Page 73 of The House on Prytania
“Then what do we do with the rest?” I asked.
“We let it go.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Jaxson stood next to the table. “I know I was supposed to wait outside, Nola, but Frank is already here. Should I tell him you need a few more minutes, Uncle Bernie?”
The old man squeezed my hand before sitting back. He picked the wrapped ribbons up from the table and put them in an inside jacket pocket. “Nola and I were just finishing up. She’s sending me off on a new assignment now, so I’ll let you know when we need to meet again.”
Jaxson and I helped Bernie stand, then walked with him to the door. I waved to Frank in the driver’s seat of a car that looked to be about the same vintage and size as Bubba while Jaxson assisted Bernie into the passenger seat. I stepped back as the car pulled away smoothly, without hitting anything, allowing myself to let out a sigh of relief. As it rumbled slowly down the street, I thought about what Uncle Bernie had said about the unfairness of life, making choices, and letting go. It was a lot to unpack, and the only thing I knew for sure was that making choices was usually about deciding between a rock and a hard place and moving forward with a sledgehammer while hoping for the best.
Jaxson and I met up with Jolene and Sarah outside Café du Monde, Sarah clutching a bag of beignets she’d ordered for me. Jaxson and Jolene waited until our Uber arrived to take us uptown. I resisted the impulse to tear open the beignet bag and get powdered sugar all over the inside of the car. There were lots of ways to receive a bad rating from your Uber driver, and I was pretty sure that was one.
“Would it be all right if I looked at the book?” Sarah asked.
“The clientele book? Sure—if you think you could help. We’ve pretty much exhausted our resources, so maybe a new perspective is what we need.” I turned to look at her. “What made you ask?”
She didn’t meet my eyes. “There was an old lady—well, not old old, but like Gigi and Grandpa. Like that. She had curly gray hair and wore an apron. She was standing behind Bernie the whole time, with her hand on his shoulder. She said I should take a look, that there was something there that nobody else could see.”
“Did she tell you her name? I know the restaurant is haunted, but she doesn’t sound like any of the ghosts I read about.”
Sarah shook her head. “No. But she knew Bernie. Maybe his mom?”
“Maybe.” My phone beeped with a text. When I saw it was from Michael, I responded withCall u back ltr?and dropped the phone into my backpack. I didn’t need Sarah overhearing anything that might get repeated to our parents. Or anything that might make her question my motives, making me second-guess them all over again.
“What’s it like to have three hot guys interested in you? I haven’t met Michael, but Jolene said that despite his ‘low-down cheating ways’ he’s ‘hotter than fish oil,’ so I guessed that meant he was smoking hot. And I’m asking in all seriousness as your little sister who’s looking for advice, and not being judgy in any way. Not that Dad will let me date until I’m at least thirty, but I figure it’s not too early to get some pointers.”
It took me a moment to come up with an answer that would make sense to both of us. “First of all, I don’t have three guys interested in me. Michael is, well, not a viable candidate, for reasons I’ve already explained.”
“Basically, because he was paid to date you,” Sarah said matter-of-factly.
I frowned. “Thanks for putting it in those terms, but basically, yes. And I just saw Cooper for the first time in years, so we really don’thave a relationship right now. That could change, but for now, we’re just friends.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding a lot like Jack when he was listening to my explanation as to why I was coming home after curfew. “What about Beau?”
“Well, he’s...” I stopped, still unable to define our relationship. Or forget the unforgettable kiss we’d shared on the couch in my living room. “He’s in a serious relationship with Samantha. Besides...” I shrugged as if that should explain all the other plausible reasons why Beau wasn’t interested in me.
“Besides?” she prompted, reminding me of Melanie when I’d tried to explain to her why steel-cut oatmeal was a better breakfast option than doughnuts.
“We’re incompatible.” I turned to face her, eager to change the focus of our conversation. “Why are you asking? Is there a boy you’re interested in?”
She shook her head. “No. Just something Adele said to me before she ran away.”
Despite the warm coziness of the heated backseat and my sweater, an icy chill swept through me. “Adele?”
Sarah nodded. “There were two things, actually. One was just a name. Does the name Buddy ring a bell?”
“That’s Beau’s dad. Did you see him, too?”
“No. Adele wanted me to notice that he wasn’t with her, but that’s not what she wanted to talk about—something about choices. I don’t think it wasaboutyou specifically, just something she wanted you to know. And she kept saying Beau’s name, like she needed him to know, too. I don’t know why she won’t tell him herself.”
“Because he won’t talk to her. He’s still angry with her for leaving him. But I can tell him. Do you remember exactly what she said?”
Sarah sucked in her lips, a way of concentrating for her since she was a baby listening to conversations nobody else could hear. “Something about choosing what’s worth the fight.”
“And letting the rest go,” I finished for her.
She turned her head in surprise. “That’s spooky.”
I nodded in agreement as the full body chills began, and we rode the rest of the way back to my apartment in a silence interrupted only by the soft sounds of the local jazz station, WWOZ, playing on the radio, and by the jolting thump and squeal of the car as its driver attempted to swerve around potholes and dipped into others that were either too big or too unexpected to avoid.
