Page 39 of The Shop on Royal Street
I took a long and measured breath. “Please tell him that I’ll think about it, but before I get anyone to bless this house, it needs floors and walls so that there’s actually something to bless. And running water. Electricity would also be a bonus.”
Thibaut spoke to Jorge in rapid Portuguese until Jorge nodded and let out a deeply aggrieved sigh that would have been understood in any language. I chose that moment to retrieve the two bags of cookies from my basket and give one each to the two workmen. “Don’t worry—I didn’t make them, so they’re safe to eat.” Despite Thibaut’s translation for Jorge, neither man looked completely convinced. As if a woman who was proficient with a hammer couldn’t also be handy in a kitchen. Which, in my case, was completely accurate. But they hadn’t seen Jolene in action yet.
“Welcome aboard,” I said, offering my hand to Thibaut. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you accepted the job.”
His paw of a hand swallowed mine, but despite being firm, the shake was surprisingly gentle. I wondered if he’d practiced this or if he’d simply learned over the years that people expected him to give a bone-crushing shake. “Yes, ma’am. I’m not gonna lie. It was very hard to say yes after seeing the condition of this place. But then Beau toldme that the house was one step away from demolition before you saw it, and I admire your determination. Some might call it stupidity, but I’m a big believer in slim chances.”
“Thanks,” I said slowly, unclear if that was supposed to be a pep talk or a scolding. I somehow doubted he’d ever coached a kids’ sports team.
“Well,” Christopher said. “I’ve got to get back to the shop for a late delivery. Glad to see you’ve got everything in hand, Nola, and it was nice to meet you, Thibaut.” With a brief wave he exited through the front door, his raincoat billowing behind him.
After being told that the men were going to take a couple loads of corroded pipes out to the dumpster before calling it a day and didn’t need my help, I reluctantly left. As I mounted my bike, I waved across the street to Ernest and Bob, who were taking turns pulling on Belle’s leash to get her out the gate for a walk. She was lying on her belly and squashing the skirt of her ballerina tutu, with all four paws stretched out like a beached starfish. Just heavier and bigger and apparently glued to the ground.
“We got some good gumbo on the stove, if you need a bite to eat,” Bob said.
“Thanks, Bob, but I’ve got to get home. Lots of homework to do for my real job, and my roommate is making ‘vegan’ spaghetti and meatballs. Basically, regular spaghetti, but the meatballs are made of vegetables and cheese.”
“Yummy,” said Bob, making a face. “You do know that’s vegetarian and not vegan, right?”
“Yes, I know that, but she doesn’t.”
“Shouldn’t you tell her?”
“Yeah, probably. But I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s so nice, it would be sort of like kicking a puppy.”
Ernest leaned down and picked up Belle, who was starting to resemble a potbellied pig instead of a small dog, and held her close.
“It’s just a figure of speech, Ernest. I would never kick a dog. I’ve got my own dogs at home and I love them.”
Bob rolled his eyes at his partner. “We know. We’ve seen a lot of their photos on your phone. Well, you have a good evening, and if you change your mind about the gumbo, I’m going to freeze the leftovers.” He walked closer to the fence. “Oh, and, Nola? Was there somebody at your house last night? When I got up to use the little boys’ room at around two a.m., I saw that the lamp in the upstairs window was on.”
I thought about telling him that I didn’t have a lamp upstairs or anywhere in the house, nor did I have electricity. “No, but thanks for letting me know. I’m guessing one of the workers left it on.”
“I figured.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but there’s something about your house that’s not all right. It just sort of stares at us from across the street, you know? Maybe once you fix it up it will start looking normal. And when it’s all ready, Ernest and I would love to throw you a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ party, right, Ernest?”
Ernest, still clutching Belle, took his time before nodding. “Right. And we can have the party at our house.”
I frowned. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to have it at my house so I can show off the renovation?”
Ernest and Bob shared a look. “Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it, all right? From the looks of it, we’ve got plenty of time.” Ernest moved closer to Bob and whispered something in his ear. Bob faced me again. “Also, Nola? I’m guessing that’s your grandpa we’ve seen on the front porch smoking his pipe? Please let him know that secondhand smoke is a thing, and we’d appreciate it if he would smoke in the backyard?” He smiled to let me know he was just being neighborly and not antagonistic. They were good neighbors, with the free food and with the bagged dog poop they religiously removed from the sidewalks, and I wanted them to know that I appreciated them.
“Of course. I’ll let him know.” I waved again and began pedaling away before they could say anything else. Unless they wanted to tell me that my roof was falling in or that the downstairs was on fire. Anything except for the confirmation that my house was indeed inhabited by restless spirits who were getting bolder in letting their presence beknown. I could replace old mortar in a brick wall and remove plaster ceiling medallions without a single crack, but I was ill equipped to eradicate residents who were reluctant to leave. I just wasn’t sure what was worse—ignoring the problem until all hell broke loose, or asking for help.
I put my earbuds in and blasted music so I wouldn’t have to think about it at all.
CHAPTER 13
On my way home, I managed to find a seat next to an open window at the back of the crowded streetcar. As I’d passed off my bike to Trevor at our designated spot, I commented on the melted chocolate on his cheek. He promised me that he’d had only one chocolate kiss after handing out the rest to his grandmother and siblings. Because his smile was so endearing, I chose to believe him.
I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the sticky breeze blowing on my face as the streetcar rocked inelegantly on its tracks. Across the aisle a loud conversation between two women—obviously tourists—was all about how hot it was in New Orleans (news flash) and how the trolleys should be air-conditioned. Each time one of them said the word “trolley” my toes curled tightly in my shoes. I stuck my earbuds in my ears to block them out, turning my attention to a series of texts that began popping up on my screen one after another.
The first was from Jaxson, saying he’d e-mailed all the photos he’d taken at the house and asking me to let him know what I thought. That was followed by another message from him, reminding me about brunch at Patois with his uncle Bernie on Sunday; Jaxson might join us if that was okay. The third text was from Jolene, asking me if I wason my way home and whether I had seen Jaxson’s photos yet. This was followed by a string of a redheaded emojis making theScreamface. The fourth was from Beau and I considered not opening it, but, like pulling off a Band-Aid, I swiped my thumb across the screen.
do u have T’s hammer
I read it twice to make sure I understood before I replied.No it was in kitchen i didnt move it
I waited while three dots danced on my screen, then disappeared. My thumbs hesitated over the screen, as I wanted to find out more, but I changed my mind about replying. The hammer must have been misplaced and, because I’d been there, Thibaut assumed I had it. But I didn’t. End of conversation.
