Page 46 of The Shop on Royal Street
She forcefully turned me back to the mirror. “That’s how I know I’m right—because you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I’m not—”
Ignoring me, she said, “It’s not a club any of us are proud to belong to or admit to membership in. Our mamas would be ashamed, because they brought us up to be better than that.” She wrapped an elastic band around the bottom of the braid before moving in front of me and leaning against the dressing table. “Do you know what a come-to-Jesus meeting is? Because you and I are about to have one, you understand?”
I nodded, not because I did, but because she looked so serious.
“What exactly happened between you and Beau in Charleston after you left Tulane?”
My eyes heated, threatening tears, but I blinked them away. No one knew the story except for my parents and probably my grandparents and Aunt Jayne. Considering all the advantages and chances I’d been given in my relatively short life, I had failed spectacularly to meet anyone’s expectations, including my own. For so long I had blamed genetics for my addictive tendencies, but it had taken four years of therapy to understand that everything was a choice and I alone had been responsible for making some very, very bad ones.
“I was so mad when I was sent home,” I said quietly, the Cowardly Lion staring at me as he ticked away the minutes. “I thought that I could get clean and sober when I was ready to, and on my own terms. And I told myself that I would, that I could, that I was stronger than my mother. That I was better than my father because I didn’t need anyone’s help. So it just got worse. Melanie blames all of her gray hairs and wrinkles on me, and she’s probably right. I certainly didn’t try to make her life easy. My uncle Thomas is a detective with the Charleston police and was able to save my butt more than once, but it was obvious to everyone except me that I was spiraling out of control.
“It was Beau who removed me from a really bad situation and brought me to my parents. After I partied at a bar downtown and blacked out, Beau rescued me. One of the bartenders was a friend of Beau’s and had seen us together, so he called Beau. Beau arrived just asI was being led to a pickup truck by a group of five very inebriated guys. I know I should have been grateful. And I was. I just couldn’t quite reconcile my gratitude with the inherent sense that I could have extricated myself from the situation without any help—especially his.
“He was the one who talked me into rehab. He was the only one who could reach me.” I clenched my eyes, trying to describe my feelings, and knowing I’d make a mess of it because I wasn’t even sure about them myself. “So I hate him for it. Because now I’m beholden to him for the rest of my life.” I chewed on my lower lip, then blurted out, “But I love him, too. And I don’t think it’s a real love, but something buried in the gratitude for saving my life. Twice. He saved me from that fire, too, when I was in high school.”
Jolene continued to lean against the dresser, her arms now folded across her chest, and her head shaking slowly from side to side. “Sweetheart, while you’re wrasslin’ in your head about your feelings for Beau, just know that he’s crazy for you. There is no man in the world who would do what he’s done if he didn’t have strong feelings for you. Sure, he’s got a girlfriend now, but I can guarantee she’s just a stand-in because you’ve hung out your Unavailable sign for so long, he got tired of waiting.”
“That’s ridiculous—” I began, only to be interrupted by the doorbell. I stood abruptly, glad to end the conversation. “He’s here, so I’ve got to go....”
For such a small and slender person, Jolene was very strong. She forced me back into the chair. “Let’s just put a little mascara on, and a little bit of color....”
She was reaching for her makeup tray when I managed to free myself. “I do not need mascara or color. I need to go.”
“Hello?” Beau’s voice came from the front room.
I looked accusingly at Jolene. “Why isn’t he waiting in the car like I suggested?” I hissed.
“I texted him that I would keep the front door unlocked for him and to just ring the bell when he was on his way up. Just in case we needed more time to get you ready.”
“It’s fieldwork,” I enunciated carefully before heading toward thedoor, then pausing. “But thanks for the braid. It looks really nice and will keep me cooler than a ponytail.”
She beamed. “You’re welcome. Are you sure about that mascara?”
“Very,” I said as I headed out of the room. “I just need to grab my backpack and spreadsheets. I’ll be right there,” I called out.
When I came out to the front room, Beau and Jolene were chatting while each held a brown paper lunch bag decorated with curling ribbon. “Is that...?”
“Your lunches. I thought instead of you eating that awful drive-through food, I’d make you a homemade lunch just like my mama used to make: pimento cheese sandwiches on white bread, a small bag of Zapp’s Voodoo potato chips, a dill pickle, and some of my cookies, all wrapped in thermal bags so it won’t spoil. I don’t want y’all going hungry—at least not on my watch!”
She handed me my bag, and I could see my name written on the front in calligraphy. “That’s really thoughtful—thank you, Jolene.”
“You’re more than welcome,” she said, ushering us to the door at the top of the stairs. “Just take all the time you’ll need—I’ll leave the front light on in case you’re late.”
I turned to say thank you, but she’d already closed the door behind us.
“That was nice of her,” Beau said.
“Very.”
“Got your spreadsheets to keep you on schedule?” He might have had a grin on his face, but I didn’t look.
“Of course.” I followed him slowly down the steps.
He held my door open as I hauled myself up on the running board of his truck and pulled myself into the passenger seat, and then he settled himself behind the wheel.
“Do you want me to move the garbage cans in the neighbor’s yard?” I asked.
