Page 51 of Past the Broken Bridges

His eyes go back to his wrist, looking at the time before scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve got some time.”

Is he offering to show me around? “I don’t have a game plan. I was going to wander.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says. “Walking around here isn’t as bad as it could be in the French Quarter, but it’s still safer to be with somebody. There are areas nobody should be by themselves.”

My mom would like him.

Whoa.Scratch that. If I’m smart, Mom won’t know about him. Because then she’d have hope, and I’d hate to dash it.

“Do you have plans?” I ask. “I don’t want to keep youfrom anything, especially since you already hung out with me yesterday.”

His eyes flash, as if he’s reminded of how our night ended. “I’m not complaining about yesterday.”

It’s a cautious statement that says a lot without saying too much at all.

Confidence and maybe a little relief that I didn’t botch our budding friendship have me smiling. “Okay then.”

“No Dixie or Dawson today?”

I shake my head. Dixie was supposed to meet Dawson at the library. Since I haven’t heard from her all day, I’m assuming they’re there. “Nope. Just me.”

Once again, his eyes lazily study our surroundings before they drop to his watch. He must have somewhere to be, but before I can tell him I’ll be fine on my own, he says, “I’ve got time. If you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me.

As if I’m going to tell him no.

And as he gestures for us to walk down the sidewalk, I wonder if he remembers what I told him last night.That should answer your question.

I guess only time will tell.

* * *

An hour into our impromptu walking tour, I say, “It must have been nice growing up here. You’re surrounded by beautiful buildings and history.”

It’s practically my dream. The house my parents rented on the outskirts of New Orleans all those years ago wasn’t nearly as pretty as the ones we’ve passed today.

Banks doesn’t seem that impressed though. “I like howquiet it is,” he agrees. “It’s a peaceful area for the most part. Which makes me wonder why you’re here. Most college kids gravitate toward the French Quarter. Ever heard of Bourbon Street?”

Of course I’ve heard of the party area. Who hasn’t? “What’s wrong with liking a little peace and quiet? You’re here.”

“I grew up here.”

“I grew up near the city,” I tell him. “There isn’t nearly as much peace there.”

“New York, right?”

All I do is nod as I examine the ivy lining the gates we pass.

“You must be close with your dad,” I comment after a while, looking around and wishing I’d brought my polaroid camera. It was a Christmas gift from my parents. Right before I left, my mom bought me a photo album to put all the pictures I took in.A book of memories,she called it.

I haven’t touched it because every time I look at the box, I wonder if Mom will be okay with the memories I collect.

Don’t think about it,I tell myself.

Banks doesn’t answer right away, making me glance in his direction. “We get along fine” is the answer he settles with.

I can’t tell if that’s a man answer or if there’s more to it. “Is it hard having him at the school?”

---