Page 18 of The House on Prytania
My feet pounded against the asphalt running path at Audubon Park as I finished my third lap around the lagoon. Because of the whole Michael Hebert thing, I hadn’t previously returned to what had once been part of my daily routine. The park was where we’d first met, and he lived across the street, on Audubon Place, making my chances of running into him fairly high. Which was exactly the reason why I’d been avoiding the park until now. I wasn’t sure why, since Michael should be the one avoiding me. But the lingering thought that he mightwantto see me made me both hopeful and terrified that I’d run into him. And despite having been given a script from Sam as to what I should say to Michael should I see him, I still wasn’t sure what would come out of my mouth if I did.
Jolene had been awake before me, as was her annoying habit—annoying except for the freshly brewed coffee and hot muffin she had waiting for me on the table—and she’d forced me into hot pink running shorts with a coordinating top. Even the socks matched. She seemed to think that I had a better chance of encouraging Michael’s attention if I wore something other than my usual running clothes. Which, according to Jolene, were a cross between her grandpa’s hand-me-downs and Goodwill rejects.
I slowed my pace to check my fitness tracker, debating whether I needed a fourth lap. Eating baked goods every day, complete with gluten and white flour—previously not words in my vocabulary—was a great motivator. But I was tired, having stayed up too late the night before trying to find the right notes to the song I’d been writing since I’d moved to New Orleans. I’d written a whole line—hardly enough to make the loss of sleep worthwhile.
I pulled my phone from the handy side pocket in Jolene’s running shorts and made my way to a bench by the fountain at the front ofthe park. I opened my fitness app to check on my running partners, Melanie and my aunt Jayne, and noticed that Melanie had again “forgotten” to turn on the app, so nothing had been updated since her last run. She usually made up for this lapse in memory by manually inputting her stats, which always made me roll my eyes. Either she was running both ways between her house and her favorite doughnut shop, Glazed Donuts on King, or she was stretching the truth. Or both.
An incoming text beeped from Melanie. I opened her garbled message, stifling an inner groan as I prepared my brain for a workout. For a person who was otherwise thin, she apparently had very fat thumbs, so her accuracy rate while texting was about five percent, and if she attempted voice dictation, Siri thought she was speaking Swahili, which made for very interesting messages. It had taken me years to be able to translate her texts, but I was an expert now. The biggest challenge was filling in the empty spaces in words where bottom-row letters on the keyboard should be but weren’t since she always missed them and hit the space bar instead.
Can’t wait to see you! I’ll be bringing gifts for your team—I hope that’s okay. I had to ask Rich Kobylt how to spell Thibaut and am bringing him suspenders just in case he has more in common with Rich than their last name. Also, Sarah wants to stay all week instead of just the weekend. JJ does, too, but he’s got a bake-off competition. It’s fine with your dad and me. I’ll let you decide. Love you!
Instead of the kiss emoji to end her text, a brown pile of poop smiled at me from the screen. I assumed that was a mistake.
My little sister, so open about her psychic abilities when she was younger, had grown to be a lot more secretive about them once she realized that none of her friends or classmates had entourages of imaginary friends and deceased relatives trailing them wherever they went.
The final blow had come when Sarah’s best friend, Lollie, had burst into tears on class picture day when Sarah said that Lollie’s grandmother thought Lollie should have worn the bow in her hairlike her mother had suggested. This wouldn’t have been so upsetting except for the fact that Lollie’s grandmother had died the week before.
I’d bent to my phone to respond when another text popped onto my screen. It was from Beau:Are you in or not?
Before I could type my reply, two more texts came in, one from Sunny and one from Sam, both similar messages.Did you see Michael?
My thumbs flew over the screen as I responded to the last two.No
I hit Send, and then thought a moment before sending another message.Is there a plan b
I opened Beau’s text again but hesitated before typing anything. It was bad enough that I was conspiring with Sunny and Sam to rekindle my relationship with Michael so I could eke out a revenge I wasn’t sure I wanted. But to play double agent and pretend to be helping Beau while actually hiding any useful information made me physically sick. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing the nausea to pass. I would make a terrible spy.
“Nola?”
I kept my eyes closed, unsure if I’d imagined Michael’s voice.
“Nola?”
This time Michael’s voice was accompanied by a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You okay? Do you need some water?”
I opened my eyes to see Michael Hebert’s suntanned face, his hazel eyes full of concern. He placed a purple water bottle sporting the Saints logo into my hand and helped me lift it to my mouth. I took several long gulps, not because I was thirsty but because I had no idea what I wanted to say. Or was supposed to say.
When I’d reached the end of the bottle, I handed it back to him. “Thanks.” Well, that was a start.
“Do you need to lie down? You don’t look well.”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. I didn’t pace myself. Thanks for the water.”
He looked at me, forcing me to focus my attention on the outstretched arm of the sculpture of the woman in the fountain, a bird perched on her hand.
I felt him sit next to me on the bench. “This is the first time I’ve come to run in the park since...” He stopped. “I figured you wouldn’t want to see me, and I know how you love to run in the park, so I stayed away.”
I finally met his eyes, and they were the same eyes of the man I’d once thought I was falling in love with. Until the real Michael Hebert had been exposed, and I’d learned that everything had been a lie, his feelings for me manufactured just so he could have access to whatever secrets he thought were hidden inside my house.
“Me, too,” I said, my reality check giving me a firm grip on my emotions, helping me remember what I was supposed to be doing. I resisted the need to move away from him on the bench despite the humiliation that hummed right beneath my skin. Facing him now was a lot like I imagined it would feel to walk into a crowded room and fall flat on my face, then have to get up and keep talking as if nothing had happened.
“My jaw still hurts where Beau punched me.” He brushed the stubble on the side of his cheek.
“Good.”
He smiled. “I guess I deserved that. And the punch.”
“You won’t get any argument from me. My only regret is that I didn’t think to do it first.”
