Page 46 of The Lady on Esplanade
“Men,” we said simultaneously, and then laughed like conspirators—which, I guessed, we were.
“My first take is that Camille is cowed by her husband in just about every way, including physically.I hope, with her spending more time around Mimi, she can blossom a bit.Henry’s a bit of a blowhard.I’m not really sure what Camille sees in him except that he’s really good-looking.Jolene said she wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers, if that says anything.Although she’s pretty sure he only has one oar in the water.”
“Good to know.I’ve learned to trust Jolene’s opinions.”
“Me, too.”
We said our good-byes, and I ordered my Uber on the elevator ride down.After settling myself on a faux iron bench by the front door to wait for my ride, I sent a quick text to Sarah.
I have the newspaper is there a pic with article?
Her response came quickly.Yes on top right of page
Do you know which page?
Her response was an eye roll emoji.
Assuming that meant no, I began on the first page, under theTimes-Picayune’s banner, which now includedThe New Orleans Advocateprinted beneath it in smaller type.After a quick perusal of a headline about the as-yet-undefeated Saints and their chances of making it to another Super Bowl, I started flipping through the paper, focusing on articles containing pictures in the top-right-hand corners of the pages on which they appeared.I was distracted by an article about the crime rate in the Quarter and the ongoing redevelopmentin the Central Business District, including Tulane University’s expansion from its Uptown campus and its massive investment in the downtown biomedical corridor.
I glanced down at my phone to check my Uber’s progress—apparently it was stalled in traffic on Tchoupitoulas—then settled back in my seat and returned to the newspaper.I wouldn’t freely admit it to my contemporaries, but there was something relaxing and engaging about reading print on actual paper.
A stiff breeze blew through the courtyard, whipping the paper from my hand and making me scramble to collect the pages—a distinct disadvantage of a physical newspaper, I thought as I snagged a double page off a fake evergreen topiary.I shoved it under my arm before dropping to my knees to grab another page, which had scooted under the bench and was trapped by one of the legs.
Clutching the newspaper, now wadded and crumpled, I sat back down.I was wondering whether it was worth trying to reconstruct the newspaper or if I should just read it as it was when my gaze fixed on the top right of one errant page.Suspected Katrina Victim Found,the headline shouted.And beneath, in smaller type:Charity Hospital Renovation Uncovers Lone Skeleton.
Pinpricks tickled the back of my neck as I scanned the article about the ongoing redevelopment of the beloved hospital, which had been in existence since 1736 and located at the current site since 1834, and was fondly known as “Big Charity” until it was closed following Katrina, in 2005.I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.For reasons I couldn’t yet explain, goose bumps spread down my spine and all four limbs as I speed-read the article, quickly summarizing the main takeaways—something I’d learned to do in graduate school.
In the ongoing final phase of Tulane’s plan to take over most of the enormous hospital and turn it into a multiuse complex, unforeseen delays, including the recent heavy rains, had extended the building’s renovation.Work resumed last week, including the removal of debris from the flooded green space in front of the hospital, whichwas where the remains were found by a construction worker.What appeared to be a human skull had been exposed by the rising water table, which halted work until the police were notified.
Early reports confirmed that the remains were not recent and might date back two decades, to the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.Workers initially believed that the skeleton was fake and had been put there as a joke, until they dug further and spotted a wedding ring and an engagement ring still on a finger on the left hand.Authorities were sharing a photo of the rings in the hopes of finding relatives before further analysis could be made for positive identification.
It wasn’t until a picture was referenced that I remembered that a picture was what I was supposed to be looking for.My gaze shifted to the top-right-hand corner of the page, to two photos.One showed the art deco hospital that took up an entire city block on Tulane Avenue, and the other was a black-and-white photo depicting two rings: a wide wedding band and an accompanying ring with a hollow cavity that had once held a large stone in an antique flush setting.From what I could see in the second photo, the rings were made from either white gold or platinum.The photo of the wedding band had been enlarged to show an eternal floral pattern marching around the circumference of the ring, the edges showing fine milgrain work.I squinted, trying to make out the repeating motif in both the wedding ring and the engagement ring.I held my breath, not trusting my eyes.As I recalled ridiculing Melanie for doing exactly what I was about to do, I opened the camera on my phone, then took a picture and expanded the photo on the screen.
I remembered what Beau had said about wanting to give his fiancée the family-heirloom ring that had been worn by his mother.He hadn’t described it, but my heart and my head agreed that if he had, he would have described this engagement ring.Because there, entwined with roses and vines and surrounded by filigree ornamentation, were the etchings of an hourglass.
I tried to tell myself that an hourglass wasn’t an unusual symbolfor eternity, that it could have different meanings for different couples.Until I read the caption beneath the photograph.
“Inscription inside the wedding band readsThe past is never past; our love is eternal as time.”
I read it out loud twice, and I felt more and more lightheaded as I looked at the picture, unable to block out mental images of the finger from which the rings had been removed; the violence of whatever force had removed the gem from the engagement ring; and of the eternal love that had come to a shattering end.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.The litany continued in my head as I stared at the photograph of the two rings.Finally the Ryans would have closure.They would be able to place Adele’s remains in the family vault, content with the knowledge that she was home at last.But the questions would remain.Of how she’d ended up on the grounds of Charity Hospital.And why.
I recalled the stack of newspapers that would accumulate on the side table in the back sunroom of Mimi’s house until she had time to read them all from cover to cover, so there was a good chance she hadn’t read this issue yet.Or maybe she had, and the rings weren’t Adele’s, so the photos hadn’t meant anything to her.Either way, I needed to make sure she’d seen it.
At the sound of crunching gravel I looked up to see a car matching the make and model of my Uber ride.Gathering all the newspaper pages in a tight hold to make sure none flew away again, I opened the door and slid inside.
“Nola?”A middle-aged woman with purple hair and wearing a clump of Mardi Gras beads around her neck turned to face me with a smile.
“Yes—and I need to change my destination.”
Her smile faltered.
“Don’t worry—it’s still uptown.”I pictured my current five-star Uber passenger rating being downgraded to a four, and I tried again.“I’m so sorry.It’s…it’s urgent.”I gave her the address and waited as she punched it into her GPS.
My phone binged with a text message, giving me a brief respite from my unease.My chest tightened again when I saw that it was from Cooper.I’ve decided to buy Esplanade house.
Now it was my stomach that tightened.Before he made any irrevocable decisions, I needed to show him the picture of the two ghosts and the evil entity that would be his roommates if he decided to proceed with the purchase of the home.
