When she rounds the corner heading toward Francine’s B&B, I slow our walk. She stops to wave at someone who isn't there. A friend, maybe. Someone from her past.
Then she stops in front of the building where the old soup kitchen used to be.
The Mindful Mat yoga studio is all floor-to-ceiling windows and pastel motivational quotes. Inside, a class stretches through sun salutations.
Dana doesn't notice. She sees what used to be—warm meals, friendly faces, a place of safety. She parks her cart outside and sits on the curb, humming tunelessly.
I stop the group. “Okay, she’s fine. She’s living her best afterlife and doesn’t need anything.”
Asher grins. “Excellent. Now to the Velvet Groove to meet King Louie the dead jazz pianist.”
Rowan perks up. “Okay, now our night is getting interesting. Any chance we can grab a drink and catch a set? We really deserve a little liquid sedation after last night.”
Yeah, we do. “That’ll work. Mom said that more often than not, Louie doesn’t show up until later in the evening anyway.”
Asher frowns. “And what do we do with the pups?”
I shrug. “Claim they are our emotional support buddies?”
Asher seems to consider that for a moment and then nods. “I can work with that.”
After a couple of drinks and an hour of live music, there’s no sign of King Louie, so we decide to try back another time. Asher is unaffected by the no-show. He is infused with the love of jazz, and is playing his imaginary trumpet and scatting his way down the sidewalk.
Rowan glances around, looking embarrassed as hell, but I love Asher unplugged. Neurodivergence is his superpower.
Live every day as if it is your last, right?
“The lights are still on at the apothecary.” Rowan points across the road to the Wildflowers & Wellness storefront.
I shrug. “I wanted to check on Izzy, but it’s getting kind of late. She’s probably trying to close.”
Asher scoffs. “The night is young, cool cats. We don’t gotta head straight back to the crib. Let’s swing by Izzy’s pad and see if she’s in the pocket tonight. Dig it?”
Rowan frowns. “Dude, stop that or I’ll throat punch you.”
“Whoa, now. Don’t go throwin’ shade. I’m just swingin’ my own tune and you’re steppin’ all over my solo.”
Rowan shakes her head. “Are you roofied? I don’t know what synthetic feel-good wave of wonder you’re riding, but you’re actually weirder than usual.”
I laugh. “Aw, don’t harsh his mellow, RoRo. He’s just leadin’ the band with a righteous riff.”
Asher grins. “Exactly, right, P-bob. We don’t?—"
A huge crash from inside the apothecary shop makes us all freeze.
Asher straightens. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
“Nope, not good at all.”
The three of us are across the road and pulling open the front door when Izzy’s frantic cry rises above another crash.
"No! Stop!You can't nest there!"
"Get out, you winged menace!" Mica shouts.
Asher laughs. “Twenty bucks that Izzy actually just apologized to a bird about not letting it nest in the store.”
"No bet."
