“Any room is fine.”
She shrugged. “They’re all the same, unless you want to be by the icemaker or something.”
“Any room is fine,” he repeated.
He took his key, then crossed the street to the liquor store. The man in camo was gone. Beau bought the most expensive Scotch they had, a brand he’d never heard of and didn’t plan on remembering.
He returned to his room at the Moose Lodge, where there was no minibar, no luxury showerhead, not even a robe. He sat on the edge of the bed with a drink in his hand and stared at a crack in the wall that ran out from behind the midsized TV. There’d been many cracks throughout his life, but very few the last ten years. Money had a way of smoothing them over.
When would she stop? How far would he go? There was a finish line. An edge. There had to be. He couldn’t follow her to the ends of the earth and keep his sanity. Selfishly, he hoped at some point she’d run herself into a corner. When she did, he’d be there—right behind her, right in front of her.
The pillows were lumpy, the bathroom lacking in toiletries, the vending machine broken. And except for the fact that almost having her and losing her again felt as if he’d dropped his heart a short distance and fractured it—he was fine at that motel that was not The Ritz-Carlton.
11
Lola was engrossed in her fifth conversation of the last hour, except that she hadn’t said a word. She sat on the terrace of Café Du Monde surrounded by people who’d unknowingly let her into their lives for a few minutes here and there. The family of four to her right had stopped in New Orleans for beignets on their drive home from Disneyworld. The little girl wore a Minnie Mouse hat with an oversized red bow that matched her sunburnt nose. The boy’s T-shirt, with Florida written in Disney lettering across the chest, was also colorfully decorated with food stains.
Lola sipped her second café au lait. She’d also heard a French couple’s flowering and heated conversation behind her. She couldn’t understand or even see them, but she’d imagined their quarrel would catapult them into each other’s arms before the night’s en
d.
Her table was like the center of the world that hour, with tourists from all different places to her left and right, in front of and behind her—sitting, drinking, eating, conversing and then leaving to give their table to the next group.
Being as caught up as she was in what was happening around her, she’d almost forgotten she herself was one of them until someone spoke to her.
“I was beginning to think being alone around here was a crime.”
Lola glanced over at the nice-looking man at the next table. “It might be,” she said. “But I wouldn’t know since it makes quick getaways easy.”
His answering chuckle was deep and throaty. A piece of his black hair flapped as a breeze passed over them. He held open a hand. “This is risky sixty seconds in, but I’ll take the chance. Join me for a pastry?”
His brown eyes matched her milky coffee. The lines around them crinkled with an inviting smile. The last two days had been the regular driving, eating, sleeping and sightseeing. She’d spent more time alone on this trip than she ever had in L.A., but she was only lonely when she thought of Beau. She smiled back at the man. “Thank you, but I’m happy here.”
“All right.” He dropped his elbow onto the table. “Are you a local too?”
“No.” Lola turned in her chair slightly to see him better. “I thought only tourists came here.”
“Myth. I’ve been eating beignets for years, and unfortunately for my figure,” he patted his stomach, “I never grow tired of them.”
Lola grinned, understanding all too well. Between driving five to ten hours a day and rarely cooking for herself, her pants were getting tight. “It’s my only night in New Orleans. As a local—anything I shouldn’t miss?”
“Done the French Quarter, I assume?”
Lola nodded. “And a walking tour.”
He shrugged. “The best part of this city is…the way it is. I don’t know how to describe it. Walk along the Mississippi River or through the streets. To experience New Orleans, just pay attention to what’s around you.”
“That sounds too easy,” Lola joked.
“Existing in the moment? It’s harder than you think.”
Lola glanced at her hands. The parents returning from Disneyworld had been talking about the workweek ahead of them. A group of girls who’d been sitting near Lola earlier had been reminiscing about New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina. Like most people, Lola was often looking forward or backward while life happened around her.
“What would you say to some exploring?” The man waved at her, bringing her back from her thoughts. “Let me take you around the city, buy you a drink at my favorite spot. New Orleans has a lot of secrets, ones only the locals know. I’ll show you how to forget tomorrow and enjoy the present.”
Then again, existing in the moment could be overrated. Lola signaled for a waitress, shaking her head at the self-important pick-up line. “No, thanks.”
“Are you taken?”
“No.”
“Then why not?”