Passing out would be a mercy, but it doesn’t happen until my head hits the landing with a crack and a wave of darkness.
I dream of angels. Creatures more beautiful than anything I have ever seen. Their wings seem white at first glance, but as they’re lit by a light from above, I see the iridescent sheen of every color imaginable. And some colors I didn’t know I was capable of imagining.
I’m crushed when I’m woken up by the beeping of a heart rate monitor. I want to go back to watching the ethereal beings flying above me.
Maybe in time, they’d take me to the skies as well.
Just like they took my baby.
1
SIMONE
NEW ORLEANS - 6 YEARS AGO
Little Henry tugs on my hand. “Miss Simone? May I have ice cream? No, a beignet!”
I smile down at him. It’s a good thing he didn’t ask for a beignet with ice cream—all he has to do is look at me with those big brown eyes and I forget that I’m supposed to be the adult here.
“Since you asked so politely,” I reply with a chuckle, veering off toward Café du Monde.
I’ve been in New Orleans for a few years now, and I’m still not tired of walking the French Quarter. As we enter Jackson Square, I take in the sight of street artists painting portraits, tarot readers in colorful ensembles, jazz musicians busking with open instrument cases full of coins, and tourists taking pictures.
It used to alarm me—so many phones, so many people eagerly posting their vacations to social media accounts. But as time passed and neither Thomas nor my family found me, I slowly relaxed. I still look over my shoulders some days when I’m feeling particularly vulnerable. But I’m getting better.
“Horsie!” Henry exclaims, pointing at a carriage.
“Those aren’t horses, they’re mules,” I correct him.
“Really?” he asks, looking adorably confused.
“C’est ça. They look like horses, but they’re actually mules.”
“Oh. I like them.”
“Me too,chéri.”
It’s as simple as that with children.
I take a deep breath, my lungs filling with the humid Louisiana air, appreciating being here, being alive. It’s not a thought I often have, so I pause to cherish it.
“Come on, Miss Simone!” Henry insists, tugging on my hand again.
I let myself be led past the blare of jazz trumpets to one of the small round tables under Café du Monde’s green-and-white striped awning. The air here smells like fried dough and chicory coffee, and powdered sugar seems to coat every surface.
When a waiter stops at our table, I order a plate of beignets to share with Henry and a café au lait for me. The golden pastries arrive covered in a mountain of sugar, which explodes everywhere when Henry takes a bite, making both of us laugh. There will be no hiding the treat from Henry’smaman, but she’s thankfully not strict with us.
I’m brushing powdered sugar off my face when a prickle crawls up the back of my neck. Goosebumps cover my skin despite the warm morning, my hair standing on end. While I often worried about being found, checking my surroundings obsessively, I never had a visceral reaction like this before.
Someone is watching me. I’m sure of it.
“Miss Simone? Is it not tasty?”
I blink, focusing on Henry’s innocent gaze, then force my lips into a smile.
“It’s perfect,chéri. I was just thinking about something.”
Henry tilts his head. “Something better than beignets?”
