Page 105 of The Shop on Royal Street
“I’ll take one of the ears. And any leftovers.” Uncle Bernie winked at me. He was already sitting at the table, a napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, holding two empty plates. He’d come alone and had assigned himself to Mimi, bringing her food and drinks and making her laugh with his stories of growing up in New Orleans at the same time as she had.
Jolene began to slice pieces and put them on plates while I handed them out to guests. Without being asked, Beau took over the music selection, and right now Ella Fitzerald was singing “Can’t We Be Friends?” I gave a quick glance toward Jolene, but she was too busy handing out cake to notice.
“What are you going to do with the Maison Blanche door?” Christopher asked, taking the plate I offered. It was a bit of a floppy ear but mostly the back of the head.
“It broke my heart, but Beau drove it out to Manchac Swamp and threw it in. I hope it never rises to the surface.”
“And the other things?”
I raised my finger to my lips. “I’m keeping them in a very special place. Just in case.”
“ ‘Just in case’?”
“I don’t believe in coincidence, but I do believe in ‘just in case.’ You never know when something from your past might come in handy.”
Trevor walked by with a plate of cookies, either intended for his own consumption or to convince Thibaut and Jorge to juggle them. I hoped they would be mature enough to say no, because I doubted any of them would be volunteering to vacuum up the mess.
“Like a flask?”
I looked sharply at Christopher. “Did Trevor tell you about that?”
“He did. He randomly mentioned all the things he’s acquired for you and that was one of them.”
“He’s very resourceful, isn’t he?”
His odd eyes assessed me carefully. “Yes, he definitely is.”
“For the record, I don’t even remember where I put it.”
Christopher smiled, then excused himself to join Mimi and Uncle Bernie. Beau and Sam approached, holding hands. I had met Samantha for the first time that afternoon, and I liked her. I might have liked her a whole lot more if she weren’t Beau’s girlfriend, but that was something I wasn’t quite ready to examine.
“Good job, you two,” she said. “Eliminating two restless spirits and one weasel all in one shot. Congratulations.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Although it was all Beau’s doing.”
“Well, for the record, I think the two of you make an amazing team.”
“Don’t say that too loudly,” I said, “or you’ll have to change the name of your podcast.”
“Yeah,” Beau said, taking a sip of his alcohol-free beer. “Baby steps. I’ve got other things I’m working on right now anyway.” His eyes met mine, and I knew we were both thinking about Sunny.
Sam reached across and plucked the rubber band on my wrist. “Hey, Beau has one, too.”
I looked at her, surprised to find her own wrist empty. “Yeah,” I said. “It keeps my anxiety in check.”
She nodded, but I could feel Beau’s gaze on me. “Will you excuse me? I need to see if Jolene needs help in the kitchen.”
I walked quickly toward the kitchen, where Jolene was arranging a plate of bone-shaped cookies on a serving platter. “Need any help?”
“I think you’d be more like a third arm, Nola. Not as helpful as you might think.”
“Got it,” I said as I moved toward the door leading into my backroom sanctuary. My music stand stood next to my untouched guitar, and the unplugged pink princess phone sat on the edge of my desk. I was tired of hearing it ringing in the middle of the night, so I’d moved it in there in the hopes of getting a good night’s sleep.
I picked up the guitar and plucked a few notes, each more jarring than the one before. I closed my eyes, waiting for the notes to speak to me, waiting for the music to take me someplace else. But nothing came to me at all. I slid my palm across the strings, listening to the angry discord with an odd satisfaction.
Beau stuck his head around the door. “Everything okay in here?”
“Fine,” I said, replacing my guitar on the stand. That had become my standard answer every time Jolene asked. Her response was usually a tight-lipped frown, followed by a plate of lemon bars or brownies or whatever new concoction she was baking that she’d hoped would magically shake me from my current state offine.
