“Mine,” he said, his voice rough, applying pressure to my wrists, over my radial arteries.
“Yours,” I breathed out, leaning down, closing my eyes, placing a soft kiss between his eyes.
After I combed his hair some and spritzed myself with a little perfume, his nostrils flared, like he was making sure the manufactured scent hadn’t covered up his claim. Satisfied that I was still covered in his armor, he handed me my crossbody purse and we left the house hand in hand. I dug in my purse and handed him his sunglasses, then slipped on my own.
Even at the beginning of September, the humidity made the air feel heavy and hot. Occasionally, a wind would sweep down the street, teasing with hints of smoke and rustling brown leaves for the autumn to come. But anyone who has ever lived in New Orleans knows—seasons are a magical creature. Who knows if summer would linger and we’d skip fall and go straight to winter?
We walked to Café Du Monde on Decatur Street and grabbed two coffees to go. More milk than coffee for me. More coffee than milk for Rocco. We loafed around for a few minutes. I pointed across the street, past the line of carriages waiting to be rented, the artists with their canvases filled with paint hanging from the black wrought-iron gate around Jackson Square, to the St. Louis Cathedral.
“That’s where Nonna and I would go to church some Sundays. We’d grab beignets and café au lait after and take our goodies to the river to eat them while ships and barges constantly passed.” I looked down at my jumpsuit. “Only tourists would eat beignets in this. All black is a bigno no—” my pointer finger made a windshield wiper motion “—during beignet time.”
He narrowed his eyes, turning to look at Café Du Monde and then at my all-black attire, except for the off-the-shoulder sweater. It was gold.
I laughed, then shrugged. “Oh, what the hell. You only live once.”
We turned back, and Rocco bought us two orders. As we started eating them, the powdered sugar flying everywhere, he laughed. He’d made a paw print on my thigh with his white, sugar-coated palm and fingers.
“This pleases me,” he said. “My prints on you for the world to see.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t get any ideas, like making handprints all over my jumpsuit.”
Something about the thought satisfied him. I could tell by the dark and dreamy look suddenly in his eyes.
He lifted my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. “Tell me more about your life, Amora. Show me.”
“Do we have time?”
“Per sempre,” he whispered.
“Okay…”
We walked the French Quarter in bright daylight, an entirely different city from our previous encounter. Families strolled, tourists were out learning about the history, and lovers held hands as they window-shopped. Rocco was especially interested in Pirate’s Alley, where men used to go to duel. Of course he was. That kind of romantic and ruthless history captured hisattention and his heart. Then I took him to the only house I’d ever known before I took off for Italy and my future. An old shotgun double that needed a lot of work.
Before we got there, though, I stopped in my tracks. My ancient Toyota 4Runner was still parked where I’d left it, but the wheels had boots on them.
“Oh man,” the complaint flew from my mouth as I lifted my sunglasses to the top of my head. “Poor Apple Blossom?—”
Rocco’s eyes snapped to mine.
“My car.” I nodded toward her. “I call her Apple Blossom. Her paint job.” The girl who sold me the car was in a sorority and loved pink. I had thought about buying something brand new, but I wasn’t sure how the book was going to sell and how much Nonna’s care was going to cost. I didn’t want to have to leave her alone during the day to get a job outside of the house to pay for it if the booked tanked. “I know she doesn’t look like much, but…she got us around, and her air conditioner seemed like it was built in Antarctica, which is important here…as you can tell why.”
“This is why the boy from the bar calls you this.” The words came out smooth enough, but underneath was a deathly cold chill that almost made me shiver.
And out of all the nostalgic thoughts and word vomit, it was Remy’s stupid nickname for me that he took from it? Remy also called me applebottom, but I didn’t want to make the situation worse.
“Yeah.” I sighed, giving Apple Blossom, therealApple Blossom, a pat on the hood. “Sorry, old girl,” I whispered. “Sorry it’s ending this way for you.” I’d wanted to take her someplace nice and park her for a while, but my funds had almost disappeared by the time I’d left. I used to swear to Nonna that my bank account had a hungry monster living in it. It neededgreen meat and my tears and worry to survive on. She’d laugh and shake her head at me.
Almost in a daze, like my life here was a distant dream, I stopped in front of the shotgun house. The lace curtains were still the same, and if I closed my eyes, I could still smell Nonna’s red (tomato) gravy from the front porch, her anise cookies an underlying scent. I could hear the music that she used to play to serenade her meatballs. Usually something from the opera. It needed to hit that high note at just the right time—right when the sauce was rolling and becoming a deep red color to signal it was getting sooo close to being done.
During dessert, though, she would listen to Dino (Dean Martin) or even Louis Prima. She also loved Louis Armstrong, Fats Domino, Ella Fitzgerald, and Harry Connick Jr. Her sing-songy laughter seemed to linger outside of the door.
Our next-door neighbors, an older couple around Nonna’s age, would be coming down their steps, waving, then going back inside to grab fresh vegetables and fruit their daughter in Ponchatoula had sent for us. She had a garden and grew everything herself. The neighbors passed right before Nonna, only two months apart.
Our new neighbors were from somewhere up north. A couple who had been in what they called a traveling band together. Nice enough people, but they thought arugula belonged on po’boys and not a side salad to an Italian dish.
“Change,” Nonna had said. “What you gonna do about it, ah? Nothin’. Even powerful bodies of water change directions with the tides.”
I had nodded and repeated, “Change. What you gonna do about it?”
