Page 63 of She's Like the Wind
After she was done eating, and I had paid the bill for both of us (Aurelie insisted), she caught my arm as we stepped out onto the pavement. “One more thing.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“She still loves you.”
My chest clenched, making it hard to breathe.
She met my gaze with quiet, simmering resentment. “But you keep making her wish she didn’t.”
If Aurelie had been tough on me, it was nothing compared to my mother who paid me a visit, which I’d been expecting, the next day at a job site.
I was halfway through scraping a century and a half of paint off the weather-worn trim of the Creole townhouse on Chartres that was our latest project, when I saw my mama walking up the block.
Even in flats and a linen dress, a tote bag slung over one shoulder, Della Walker walked like royalty.
My guess was that she was coming from a Historic Preservation Society meeting nearby—a volunteer gig she’s recently taken up.
She gave me a hug, not caring that I was dirty as hell. Mama never did care about that sort of thing. She asked me about the house I was working on, and after I gave her the highlights, she squinted up to give it a once-over.
“This place has good bones.”
I wiped my hands on a rag. “You’re always welcome to come inspect.”
She stepped up beside me, nodding at the exposed brick and tall windows. “This one’s got soul. Needs patience. But she’ll shine again.”
We stood in silence for a beat.
“I walked by your Naomi’s store.” Her eyes were critically examining the chipping paint on the door.
Your Naomi!
Dad had obviously talked to her because I hadn’tmentioned the woman who’d taken up residence in my head and heart to her.
“What did you think?”
She smiled and looked at me. “I like the name. Aire Noire. Very…classy but not stuffy. That window of hers stopped me cold.”
I arched an eyebrow. Mama was not a prude.
“It was raunchy without being cheap. Bold. I liked it.”
I swallowed hard. “You’d like her.”
“You think?” Her voice was sharp. “But that would only be possible if we were to meet her, wouldn’t it?”
My eyes lingered on her as my mind searched for the right response…the one that wouldn’t make her box my ears.
She lifted a hand, asking me to shut the hell up. “How could you treat a woman like that?”
I was about to speak, but she made a slashing gesture with her hand to silence me. “That was a rhetorical question. I am so angry with you, Gage Walker.”
“No more than I am, Mama.”
Her eyes gentled me. “Your father said you told Naomi about her. About Lia.”
I wiped the top step with my rag and invited Mama to sit. She did, and I joined her.
She nudged my shoulder with hers. “I know how long you’ve been carrying all that happened with Lia. But, baby—grief is a visitor, not a roommate.”
