Page 24 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

But Chelsea was good on her word about keeping things discreet. Landry’s had a private room, for parties. Maureen couldn’t imagine what the riff-raff who drank there had to celebrate, but Chelsea, less politely, reminded her that their clientele were police, firemen, foremen… men who lived as hard as they worked and loved as hard as they lived. The back room at Landry’s was booked every Friday and Saturday through winter.

The arranged meeting was set for a Tuesday afternoon, so the back room was all Maureen’s, Chelsea said. Not even Mason knew the score.

Maureen followed Chelsea around, spewing out question after question as Chelsea cleaned the bar and waited for the clock to tick down. Was he handsome? What did he smell like? Was he young or old? Did he have any terrible habits? Was he terribly boring?

Chelsea sighed through each of them, and said, only, would I set you up with a loser, Maureen Deschanel? How can I live vicariously through you if your lover is an old, crusty goblin?

They picked a table in the corner of the room, near the glass case containing all of Mason’s myriad sports trophies. There were several dozen, at least. Football, wrestling, track. Maureen wondered when he’d had time to woo Chelsea.

“We’re early,” Maureen said.

“He’s late.”

Maureen didn’t drink, but needed one. This was starting all wrong. Hiding in the back of a proletarian bar in the Channel, waiting for a man who couldn’t even be bothered to be on time!

“What did you tell him about me?” Maureen’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if he might walk in any time and hear every word.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him how damn neurotic you are.”

“I am not.”

Chelsea glanced meaningfully at Maureen’s fingers, tapping the table in rising staccato.

“I mean, but does he know… why we’re meeting?”

“Does he know you’re looking for a discreet fuck buddy?”

“Lower your voice!”

Chelsea shook her head. She reached into her pants pocket for a pack of cigarettes and shook one out. “Yeah, Maureen, he knows. I made sure he was interested in this before I told him anything at all about you.”

“So you did tell him about me.”

“Only your situation,” Chelsea said. “And even then, only what he needed to know.”

“Which is?”

“That your marriage isn’t a traditional one and you’re looking for a discreet lover. Oh, and that he didn’t need to worry about your husband coming around wielding a bat, because you had his approval.”

Maureen buried her head in her hands. “What he must think of me. I’m a mother, Chels. Did you know Olivia now says mama? I wonder if she’ll learn adulterer next.”

Chelsea perked at the sound of the bells announcing a visitor in the bar beyond. “That’ll be him, probably. And look, there’s a reason I suggested Soren. You’re not the only one whose life isn’t what you pictured. If anyone knows about non-traditional, it’s a LaViolette who’s too far removed from the heir’s line to be valuable, but too close to ever be free. I guess your equivalent of a Guidry.”

Chelsea stubbed out her cigarette and went to retrieve their guest.

Now that Augustus was on his formal leave from work, it was harder and harder to convince him to let Elizabeth take Ana for a bit. What finally swayed him was her insistence that she wasn’t doing it only to help; she wanted to hold her niece and bond with her. She rather liked the little one, despite usually finding babies bothersome.

Augustus didn’t fight too hard about Elizabeth and Connor moving in formally, either. He’d helped Evangeline, once, and was happy to do the same for his baby sister. He didn’t know she wasn’t planning to go to college, and that was news she intended to keep to herself for now.

Connor, on the other hand, couldn’t contain his excitement for his own fall enrollment at Tulane, where nearly all Sullivans started, and usually finished, their college journeys. She was excited for him, dulled only by the knowledge that just because she didn’t intend to go didn’t mean she didn’t want to. One more curse of her gift, keeping her from a life experience everyone else was preparing for while Elizabeth tried to decide just what profession she could take on that would offer the most mental and emotional peace. It didn’t make this decision easier, knowing once she came into her trust she’d never need to work a day in her life. Her trust, like her visions, was a gift she’d never asked for.

The wet nurse stopped by every evening to drop off fresh milk. Lacy was lithe and blond, and reminded Elizabeth a bit of Ekatherina, but if Augustus noted this, he made no point of it. When Elizabeth called out, with some ulterior motive, that Lacy seemed to have a small crush on the master of Magnolia Grace, Augustus damn near took her head off.

“Jesus, Lizzy, you sound like Mama, you know that? You think another woman is anywhere near registering on my list of priorities right now?”

“Um, well—”

“Right now or ever,” he finished. “As for Lacy… stop projecting your own feelings onto her, will you? She’s been a godsend. I don’t want to lose her services.”

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