Page 5 of The House on Prytania
I started at the sound of his voice, causing me to drop my trowel into the bucket of thin-set with a softplop. I pressed my hand against my pounding chest. “Because I thought you were downstairs.”
“I was, but now I’m here.” He grinned as he eyed my predicament. “You know, Nola, it’s usually recommended that when you’re putting down any kind of flooring, you should start on the far end and work your way toward the door so you don’t get trapped in a corner.”
“Gee, thanks for that clever observation. It would have been more appreciated four hours ago, when I started.”
“I bet,” he said, nodding sagely. “What are you going to do now?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Learn how to sleep standing up, I guess.”
The smell of tobacco was even stronger now, the scent concentrated around Beau. “Do you smell that?”
“Yes,” he admitted, showing how far he’d come in accepting his psychic abilities. He might not be shouting from the rooftops his aptitude for communicating with ghosts now, and he was still debunking fraudulent psychics on his podcast,Bumps in the Night and Other Improbabilities, but acknowledging it to me was a huge step forward.
As if reading my mind, Beau said, “Let’s discuss my grandfather’s pipe smoke later. I figure we have more pressing issues.” He indicated where I stood, in my little corner. “Have you come up with any ideas?”
“Yeah, but none that wouldn’t involve ruining at least two rows of tiles. Probably more if I fell backward after I leapt. Which I’m prepared to do without your help.”
He crossed his arms. “Sure. And I’m happy to watch. And I’ll even hold a flashlight while you pull up the crooked tiles and replace them before the mortar dries. Or,” he said with a wide grin, “you could leap toward me and I’ll work with your momentum and pull you forward. I bet you could clear all of the tiles and go home at a reasonable hour.”
I wanted to refuse, just for principle’s sake, but my stomach was already grumbling and my eyes could barely focus from the strain of the exacting work of getting the rows of tiles perfectly straight.
I sighed loudly. “All right. You win.”
His grin faded. “It’s not about winning or losing, Nola. It’s about accepting an offer of help. Without any expectations of payment or me thinking less of you because you needed help.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Come on. Take one huge leap toward me and I’ll grab you. And I promise not to tell anyone.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I was too grateful to show any attitude that might make him rescind his offer. “Fine.” Without warning, I sprang forward in an awkward version of a grand jeté that I’d once watched my little sister do in a ballet recital. From my gawky movements it was clear that I’d never taken a single ballet lesson, but the aim of my front leg and the forward propulsion were all I needed to clear the tiles. And collide into a surprised Beau, who plunged backward, breaking my fall as we landed together with an inelegant thud on the hard cypress floor.
We both lay there in stunned silence, catching our breath and checking to see if we still had sensation in all parts of our bodies. I soon became aware of the solid feel of him beneath me, and of the warmth of his arms, which had found their way around me. It was all too familiar, reminding me of the night he’d been sick and had slept on the couch in my Uptown apartment and had sleepwalked, alert enough to have a phone conversation with his dead mother and then kiss me. Both events that we had studiously avoided mentioning since.
I rolled away, his arms seemingly reluctant to let me go. I jumpedup and brushed off my jeans even though the only thing they’d touched was Beau. He was looking up at me with a slightly stunned expression, but I knew better than to offer my hand and touch him again.
“Sorry,” I said, handing him the bottle of water that I’d left with my phone. “I thought you were ready. Are you all right?”
He pulled himself up and stood, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. “I don’t think I damaged the floor, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Funny. Seriously, you could have a concussion. Are you dizzy? Feeling sleepy?” I recalled when Melanie had been pushed down a flight of stairs by an unhappy spirit and the doctor had forced her to stay on bed rest, but not before he’d made her stay awake for a period of time just to make sure she hadn’t suffered any brain damage. I picked up my phone, noticing that I had five unread texts, and turned on the flashlight. Standing on tiptoe to shine it in his eyes, I said, “Let me see your pupils.” I had no idea what I was looking for, but it seemed like something I should be doing.
He gently pushed my hand away, a grin forming in the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure they’re still there. I’m fine—I promise. I’ll probably have a nice knot on my head tomorrow, but that just means I’ll think of you stuck in the corner of your bathroom every time I comb my hair.”
I snatched the water from his hand. “I hope it gives you a headache each time.” I turned and walked out to the landing and began making my way down the stairs. “I trust you didn’t drop by to give me another driving lesson. I’m way too tired and annoyed right now.”
Since having a disastrous accident with lots of repercussions while still a student driver, I’d been determined to give up driving forever. Until my new job in New Orleans required me to get to places that were too far on foot or by bike, and too expensive to hire a rideshare. Beau had taken it upon himself to teach me, an effort that could only be called heroic—but not by me. His reassuring words had been that New Orleans wouldn’t even notice one more bad driver. And if I gota truck or a big enough car, like Jolene’s, it wouldn’t matter who was the worst as long as I was the biggest.
“No, actually. About other things. You left Sunny’s party pretty early, so I didn’t get the chance to talk with you.”
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glanced down at my phone in an attempt to buy time as I searched for a response. I was surprised to find that one of my texts was from Sam.
Meet 4 breakfast tomorrow? We should talk. Horns 7:30?
My thumbs hesitated for a moment as I wondered how she’d gotten my number. My phone vibrated as I held it.
Jolene gave me ur number.
“Great,” I said under my breath, my thumbs flying over my screen as I replied. I said yes because I had a strong feeling that she would keep asking until I did. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Sam. I didn’t know her well, but what I did know, I liked. We might even have been good friends if it weren’t for the fact that she was dating Beau. And it wasn’t as if I wanted to date Beau, either. It was just... well, I wasn’t sure. I knew only that Beau and I weren’t a good fit because of reasons I preferred not to analyze. It could be because I didn’t like being beholden to anybody. Or maybe it was because of what I’d overheard him telling his dead mother over the phone.I want her too much. She’s dangerous. I can’t afford to lose my focus. I can’t ever let that happen again.
Its important
“Is there a problem?” Beau said, indicating my phone.
