You're Still the One (19 page)

Rebecca felt as if the patio floor were tilting forward, but she didn’t know how to straighten it out again.

Cathy cleared her throat. “Weren’t you almost seventeen?” Cathy croaked.

Grant looked at Rebecca. Rebecca opened her mouth, but she couldn’t lie to Grant again. No matter what else, she wasn’t going to lie to him again. Silently, she shook her head.

Grant put his hand up to his head as if it were throbbing. “I should have known better,” he said. “I should have asked for your ID.”

“I had a fake ID,” Rebecca said. “And you wouldn’t have been able to stop me.” She surprised them both by the passion in her voice. “Sorry,” she said. “Despite—my age—it was a magical night for me.”

Grant nodded, but he still didn’t touch his food. He looked at his watch. He checked his phone.

Rebecca could feel Cathy staring at her from across the table, offering her support. Grant’s reaction to this little hiccup didn’t bode so well for her other zinger.

“Grant,” she said. “I’m sorry I lied—”

Grant screeched his chair back and abruptly stood up. “Ladies,” he said, “I’m terribly sorry. This meal is on me. Enjoy.” He threw a wad of cash down on the table. Stunned, Rebecca just stared at it. “It’s been great catching up with you, Rebecca. I, uh, have this thing back at the club.” He gestured wildly and knocked his silverware off the table. The clatter caused a number of heads to jerk their way.

Rebecca hated seeing him like this. “Grant,” she said. “It was a long time ago.”

“I’m going to the restroom,” Cathy said.

Grant held up his hand. “No need,” he said. “I’m not staying.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be so upset,” Rebecca said.

“I’m not having this conversation here,” Grant said.

“I wasn’t trying to trick you. I was young—”

“Oh yes,” Grant said with a wry laugh. “I think we’ve covered that part. You weren’t just young, you were jailbait.”

Jailbait. He’d taken their beautiful night and twisted it into something ugly. Or had she taken an ugly night and twisted it into something beautiful? Looking at him now, so angry with her, she couldn’t decide.

“I . . . can’t change it now,” Rebecca said quietly.

“Of course,” he said. “What’s done is done, right? I’m sorry I have to run, but, well—running a club is a full-time job. Married to my job, you might say. Can’t be helped.” He was talking nonstop; he wanted nothing more than to flee.

Rebecca had never felt so mortified in her life. “Of course,” she said. She felt as if she’d been hit on the side of the head with a two-by-four.
Come on, Grant!
she wanted to say.
You didn’t force yourself on me. I was the seducer!
But it wasn’t fair to discuss this in front of Cathy, and he was so obviously disturbed. She’d forgotten how passionate and temperamental artists could be.

What a fool she was for bringing it up in front of Cathy. Now he knew that Cathy knew what he’d done. Oh, what a mess she’d made of things less than an hour into it. Even so, Rebecca was still stunned when he actually turned and walked out. So, for that matter, was Cathy. She pushed both their plates away and poured the rest of the wine.

“Rebecca,” Cathy said after a few minutes of silence.

Slowly Rebecca fell back into her chair. “Yes?”

“I don’t think you should tell him,” Cathy said.

“What?”

“Can I be brutally honest?”

“Please.”

“Forget your guilt.”

“Are you kidding? You know I can’t do that.”

“Rebecca, I’m telling you. He looked as if he were about to explode.”

“He was just taken aback.”

“Taken aback? I’ve seen ‘taken aback.’ I’ve been ‘taken aback.’ That, my friend, was—at the very least—seriously pissed off.”

“It was kind of weird, right?”

“It was definitely kind of weird, Rebecca. It was twenty-one years ago, for God’s sakes. And he couldn’t even stay and finish dinner? He had to throw a little fit and make us all totally uncomfortable? My God, he acted like you came here to accuse him of something.”

“I think because of his daughter—”

“His stepdaughter, remember?”

“He raised her since she was four.”

Cathy held her hands up. “Okay, okay, so he has a teenage daughter. He still overreacted. I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was. But I don’t like it. I think you should come home with me, put the past to bed, and whatever you do—I don’t think you should ever tell that man that he has a son.”

Nothing like a stroll past historic Southern mansions to get your mind off a man. New Orleans’s Garden District was an area the girls had ignored when they were teenagers, but it was quickly becoming one of Rebecca’s favorite places. They followed the route of the St. Charles Streetcar line on foot, marveling. Each mansion, stately and beautiful, advertised its unique identity through color, ornamentation, and landscaping.

But it still wasn’t enough to get Rebecca’s mind off of what had just happened. Grant threw a fit and took off. All because she lied by three little years.

Maybe Cathy was right. She’d come here fully prepared to do the right thing, and the man couldn’t even handle the first part of the conversation.

Wasn’t it time she let go of the guilt? The past was the past. Who was judging her anyway? The big guy in the sky? She didn’t even know if she believed in him. She suspected some kind of energy was formed after a human being died, but she wasn’t quite sure what. And she didn’t believe she was going to be punished. How could anyone on this planet be punished for anything? Sometimes life was just a total zoo, still nothing more than a fight for survival despite the invention of the iPad.

Miles was a grown man. The “damage” of growing up without a father had already been done. No matter what she did now, she’d never be able to make that up to either of them.

Without speaking, Cathy and Rebecca turned left into the neighborhood. This street, too, was filled with glorious mansions, and iron gates, and towering trees, and blooming flowers, and secrets dotting each house, each yard, hanging from every window.
We’re all just masquerading to some degree
, Rebecca thought.
New Orleans just chooses to celebrate it.

“City of wealth, and masks, and ghosts,” Rebecca said as they finished their tour.

“And hurricanes,” Cathy said. “The drink and the storms.”

“And psychics and secrets,” Rebecca said.

“And cemeteries. Where things should stay buried. Things like secrets,” Cathy said, taking Rebecca’s arm. “Come on, I’m taking you back to Buffalo.”

Once back in the Quarter, Rebecca wanted to drag Cathy to the Voodoo Shop, but Cathy refused to go anywhere near it.

“I don’t like anything hokeypokey,” Cathy said.

“I think you mean hocus-pocus,” Rebecca said.

“Whatever. Not on your life. And you shouldn’t be listening to crazy, swindling old ladies, either.”

“Don’t you believe in signs?”

“Yes. Stop signs. Now let’s get into our bathing suits and try to break into the pool.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! I didn’t come to New Orleans to be good. I want to do one bad thing before I go back to being a boring old mom.”

“Going swimming in the hotel pool? That’s your bad thing?”

“Going swimming in the hotel pool
after hours
.”

“Skinny-dipping?”

“Are you kidding me? No way.”

It was always the skinny girls who were most self-conscious. Rebecca laughed. “I admire your enthusiasm, but it’s an intimate courtyard. I don’t think we’re going to be able to get away with it.”

“That’s the beauty of it.”

Rebecca so didn’t want to go along with it. She wanted to go see the psychic. She wanted to see if there would be any change in her reading now that she’d seen Grant again. She wanted an excuse not to go back to Buffalo.

Was she afraid to stay, or afraid to go? How could the old witch give her such cryptic readings?

 

 

Back at the hotel room, she changed listlessly into her swimsuit despite Cathy’s giddy mood. This was simply a getaway for Cathy, a reprieve from her routine at home. Rebecca didn’t have a routine at home. She didn’t even have a home anymore. She wanted to be here, in New Orleans. All night she’d been thinking of the napkin Grant wrote on. A friend with an apartment to sublet. And just yesterday Cathy was encouraging Rebecca to stay. Was she really going to let Grant Dodge shame her out of town?

The pair crept down the stairs in their swimsuits, towels wrapped around them. Cathy started to giggle. Rebecca rolled her eyes in the dark, but smiled nonetheless. Cathy was fun to be around—a great mom, too. Had Rebecca been a great mom? She’d tried, but being both mother and father wasn’t an easy job. Cathy’s husband was the disciplinarian, so Cathy had always been free to be the fun parent. If Cathy’s girls were here with them now, they would all be sneaking down the stairs in their suits and giggling.

They reached the lobby, and even though the hotel was dead silent (guests were not allowed to check in after midnight, and therefore no one was staffing the desk), Cathy crept anyway, stepping on her tiptoes up to the door leading to the courtyard.

“It’s locked,” she whispered.

“Told you,” Rebecca said.

“Shit.”

“We could put on heels and walk the streets,” Rebecca said. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Do you think we could pick it?” Cathy said, pawing her head for a bobby pin.

“No,” Rebecca said. “There’s a nice big vase over there, though. We could hurl it through the French doors.”

“Funny.” Cathy sighed, folded her arms across her chest, and stared out at the dark courtyard.

“We were
going
to do it,” Cathy said, heading for the stairs. “That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“That counts for a lot,” Rebecca said, thinking of Grant. “That counts for a hell of a lot.”

 

 

The next morning, Rebecca awoke before the Louisiana sun. She and Cathy were supposed to pack, go to breakfast at the doughnut place, and head for the airport. Rebecca wanted some time alone to roam the streets, take one last stroll around. As the sun came up, she wondered once again what she should do. Cathy insisted again last night that she should go home with her. Give this some distance. But Rebecca couldn’t imagine leaving without doing what she came here to do. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and maybe it shouldn’t be.

She took little side streets she’d never been down before and relished the fact that most of the city was still sleeping off last night’s party. After thirty minutes or so, she was just about to head back to the hotel when she noticed something shining on the ground. She bent over to examine it, and came back up with a gleaming silver heart.
I could make my second New Orleans–inspired necklace out of this
, she thought.
Maybe it’s a sign
. She pocketed the heart, laughed at herself, and was just about to turn back when she looked up. Across the way, wedged in between a T-shirt shop and a cooking shop, was an empty storefront. Hanging from the window was another sign, the clearest one she’d seen to date: FOR RENT.

 

 

“You’re not eating your share of doughnuts,” Cathy said.

Rebecca was already seated at one of the little tables when Cathy joined her. The place was hopping. “I ate twelve of them before you arrived.”

Cathy’s eyes swept over her like a laser beam. “Then where’s all the powder?”

Rebecca laughed. “You don’t miss a trick.”

“Speaking of which, I brought your things.”

“What?”

“You left all your luggage at the hotel, so I packed your things and checked out for you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“You shouldn’t have—you what?”

“I left your things in the room. And I didn’t check you out.”

“So why—”

“I’m just confirming what I already suspected. You’re staying, aren’t you?”

Rebecca reached over and grabbed Cathy’s hand. “I went for a walk this morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

Rebecca pulled the silver heart out of her pocket. “I found this.”

“Okay.” Cathy didn’t even touch it.

“It was lying on the street right in front of a shop for rent!”

“And you took it as a sign.”

“Well, it was a sign. Like ‘Stop.’ Only this one said ‘For Rent.’ ”

“Is this about Grant?”

“Absolutely not. This is about me. It’s about starting a new chapter in my life. What do I have back in Buffalo?”

“Your parents, your son, and incredibly good friends.”

“My parents drive me crazy, my son is off to college, and my incredibly good friend loves weekend getaways and can visit me.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I have to do this. Correction. I want to do this. I’ve been dead inside, Cathy. I don’t always tell you, because I’ve dumped on you enough over the years. But I haven’t felt really happy in a long time. This place makes me happy.”

“Powdered doughnuts and sunshine make everybody happy,” Cathy said. “But this city isn’t all powdered doughnuts and sunshine, and you know it.”

“I’m not expecting perfection. I just—I want to take a chance on it, see what happens. Buffalo will always be there if I fail.”

“Let’s get out of here so I can see this shop before I go,” Cathy said. They paid the bill and started to leave the table. Cathy ran back and grabbed the last two beignets. “They don’t feed you on the plane,” she said, and stuffed both of them in her mouth at the same time.

Rebecca stood behind the counter of her small shop, surveying the territory. She loved the moments just before and after closing when she could pause for a few minutes of silent reflection. She glanced at the calendar on her wall. She couldn’t believe she’d been here three months already. The shop was small but perfect. A good deal of her business was still from the Internet, although foot traffic was starting to pick up. She loved the little bell above her door; it brought a rush of pleasant feelings every time someone jingled in. She also lucked out on the apartment. Mae Lin was going to be in San Francisco for the whole year, and she had left her place completely furnished.

The apartment was in the French Quarter, only a few blocks from the store, and as Rebecca dreamed, it was one of the old French Creole apartments with a long balcony overlooking the street. Rebecca couldn’t wait for Mardi Gras. Mae Lin had an eclectic and colorful flair, and Rebecca was completely at ease in her space, but spent most of her time on the balcony curled up in a chair, watching the world go by.

It was on such a Saturday morning, sitting on the balcony with the newspaper and a giant cup of coffee, that she had seen Grant Dodge pass by. Rebecca’s heart began pounding immediately, and she spilled hot coffee all up and down her arm. She’d had a foolish urge to hit the deck, but Grant hadn’t even glanced up. As far as he knew, she was gone. Would he be furious that she rented Mae Lin’s apartment after all? He’d been carrying his trumpet case and walking with his eyes straight ahead. He had such a confident way about him. She wondered if he’d even thought about her since that night. Maybe she’d just imagined the connection between them.

Jerk.
For days after the sighting, she’d sat in the same spot at the same time, but he didn’t pass again. Yes, it had been three months and she still hadn’t approached him. She just wanted to get settled in first. If he reacted as badly as she suspected, it would be tempting to skip town the minute he let her have it. And she couldn’t let him ruin her dream. She loved her little shop. She loved New Orleans, with its plethora of things to do and places to eat and streets to explore. And lately she’d been pouring all of her passion into making new jewelry pieces. She’d been working with red stones, placing them in circles and triangles. Red was the color of passion and a symbol of strength. The younger girls who came into the shop always gravitated toward red. Were women just destined to be drawn to danger, to fire, to signs that shouted
stop
?

It made Rebecca smile to see girls come into the shop and try on her work. She never yelled when her pieces were touched; in fact, she prodded those who seemed shy to try things on. Earrings were an exception; she couldn’t have people trying them on, but she would encourage them to hold them up to their ears and look in one of the many handheld mirrors lying about the shop. She usually sold at least five pieces a day. With that, her savings, and her Internet business, she was just getting by.

Today Rebecca was looking forward to getting back to the apartment and taking a bubble bath. She bought some candles from the shop next door along with a bottle of wine. The apartment itself was so gothic, and so romantic, that she didn’t need a man to evoke a lovely evening. She even had a new nightgown to put on. After her bath she would sit on the balcony in her new nightgown, sipping wine. Because one thing she’d learned, one adage that turned out to be true—nobody ever looked up.

Mae Lin’s bathroom looked like something out of a five-star hotel. It was as big as a bedroom, with pristine cream-tiled floors and soothing ocean-blue walls. A standing glass shower came with dual rotating showerheads with settings that varied from “light mist” to “Amazon rainforest.” A CD player was on its own shelf with a stack of CDs next to it. Mirrors and candles were positioned everywhere. Built-in shelves were stacked with designer towels. A silk robe hung on the back of the door, and a tall cabinet housed an impressive collection of bath salts, bubbles, and lotions. This was one clean chick. So far Rebecca had tried every setting on the showerhead. “Rain massage” was her favorite, but tonight she definitely wanted to take a long bubble bath in the deep, old-fashioned tub that took up the center of the room. She brought a bottle of wine, a glass, and a corkscrew into the bathroom with her.

She put on a compilation jazz CD, then turned to the cabinet. So far she hadn’t used any of Mae Lin’s products, but she clearly remembered Mae Lin saying she could help herself to anything.
Make yourself at home; use anything you’d like; what’s mine is yours.
Still, she wouldn’t use too much of anything. She chose a large glass bottle on the top shelf. It hadn’t been opened, but there were so many bottles, that wasn’t a surprise. This one had a pewter lid shaped like a dragonfly. Rebecca would only pour a drop of it into the tub. She placed the plug in the tub and turned on the water. The handles were hard to turn and when Rebecca finally did force them into submission, they let out a scream worthy of any torture victim. Rebecca jumped at the sound, then scalded herself as she reached in to touch the water. She tried the cold tap, and although she had to put her entire body into it, the knob finally produced enough cold water to bring the bath to a temperature that wouldn’t scald her. Then she carefully measured out a small amount of the bubble bath and set the bottle on one of the many little metal holders hanging off the side of the tub, just in case she wanted to add a drop or two later.

She glanced at the standing candelabra next to the tub. It was shaped like a tree, its metal branches each holding little candles. There were at least twenty; it would look incredible lit. She wasn’t surprised to find a long, elegant lighter next to the tree, and feeling like royalty (who had to prepare her own bath), Rebecca set about lighting each little candle. Then she dimmed the chandelier and stood back to marvel at the effect. How gorgeous. Little sparkling flames casting dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling, creating a romantic glow. If only Grant were here to join her . . . but she would have plenty of time to fantasize about that later.

Rebecca hummed to herself as she walked around the apartment wrapped only in an enormous lavender towel, sipping wine, listening to jazz, and waiting for her warm bubble bath to fill to the top. This was the life. But when she entered the bathroom again, the water in the tub was dangerously close to overflowing. Setting her wineglass down next to the bottle, she hurried to shut off the knobs. She leaned in and put her entire body into it once again, but this time they didn’t budge. The water was about to spill over. What had she done? She didn’t remember Mae Lin saying not to use the tub, so the knobs had to be working. She was just too weak. Maybe her hands were too wet. She wiped them vigorously on the towel, then used the towel for a grip and tried once again. Still no movement. No-no-no, this could not be happening. She was just trying to take a bath!

What was she going to do? Mae Lin had casually mentioned to call her if she needed the super. Why hadn’t she just left her the super’s direct number? Tools. She needed tools. There was no time for calling anyone. Mae Lin had to have tools, right?

Rebecca ran to the kitchen, slipping several times, but managed to right herself, and she looked in the first place she would have left tools: under the kitchen sink. To her immense relief, she found a wrench. She didn’t know if it would work, but she had to try. But when she reached in and grabbed the wrench, something skittered across her hand, then flew out of the cabinet.

It was a mouse. Rebecca, who was normally the type who would carefully scoop critters up and shoo them outside, was overtaken by a primal fear. Already highly adrenalized, Rebecca reacted instinctively. She brought the wrench down on the mouse, killing it instantly. As she stood staring at its lifeless body in disbelief, she wondered if this was it.
You will cause the death of someone else
. Could it be a mouse?

No time to even get rid of the body. Rebecca had a serious situation going on. She ran into the bathroom with the wrench and hurried over to the tub. The water was already leaking over the edge. Rebecca swiped every sweet-smelling designer towel from the shelves and spread them on the floor to absorb the oncoming flood. She grasped the wrench and attacked the knobs with everything she had. From the living room, her cell phone began to ring. Her hand kept slipping, forcing her to constantly readjust, but finally she was able to get a tiny bit of movement out of one knob. The water decreased, although it did not stop, and not only was her entire front wet, but so were most of the towels protecting the floor. She could feel the water swishing around her ankles. Even if it stopped now, it was already a disaster. Bubbles lay atop the surface of the towels like alien creatures dropping in to check out the landscape. Rebecca let out a loud yell as she took the wrench and whacked the knobs as hard as she could. She drew her hand back for another blow and knocked over the bubble bath. It flew out of the rack, landed on the one spot of tile not protected by the towels, and smashed apart, splattering shards of glass and amber liquid far and wide. She really wanted to hit something now, but she still had the damn knobs to deal with.
Please God, please God, please God, I’ll do anything
.

Her phone was ringing again. With the panic of a woman lifting a car off her trapped children, Rebecca went after the knobs for the zillionth time. The left one began to scream, then finally she felt it move, and then it was shut off. By the time she got the other knob to turn as well, Rebecca felt as though she’d been battered in a storm at sea.

There was an inch of water on the floor and all the towels were soaked. The doorbell rang. Obviously someone had heard the pounding, and the smashing, and her screams. Her nightgown was still in her bedroom, and she couldn’t wrap a towel around herself because they were all soaked. Rebecca swiped the robe off the back of the door and put it on. It was way too small for her. She tried adjusting the tie, but instead it flicked out like a whip and caught the tip of the wine bottle. Rebecca lunged for the bottle, but as she grabbed it, it slipped out, splashing wine on Mae Lin’s beautiful white robe. Then the flaming tree of candles tipped over. Orange flames licked at the creamy white tiles. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rebecca said aloud. She lunged for the wet towels and soon smothered the fire, but long black scorch marks streaked the tiles and the towels, candle wax lay in wet clumps all over the floor, and a burning smell lingered.
To hell with it.

Rebecca drank straight out of the bottle as she headed for the door. She was about to call out
Who is it?
when she heard the sound of a key in the lock and the door began to open. Rebecca was too shocked to move. Even more so when a gorgeous petite Asian woman with long wavy hair and eyelashes that could wink at you from a football field away burst in. She wasn’t alone. Behind her was Grant Dodge.

Rebecca knew she should say something, but she was too stunned to move. Mae Lin took it all in with a series of quick glances.

“Oh my God,” she said. “What’s burning? Why is there water on my floor?”

Rebecca glanced down. Water from the bathroom was winding its way out into the living room, spreading like a river.

“Mae Lin? I’m Rebecca.” She offered her hand for a shake. The woman ignored her and stormed into the bathroom.

“My towels! The floor!” She noticed everything in rapid succession. The wine, the candles, the standing water, the full tub. But the worst was the broken bottle of bubble bath. Mae Lin swiped up the dragonfly lid and screamed, “This was the last gift my mother ever gave me!”

“Oh my God,” Rebecca said. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Before she
died
,” Mae Lin said, in case Rebecca hadn’t quite grasped this.

Rebecca launched into a rambling explanation. She’d never taken a bath in here before, the knobs were stuck, she had to get a wrench, she had to kill a mouse. Rebecca didn’t think Mae Lin was listening until she mentioned the little rodent.

“A mouse?” Her eyes were huge saucers, her mouth open. Then she ran for the kitchen. Rebecca, who hadn’t dared look at Grant up until now, slowly lifted her eyes. He was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, watching her. She thought she was going to cry.

“Yikes,” he said. Then he gave her a little wink. “She’ll calm down.”

“Everything happened just the way I said.”

“I had no idea that you were still here, that you took the apartment—” They were interrupted by a piercing scream. Rebecca and Grant ran into the kitchen. Mae Lin was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, rocking the dead mouse in the palm of her delicate hands.

“You probably shouldn’t be touching that,” Rebecca said.

“That?” Mae Lin shrieked. “
That
has a name!”

Please tell me it isn’t Mickey
.

“Louis,” Mae Lin cried. “You killed Louis!”

“It—
he
—startled me. I just reacted.”

“You murdered him. You murdered Louis Armstrong.”

“Mae Lin, enough,” Grant said.

Mae Lin gracefully uncurled her pretty legs and stood. She shoved the mouse at Grant. “I painted his nails,” she said. “Do you see?”

Rebecca leaned in. Sure enough, there was a spot of red on his little toenails.

“Mae Lin, please. Why don’t you put Louis on the balcony for now, and I’ll pour you a drink.” To Rebecca’s astonishment, Mae Lin followed Grant’s suggestion, although she did so while raving out loud about the dangers of renting your apartment to a total psycho off the street.

“She’s not a psycho off the street . . .” Grant said. “Exactly. Rebecca and I go way back.”

“Say what?” Mae Lin said.

“Grant is the one who gave me your phone number.”

Mae Lin gave Grant what could only be described as a death stare before turning back to Rebecca. “I don’t care if you were raised by Mother-freaking-Teresa and Elvis is your best friend. I want you out.”