Page 13 of The House on Prytania
“While we look for things we have no idea are what we’re looking for.”
“Maybe. But who knows what we might find while we’re searching for answers?” Glancing at her phone, Sam said, “It’s late. We both need to get going. We’ll talk later and come up with a plan of action, okay?”
“I haven’t agreed to any of this. I haven’t even said I’d think about it.” We both stood and walked toward the door.
“But you will,” Sam said as she returned her wallet to her purse. “I thought you might be a little more enthusiastic about getting back at Michael for what he did to you. I mean, do you really want to wait for karma to take care of him? You know, like him getting hit by a streetcar?”
I winced. Despite everything, I didn’t want anything bad happening to him. Just an attack of chicken pox. Or hemorrhoids. Or even a month of sleepless nights. I pulled the door open and held it for Sam. “Not really.”
“Yes, well, try to remember that some wise person once said that revenge is sweet. And I know you do like dessert.”
She promised to call me, and then we said good-bye. We began walking in opposite directions, my mind swirling over our conversation before finally settling on a remembered quote I’d once read on a poster on a dorm room wall:Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.
CHAPTER 5
Two nights later, on Friday, as I was dressing for dinner at Mimi’s, I was equally excited and worried that Jolene hadn’t come into my room once to hijack my getting-ready process and prolong it indefinitely. I could go from start to finish in about five minutes, something Jolene said I shouldn’t be proud of.
I heard her on her phone, and I figured she was speaking to either her mother or her grandmother by the number of times I heard “Bless ’em” and “Lorda mercy.” By the time she’d emerged, hair and makeup in place but otherwise looking a little flustered, I was already dressed and ready to go in my best jeans, sweater (the Lilly Pulitzer one that Melanie had given me), and ankle boots. I’d even brushed my hair.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
“I hope so. My whole town is in a tizzy because the mayor died from a heart attack and now everybody’s fighting over his funeral.”
“Did he not have a wife or significant other?”
“That’s the thing. They were hitched but not churched, if you know what I mean, so his sister wants to take over. The girlfriend wants him buried in his favorite Ole Miss game-day outfit, including a bag of chips and a bowl of dip in case he gets hungry.”
“That’s insane.”
“I know, right? What if Jesus is an LSU fan? Anyway, as the town’s funeral director, Grandmama is fit to be tied trying to get all sides to agree so they can finally lay poor Mr. Tyson to rest.”
While I searched for something to say, she examined my outfit choice. “You look nice, Nola, but are you sure you want to wear that?”
I looked down at my sweater. “What’s wrong with this? I thought you said you liked it.”
“Oh, I do. I even want to borrow it. But hasn’t Beau already seen you in it?”
I grabbed our coats from the rack by the door and tossed Jolene’s to her. “Even if he has, I don’t care. Besides, he’s a guy. I’m sure he couldn’t recall what he wore yesterday, much less what I did.”
She pulled a silk scarf from her pocket and draped it around my neck before knotting it at my throat. “I think you’d be surprised what Beau notices about you.” Smoothing the scarf, then patting it gently, she said, “There. Now you’re ready.” Jolene opened the door at the top of the stairs. “Please grab that plate of pralines on the coffee table and bring them.”
“I thought Mimi said that you didn’t need to bring anything.”
“Really, Nola, have I taught you nothing? I’d rather my hair catch on fire than arrive at a party without bringing something.”
I grabbed the plate and led us down the stairs.
It had started sprinkling while I was getting dressed, and it was now pouring. I stopped on the first outdoor step, protected from the elements by the small arched overhang. “We should take an Uber. Since you don’t like driving in the rain.” I looked at Jolene hopefully.
From her other coat pocket she’d pulled out one of those plastic hair bonnets that I’d seen only in documentaries from the sixties and seventies, when big hair and bouffants had been in fashion, and she placed it on her head, tying the clear plastic straps in a pretty bow beneath her chin. Jolene’s grandmother had purchased the world’s supply of rain bonnets before they’d gone permanently out of style,and she’d made sure her granddaughter had her own stash. It would have been comical if Jolene didn’t take her hair so seriously. Or mine. But I had drawn the line the first and only time she’d tried to put one on me.
“Don’t be silly,” she said as she stepped out next to me, pulling the door closed behind her and locking it. “We’re so much safer in Bubba, because he’s so big and made of steel. Unless I hit a truck carrying something flammable, we’ll be fine.” She moved to the next step while snapping open her umbrella. Looking back at me, she said, “You coming?”
Not feeling reassured, I walked with her to the car and got in while she held her umbrella over me. Then she moved to the driver’s seat and gracefully sat while simultaneously closing the umbrella without splattering water anywhere.
“One day you’ll have to show me how you do that,” I said.
She smiled at me and turned the key in the ignition. “Baby steps, Nola. Baby steps. Let’s work on proper mascara application and accessorizing first, and then we can move on to more advanced things.”
