“Y’all go on without me,” I say.
“What?” She blinks incredulously. “We can’t go without you. It’syourbig news we’re celebrating. Geez! Get with the program!” She playfully slaps my arm and my jaw clenches even tighter. That quick, perfunctory touch was still enough to make my knees weak.
“Near as I can tell”—I crane my head back to study the black swirl of the sky—“the rain’s gonna start soon. Which means I needa run on home so I can get past that low-water crossing before it floods.”
“Are you serious?” She gapes at me.
Instead of answering, I brush past her and start down the steps. I haven’t reached the sidewalk when she stops me by grabbing my hand. I look down at her fingers, so pale against my own. I can feel my blood bubbling up to meet her touch.
“Is everything okay?” Her brow is beetled, and her eyes are fringed by dark lashes that cast sooty shadows against her cheeks.
Letting out a pained breath, I do something I try never to do. I lie.
“Sure. What could be wrong?”
“I don’t know, but…” She searches my face as a gust of wind slaps into us with surprising force. The storm is nearly here.
I use that as an excuse to say, “I better get going.”
When I turn, her hand falls away. And yet I still feel the ghostly imprint of all five of her fingers.
“Oh, gosh. I almost forgot.” She catches up with me again as I step into the street. “I’m having breakfast tomorrow morning at Café Du Monde with that reporter I was telling you about.”
“Did you call Abelman?”
Two days ago, we talked about how if she was aiming to publicly reveal what happened with Dean in the swamp all those years ago, she should have a lawyer present to make sure she doesn’t say anything she shouldn’t. If this whole mess has taught me anything, it’s that it pays to be cautious and always have a good lawyer on your side.
“I called him on the walk over,” she assures me. “He’s going to meet me there.”
“Good.” I dip my chin. “I’m glad you’ve decided to come out with it all. You deserve to have your story told.”
And despite my hurt, that’s true. Iwanther to have this closure. This absolution.
“Abelman thinks it’ll be good for you to get your side of the story on the record too,” she insists. “He says just because the law is on your side, that doesn’t mean the NOLA Police Department is. He says you’ve been dealing with some harassment?”
“What the fuck?” Cash slams his beer atop the step with so much force I’m surprised the bottle doesn’t shatter. “What harassment?”
I lift one shoulder and let it fall. “Nothing much. An unmarked unit has followed me from town to the bayou a coupla times. And two mornings ago, I woke up to find one of my taillights smashed. I reckon it was one of the local cops hoping to pull me over for the infraction and, you know, maybe start some stuff.”
“For shit’s sake,” Cash curses.
“But I had a replacement light,” I’m quick to reassure him. “So…all’s well that ends well.”
“Why didn’t yousayanything?” he demands.
“I did say something. To Abelman. He’s been documenting everything. Doing it all legal-like.”
“So?” Maggie fidgets her locket between her fingers. “Will you come tomorrow?”
My eyes snag on the filigreed heart, and something inside me snaps. “Why d’ya do that?”
She glances from me to Cash, looking baffled. “Do what?”
“Always cling to the locket I gave you.”
She stares down at the silver heart in the palm of her hand. “Most times I don’t notice I’m doing it,” she admits. “But I suppose I reach for it because it’s my touchstone. It reminds me of my folks, of where I come from and who I am.”
The throb of blood in my ears drowns out the low hum of merrymaking that’s coming from Bourbon Street. Notice she said nothing about it reminding her ofme.
