“Relax,” I snapped. “It’s over.”
“Why?” he challenged, actually looking concerned. “You were definitely happy. I don’t see anything wrong with it as long as you’re both discreet.”
He slipped some file folders onto my desk, and I shook my head, unable to admit to my brother what I could barely admit to myself.
I looked forward to her. More than anything else.
And I couldn’t put her first anymore.
TWENTY-TWO
EASTON
T
he cool breeze blew down St. Ann, and I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying its caress in my hair.
Laurel’s “To the Hills” drifted like a heartbeat through my earbuds, and I soaked in the sun and the wind blowing my off-the-shoulder blouse against my skin.
I’d been strolling all day, playing tourist and enjoying the atmosphere that I rarely took the time to experience even though I’d lived here for more than five years.
It was funny. I’d woken up this morning with a list and a plan. Clean the inside of the stove, work out, and then research field trips for my classes, since we’d been discussing so much war history, and New Orleans had some wonderful sites to visit.
But when I’d gotten dressed, I’d realized I wasn’t in the mood.
I’d crumpled up the list, tossed it in the trash, and grabbed my little bag, which now hung at my hip with the strap across my chest, and walked out of the house.
I took a streetcar to Canal and hopped off, disappearing into the Quarter.
Around the corner from St. Louis Cathedral, with its madness of artists, musicians, and palm readers, I traipsed a block or two to Maskarade, a little shop I’d discovered last Mardi Gras when I was searching for my first mask.
I wasn’t interested in the gaudy souvenirs sold in the French Market or tourist shops. I’d wanted handmade work by real mask makers, and I’d always intended to come back, perhaps to start building a collection for my wall.
When I stepped in, the rough wooden floors creaked under my sandals, and the woman behind the counter smiled at me before returning to her paperwork.
That was one thing I liked about New Orleans.
Merchants didn’t jump on you the second you walked into their establishments.
Masks covered all of the walls but were divided into categories. Leather to the left, then animal-inspired masks and feathered work to the right. Many of the masks were styled simply for male customers, while others were jeweled, glittered, and ornate for even the most audacious buyer.
“It’s almost Halloween,” I told her, looking around and seeing the place empty. “I thought you’d be busier.”
“It goes in spells,” she explained. “Mardi Gras is the really busy time.”
Yeah, I could imagine. I couldn’t believe it was only about four months until the next carnival season began.
Nearly a year since the first time I’d met Tyler.
And – I let my eyes drop for a moment as I walked around the shop – it had been more than a week since the last time I’d talked to him.
I’d seen him – once.
He’d picked up Christian last Monday from school, and even though I wasn’t sure, because I’d refused to look for him, he was most likely there every day this week to get his son.
I’d smiled at the parents, wished the students a good afternoon every day when they left, and returned to my classroom, closing my door and blaring Bob Marley as I worked late and didn’t think of him.
Or tried not to think of him.
But then I’d see the bra in my drawer that no longer had matching panties and remember that they were left in an alley in the Quarter. Or I’d wake up hot, the sheets chafing my naked skin, and let myself fall apart, wishing my hands were his.
He was right, though. What we were doing was careless and selfish.
I turned back to the clerk. “Where are your metal masks again?” I asked.
She pointed behind me. “Through there on the left wall.”
I saw the French doors in the middle of the room and gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”
Walking into the next room, I gazed at the walls, all adorned with masks, much like the first room, and went straight for the small selection of metal masks they carried. Some looked very much like the one I had purchased here last winter, but that was another perk of this place. No two masks were alike.
I picked up an ornate gold one, shining with crystals built into the center part that sat in the forehead. Along the sides, curling designs traveled up both temples, and exotic eyes gave it an erotic look, like a mixture of sex and mystery.
A smile I actually felt crept out for the first time in a week.
I loved the black one I’d worn all those months ago. I didn’t know where I would wear this one, but I was buying it.