May 2006
Teri Thompson hated leaving her boys when she traveled, especially when she traveled for fun, like this weekend.
But her girlfriends told her Jazz Fest would be worth it.
Jimmy Buffett, Paul Simon, Lionel Richie.
Hard to say no to that. Besides, Dan promised he had it under control.
She’d left him a three-page, single-spaced letter, just in case, about the boys’ homework schedules, sports practices, and eating habits, then realized an hour outside of Biloxi, she’d forgotten to put the pediatrician’s number on it.
Her friends told her to relax, but Teri rarely relaxed.
Except for now, oddly enough, as she strolled Bourbon Street with a large hourglass-shaped plastic cup in her hand full of something that tasted like grain alcohol and Kool-Aid. The Big Easy is right. This felt easy.
Teri gawked at the flesh on display in the doorways as she strolled. She checked her watch. Two in the morning. She hadn’t been out past midnight since college.
She watched her girlfriends up ahead of her disappear through the throngs of people into a karaoke bar. Teri quickened her pace to catch up. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder.
When she turned, a man smiled at her. “You shouldn’t be alone in a crowd like this. It can be dangerous.”
“I’m not alone.” When Teri tried to move away from him, a camera flash lit up her face.
“What the hell?”
“Say cheese,” the man said.
The flash sparked again, followed by the sound of a Polaroid. “Get away from me!”
Something stung her neck, and Teri’s vision started to swim in front of her.
Her head became heavy and lolled to the side.
She felt a hand on her waist, guiding her in the opposite direction from her friends.
She wanted to look back and yell for them, but her head refused to move, her mouth too dry to open.
Instead, she allowed the stranger to walk her through the crowd until they disappeared.
Her last thought was of Dan and if he’d gotten the boys to sleep on time.