George let out a nervous laugh. “You know, I actually like the smell of paper mill. I smell the pine . . . not the poot.” His smile turned into an awkward wince, as if he were silently yelling at himself for saying that.
She grinned. “Well, to each his own, I guess. So you just moved here, huh? My cousin Claire’s in-laws live on Darby, too. Sometimes we go over when they’re out of town and have bonfires and parties. They have a really awesome pool . . . do you have one, George?”
Her mom shot her another look.
Madison shrugged her shoulders and shot her a “What?” look. This was a very important question.
“I don’t.” George shook his head. “Do you think I should get one?”
“I do,” she said, matter-of-factly. Madison locked eyes with him and held his gaze, trying to see if she could make him blush.
“Well, we’ll all have to go fishin’ one day,” her dad said, quickly changing the subject.
“I sure would like that.” George turned his wrist to check the time. “Geez, it’s already five. I better get going. Got a Mardi Gras krewe meeting tonight in New Orleans.”
“You’re driving all the way there just for a meeting?” Madison couldn’t grasp that concept. In the nineteen years she’d been alive, she had never once made the three-hour drive to the city. Her idea of getting out of town was driving forty miles to Cash’s grandfather’s hunting lodge in New Iberia to smoke pot. In fact, she was looking forward to their date there tomorrow.
George chuckled as he stood to leave. “Well, yeah. It ain’t that bad. I make that drive about every week.”
“Why?” she asked bluntly.
“That’s where all the action is! Sometimes I have meetings, other times I just want some beignets from Café Du Monde.”
Jealousy overcame her. George grew up only miles away, and yet his life was so different from hers. He got to travel while she was left to dream about far-flung places while reading the National Geographic subscription she’d been forced to buy during a school fund-raiser. He had black-tie parties, she had blacked-out friends. He had everything handed to him, and dammit, she wanted that, too.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“I can walk you out,” she said, standing up. An idea had just occurred to her.
“Sure thing.” After hugs and handshakes were exchanged with Madison’s parents, George joined her on a walk through the house, grabbing his briefcase and slipping on his brown leather loafers, which were sitting by the front door. How odd that he took them off . . .
Outside, his silver Porsche was parked across the street, practically gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. How had she missed it on her way in? She could almost smell the new-car scent just by looking at the clean, crisp leather interior. She’d never seen anything so nice.
George caught her staring. “Wanna sit in it?” he asked, unlocking the door with a remote control.
“Obviously,” she said, smiling. He opened the door, and she crawled into the driver’s seat. She rested her right hand on the stick shift, her left hand on the steering wheel, and imagined herself speeding out of town. “Maybe one day you’d let me take it for a spin? I’ve always wanted a car like this.” It was a little white lie; she didn’t necessarily want a Porsche, just a car that worked. And she didn’t necessarily care about riding around in it; she just wanted to see George again—not because she liked him, but because she liked the idea of him. She liked the idea of his easy life, and the idea that maybe he’d share some of it with her.
“I’d love that,” he said, resting his arm on the open door. She flashed a smile.
“Let me see your phone. I’ll put my number in it for you.” He handed it to her, and she added herself as a contact. “See you soon I hope,” she said, getting out of the car and tossing her brown wavy hair back in what she hoped was a sexy swoop.
“You have a good day now, Madison.” George got into the car, and she watched as he drove away.
Back inside, her mom and dad were washing the coffee cups. “Meant to ask you, did Gary have any work for you?” her father asked.
“No, unfortunately not,” Madison said, leaning against the countertop. Her mind returned to George for a moment. She grinned. “But I got a backup plan.”
7
laura
ROB AND JANET’S house still reeked of mildew from Hurricane Sebastian, a Category 5 that had passed through with a vengeance a year before. The new tile floors shone with polish, but otherwise, the place hadn’t changed much since Laura first started dating Brian in eighth grade. The pictures and trophies had only grown more cluttered over the years.
In the hallway leading to Brian’s side of the house, an eight-by-ten prom photo hung beside their wedding picture. Laura was the same age in both, and thanks to that updo tutorial in Seventeen magazine, she had the same hairstyle. If only someone had told her to get rid of those curly tendrils. Though she was only a year older now, she felt much more sophisticated—probably a result of living in the big city.
The rest of the pictures were a shrine to Brian: Brian as a baby in a tiny version of his uncle Bradley’s jersey, Brian as a peewee football player, Brian as a middle school football player, Brian as a high school football player. Framed news clippings: “Landry Named MVP at Toulouse,” “Landry Leads Toulouse to State Victory,” “Toulouse Football Players Share Their Favorite Recipes.” That last one always made Laura laugh. The Toulouse Town Talk, a newspaper created and edited by a bunch of bored local housewives, asked some of the players to participate, and Brian had shared Janet’s recipe for crawfish soup. It had more cream cheese than tails in it, but he loved that stuff. Laura had attempted to make it last winter for him, but after using milk instead of cream (“They’re basically the same thing, right?”), he had politely suggested that maybe it should just be his mom’s thing.
“Now, do you hang these or put them in a drawer?” Janet was currently standing at the foot of Brian’s bed, holding up a pair of his khakis. He lay sprawled on the blue plaid comforter.
“Hang,” he responded, and immediately returned to text messaging.
“Brian, you are one lazy boy if you’re gonna make your mama unpack for you,” Laura declared as she entered the room.
“Oh hush. I wanna do this for my baby.” Janet waved her away. “Besides, he can hardly do anything with that brace.”
Laura blushed. If she only knew what he was capable of doing with that brace two nights ago. . . .
“You really don’t have to do that,” Laura said, walking over to the suitcase and grabbing a polo shirt to put away.
“Stop it right this second, Laura!” Janet said with a steely look in her eyes. “This is my home, and I’m gonna take care of my boy.”