“You mean after I admitted the DA is after him because of me?” I shoot him a toothy grin.
Luc just stares at me.
“Well”—I lift a hand and let it fall—“I told him to get the fuck out of my house. Don’t remember what happenedafterthat.” I test the angry wound on my forehead. “But I figure this proves he wasn’t all that anxious to leave. At least not without resorting to form first.”
“Do you know if they’ve found him yet?” Maggie places a soft hand atop my foot.
I’ll be damned, but I swear a muscle in Luc’s jaw twitches. Okay, so whatever happened between them, it was big.Huge.Life changing.
I’m happy for them.
I am.
In fact, I’m so happy I celebrate by tossing back my head and swallowing half my flask. After I’m finished, I manage, “Broussard came by the hospital while I was checking myself out. Apparently, the police caught up with Rick trying to rent a car this morning. He had a suitcase full of cash and a duffel bag full of clothes. Jumping ship like the rat he is.”
“It’s weird,” Maggie muses. “The only reason we set our sights on your dad—” When I clear my throat, she’s quick to correct herself. “Excuse me, I mean Rick, is because we were hoping that by bringing him down, we could bring down George Sullivan too. But now Sullivan is dead.”
“And your point?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have one. Except, I guess it just goes to show nothing ever works out the way you think it will.”
“Man plans and God laughs,” I agree.
A boy walks past us on the sidewalk. One of his hands is secure in his mother’s grip. The other is holding a harmonica to his lips. He can’t be more than six or seven, and yet he’s playing “Amazing Grace” with clear-noted precision.
One of the first things that struck me after moving here as a teenager was that New Orleanians are born singing and dancing and making music. It’s in their blood. In their bones. What an amazing inheritance, am I right?
The only thing I got from my place of birth was a mad love for Dunkin Donuts and Bon Jovi.
“Back to our excursions,” I say once mother and son have continued up the block. “What should we do next? We still have The Fly, Muriel’s Jackson Square, and M.S. Rau Antiques left on the list.”
“I vote for M.S. Rau Antiques,” Maggie says. “I’ve heard they have priceless jewels and Monet paintings in there.”
“I think you hafta make reservations or something.” Luc frowns. “In which case, I vote for The Fly.”
“Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock to see who wins?” Maggie asks. For the first time since they arrived, Luc smiles at her.
“I know I’m going to hate asking,” I mutter, “but what the heck is rock, paper, scissors, lizard, uh…”
“Spock,” Luc fills in helpfully. “It’s fromThe Big Bang Theory.”
I roll my eyes. “You two are hopeless, you realize that, right?” Hopeless and sickeningly attuned to each other. The whiskey in my flask sends up another call. This one I manage to ignore. “And before you do”—I make a rolling motion with my hand—“that Spock thing, I vote for The Fly too. I’m thinking this Sunday evening if the weather holds.”
“I’m not sure I can switch shifts with Chrissy on such short notice.” Maggie’s lips purse.
“Try,” I tell her. Then I give in to the call and take another long pull of whiskey, hoping to numb the paralyzing sense of urgency that’s becoming my constant companion.
There’s so much left to do and so little time to do it in.
Chapter Seventy-three
______________________________________
Luc
Putting yourself out there, knowing you might be rejected, is a frightening prospect. But what’s even more frightening is living with the regret of never trying.
I was aiming to let Maggie’s declaration stand. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was my mistake the first time around.
