The Hideaway

I thought of Mitch and others before him. Mitch had lasted longer than most, but our mutual understanding got us both off the hook when our lives were too busy to connect.

“Am I talking to Allyn the therapist or Allyn my friend?”

“They’re one and the same. I just know you better than you know yourself, so I’m obligated to warn you of what’s to happen.”

We sat quietly until the bell on the door announced a customer and voices filled the room.

Allyn took me out onto the floor to show me some new mercury glass vases he’d brought in and a line of hand-painted ceramic dishes. They’d already sold out once and he’d had to place a second order. Allyn moved confidently through the shop, picking up a stray feather, brushing off a cushion with his hand.

“Allyn, this is . . . Thank you for taking care of everything. I appreciate it. And you.”

“Don’t mention it. Anyway, I didn’t expect you to come back, and I didn’t want to be the reason it went under without the captain at the helm. Bits and Pieces is your baby, but you know how I feel about this place. It feels partly mine too.”

“You didn’t think I’d come back?”

He shook his head. “In all our years together, I always thought if you ever left New Orleans, it would be because you finally answered the call from that old house. Once you got settled there, I heard something different in your voice. You didn’t sound like the girl who plans her day out to the last second and chafes when something interrupts the schedule. You sounded happy, and not in an ‘I just scored a table for Mrs. Broussard’ kind of way.”

“I don’t chafe.” My voice betrayed both my irritation and guilt. “And I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I didn’t stay, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

I sighed and stretched my arms over my head. “You obviously have things under control here. I’m going back to the loft to unpack. I’ll see you in the morning?” I turned and headed for the door.

“Oh, no you don’t. For better or worse, you’re back in New Orleans, and we’re going to celebrate. You’re not sitting home and pouting on your first night back. Let me make a few phone calls. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

I didn’t bother arguing. I knew I wouldn’t win.

At eight on the dot, Allyn picked me up on his motorcycle. He handed me a helmet and I climbed on, hitching my skirt up to my knees. I felt awkward back in my usual clothes. I thought I’d relish straightening my curls into submission and slipping my feet back into summery wedges, but my toes were cramped, and my work with the flat iron was no match for the thick humidity in the air. I missed the cutoffs, T-shirts, and air-dried hair that had become my staples in Sweet Bay.

We sped through the Quarter’s tight streets and back alleys until we reached the restaurant. Allyn’s friends waited outside for us, a colorful menagerie of laughter and hugs. On the way in the door, Allyn pulled me to the side. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Sure. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t mean tonight. I’m talking about this—New Orleans. Leaving Sweet Bay. Coming back.”

“I—yes. I went to Sweet Bay for Mags. She’s gone, the house is gone. This is where I belong.”

As I said the words, I thought of all I was giving up, but something told me I’d made my decision. I didn’t let myself think of the implications.

“Whatever you say.” Allyn took my hand and led me inside.

Dinner was as raucous as I’d expected it to be. After several rounds of after-dinner shots, most of which I politely declined, someone touched me on the shoulder. “You’re back.”

Mitch.

Under the table, Allyn nudged my knee.

“I didn’t hear from you after you called about the house,” he said. “Did everything go okay?”

“It was fine. I actually just got back today. I stayed a little longer than I expected.”

He nodded, unbothered by the fact that I’d been gone for more than four months instead of a week as I’d originally planned.

The lively conversation at the table carried on without me, and no one looked our way—except for Allyn, who kept one eye on us as he bantered with the group about a recent photo of Lady Gaga dressed as a drag queen.

Mitch sat in the chair next to me, emptied when the previous occupant excused himself to go to the ladies’ room.

“You look good,” he said. “Rested.”

Of all the things I looked, I knew rested was not one of them. Maybe it was what he thought I wanted to hear. He was the one who looked good. Sleek charcoal suit, white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, confident smile. It wasn’t Crawford’s torn khakis and wrinkled cotton, but it was nice.

Just then, a wispy blonde with legs too long to be real sauntered over from the bar and put her hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Your drink is ready, baby.” She gave me a once-over, then glided away to a small table in a dark corner. Mitch and I both watched her as she settled herself in her chair and gazed back at us with a look of amusement on her smooth face.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said.

“It probably is. And it’s okay.”

“I’d love to call you. Or better yet, what if I stop by later tonight?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

“Tomorrow then. I’m free after three. I can pick you up and take you somewhere quiet. I know you don’t like places like this.”

I thought about it. I could slip back into my life like nothing had changed. Go back to the shop, back to fancy dates with Mitch every two weeks, back to my routine. It was tempting, if only because I knew I could bury myself in it. But everything had changed, and I’d be cheating everyone—Crawford, William, Mags—to pretend otherwise.

I looked up at Mitch. His body was turned toward me, but his eyes were on the blonde. I cleared my throat and he turned back to me.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“Go on.” I nodded toward his date. “Enjoy yourself.”

He kissed me on the cheek and followed his date’s path to the corner table, leaving a musky scent in his wake.

Allyn pushed my drink closer to me, but I nudged it away.

“Sad to see him go?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“So small-town Alabama woodworkers are more your thing now, huh?”

I smiled. That covered both Crawford and William—sort of. “Something like that.”

Allyn dropped me off at my loft past midnight. I’d let him and his friends talk me into a dash to the revolving Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone after dinner. Thankfully, Allyn whisked me away after one round, much to the dismay of the rest of the group.

I dismounted at the curb in front of my loft and handed Allyn the helmet.

He was about to pull away when I stopped him.

“Was there a part of you that hoped I wouldn’t come back? You would’ve been the ‘captain at the helm’ after all.”

“No, I—”

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad,” I said. “In fact, I totally get it. You can run Bits and Pieces with your eyes closed just like I can. It’s your baby too.”

“I’d never wish for you not to come back. Understand that first. But if we’re being honest, sure—I thought it’d be fun to have the run of the place. That is, if you even left it in my hands. You could just as easily have sold the shop and gotten a nice chunk of money out of it. I wouldn’t have blamed you a bit.”