barbecue chicken, briskets, coleslaw, catfish, baked beans, sock-it-to-me and red velvet cake, banana pudding, and a host of other desserts and dishes. Adjacent to the picnic table were her uncles and several other men engaging in their barbecue sauce preparation, a Ledoux family ritual. “I told you, you will never,everget the family recipe. I’ll take it to the grave,” she heard her Uncle Sunny say as the dripping sauce sizzled when it hit the coals. He dipped a spoon into his concoction and savored his own masterpiece. “Already know it,” Uncle Friday taunted as he lifted the bottle of cream soda to his puckered lips. They called