“Sounds like we’re in the same boat.”
I don’t tell her it’s a boat I wouldn’t abandon for anything. She leans closer and presses her full lips to mine. I roll her onto her back, trapping her beneath my weight and kissing her deeper, drinking her in like water, like air, like the peace I’ve found. She’s a beautiful angel in my arms.
I never want to stop.
She wiggles away. “Where are we going?”
Again, she makes me smile. I can’t seem to stop when we’re together. “It’s a surprise. New Orleans is amazing after dark. You’re saying you’ll go?”
Blue eyes study my face. “We can’t stay out late.”
“It’s already late.” I kiss her again. “But I’ll get you home before dawn. Hurry up and change. I’ll meet you at the back door in five minutes.”
I kiss her lips one last time before grasping the condom and sliding out. I hate losing her warmth, but I kiss her stomach. She makes a little noise, and I laugh, disposing of the evidence and jerking my jeans over my hips, my shirt over my head.
One last look, and I’m out the door. “See you in five.”
11
“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.”
Lara
The French Quarter glistens in the cool, damp night. The smoky street lamps make rainbow reflections in the puddles, and the sound of music fills the air. As we pass the clubs, I see couples dancing with their arms locked around each other, and I hear loud, boisterous laughter through the tavern doors.
He leads me down several narrow passageways until we’re again at the levee, racing up the hill to see the river spread out massive and brown before us. The humid breeze hits us with short, cool gusts, and I know winter is coming, or at least the few weeks of cold weather we call winter this far south.
It’s a clear night, and the moonlight dances in silvery sparkles on the mixed-up currents as the sound of a saxophone playing low and a guitar strumming in time drift across the water from Algiers.
I allow my coat to fall open, Mark pulls me to him, and we dance. Only it’s not like any dance I’ve ever done before. It’s slow and sensual, and he leans closer to press his lips to mine again and again until I’m drunk with the music and the movements and his tongue touching mine.
Resting my head against his chest, I listen to his heartbeat keeping time with mine. He clasps my hand in his, his other arm tightly encircling my waist, and I try to think of a time when I’ve ever felt this happy. It’s as if for this one night I’ve been given a holiday—no fear, and nothing bad can happen.
“It’s a perfect night,” he says into my hair.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply. The dewy grass-scent mixes with Mark’s warmth and etches a permanent memory in my mind. The song fades away, and he steps back, still holding my hand, leading us down toward the river. I sit on the grass and he steps to the water’s edge.
“It’s so huge,” he says, looking out at the lights of the riverboat in the distance. Then he spins around to face me, stretching his arms wide. “We could get on a boat and take it anywhere we want.”
He takes a step toward me, but his foot slips and he falls, landing with a loud Oof! right next to where I sit.
I burst out laughing, loud and clear, and the sound is so strange, I almost don’t recognize it. He smiles and slides to a sitting position, dusting his palms together.
“I’ve never heard you laugh before.”
I clear my throat and try to stop, but I’m giddy. Instead, I place my hand over my mouth to hide my grin. “It’s always so intense at the theater,” I say.
He slides closer to me, and I lean back, nestling into his arms.
“I like your laugh.” His face is low to mine, our lips a breath apart.
He slides my hair away from my cheek before gently kissing me. My eyes close as a new song drifts across the water to us. Warm lips part mine and a fresh wave of desire moves through my stomach.
I reach up to touch his cheek and everything melts away, from the damp grass at my back to the clock ticking on this holiday. Reality is only a few hours away, but in this moment, I’m here in Mark’s arms. His mouth travels to my cheek and then my jaw, tickling my neck, and I open my eyes to see thousands of stars glittering above us.
“It’s so beautiful,” I breathe.
Two of us, under the stars…
He lifts his head to smile at me, and I touch his face, his bright eyes, then I run my finger down his nose to his lips, which he pushes out in greeting.
I’ve never been so light and free, and I can’t help laughing again. I wonder if we’ll make love here under the stars, but he stands, pulling me to my feet with him.
“There’s another place I want to take you first,” he says.
“First?”
“On our way to my place.”
I pause, and he waits, watching my expression. “Okay,” I say, and he relaxes.
“So about this place,” he continues. “I’d never seen anything like it before I came here. It’s an old hall where musicians gather to play and people stand around and watch. And the music… you won’t believe how great it is.”
“Is it jazz?”
“It’s everything—jazz, Dixieland, blues.”
My hand is captured in his, and he leads me over the levee and down the hill again. Short palmettos sprout along the sides of alleys, and twisted wisteria winds up abandoned fence posts and pretty much anything that will stand still. In the spring they drop lightly scented, purple blooms everywhere, but now they’re simply ragged green vines that look more like weeds than anything pretty.
We reach the bottom and cross the cobbled street to the square near the statue of Andrew Jackson on horseback. The massive square is empty, and we quickly pass the dark shops. Still, I can’t help stopping to look in the front window as we pass Gerard’s. A new display is there, and right in the center is a sparkling brass and cloisonné pen.
My breath catches, and the old sadness slips back.
“What?” Mark steps up next to me and looks in the window. “Do you like that?”
“It was my mother’s.”
The words are out before I can stop them. I’ve never told anyone how I support Molly and me. Not even Evie.
“Your mother’s?” He looks at me. “How do you know?”
I try to laugh again, but I can hear the difference. Instead I shake my head.
“Tell me,” he insists.
I gaze into his blue eyes and try not to care. “Remember that day? When I was here running an errand?”
“Yes.”
“I was really pawning that for money to buy Molly shoes.”
A flash of pain crosses his face and he pulls me to him.
My throat tightens, but I struggle back. “Don’t. It had to be done. I can’t regret it now.”
“Still, it was your mother’s.”
“No. Not tonight.”