Page 85 of The Charmer

Mom had always been extremely strong-willed. Even though her family owned multiple businesses and she’d married into one who owned a truckload of other businesses, she did her own thing. So with me in tow, she'd opened this gallery when she was in her early twenties, and she'd been here ever since.

“Although, you’re probably the most strong-willed of us all, opening the gallery and all that,” I continued.

"I've always loved art, and New Orleans is a haven for finding new artists."

True, Mom was always on the lookout for local, undiscovered artists. Even so, she managed to constantly attract crowds.

"I admire you for it."

"Thank you. Anyway, a word of advice. I know you have a great life, and you like it."

"I do," I said in a measured tone.

"But if there is something there with Georgie, don't let it go to waste." I opened my mouth, but Mom shook her head. "Don't contradict me."

"I wasn't going to."

"Then you were going to placate me?" she suggested.

"Possibly."

"See, I know my sons well." She frowned as she looked at all the paintings that were already unloaded. "All right, I think we should divide and conquer. Each painting has a number, and I put Post-its on the wall to indicate what painting goes where."

"I'm on it."

"You need help?"

"You always ask me that. No."

"Well, not many people can hang up paintings single-handedly."

I winked at her. "I've had enough practice."

I immediately started with the painting numbered 1. The guys who unloaded them had already arranged them based on numbers, so all I had to do was unpackage and hang them.

As I got to work, Mom’s words replayed in my mind. What was she trying to say? Mom was unlike Isabeau and Celine in that regard. Those two were always extremely direct—maybe too much so. But Mom was subtle. Even so, I understood her message. And I agreed with it.

I moved on to the second painting soon enough. It was of the bayou. Damn, this was good. I almost felt like I was there with my grandfathers, fishing. Mom truly had an eye for spotting talent.

She also had an eye for when her sons needed advice. Ever since I'd dropped Georgie at the shop, all I could think about was the next time I saw her.

But after chatting with Mom, an idea popped into my mind. The plan was crystallizing as I hung up painting after painting. Clearly, the motif was the bayou. Each painting was by a different artist, but they all formed a coherent story. Mom was a genius even when it came to arranging the paintings a certain way.

I finished setting them up two hours later. My right arm felt like it was about to fall off, and my left shoulder was sore as hell. I could do it all on my own, but it came at a price.

When I returned to the entrance hall, something smelled delicious.

"Just in time," Mom said. "Got a muffuletta for you."

"Thanks. I haven't had that in a while. Should drop by the Central Grocery more often. I forget how good it is."

"I agree."

I kept rotating my left shoulder as I ate a muffuletta. Perfect lunch. It was quick.

"What are you going to do today?" Mom asked.

"I'll drop by the office."

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