Page 104 of The Shop on Royal Street
Everything seemed to narrow in clarity and move in slow motion—a blade of blurred light on the peeling wallpaper of the stairwell, the black round hole in the ceiling getting smaller, and the surprised faces of Michael and Beau as they peered over the stairwell, their arms reaching for me in futility as I continued my free fall. I braced for landing and closed my eyes, picturing my mother’s face one last time.
I waited for impact. And waited. But instead of my body breaking as it slammed onto the cypress floors, strong arms wrapped around me, holding me briefly before gently settling me on the floor. I turned, expecting to see Beau or Michael, but they were still on the landing above me, looking down with horrified expressions. The pungent scent of pipe tobacco swirled around me, thick enough that I expected to see smoke rings rising toward the ceiling. But all was as it should be, except for the smell of smoke and the freezing temperature that chilled the lining of my nose.
Michael began running down the stairs. “Nola—are you okay? What just happened?”
“I’m not exactly sure....” My voice drifted away as I turned toward Beau, who’d moved toward the bottom of the stairs, his arms stretched across the width of the stairwell as if blocking the way from someone trying to climb up them. Except there was no one there. No one I could see. But it was clear that Beau saw someone.
“Jeanne, it’s time for you to go.”
Once again, the flash of light from nonexistent fixtures brightened and dimmed in quick succession. The temperature continued to plummet, a soft breeze blowing ice onto the bare skin of my face and neck.
“You have no more secrets, Jeanne. We know the truth about what happened to you. We know about your baby.” The breeze swirled harder around our legs, blowing dust into our faces. “We know that you loved Charles. And Charles loved you—like a daughter.”
The air vibrated with an electric force as fixtures without bulbs blazed with light, then flickered off. Beau took a step backward, his arms still stretched wide and his chest caving slightly as if an unseen force was pushing him back up the stairs. Despite the chilly temperature, sweat beaded on his forehead and cheeks.
Undaunted, he straightened and reached out a hand. “Take my hand, Jeanne. I’ll lead you toward the light. You did nothing wrong. You don’t need to stay here to protect secrets that aren’t yours. Take my hand.”
Beau’s body was shoved hard enough that he was bent over the banister. I screamed, running toward him, ready to break his fall. His hair stood on end as if he were being electrocuted, his head jerking back as if slapped before he managed to right himself.
Looking up the stairs, he once again extended his hand. “Take my hand, Jeanne. And Charles will take the other one. He’s ready to go. He’s waiting for you.”
A piercing wail began in the centers of the walls before spreading upward toward the roof in a deafening roar. I placed my hands over my ears, feeling the despair deep in my core as the house was plunged into utter darkness, even the lights from outside obliterated by dark shadows. My blood trembled with my bones, my breath sucked out of my lungs in fear.
“Nooooooooo!”came the wailing sound again, a woman’s voice of utter despair.
“Yes!” Beau’s voice rattled the walls with its sheer force. “Yes, you will. Take his hand and move toward the light. There is nothing left for you to do here. Go!”
Static electricity jerked through my body from my toes to the top of my head, making my hair stand on end. A low buzz swam around my ears as lights flickered on and off, the acrid scent of burned ions filling my nostrils. I held my breath as an eerie quiet descended for a brief moment. Splintering glass shattered the silence as windows exploded onto the wooden floors in an unholy symphony.
Beau’s voice had quieted to a low whisper. “Good-bye, Granddad. Thank you for saving the life of someone I care about very much.”
A moment later, the house settled again into silence, only the lingering scent of pipe tobacco and hair spray letting me know that I hadn’t imagined anything.
Michael was already outside, staring back at the house, when Beau led me off the porch. “What the hell was that?” His question was directed at either Beau or me, or both. Either way, neither of us was prepared to answer.
Beau staggered toward Michael. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation, did we?”
Without another word, Beau pulled back his fist and hit Michael square in the jaw, knocking him down on the grass. As Michael writhed on the ground, holding his face, Beau leaned over him. “That’s for Nola. And tell your uncle or whoever wants to know, I’m not done looking for Sunny. If she’s out there, I’m going to find her and bring her home.”
Beau took my arm and led me back to the truck, but not before I’d seen the set of footprints leading from the house and down the front walk, the lights across the street reflected in the small arcs of water heading toward Beau’s truck.
CHAPTER 33
Ta-da!” Jolene emerged from the kitchen, carrying a large platter, on top of which rested a gray and white cake shaped like a dog’s head that looked alarmingly like Mardi’s. “Happy Gotcha Day,” she said to Mardi, who was propped up in the wooden high chair Jolene hadfound in someone’s trash and had refinished in bright blue and painted paw prints all over. If I didn’t love Jolene so much, it would have been very easy to hate her.
Everyone assembled in our small apartment clapped, and Jaxson, with a surprisingly strong tenor voice, began to sing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” quickly joined by the rest of the guests with varying musical talent.
It had been Jolene’s idea to have a party to celebrate Mardi’s formal adoption, claiming that her hostess skills were getting rusty and she needed an excuse to use her fine china. She’d even invited Thibaut and Jorge as the afternoon’s entertainment, and although they were at first cautious around Mardi—no doubt remembering when they’d first met him—the dog was soon licking their hands and stealing the tennis balls they’d brought for their juggling act.
Jolene set the cake on the table, decorated with a tablecloth onwhich she’d embroidered dog bones and fire hydrants all along the hem. Three blue candles stood in the middle of the cake, and I preferred to think they looked like a crown instead of three sticks impaling a head. Since we didn’t know how old Mardi was, Jolene said three candles symbolized the past, the present, and the future.
Having survived a collision of the past and present two weeks prior when Beau cleansed my house of spirits, I didn’t question Jolene’s wisdom. It was usually doled out with a heavy Southern accent and using words not strung together in other parts of the country, but Jolene was most definitely the wisest person I knew.
Mardi barked at the cake, either in recognition of another dog or because he wanted a snack. Or both. We had discovered that he had a sweet tooth that rivaled my own, making us wonder where he’d come from and who had taught him to love sweets. After a month with no responses to any of the flyers we’d passed out and posted, and discovering that he had no chip, I’d made it official. I had to keep reminding Jolene that I was his mom, but she continued to pretend not to hear my protests when I found Mardi in another sweater or playing with a new toy. I figured there were worse things in this world than spoiling a dog.
“I hope that tastes better than it looks,” Carly said. She caught me frowning at her. “I mean, because it looks so real.”
“I want the pink tongue!” Jaxson called out, earning a sour glance from Carly.
