Chapter 17
RECORD SHOP
We wake in each other’s arms, somehow having made it from the fire to the stairway to my bed.
The sheets are wrapped around us in a way that is telling of what took place last night.
Ry’s fingers find my face, trailing lightly along the profile of my nose, ending his journey on my bottom lip.
He pushes down and rubs it like he can’t believe it is there.
As quickly as his thumb is there, he then replaces it with his lips, and I welcome it wholeheartedly.
“Let me take you to breakfast,” he says, almost more of a demand than an inquiry.
“You must read minds,” I murmur. Slightly smiling as I stretch my arms above my head.
We dress quickly. He is in the clothes from the night before, looking more than disheveled, while I jump into a pair of bell bottom jeans and a light grey button-down collared shirt.
Before we head out the door, he looks at me in a way that says too much without uttering a single word.
Maybe I look that way too, because we both stare at each other like there is only us in this world. For all I care, we are.
But soon, his eyes lose their sparkle as his gaze turns hopeless. I can’t figure out his emotions and what they mean, but I do feel them. And they feel much like a story I’ve been told before. Much like everything in this house. Much like everything about Ry. And I really want to know why.
It takes twenty-five minutes to get into town. We go back to The Spanish Moss, which is quickly becoming my favorite place to dine out. Their breakfast outdoes anything we have in Detroit. I make sure Walt and Cattie know. Detroit has its own charm, but a bayou breakfast hits different.
“I need to run some quick errands,” Ry says to me as we are standing by the little table set near the window. “There are some shops you may want to browse in the meantime.”
“Oh, OK. I guess I did see a couple on the way in.” I say, not wanting to separate our time together just yet, but also intrigued to see some more of what this town has to offer in terms of shops.
“I’ll meet you on this block in forty-five minutes. Do you have a watch?” Ry asks, pointing to his wrist.
“I do.” I answer, pursing my lips and instinctively touching the wrist that holds my mother’s watch, which has remained a staple item in my daily wardrobe ever since she passed.
Ry grabs my attention then. He softly grasps my upper arm and stares into my eyes like he wants to kiss me, but decides against it. That one hesitation tells me everything and makes me question what I really am to him.
But his choice won’t defeat me. For a minute I let myself dream we could be more than just a casual convenience, but that was my own wishful thinking. Just a delusional girl making things more than they are.
I become angry with myself for not having more experience in these types of situations. The idea that maybe he doesn’t want his friends seeing us kiss crosses my mind now that I notice them peering from behind the kitchen door.
Gone are their kind faces. Their eyes come off a bit prying, to be honest. Perhaps this town is all too eager to know and spread the business of the young lawyer and a newly inherited estate owner after all.
And maybe he has been through this before with someone else, and he had to learn the lesson the hard way?
“What a crappy hand we’ve been dealt.” Ry says under his breath, looking at the owners. This moment of vulnerability—rare and confusing. I don’t know for whom it is intended, and I don’t want to.
I give Ry a weak smile, and wave to the owners. Suddenly not wanting to be here, I make my way out the door. I turn around thinking Ry will be right behind, but when I glance back, he is gone.
An uncomfortable wrenching feeling graces my chest. I shrug it off, knowing his issues are not mine, and wander the streets of the little bayou town. Heartache of the young and fickle can wait—this town is calling.
I lose track of time on these sunny streets, too busy weaving in and out of darling shops.
After going into an antique store and a tiny used bookstore, I finally find myself rooted in a record shop.
I am downright giddy to have found it, and I can’t resist browsing through their vast selection of records without a care in the world.
Everything from Billie Holiday to Fleetwood Mac to Neil Young lives here amongst these shelves.
I feel right at home, and so immersed that I don’t register the person beside me. I feel his presence before I even look up, and when I do, I am greeted by acorn-brown eyes with a moonlit ring around them. And to my surprise, he is staring straight at me.
I jump and step back, startled because I recognize these eyes and this face. The same man from outside that bar in Detroit—the one who vanished like a dream.
“Why, aren’t you a gem to behold…” Breaking out of his spell, I scoff up at him.
“Excuse me,” I say, and I drift to the other side of the record aisle.
His stare remains intense and unfaltering. I keep my head down, but I feel his eyes roaming over me. He doesn’t acknowledge me as if we’ve met before, so perhaps this isn’t the same man. And why would he be in this town anyway? I was fairly intoxicated that night, so I cannot be entirely sure.
He continues watching me, and just when I think I can’t escape his unearthly gaze any longer, a cheery girl pops to my side and speaks.
“Can I help you with something? Or at least get this annoying pest of a man out of your space?” She exclaims, flashing her white teeth at me. Joking, I think.
I look between her and the man. She looks unfazed and a bit mischievous. And him…well, I would think her comment bore him, if it weren’t for the flash of flustered annoyance that crosses his face.
“Oh boy,” the girl looks from me to the man and back to me again. “I hope Que isn’t bothering you. He’s harmless really. I’m Cher. I work here. And Que is…”
“Leaving.” He says as if he couldn’t be bothered.
And he walks past me, brushing shoulders.
I turn to look back just as he does, and we lock eyes.
It’s only for a second, unnatural white blonde hair contrasting against his dark eyebrows, and then he turns his head back to the front door before he leaves the store entirely.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He is always like that,” says Cher, but I can’t put my finger on what that is.
“So, are you from out of town? I can’t say I’ve seen you around here before. Most people who come into the shop are locals, always nice to see a new face.” Her question getting lost in her ramblings.
“Um, actually, I recently inherited a house about twenty-five minutes from here. It was my uncle’s…” Her eyes open wide, intrigued to know more, glossing them over.
“Don’t tell me you are talking about The Rooted Realm Estate?” She says with equal shock and curiosity.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” I respond, trying to wrap my head around why everyone knows about my apparently infamous estate.
“Oh, my goodness! My mother used to tell me about that place. Apparently, your uncle put together some pretty magnificent balls. People from all over Louisiana would come to them. You must have me over. Oh, I would just love to see that place!” She rattles on about the extravagant old parties before catching herself.
“Oh no, I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize.
I am being way too forward, and you lost your uncle just recently.
I am so sorry.” I try to speak, but it’s no use as she continues on, “Sometimes, I can be a bit dense. I didn’t mean to carry on so.
This damn overactive brain of mine.” She takes a deep breath then, and I wonder if I’ll ever get a word in.
“I am so sorry for your loss, and for overstepping my boundaries.”
“It’s OK, really,” I say at last. And I mean it. There is something about Cher I find reassuring. She’s a little like Lollie, but with a hint of something wilder.
“Actually, I didn’t know him at all. And to be honest, it would be nice to have someone to visit me. If you are indeed interested, that is…” I ask. She all but jumps with excitement and tells me she can’t wait.
We schedule a time for later tonight before I realize what a crazy idea this is to invite someone over whom I’ve only met mere seconds ago. I add it to my list of risks, and leave the record shop with a new friend, a dinner to plan, and even a couple new records.
Ry pulls up to the corner, and I climb in.
“There you are,” he says. “How was roaming around?”
“Great, actually.” I say with a big smile brimming on my face, “I may need to stop at the grocery store as well, if that’s alright?” I ask, thinking about what to make tonight, knowing my kitchen skills are less than par.
“I can do that. Big plans then? I should tell you I have a couple meetings later, so I won’t make it over your way.” He says, as if expecting he would be the only reason for my plans.
“That’s alright. I have a friend coming over. Just met her. Cher.” At the sound of her name, Ry’s shoulders straighten, and the relaxed expression he was wearing morphs into something serious and grave.
“Oh, OK, I wasn’t aware Cher was back in town.” He is tight-lipped suddenly, but then continues, “Some people in this town are not always how they come across at first. Be careful Jade. I wouldn’t want you to be fooled, especially by her.” He says darkly.
I’m suddenly feeling oddly defensive of Cher, and annoyed that this man thinks he has any say in whom I converse with, especially if he can’t even acknowledge us in front of his friends.
“Well, let’s leave that up to me to decide, thank you. Do you two have a history or something?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Only the kind that I’d rather not have anymore.” He says cryptically. What is he hiding? My walls go up. Warning bells I should have heard weeks ago are ringing clear.
“That’s a pretty immature response. Do you care to expand on that?” I ask now very irked by his lack of clarity. His shoulders relax as if giving in to whatever internal battle is raging within him.
“I know this sounds irrational, but she has too many opinions about…things in my life. People who are meant to be mine—I mean in my life.” He snarls in disgust, then adds, “Plus, she keeps the worst company. That’s really all I want to say on the matter.
” He closes off then, red flags swirling all around me. Could he be referring to Que?
“Well, thank you for opening up,” I respond, realizing he really gave me nothing to go on.
But I don’t push after that, because I really don’t care to hear him talk.
Men and their egos. I look out the window for the rest of the trip.
We drive to the grocery store and then home.
Not one word is spoken until we pull up to my house.
“I’ll call you,” I say, and leave him lacking. If we’re playing games, I’ll hold my pride too.