Page 81 of The Shop on Royal Street
“Yeah?” Half of his mouth quirked upward.
“Yeah.” The hopefulness in his eyes made me think of something else. “Do you have a library card?”
“A what?”
“Well, then, that’s a place to start. You need a card to access the public computers at the library. Maybe your grandmother can take you to get one?”
His smile fell. “No, ma’am. Meemaw can’t get around so good.”
“All right. You and I will go together. Do you have any free time tomorrow?”
“Yep. All day.”
I thought of my brother, JJ, who spent most Saturdays on a baseball field, since he belonged to two travel teams, and Trevor’s answer hurt my heart. “Well, that makes it easier. Let me figure out my schedule and I’ll let you know. And make sure you ask permission from Meemaw to go with me. Sound good?”
He nodded, not in the way of eager anticipation, but more like someone who was used to being disappointed.
“I promise, okay? And be thinking about ideas for earning extra cash for that computer.”
His face brightened. “Okay.”
We fist-bumped and I began pedaling down Royal Street, almost too busy thinking about ideas for Trevor to see the passenger door of a minivan opening. I swerved, barely missing a collision with the young woman who was stepping out of the vehicle. Her eyes wereshaded by large sunglasses, and she didn’t turn her head as I hit the opposite curb because she either didn’t see me or pretended not to.
I managed to stay on my bike, but my backpack was knocked out of my basket and onto the ground, the bag with the flask sliding out of the unzipped top and skidding to a stop a few feet away. I quickly retrieved it and returned it to my backpack, annoyed enough now to go back and tell the woman to be more careful next time.
Walking my bike to where the minivan was parked, I realized it had stopped in front of the Past Is Never Past. The woman now stood on the sidewalk as a man opened up the back of the minivan and retrieved a small tricycle, its handles festooned with red, white, and blue streamers, the front wheel twisted and misshapen, the tire flattened. I began to approach, then halted as the woman lifted a tissue under her sunglasses and dabbed at each eye. The man closed the hatch, then put an arm around the woman’s shoulders as he carried the tricycle toward the door of the shop.
I crossed the street, curious to know why a child’s broken trike was being brought into the high-end antiques-and-architectural-remnants shop. I was in the process of chaining up my bike when Christopher opened the door and stepped outside. “Nola. This is a nice surprise.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, almost as if to block my way. Looking over his shoulder through the window, I spotted the man, woman, and tricycle heading toward the back of the shop.
“Yes, um, I was on my way to check on my house, and I was nearly killed by that woman opening her door without looking. I just wanted to tell her to be more careful.”
Christopher didn’t move. “I’m sorry. People do need to be more aware of bicyclists in this city.”
I made to move around him, but he took a casual step to the side, effectively blocking me. “And I know Mrs.Ward didn’t mean any harm. She and her husband have suffered a horrible loss and I don’t think now would be the best time to approach her.”
I peered past him again through the window, spotting Mimi in the back with a ring of keys as she faced the hidden door, unlocking it.The couple stood behind her with the warped tricycle, Mrs.Ward’s head on her husband’s shoulder as he continued to keep his arm around her. I returned my gaze to Christopher’s face. “I didn’t think you fixed children’s toys here.”
“We don’t.” He didn’t smile, his amber eyes watching me closely. “Is there anything I can help you with? Did Jolene send anything?” His lips turned up, as if to erase the peculiar scene I had just witnessed.
I looked again through the window just in time to see the couple and Mimi disappear behind the door, the door itself disappearing into the wall. “Sorry, no. She’s out of town.” Unable to hold back my curiosity, I asked, “What’s behind that door?”
For a moment, it looked as if he might be about to deny its existence. Instead, he smiled again and said, “That’s Mimi’s domain. She stores special items in there.”
“And that’s where you put my door?”
“Yes.”
Seeing as I was getting nowhere, I began unchaining my bike. I straightened, an idea percolating in my brain. “Is there any chance you could use help dusting or polishing? Or emptying the trash? Maybe someone for just a few hours a week? I know a kid who’s trying to make some money.”
“Yeah? How old is he?”
“Twelve. He’s a great kid, very industrious and extremely smart. He’s trying to buy a home computer. I remember you telling me that you and your dad got your interest in antiques by starting here, doing stuff like that.”
“What’s his name?”
“Trevor.” I realized that I didn’t know his last name.
