Chapter Nine
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Maggie
It just goes to show, you don’t know what the future will hold.
A week ago, I thought I’d never see Cash or Luc again. Now here I am headed toward Cash’s house.
This afternoon, when he asked if he and Luc could attend Jelly Bean’s second line with me, I couldn’t make myself say no despite not wanting to give him leave to think he could just insert himself back into my life without a word of explanation as to why he left—no, that Dear Jane letter doesn’t count as ‘a word’ even though it contained seven of them. I blame my quick acquiescence on feeling like a teenager when I’m with them. Everything is exciting and new. Like the world is filled with possibility and fun.
Even countertop shopping was pure entertainment.
When Luc and I approved of the pretty slab of Creole marble quarried from Pickens County, Georgia, Cash immediately pulled out his wallet and started counting bills. Luc placed a staying hand on his arm and proceeded to haggle with the seller. In the Big Easy,everything’snegotiable.
Cash nearly blew a gasket when it looked like Luc might lose him the deal. But in the end, Luc whittled the seller down five hundred dollarsandsecured storage for the marble at the seller’s warehouse until he and Cash are ready to install it.
At first acquaintance, Luc comes off as an unobtrusive guy. Not so much meek and mild, but quiet. Self-effacing. And yet he has a particular brand of toughness I’ve only ever seen in other men of his ilk. Men who’ve come from the place where murky waters run through tall marsh grass. Where gators growl and bobcats howl.
In contrast, Cash is brazen and brash. A typical New Jerseyan who talks a big talk and walks a big walk—I’ve never known him to run from a fight or back down from a dare. But beneath all that bull crap and bluster is a heart as big and sweet as a watermelon. He would’ve happily paid the marble seller his above-market price and not batted an eyelash.
I feel a rush of old affection for the boys I once knew and the men they’ve become. Of course, that’s immediately followed by a big dose of wary skepticism.
If Cash refuses to face the past, would I be crazy to consider opening myself up for a future? If he won’t explain what happened back then, how can I assure myself the same thing won’t happen again?
I don’t think I can live through that pain a second time.
After blowing out a shaky breath, I rake in a lungful of sultry evening air and am accosted by the scents of The Quarter: wisteria, filé powder, and fried okra. When a page from a newspaper tumbles by on the breeze, I don’t think twice before bending to snag it. Tossing it into the can on the corner, I’m reminded of Cash’s comment about my genial manners.
I used to think he teased me about such things because he found me charming. Now? I’m not so sure. Maybe he thinks I’m more silly than charming. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he left. Because I was getting too serious, and leaving was easier than telling a sixteen-year-old girl that he found her childish and foolish.
“Evenin’, Maggie.”
I smile at Vernon. He’s in his usual spot, a lawn chair situated beside the last step of his stoop. Earl told me that, long ago, Vernon was one of The Quarter’s most famous artists. But arthritis has stiffened his joints and curled his hands.
“Evening, Vernon. I stopped by the candy shop on Decatur when I knew I was headed this way.” I pull a napkin-wrapped praline from my purse and carefully hand it to him. “I know hazelnut is your favorite.”
His eyes are dulled by cataracts, but his smile is as bright as ever. “You’re too good to me, Maggie,” he says.
“Nonsense,” I tell him. “Just looking out for your sweet tooth. Wouldn’t want it to fall out on account of neglect.”
He eagerly takes a bite of praline, makes a few yummy noises, and then asks, “Where ya headed lookin’ so fine?”
“To meet some old friends,” I tell him, adjusting my hat at a jaunty angle. “Then we’re going to Jelly Bean’s second line. You coming?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head, making the few fine wisps of white hair atop his liver-spotted scalp dance. “Hips and knees are hurtin’ too bad tonight. But you lift a drink and do a dance for me in Jelly Bean’s honor, will ya?”
“Done and done,” I assure him. “Have a good night, Vernon.”
“You too, sweetheart.”
Moving up the street, I make a left onto Orleans Avenue. As soon as I do, my steps falter.
There he is.
Sitting on his front stoop.
The boy I loved who’s grown into a man I don’t really know.
