“Kind of like the flood marked the end of an era.” She nodded. “I know. Sometimes I think that way too. My therapist-“ she stopped herself and blushed.
“You’re seeing a therapist?” I hadn’t known that, and it kind of surprised me that she hadn’t told me.
“Oh, yeah. I started when I came back from my trip with the book done.” She nodded her head, her messy hair bouncing. “I knew I couldn’t handle it all on my own, and it wasn’t like I could dump everything on my friends, because they had their own shit to deal with. So I started seeing someone. It’s helped some, and she’s given me some really good things to think about, things I need to work on.” She started playing with her tea glass. “You’re still seeing yours, right? How’s that going?”
“Listen to us,” I said, avoiding that one,” comparing notes on our therapists.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugged and glanced at her watch.
“Need to be somewhere?”
“Ryan’s coming over after he takes his kids home.” She smothered a grin. “And don’t get all smart-ass on me either, bub.”
“Maybe we could all have dinner sometime.”
“That would be cool.” She smiled at me. “I do like him, Chanse. Hard to believe he’s the same tool I went out with all those years ago-but maybe he was just in a bad place from the divorce. I don’t know.”
“I’m glad.” And I was. For a long while, I’d never quite understood why Paige had so much trouble with men; if I were straight, I’d be crazy about her, and I couldn’t grasp why so many men seemed to be unable to see everything she had to offer. She was funny, caring, and smart. She’d had a rough time growing up, with an alcoholic mother who had a revolving door to her bedroom. She didn’t speak to her mother anymore-hadn’t in years, although I knew her mother tried. I was at her apartment once when her mom had called and left a long, whining message on her answering machine.
Paige, who’d been in the middle of pouring a glass of wine, had paused, her face tight and drained of color, until the message ended…and then went on as though nothing had happened. She refused to discuss her mother, and the only reason I knew anything at all about their relationship was because Paige had collapsed in a paroxysm of alcohol, grief and guilt one night shortly after I’d returned from the evacuation.
And after that, I completely understood her problems with men.
It was also why I was glad to hear she was seeing a therapist.
“And you’re going to find the right guy someday.” She smiled at me and stopped me from giving the waitress my credit card, fumbling in her purse and handing over hers instead. “I want to treat, okay?” After the waitress had gone away, she went on, “You know you will, right?”
“Yeah.” I grinned back at her. “I know. Someday my prince will come, right? And next time, let’s hope I don’t screw it up the way I did with Paul.” I hesitated. Paige and Paul had been very close, but her smile didn’t falter. “But sometimes I wonder if what Paul and I had was all that.”
She signed the charge slip and stood up. “You and Paul were good together, Chanse, and he loved you so very very much.” She slipped her arm through mine. “I used to envy you and Paul-and you used to piss me off because I was so afraid you’d screw it up.”
I froze for a moment and took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” She squeezed my arm.
“It’s okay.” I forced a smile, even though my heart was pounding fast. Think about something else, think about something happy, think about the beach and the warm breeze and the gentle waves coming up to shore. What happened to Paul wasn’t your fault. You just never had the chance to work things out, and she didn’t mean anything by it, and she’s right, you did almost blow it with him, not just once but many many times. “Seriously. I’m okay.”
We walked out of the restaurant, and I gave her a big hug on the sidewalk. “Call me tomorrow,” she instructed. “I know you’re anxiously awaiting the next Coralie update.”
I laughed and made sure she was in her car, and that it started, before I waved and started walking down Dauphine Street to my car. I was kind of glad I had to walk six blocks-it was a start, working off the meal.
I was also happy that I’d managed to avoid going down into the dark place. The therapy was working, after all. In the past, I wasn’t even able to think of Paul without starting on the downward spiral that left me aching and feeling empty. Now, I could remember him without that happening-although it still wasn’t easy. But I was healing from everything-Paul’s death, the hurricane and the evacuation. My life was going along just fine-actually, it was better than fine. So what if I was alone? When the time was right and I was ready, someone would come along. I could try to get Paige the interview she needed to get that bitch Coralie off her back. Maybe I’d invite Paige and Ryan over for dinner. I could make dinner for us at -
I started laughing at myself. Listen to me, planning an evening with the happy couple! I started whistling. It was a beautiful night, the air just warm enough to be pleasant. The sky was full of clouds, glowing pink from the reflection of all the neon on Bourbon Street. I saw a tabby cat run across the street, and that made me smile a little bit too. I’d go home and smoke some pot, get nice and stoned, set the coffeemaker before I went to bed, and get a good night’s sleep. Surely there’d be some bad reality television show that I could watch and laugh at. I’d just chill out for the evening, maybe even open a bottle of wine and have a glass or two. The bells of St. Louis Cathedral began chiming the call to evening Mass, and it felt good to be alive. I stopped walking for a moment, and listened to the bells. It was quiet in the lower Quarter, except for the occasional car driving past on Esplanade. This would be the perfect time for a cigarette, I thought, before banishing the thought from my mind. It had been too hard to quit. I wasn’t about to start again.
Chapter Five
I started sweating as I walked hurriedly up Esplanade Avenue. A cool breeze was blowing from the direction of the river, but with the air so damp and warm and heavy, a thick blanket of gauze was dropping down over the entire Quarter, making it feel haunted. The street lamps acquired a halo effect, surrounding their white light with a rainbow circle of color. The streets were silent other than the clip-clopping of a mule’s hooves in the distance and every once in awhile, a wisp of voice would break through the silent fog, a broken fragment of a sentence swallowed again into the quiet. As I crossed Bourbon Street, the headlights of a yellow Toyota caught me by surprise and I jumped onto the opposite corner, my heart pounding from the close call. That would have been five hundred points in Jephtha’s game, I thought to myself, shaking my head. I took some deep breaths to calm myself, and started walking again.
Loren hadn’t had to tell me Frillian’s address. The location of their house wasn’t a closely guarded secret. Everyone in New Orleans had known within moments of their decision to buy a house here which properties they were looking at-and the smoke signals were already floating before the ink was dry on the bill of sale. To outsiders, the idea of any sort of privacy in the French Quarter may have seemed insane-but ironically, if privacy was your main concern in choosing a home, the Quarter was actually the place to go. Many of the homes were hidden from the street by massive brick fences with broken glass embedded in the top, or coils of razor wire to deter those with criminal intent. Even those houses whose front wall brushed the sidewalks were closed off once the shutters were shut and latched.