Page 23 of The House on Prytania
Beau shut the front door behind us and moved past me down the porch steps, but I stopped, absently plucking at the rubber band on my arm.
“You got this, Nola. And I’ll be in the seat next to you. If it makes you feel any better, you can even imagine me facing some vengeful spirit while singing ‘Dancing Queen’ at the top of my lungs.”
I gripped the keys as I made my way to the driver’s side. “I hope we live to regret this.”
“What? You behind the wheel or the two of us flipping murder houses?”
I met his eyes. “Both.” I unlocked the doors and climbed behind the wheel, aware again of the scent of pipe smoke that followed us out of the house and of the bright green tennis ball now rolling down the steps, then stopping in front of the truck as if to make sure it was seen.
CHAPTER 8
Beau pointed at a spot on the curb directly across the street from the Past Is Never Past. “How’s your parallel parking?”
I wanted to look at him to see if he was joking, but I was too busy avoiding hapless pedestrians and the ubiquitous orange cones marking cavernous potholes while dodging other vehicles as we headed down Royal Street. It wasn’t on the way to Esplanade, but Beau said he had to stop by the shop to pick up props for that evening’s live-stream episode ofBumps in the Night and Other Improbabilities. “Probably about the same as your skill in putting on a pair of Spanx. Why don’t I drop you off and go around the block a few times...?”
“It’s two spaces, Nola. Plenty of room.”
“Right. For my bike, maybe. There are people behind me, which makes me nervous. There is no way I’m going to do this without serious carnage....”
Beau reached across me and flipped on the turn signal. “Just pull up next to the car in front and I’ll guide you through it. You’ll lose sleep torturing yourself over me witnessing you quitting.”
“I seriously hate you right now.”
I heard the smile in his voice, and I would have hit him if myhands hadn’t had the steering wheel in a death grip. “It wouldn’t be a relationship if one of us didn’t say that at least once. Now, as soon as my door reaches the back bumper of the car in front, turn hard right.”
After several near misses, close calls, and honking horns, I somehow managed to wedge Beau’s truck into a spot at the curb. Cold sweat beaded on my face, and I wasn’t sure I could ever straighten my fingers again.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I swallowed to get moisture back into my mouth so I could speak. “Right. And the iceberg that sank theTitanicwasn’t so big.”
Beau reached over and pulled my fingers from the steering wheel. “But you did it. Best way to get over a fear is to keep doing the thing you’re afraid of so it doesn’t scare you anymore.”
“Did your dad tell you that?”
“Nope. Henry Ford. Christopher gave me a paperweight with that quote on it for my sixteenth birthday. I keep it on my desk as a reminder.” He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned back but didn’t make a move to exit the truck.
I used the time to unclench my jaw and peel my shoulders away from my neck before breathing in and out slowly, like Melanie’s best friend, Dr. Sophie Wallen-Arasi, had shown me. She was usually too granola for Melanie, but except for her drastic adherence to renovation purity, she was pretty cool. And the breathing really did help in times of stress. Like now.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”
“Good. I’m not. I’m going to need another minute.”
I watched as he closed his eyes and began plucking at the rubber band on his wrist.
After several long moments Beau opened his eyes and turned toward me. “Being in an antiques store never used to bother me. That’s how I was able to work here and in your grandparents’ store. But ever since that night in your house, it’s getting harder and harder.”
“Harder for what?”
“To block them out. The unwanted ones. My old techniques aren’t working, and if I’m going to move forward with this new idea, or come into the store, I have to figure things out.”
I unbuckled my seat belt. “Yep—that’s a problem. I’m sure Melanie won’t mind you asking for help. I just hope you like ABBA. Otherwise, you might decide that letting all the spirits in might be easier to take.”
We exited the truck and met on the sidewalk in front of the shop. “What’s not to like?” Beau asked. “I have a couple of songs on my playlist—and that’s from before I met Melanie.”
“Lies. I’m not seeing how a fan of random indie bands and jazz can also love ABBA.”
“And I don’t see how a musically gifted songwriter doesn’t understand their genius. Their music is accessible to both casual and informed listeners, but their songs are very personal. Like they’re singing to each other, but also directly to every single member in the audience. It didn’t hurt that they adopted Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound so they always sounded polished and big.”
