The Hideaway

“I couldn’t sell the shop. There’s too much of me in it. And you.”

“Same thing with The Hideaway,” he said. “You could have sold that, but you didn’t because there was too much of you and your family in it. You’re funny that way—you hang on to things that mean something to you, but you have a hard time hanging on to the people who do the same. Other than me, of course. I know you could never let me go.”

I pinched his shoulder. “You’re right. We’re stuck at the hip, lucky for both of us.”

“But unlucky for Crawford.” He revved his engine, but before he pulled away from the curb, he pulled his helmet back up. “You may think you have nothing left in Sweet Bay, but you’re wrong. You do have something, regardless of the house. You have love. And you have family now—William, Dot and Glory and their old men. You can’t tell me that’s nothing.”

He snapped his helmet back into place and sped off.

44

SARA

SEPTEMBER

The next day began like so many others before it. I had my usual breakfast of yogurt and fruit, showered and dressed, and was out the door at nine fifteen. The last time I’d left my building on a regular workday, it was a crisp April morning. Now it was early September, cloudy and so muggy you could almost wring the air out like a sponge. I hopped into my car and zipped through the Quarter and down Canal toward Magazine. Along the way, other shop owners opened their doors, swept the detritus of the previous night from their sidewalks, and watered thirsty window boxes.

I jiggled my key into the lock at Bits and Pieces, holding on to my purse and to-go cup of coffee. Allyn roared into the driveway behind me.

“Morning, Boss.” He tucked his helmet into its place under the seat.

Inside, I flipped the lights on, powered up the computer, and switched on the Keurig in the back. When I checked the dish for pralines, I found squares of dark chocolate. The CD player held Michael Bublé rather than the usual Madeleine Peyroux or Diana Krall.

“Just small changes,” Allyn said, noticing my tension. “You can handle it.”

And I did. That day drifted into the next, and before I knew it, I’d been back a week. My skin prickled anytime I thought of Crawford, but I tried to get through each day without thinking too much. I still felt restricted in my heels and smooth hair, but I fit my surroundings, and the shop was thriving. Nothing—and yet everything—had changed.

The Saturday shoppers came early, reminding me why I loved retail in a tourist town. Whether they were from Louisiana or Minnesota, they all wanted to buy something embellished with New Orleans’s famous fleur-de-lis. Thankfully, Allyn had amped up our supply of pillows and knickknacks featuring the symbol.

I was blessedly busy all morning, my mind occupied with customer questions and client requests. I visited the site of Mrs. Broussard’s new house to ensure the builders remembered to include the east-facing bay window in her walk-in closet/dressing area—at her special request—and I squeezed in a quick trip to an antique mall in Metairie. Allyn and I passed each other in the back hallway once, both hurrying to meet a demand somewhere.

“Glad you came back to this?” he asked with a smile.

“I haven’t sat down since I ate my breakfast this morning and my feet are killing me, if that tells you anything.”

“Do you still love it?”

I nodded. “I think I do. I just may have to take these heels off and go barefoot.”

“That’s the Sweet Bay coming out in you.” He continued down the hall to a waiting customer.

Early afternoon business slowed enough for me to take a short break on the front porch. I sat in the swing as folks passed by on the sidewalk. I was fine until I saw the little girl. She was probably four or five, with dark curls and still-plump arms. Her daddy grabbed her and spun her around, her delighted squeals making everyone around them smile. When he brought her back to the ground, she ran straight into her mother’s outstretched arms.

All the sadness and longing I’d packed into the most remote pocket of my mind when I left Sweet Bay came flooding back. I thought of Mags. Of William’s old, gnarled hands and Crawford’s sturdy, capable ones. Of The Hideaway and all that had taken place there. The force of my longing almost doubled me over.

Allyn chose that moment to stick his head out the front doorway. “You okay?”

I managed a nod. He kept his eyes on me a moment longer before closing the door.

Back on the sidewalk, the little family was gone. I stood and peered over the edge of the porch rail for a better view, but I didn’t see any sign of them. I ran shaky hands over my hair and straightened my dress, then opened the door and walked back in.

After a quick snack, consumed in stolen moments in the back office, my cell rang. I was busy with a customer, so Allyn answered.

A moment later, he mouthed something to me from across the room. I shook my head in confusion. He crossed the room and whispered, “It’s Vernon Bains. The lawyer?”

I took the phone and left the customer in Allyn’s care.

“Mr. Bains, this feels like déjà vu with you calling me here at work,” I said as I stepped into our tiny courtyard and pulled the back door closed behind me. “Last time you had bad news.”

“Ah, Miss Jenkins, a common misconception. A lawyer on the phone doesn’t always mean bad news. In this case, I have very good news for you. At least, I think it’s good.”

“I’m listening.”

“It appears Mr. Grosvenor has withdrawn his plan to take over The Hideaway’s property.”

“Excuse me?”

“He called me early this morning and said he was going in a different direction. When I pressed, he said he bought another piece of property near Mobile Bay. He’s scrapping the boardwalk idea and building his condos there instead. For better or worse, it appears Sweet Bay is destined to remain the secluded town it’s always been.”

“I—but I don’t . . .”

“I know,” Mr. Bains continued. “I was speechless too.”

I forced my brain into gear. “So if Sammy isn’t taking it, does it just . . . ?”

“Everything goes back to normal. I can’t say the mayor won’t one day try to run with the plan again, but without Sammy badgering him about it, and seeing as how most of the town of Sweet Bay was against it, hopefully he’ll let the idea die.”

Allyn stuck his head out the door. “Everything okay?” He walked into the courtyard and sat next to me. What is it? he mouthed. I shook my head.

“I don’t know what to make of Sammy’s change of heart,” Mr. Bains said. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.”

“Tell me,” Allyn said as soon as I put down the phone.

“Sammy isn’t taking the house.”

“What happened?”

“I have no idea.”

Allyn sat back in the wrought-iron rocker and crossed his arms. “You said you needed something to make Sammy go away. I guess that something happened.”

A grin pushed at my cheeks. I couldn’t wipe it away.

“You’re excited,” Allyn said.

“I don’t know what I am.” I stood and took a deep breath. “But I think I have to go.”

“Of course you do. Get out of here.”

“Wait.” I sat back down. “I can’t do this. Mrs. Girard is coming at four and I have a shipment—”