It doesn’t matter how many times I see Bon Temps Rouler, and it doesn’t matter how dark my thoughts are, my bar always brings a smile to my face. Then I hear Earl say to one of the tourists, “You don’t know dipshit from apple butter,” and my smile turns upside down.
“Earl!” I stalk in his direction. “You better be nice to my patrons or I’ll have to jerk a knot in your tail!”
He lifts his hands and blinks as if to say,What did I do?
I give him the evil eye and he chuckles. “So where y’all been this evening?” he asks. “I heard Freddy Four Fingers is blowing down in Pirate’s Alley. Did you go give him a listen?”
Freddy Four Fingers has, you guessed it, four fingers on one hand—he’s missing his thumb. But he still manages to be one of NOLA’s favorite trumpeters. And he likes to give impromptu performances every now and again. Tonight, apparently, he’s set up shop on the cobblestone footpath that runs along the Uptown side of St. Louis Cathedral.
“We’ve been to M.S. Rau Antiques,” I tell Earl. “We got a tour of the back room.”
He whistles, his handlebar mustache fluttering. “Every time I walk by that place, I’m reminded I can’t buy a hummingbird on a string for a nickel.”
“You and me both.” I nod at the tourists, who are listening avidly to our conversation, no doubt charmed by Earl’s talent for turning a phrase.
Cash announces, “Got to hit the head,” before disappearing inside.
After he’s gone, I glance at Luc, motioning for him to follow me a few steps up the block so we can have a little privacy. He frowns, but doesn’t hesitate to fall into step beside me.
I missed my opening with him this morning, but no time like the present, right?Okay, here goes.I open my mouth and am surprised butterflies don’t come flying out since my stomach is full of them. But not only do no winged creatures emerge, no words do either.
I clear my throat and try again. This time a whole sentence manages to make it past my teeth. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “None that I recall. You have something in mind?”
“Could I…” I have to stop and clear my throat again.
He’s Luc!I remind myself.The same ol’ Luc you’ve known forever!Except he’s not. He’smore.
Something Auntie June said as I was leaving Aunt Bea’s house last Saturday echoes inside my head.Everyone is afraid of messing up and getting hurt or hurting those we love. But there comes a time when you have to take off the training wheels andride.
Okay, Auntie June. Here goes nothing.
“Could I maybe come out to your place for dinner?”
Chapter Eighty-two
______________________________________
Luc
All secrets reveal themselves. If you give them time.
That’s what I’ve done all evening. Given Maggie time to get around to saying whatever it is she came out here to say. Played along during dinner while she chattered like a squirrel about her aunts and the bar and the latest shenanigans of one “Royal Earl” Greene. And I tried not to let my shock and skepticism show when she told me about the heart-to-heart she had with Violet.
Now we’ve taken our coffees out on the front porch, and she’s fallen silent. I reckon that’s a good thing. Maybe it means she’s worked herself around to the point of her visit.
Warming my hands on my mug, I watch the fog swirl over the still water of the bayou. It’s slow and sinuous, seemingly alive and eerily purposeful. Somewhere in the distance, a big bull alligator bellows, letting the swamp know who rules the roost around these parts. And overhead, my wind chimes tinkle when they’re pushed by the delicate fingers of the breeze.
I’m not sure if Maggie shivers on account of the chill in the air or the uncanny atmosphere, but I set my mug on the railing and grab a quilt from inside. I wrap it around her shoulders, and she gifts me with a smile that could light up a room. “How do you always know what I need? Are you a mind reader or something?”
“Apparently not.” I retake my seat. “If I was, I’d know what brought you out here.” I take a sip of coffee, letting the smooth liquid warm me from the inside out. “I’ve been waiting all night for you to fish or cut bait.”
She scrunches up her nose. “I’ve never understood why anyone would choose cutting bait over fishing.”
“Can’t have one without the other.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she admits. “And I suppose it’s a far sight more polite than what Auntie June likes to say.”
