Page 47 of The Shop on Royal Street
“Why? They’re next door, and nowhere near your driveway.”
I closed my door and shrugged. “Jolene usually asks me to. Just to be safe.”
He grinned. “I think I’m good, but thanks.” He backed up out ofthe driveway and onto Broadway without running over a curb or hitting anything stationary, then headed down the street, neither of us speaking.
He kept glancing over at me, as if waiting for me to say something, which eventually became unnerving enough that I had to speak. “Do I have anything on my face?” I licked my finger and rubbed at the corners of my mouth. “Could be syrup. Or powdered sugar. Jolene made French toast this morning.”
“No, nothing on your face. I think it might be your hair. Did you do something different?”
So much for stopping traffic. “Jolene braided it.”
He nodded. “That must be it. It’s, um, different.”
I wasn’t sure if his comment had been meant as a compliment, so I remained silent.
“I hope it’s okay if I take some business calls while I drive. It’s hands-free in Louisiana, so they’ll be on speaker.”
“No problem. You’re doing me a favor, so whatever you want to do is fine with me.” I reached inside my backpack and pulled out a book. “I brought some reading material of my own.”
“Anything good? Any juicy parts you can read out loud?”
I read the title. “A Field Guide to American Houses: The Definitive Guide to Identifying and Understanding America’s Domestic Architecture.Is that juicy enough?”
“Oh, yeah. Practically porn.”
“For some of us,” I said, opening the front cover.
We drove in silence for a short distance; I found it difficult to concentrate, reading the same paragraph over and over. There were things I wanted to ask him, to clarify some of the information I’d gleaned from Uncle Bernie, but I couldn’t quite settle on a posture or tone that wouldn’t give away the awkwardness I had been feeling since my conversation with Jolene.
I hadn’t had the chance to argue with her that Beau’s saving me had nothing to do with any feelings for me. His choice had been to either rescue me or watch a burning house collapse on top of me. And, notwanting to feel as if he’d wasted his efforts, he felt compelled to save me again several years later when I was on my way toward self-destruction. Even though I’d never asked to be saved. So instead of talking, I kept staring at the little black letters dancing up and down like ants on the white page, until I had to close the book and lay my head back so I wouldn’t throw up inside Beau’s truck.
“So,” Beau said, breaking the silence. “I’m curious. I know you work for a civil engineering firm as an architectural historian, but I have to confess, I have no idea what that is. I was kind of expecting you to show up dressed as Indiana Jones and wearing a funny hat and carrying a whip.”
I was glad he was annoying me, because it made it easier to talk to him. “Well, then, I guess that explains the strange looks you keep giving me. For the record, Indiana Jones was an archaeologist. I will be working with archaeologists sometimes, depending on the job, but I just look at old buildings.” I returned to my book. “I’m relieved that you’re not wearing a tool belt and pants that ride too low in the back. Nobody wants to see that.”
He laughed out loud. “You might be surprised.”
I was irritated to feel the heat in my cheeks, the awkwardness returning. I turned my head toward the window so he wouldn’t see.
“I’m curious, really. What do you do besides look at old buildings?”
I felt relieved to talk about something that I knew about and wasn’t personal. I figured that with a two-hour drive, we should be able to find enough subjects like that. Such as the best way to eat an Oreo. Or if the toilet paper roll end should be dangling face out or toward the wall.
“In a nutshell, I work in an advisory capacity. When my company is hired on a project, I’m used to survey the site and any existing structures for their historical significance and make a recommendation to the National Register of Historic Places if I identify anything noteworthy. Sadly, just because I believe that a building or structure should be recommended doesn’t mean it will be saved from demolition.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep. I’ve actually had several ‘screaming into a wad of paper towels’ moments in the ladies’ bathroom already and I haven’t even been in the field yet. That was just from reading about the projects of my predecessor to get me up to date. I should probably save Jolene’s brown paper lunch bag to breathe into, just in case.”
“Good idea. So, what are we doing today?”
I sent him a sharp glance. “We’renot going to be doing anything. You’re going to be making phone calls and doing your own stuff, probably in your truck or in a Starbucks. Assuming there’s one in St. Francisville. The population is less than two thousand, but it has a really cute downtown, so there’s likely to be a café or restaurant where you can park yourself.
“Meanwhile, I’ll take my camera, clipboard, and spreadsheet to the site and basically take notes on every structure I see and snap tons of pictures. I plan to throw in a few extracurricular pictures of the quaint downtown, with its shops and businesses, as a sort of impact statement.”
“Very devious of you, Nola. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that side of you before.”
“There’re lots of sides to me you haven’t seen,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t, since I felt my cheeks warm again at all sorts of implications that I knew were completely one-sided and therefore doubly awkward.Oreos and toilet paper, Oreos and toilet paper,I reminded myself.
