Page 26 of The Lady on Esplanade
“Yeah.Sometimes being pigheaded can be an asset.”
He gave me a sidelong glance but didn’t smile.“You think I should go see that fortune teller.”
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, if only so I wouldn’t smack him on the head.“Seriously?You were abandoned by your parents.I get that—believe me.Seen it, done it, been there.Even bought the T-shirt.But it’s not like they left you on the side of the road, you know?They made sure that you had family who loved you and would keep you safe while they were gone.Your parents had another child who was out there somewhere, taken by strangers to who knows where.They were desperate to find her.Together.Because they loved each other and didn’t want either one of them to face alone whatever it was they were going to find.They did what they did because they loved your sister and because they loved you.They had no idea that Katrina would happen.”
I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down.This wasn’t about me.At least it shouldn’t be.“When my mother, Bonnie, overdosed, all she left me was my father’s name on a crumpled piece of paper.I was on my own.I’m not trying to give you a sob story; you know it all already.I just want you to realize that your parents were light-years ahead of mine in terms of parenting skills.From where I sit, your parents did nothing wrong.”
Beau stared out the window as if I hadn’t said anything.But his fingers played with the rubber band on his wrist, so I knew he’d heard every word.I thought about touching his arm, but I stopped myself before I made it all more complicated than it needed to be.Gently, I said, “How many ways do you have to be told something before it sinks in?I feel like I should apologize to all the rocks out there for comparing them to you.I just don’t understand what else you need to hear to be convinced that there are answers to the questions you’ve had since you were a little boy.And there are people such as Madame Zoe who are offering their help.I honestly don’t know what else I can say to you.I swear, if I looked up the word ‘mulish’ in the dictionary, your picture would be there in the definition.And ‘intractable.’‘Immovable.’‘Obdurate.’‘Asinine’…”
“Stop.Okay?Just stop.You have no idea….”
I smacked my own forehead now.Not interested in hearing his explanations for acting like a stubborn toddler yet again, I flicked on the radio just to get him to stop talking.Adele’s rich voice, singing “Rumour Has It,” filled the truck, the volume on the radio getting louder and louder on its own until Beau shut it off.
Beau drew a deep breath.“Fine,” he said.“You win.”
“No, Beau.You win.”
He turned the key, shutting off the engine before sitting back and not speaking to or looking at me for a full minute.Finally he turned to me.“So, when do you want to go see Madame Zoe?”
“I think you meant to askWhen are you available?since I’m doing this for you and not the other way around.Just to be clear as to whose favor it is, like that whole thing about you not saving my guitar in the house fire back in Charleston.”
“Because I thought saving your life was more important.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you to save me—remember?I could have done it on my own, but I would have grabbed my guitar first.But whatever.We’re even now.So, when are you available to go see Madame Zoe?I can do it Saturday morning if that works for you.I assumeshe’s in Jackson Square every day, but that’s just a guess.I figure we’ll find out when we get there.”
He stared at me for a while before answering.“Fine.Saturday morning.I’ll pick you up at nine.We can grab coffee and a beignet while we wait around if she’s not there.”
“Great,” I said, afraid to say more.That had been a lot easier than I’d anticipated.I’d imagined having to use sleeping pills, rope, and a wheelbarrow to get him to agree to see the fortune teller.
“But you owe me,” he said, then got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him and cutting off my words of protest.
CHAPTER 9
By the time I caught up to Beau, he was halfway up the walkway in front of a pretty white-brick single-story home that appeared to date back to the 1930s.On either side of it, enormous McMansions that had been built too close to the street and were too big for their lots towered over the little house like vultures over roadkill.As a card-carrying old-house hugger, I cringed as I imagined the older houses that had occupied those lots and had formed a cohesive architectural vibe—something the two monstrosities had destroyed, and then essentially rubbed salt into the wound with their complete disregard for the neighborhood aesthetic.
I continued up the walkway toward a round columned portico covering the curved redbrick steps that led up to the front door of the white house.Original diamond-paned windows graced the fanlight and sidelights surrounding the door, and a black iron gas lantern hung down above it.The portico was devoid of cobwebs, or debris of any kind, giving me a hint to the fastidiousness of the home’s occupants—or at least one of them.A window with black shutters sat on each sideof the door, and a carport to the left housed a late-model maroon Cadillac sedan.
The yard was freshly mowed, the hedges neatly trimmed, but in the back I could spy a garden that appeared to adhere more to the natural school of thought.My guess would be Mrs.Meggison—Honey—who wore purple and black nail polish, along with a long gray braid, and not her sister, who favored Ferragamo flats and kept her platinum blond hair in a trim bob.There was no question as to which sister was responsible for which part of the yard.
Beau and I crunched up a path of smooth white stones, the front door opening before we’d reached the steps.Honey stood there to greet us, her lips highlighted in fuchsia lipstick, a purple silk turban wrapped around her hair.A bird we’d seen before—a parrotlet—sat on her raised forearm.
“Joan is getting the tea tray ready, so Zeus and I thought we’d be the ones to welcome you to our home.”
“Mrs.Meggison—” I began before a flash of bright blue feathers zipped past me, forcing me to duck as the small bird winged his way to Beau.
“Zeus, come back here!”The woman began fluttering her hands as she descended the stairs toward Beau.He was making an attempt to cover his head with his arms as the parrotlet circled him, searching for a place to land.
“He won’t hurt you.Just put your arms at your sides and he’ll settle down on one of your shoulders.”Joan Wenzel stood in the doorway now, her platinum hair like a football helmet gleaming in the sun.
Beau did as Joan had suggested, but he kept his eyes tightly shut as if afraid the bird might not have been paying attention to the “He won’t hurt you” part.
“I don’t know what’s got into him,” Honey said as we all watched the bird settle on Beau’s broad shoulder and begin letting out erratically spaced noises that could have been words.
“What’s he saying?”I asked.
“I wish I knew,” Joan Wenzel said as she calmly came down the steps and approached Beau.“He hasn’t spoken in the last eight years—ever since he came to live with us.Except for the one time when Zeus first met you, he hasn’t uttered a single syllable.”
She held out her hand with the index finger extended like a small branch.“Come on, Zeus.I’ll put your perch near Mr.Ryan inside, I promise.”
