Page 2 of The House on Prytania
“You didn’t have to. You’re snapping that rubber band on your wrist, which is something you’ve started doing when you’ve got something stewing inside your head.”
I thought for a moment, trying to pinpoint exactly what was bothering me. “Don’t you think it odd that Sunny showed up when she did? Right after we’d uncovered the truth about Antoine Broussard and his connection to her kidnapping?”
“But now that Sunny’s shown up, none of that matters anymore,” Jolene said as she slid into a driveway and flipped down the car’s visor—bravely hanging on to the ceiling with duct tape and a prayer—and began reapplying her lipstick.
“Exactly,” I said.
She carefully closed the visor, then turned her gaze to meet mine. “What are you saying?”
I shrugged, not really sure what I was saying. “I don’t know. It just seems like such a... coincidence.”
“And there’s no such thing as coincidence,” she said slowly, echoing the oft-repeated mantra of my father, Jack Trenholm. He was an international bestselling author of true-crime books, and it was something he’d discovered in his research and that had been proven time and time again.
Jolene shifted in her seat so that she faced me. “Sometimes, Nola, we are handed miracles disguised as coincidences. For over twenty years, Sunny had no idea that she had a family looking for her, and that family had no idea that she was even alive. Then suddenly, forreasons beyond our comprehension, all the stars aligned, and the pieces fell into place, and Sunny and her family are together again. I don’t think it’s fair for us to question it. I think all we need to do is rejoice in this miracle.”
When I didn’t respond, Jolene squeezed my hand where it rested on the seat. “I don’t blame you for questioning it. It’s your nature to question things. I’m sure you can’t help but compare Sunny’s story with your own and how you had no one looking for you after your mama died. But that was only because they didn’t know you existed.” She squeezed my hand again, then sat back in her seat. “But now you are loved to pieces by your family and friends, and that’s the most important thing. Even if that little green face of jealousy pops up every once in a while, you can just whack it on the head with the full knowledge that you are deeply loved and cherished.”
“You’re right,” I said, my eyes open but seeing nothing except my thirteen-year-old self on a cross-country bus from California to South Carolina, with all my hopes and fears confined to a single piece of paper crumpled in my pocket, on which my mother had scribbled the name of the father I had never met.
“And I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I think your heart is still hurting because of Michael. He’s a weasel and he betrayed your trust, and it takes the heart a lot longer than the brain to get over that kind of hurt. Just thank your stars that it was short-lived and you didn’t have to eat the whole egg to know it was rotten.” She gave me a sympathetic smile to soften her words. “I think that might be the reason why you can’t feel the kind of happy you should at Sunny’s reunion with her family.”
The mention of Michael Hebert shook me out of my reverie. I widened my eyes, finally registering where Jolene had parked the car. “Where are we? This isn’t the Ryans’ house.”
“I know that. I just didn’t want anyone seeing me fixing my makeup.”
By “anyone,” I knew she meant Jaxson Landry, a local lawyer and the object of her unrequited love. He was dating her friend Carly. Shehad told me that Jaxson had bought a ring for Carly, and I didn’t want to rub salt in the wound. Pressing hard on the pedal, Jolene backed out of the driveway, oblivious to the blaring horn of an oncoming car.
“Maybe I need to stop looking at everything like a crime novel and just be happy for Beau and his family,” I said.
“I think that’s a very good plan. Besides, Sunny looks like Beau and is cute as a button. Except for the blond hair. It’s completely the wrong shade.”
“What do you mean? You think she highlights it?”
Jolene pulled up onto the curb behind a line of cars parked in front of the Ryans’ Italianate house. With an aggrieved sigh, she put the car in park. “Nola, I thank my lucky stars that we found each other again. There is so much I need to teach you. Sunny, despite her name, is no more a natural blonde than Dolly Parton is. And I adore Dolly, so you know that I’m not throwing shade on anyone’s character.”
“Of course not. And dyeing your hair isn’t a crime.”
“Although in some cases it should be. From the pictures we’ve seen, Sunny was blond as a little girl and it just darkened over time. It happens a lot—both ways. My second cousin twice removed on my mama’s side was born with a whole head of jet-black hair, and let me tell you that all that tongue wagging almost did that poor baby’s mama in. Luckily, it all fell out when she was two—or maybe it was three—but it all grew back just as blond as can be. We think it’s because her granddaddy was part I-talian....”
I made a big show of unbuckling my seat belt and gathering my backpack, eager to distract Jolene before she gave me another lesson about her family tree. Jolene pushed open her door with a soft grunt before walking around the car to open my door. She took the platter of muffins. “I think these will be safer with me until we get them inside. You can bring Mardi.”
Mardi pulled at his leash as we headed toward the gate with the hourglass in the middle. It was a nod to the Ryans’ antiques shop, called the Past Is Never Past, on Royal Street in the Quarter. I held the gate open for Jolene, doing my best to restrain Mardi on his leash.I wasn’t sure whether he was excited about the muffins or because he loved visiting Beau’s grandmother. They had bonded at his gotcha party, and Mimi Ryan had included Mardi’s name on the invitation to Sunny’s welcome-home party. I just hoped no food would be left on low tables, because Mardi’s name should have been Hoover.
Despite Mardi’s hard tugging on the leash, I slowed my walk, never tired of seeing the glorious architecture of what I thought was one of the prettiest houses in a neighborhood famed for its beautiful houses. As we approached the marble steps and arched colonnade of the front porch, the massive wooden double doors opened and Christopher Benoit, a longtime Ryan family friend and employee, stood in the entranceway with a welcoming smile.
I’d started to greet him when Mardi gave one more tug, pulling the leash from my hand. He raced around Jolene and up the steps. After briefly and enthusiastically greeting Christopher, he ran behind him into the foyer. I hurried to catch up, expecting to hear the sounds of crashing china and crystal, but by the time I’d reached the foyer, all I could hear were Mardi’s soft whimpers of pleasure coming from the front parlor. I stopped abruptly on the threshold, taking in the small gathering of familiar faces, along with a few new ones, and Sunny Ryan sitting between Mimi and Beau on the sofa while my dog—previously known as my fierce protector—rested his head on Sunny’s chest, licking the bottom of her pixie-like chin while staring up at her adoringly.
“See?” Jolene whispered in my ear. “Would Mardi steer us wrong?”
I recalled how Mardi had never liked Michael and would greet him with bared fangs. Granted, fangs that resembled tiny pillows, but the intent had been clear. My shoulders relaxed as I looked at the glowing, happy people assembled in the Ryans’ parlor. The scene reminded me of my last birthday party in Charleston, where I’d been surrounded by the family and friends who loved me unconditionally. Even with the lopsided and barely edible cake that Melanie had made for me with her own hands, I’d felt cherished—the same emotion Irecognized on the pink and now slightly wet face of Sunny Ryan as my traitorous dog continued to bathe her with affection.
I had the sudden feeling someone was watching me. Slowly, I turned to find I was in the direct line of sight of the large portrait of Dr. Charles Ryan hanging in the foyer, the end of his pipe sticking out from his jacket pocket. The light and shadows of the painting made the eyes appear to follow me. When I turned back toward the roomful of people, my attention was drawn to two small puddles of water in the distinctive shape of a woman’s feet in front of Beau.
Jerking my gaze away, I looked up to discover Sam, Beau’s girlfriend and podcast partner, looking at me, a curious expression on her face. She motioned for me to stay where I was, as if she had the intention of speaking with me. I wasn’t sure what it was she wanted to say to me, but I was fairly certain it had something to do with Beau. I pretended I hadn’t seen her and I stepped backward into the small crowd, hoping to disappear long enough to call an Uber and leave. I still hadn’t emotionally recovered from the whole Michael fiasco, and I was in no mood for more drama.
I had made it into the dining room, where the table sat covered with all kinds of food on platters and in bowls, including Jolene’s muffins. She’d already dusted them with powdered sugar from the little dispenser she’d brought in her purse (because Jolene). I’d hit the Confirm button on my Uber app when I heard Sam call my name.
I gave a quick wave in her direction as I headed toward the door. “My Uber’s here—I’ve got to go.”
