Page 104 of The House on Prytania
Warm lips pressed against my bare neck, sending chills all the way down my spine to my toes, giving me not-so-terrible flashbacks of the night he’d spent on my couch and sleepwalked through a conversation with his mother on the phone. And then shared a memorable kiss with me. All of which he seemed not to remember.
I tried to move away, but I was trapped by his arm, and the narrow bed didn’t give me any room. “Beau?” I whispered.
His lips traveled up to my ear, my nerve endings erupting in a happy dance all over my body. “Beau—are you sleeping?”
“Mmmmm.”He rolled over so that half of his body was on top of mine, his head nestling between my head and shoulder.
“Wake up.” I gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder, telling myself that I didn’t want a repeat of the night he’d spent in my apartment, even though my body argued with my conscience.
“Nola.” The word was drawn out and slurred, but I knew he’d said my name.
I stiffened. “Okay, Beau. You need to wake up. I’m not Sam.”
“Shhhhhh.”His lips blew the sound into my ear, the effect rippling through my body.
Without warning, he lifted up on his elbows, his eyes dark shadows hiding in the planes of his face as he hovered over me. And then he was kissing me, and I was kissing him back because it seemed the most natural thing to do. My hands had nowhere to go but to his head, to thread through his hair and pull him closer, our bodies and mouths fitting together as if they’d been molded from the same clay.
Beau’s phone jangled with an old-fashioned ringtone, jolting us both. He lifted his face and grabbed the phone from the bedside table, the screen flashing in front of me long enough that I could see Sam’s name and the small square of her head. Beau glanced at it, then flung it across the room. I winced as I heard it slam to the floor.
Neither of us moved as it rang three more times. The room fell quiet except for our breathing, and the air held a sense of expectation. Beau looked down at me, his eyes hidden in shadow. Unreadable. Without speaking, he placed his head down next to me on the pillow, and I waited until his breathing resumed the steady pulse of sleep.
I slid out from under him, then grappled in the dark for my backpack. Then I lay down in the middle of the floor using the backpack as my pillow before pulling Jolene’s coat over me. I listened to Beau’s breathing until I eventually fell back asleep, still tasting his lips on mine.
•••
When I awoke the following morning, Beau was already showered and dressed and sitting on the corner of the bed tapping on his phone. I thought about the phone call from Sam and wondered what she’d wanted in the middle of the night. Testing the waters, I said, “Good morning.”
He grunted and didn’t look up from his phone. That meant that either he did remember our kiss and was angry with himself, or he was remembering our argument and was angry with me. Or maybe—I hoped—like the first time it had happened, he didn’t recall the kiss at all. I just needed to know for sure so I would know how to proceed.
After I retreated into the bathroom, I turned on the shower before quickly texting Sam.
Have you heard from Beau? Heads up he knows. Want you to be prepared.
I hit Send and, while the water ran, waited a full five minutes for her to respond. Maybe she and Beau had talked earlier and she already knew and didn’t think she needed to respond. She still hadn’t texted by the time I got out of the shower, the steam on the mirror fortunately hiding my reflection.
I stepped back into the room, having second thoughts about the mirror. Aware of what my hair usually looked like in the morning, I attempted to comb through it with my fingers. I doubted my success when Beau finally glanced at me, his eyes wandering to the top of my head before they dropped back to his phone.
“Hurry up and get ready to go. I want to get on the road.”
The skin around my mouth and chin felt raw from his beard stubble, an unwelcome reminder of the previous night. I knew my reddened face would be as obvious as Rudolph’s nose to even the most casual observer, and for the first time in my life I wished I had amakeup bag in my backpack. I kept my face turned away from Beau and was happy, at least for now, that he had no interest in looking at me. As I stood and gathered my things from the floor, my phone binged with a text from Sarah. Even though I felt Beau’s impatient gaze on me, I opened it.
See pic!!!!!This was followed by an exploding-head emoji.
I opened the photo to see a handwritten page from what looked like the back of Jeanne’s clientele book, each cramped cursive letter rounded over the next as if for protection. I imagined the writer clutching the cotton swab—or whatever instrument she’d used to dip into the lemon juice—close to the end. The characters themselves were the color of burnt paper. Which, I realized, was what happened when a fire source was held close to a letter written in invisible lemon-juice ink to make the writing visible. There was a singed hole on the far right of the second paragraph, and I could only hope that Sarah had parental supervision while experimenting with fire and paper. Knowing her, and her similarities to Melanie, I somehow doubted it.
I looked at Beau with excitement. “It’s from Sarah. She found something in Jeanne’s clientele book!”
He didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard me, still focusing on his phone. “I’ll read it out loud, then, okay?” When he didn’t respond, I said, “The letter starts with the date January 16, 1964, the year Jeanne was murdered. And it’s signed by her.” Beau finally lifted his eyes but remained silent. Assuming he wanted to hear the rest, I continued to read:
Dear Mother,
My diary isn’t safe—Father goes through it and thinks I don’t know. I hope you remember Marguerite and me playing Nancy Drew and writing secret messages and that makes you search where Father wouldn’t. If I die you will look for a reason and I pray you look here. I’m pregnant by Frank.Can’t call him Uncle because of what he did. Father knows and wants me to accuse Dr. Ryan. I won’t and Father is angry. You and I know what he is capable of and I am afraid. Not of what he will do but that he and Frank will get away with it. Whatever happens, I love you.
Jeanne
I looked up to find Beau still watching me, his face unreadable.
My triumphant smile faded. “This is the proof you’ve been looking for! It not only exonerates your grandfather, but it points to the two guilty parties. I thought you’d be a little more excited. This is big,” I added, as if he needed reminding that one of the two huge questions haunting his family for decades had finally been answered.
