Chapter 13
thirteen
“T here’s a pothole in my front of my diner.”
Cade spun in his chair to face Delia, who stood framed in his office doorway. Her posture seemed straighter above her cane today, her purse hitched on the shoulder pad of her floral blouse.
He let out a sigh. Talk about a Monday. He’d been working for hours on fundraising details and hadn’t had enough coffee yet to deal with more bad news—even if Miley had upsized his latte with a zipping of her lips, like she’d done every morning since she got busted in New Orleans last week. “It’s not your diner anymore, Mama D.”
“Magnolia Blossom will always be mine in spirit, dear.” Delia sank into the chair across from his desk. “And speaking of spirits, I’m afraid some are going to float up from the depths of that hole if it isn’t fixed soon.”
“It’s from the hurricane flood waters.” Cade scrubbed his palm over his cheek, then winced at the rough texture under his hand. He probably should’ve sprung for that designer men’s lotion he’d seen advertised last night. If this fundraiser gave him one more wrinkle or gray hair…
“I don’t care if it’s from a séance gone wrong.” Delia pursed her ruby-red lips and fanned herself with a paper she’d snagged off Cade’s desk. “It’s a liability. They’re popping up all over. Have you seen the one in front of Chug a Mug? It looks like it could?—”
“House a family of four?”
Delia shrugged, tossing the paper back into the tray it’d come from. “I was going to say operate as a small B&B, but your description fits too.”
He reached for a pen. “I’ll add it to the list, Mama D.” What was one more entry, at this point?
“I appreciate it.” She started to stand, then gave him one look and settled back in her chair. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing I can’t handle.” He scribbled pothole on a sticky note and deliberately added it to the stack of invoices, vendor lists, and projection spreadsheets covering his desk. “There. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” She folded her hands over her stomach and leveled him with a glare. “And lucky for you, I don’t have anywhere else I have to be. I can wait you out.”
He could already tell this was a battle he wasn’t going to win.
“Fine.” Cade leaned back in his chair, intentionally ignoring his desk drawer containing Skittles. He hadn’t been able to make it to the gym with Linc the past few weeks, and reckoning day would come. “I’m a tad behind on Magnolia Days, but I’m getting there.” He pointed to the pile of papers. “The poodles are confirmed, so there’s that.” Thanks to Rosalyn’s calls from NOLA.
His stomach knotted. They hadn’t talked since. He’d kept busy with the festival, only glimpsing her through the window on his way past Madame Paulette’s studio once or twice over the weekend. At some point, he’d have to break the ice with her.
But at the moment, there didn’t seem to be a big enough pick. It was easier to focus on preparing for the movie scout to come. To assure Mrs. Peters the Friends of the Library booth would have peak accessibility at the festival. To dodge Trish and her insistence on hosting a kissing booth. To create graphics for the newspaper to print featuring Rosalyn’s performance.
Ok, maybe that part hadn’t been easier.
The AC unit kicked on, blowing a reprieve of air into his office space. “Everything will be ready to go soon.”
“I know I’ve offered before, but I’m happy to help with anything you need.” Delia tilted her gray head. “My great-nephew in Metairie has bouncy houses. That might be fun?—”
He held up both hands. “I’ve got it covered, Mama D. I promise.” Bouncy houses required space to put them, and the festival grounds were going to be full at it was—not to mention working in parking for what he hoped would be a big crowd.
She nodded, her brow furrowed as if unconvinced. “Then why don’t you delegate something to me? I’ve got free time on my hands since selling the diner.”
“There’s nothing to delegate, but I appreciate it.” And he did. But delegating things out meant he’d have to follow up on them, and that added extra work to his to-do list. It was easier in that sense to handle it himself.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Delia braced both hands on her cane. Her gray eyebrows hiked up her forehead. “What else is going on to make that face?”
“Is this not enough?” Cade plucked the sticky note from the stack and teasingly shook it at her.
“Oh, knock it off. I’ve watched you grow up. All you boys.” Delia waved one arm as if gesturing to the entire male population of Magnolia Bay. “I can tell when all isn’t well.” She smiled. “That’s my favorite hymn, you know. ‘It Is Well with My Soul.’” Then her eyes narrowed. “And it’s not with yours. What’s troubling you?”
He hesitated. Maybe Delia would have some advice…if he kept it vague. After all, he promised Rosalyn her secret was safe.
He picked up a paperclip and rolled it between his fingers. “Have you ever had someone you were close to turn out to be someone different…not who you thought they were?”
Delia nodded knowingly. “Like a murderer?”
“ What ? No!” Cade made a face at her. “Who exactly are you friends with?”
She adjusted the hem of her shirt over her pants. “You were very serious just now. So I assumed it was a serious allegation.”
“Fine. Less serious than murder, but still…startling.”
“So criminal in another way? Bank robber?”
Cade shot her a look. “You need help.”
“I’m about to make a point.”
“I can’t wait.” He bit back a groan.
“If it’s not criminal…” Delia tapped her chin. “Then that would mean—for this to be so upsetting to you—that this person went through a major character change?”
“Not exactly.” Cade stared at the paper clip. Rosalyn was still who she was. “More like they kept a secret.”
“I see. And was there a good reason for this secret?”
“Well…yeah.”
Delia’s expression took on that of a wise old owl. “Did the secret hurt anyone outright?”
“Not…sort of. Yes. I mean?—”
“So, a person you care about had a secret, but they didn’t commit a crime or even change who they are. And you’re riled up?” She snorted. “You should get to work on my pothole, boy.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Seems like a bit of concrete would do the trick.”
Cade tossed the paperclip on his desk. “Mama D.”
“I’m kidding. Cade, honey, listen.” She tapped her cane on the ground for emphasis. “I’m giving you a hard time because I want you to see the need for grace. Your feelings obviously got hurt. And you’re disappointed. All of that is valid. But is this something that’s unforgiveable?”
He paused. “No.”
“Is it worth losing the friendship?”
“No.” The bigger problem was how he and Rosalyn kept skipping right over friendship and then trying to go back to it.
“Think back over the details.” Delia’s voice gentled. “Is it even as bad as you heard it the first time?”
I’m married . Yeah, it was pretty bad.
But then the details surfaced, like bubbles to the top of the bay. Rosalyn had been alone. Scared. Trapped. She hadn’t impulsively rushed down an aisle with the intent for anyone to get hurt.
She hadn’t even lied to him—outright, anyway. More like she’d withheld sensitive information. Which was fair, because she hadn’t owed Cade anything…until after the kiss. And she could have still kept her secret then but had done the right thing, even though she must have assumed he’d be upset.
All while she was the one whose entire life had derailed of late.
Maybe he’d been a jerk.
“I see the wheels turning. I’ll take that as my cue to leave.” Delia stood with a groan. “Never get old, darlin’.”
“Who’s old?” He stood and walked her to the door.
“You should be a politician with all that nonsense.”
Cade forced his smile to stay steady. Rosalyn wasn’t the only one with secrets. But no sense in diving into his upcoming campaign with Mama D. He’d managed to put it out of his mind for the weekend, his thoughts fully occupied with Rosalyn. But now…his chest tightened and he reached up to massage it. “Thanks for your wisdom.”
“Anytime, hon.” She hugged him before nudging his leg with her cane. “Now get to work on my pothole.”
His chest twinged again. “Yes, ma’am.” He stepped aside so Delia could leave.
“And Cade? Forgive that sweet girl.” Delia turned in the hallway and nodded her chin at him. “She seems like she’s been through more than we know.”
Cade froze, one hand on the doorknob. “How did you know who I was talking?—”
“This entire town underestimates me.” She rolled her eyes. “Remember now—do what it takes to make it well with your soul.”
There was nothing to say but another, “Yes, ma’am.” Not that he had a clue how to do that.
As Delia ambled away, Cade shut the door and sagged against it. The drooping potted plant near his window matched his own posture. When had he watered it last? The stack of papers on his desk looked twice as tall. His landline jangled, sending another zap of adrenaline through his veins.
His chest fluttered again.
No. He didn’t have time for an attack.
But reality piled up anyway. Rosalyn. Their kiss and his misplaced hope. His endless to-do lists. The pressure that none of his efforts would be enough. The scout that was coming…at this point, would he fall into a pothole and sue? How would they ever be impressed with a town that was sinking into the earth’s core?
But Magnolia Bay had to impress this guy. Cade needed the attention put back on the town if he and his father stood a chance at keeping things running without detrimental changes like lay-offs and shop closings.
Well, he and his father for now.
Soon to be just Cade.
His vision blurred. He tried to find three items to focus on, but anxiety rushed in full force, clawing at his throat until he couldn’t breathe. The mayoral campaign meant more pressure. More responsibility. This pace was never going to let up. And he had to do it all or fail.
Which wasn’t an option.
He drew a tight breath with little success as he looked away from his overflowing pile of responsibilities. He tried to focus on the individual fibers of the carpet beneath his Sperrys. One, two, three . He sucked in a full breath of air. Four, five, six .
He reached fifteen, waited a few minutes to be sure, then brushed off the knees of his slacks. He knew what he needed to do. Clearly, there would be no focusing on any of his multiplying tasks until it was well.
With his soul…
And with Rosalyn.
* * *
The late morning sun streamed through the studio windows, warming Rosalyn’s bare arms. She inverted on the silks, her movements rote and without any of her usual artistic grace as she ran through the routine she’d prepared over the weekend. She’d had to do something to keep the image of Cade’s disappointed face out of her mind…not that it’d helped.
Rosalyn wrapped the silks to prepare for a double star drop. Pouring herself into her workouts had slightly aggravated her knee, but the rest of her body felt good after so much movement. Since coming home, she’d been more lax with her exercise regimen—which apparently had been good for her knee but bad for her emotional health.
Or maybe her secrets were bad for her emotional health.
She rolled into the double star drop, wincing as the fabric caught her harder than she’d anticipated. Thank goodness Blaine hadn’t seen that. Not that he was an aerial coach, but he knew how good she was—and had no problem berating her into being better. She glanced toward her purse by the door, where her phone was turned to silent, imagined him blowing it up with endless texts. The fact he’d left her alone as long as he had after their brief conversation the other day was a miracle.
But was everyone leaving her alone? Had he been successful in asking for an extension on her loan payments because of her injury? She couldn’t know without asking.
She wrapped her feet and moved into a split balance, usually one of her strongest skills. But today, she wobbled. Holding one of the poles with one hand for extra support, Rosalyn fought for balance, tightening her core, squeezing her thighs. She slowly released the fabric. Still wobbly, but better.
“Wow.” An awed female voice sounded below.
Rosalyn glanced down. Zoey. “Oh, hey.” Gripping the poles in both hands, she unwrapped her feet and slid carefully down the silks to the ground. “I didn’t see you come in.”
“Sorry to interrupt. I came to bring Madame Paulette her weekly order of beignets.” Zoey held up a rectangular bakery box. “She says they’re for her students but sometimes I wonder how many she shares.” She grinned as she tossed her shock of dark bangs out of her eyes. “Is Madame here?”
“She stepped out. Something about a ‘handsome devil of a man’ being spotted over at Chug a Mug.” Rosalyn smiled back as she clapped chalk off her hands. “I guess Magnolia Bay doesn’t get a lot of strangers lately.”
“Tourism has slowed. I know that’s part of what Cade is working to correct with Magnolia Days.” Zoey set the box on the shoe cubby by the front door.
“Will you have a beignet booth at the festival?”
“You bet.” Zoey hiked one yoga-pant-clad leg on the barre near the door and stretched. “We need all the sales we can get.” She gestured with her chin toward the ceiling. “Could you teach me how to do that sometime?”
“A split balance?” Rosalyn raised her eyebrows. “That’s a little advanced?—”
“No way. I can’t even do the splits on the ground!” Zoey laughed as she traded legs on the barre to stretch the other one. “I meant some basic tricks. Basically cool enough to shut Linc up when he brags about weightlifting.”
“Of course.” Rosalyn started to knot her silks up off the floor. Her knee was done for the day—maybe so were her spirits. “I think Elisa was interested in learning too. I could show you guys a few beginner skills.”
Zoey’s face lit. “I’m sensing a girl’s night.”
“That’d be fun.” Rosalyn was only slightly surprised to realize she meant it.
“I bet you’re a great teacher.” Zoey screwed up her nose as she sank into a grand plié at the barre. “I’d be so bad with kids.”
“It’s fun to watch them learn.” Rosalyn gestured to the studio around them. “I helped with the girls’ ballet class last week—they’re sweet.” She hesitated, then grinned. “Most of them, anyway.”
“I guess I only see them when they’re sugared up at my shop.” Zoey laughed.
“Hopefully one day I’ll be able to open a studio for kids. I wish I’d started even younger than I did.” The statement slipped out before Rosalyn fully processed the cost of it. But since she’d been holding in so much for so long, it felt nice to talk about something vulnerable that wasn’t dangerous.
“I would’ve loved something like that when I was younger.” Zoey leaned against the barre, folding her arms over her petite frame. “You should go for it. Maybe Madame would even let you share her studio space here.”
“Maybe.” Something to consider in the future.
If her future ever came. It all felt so far away right now. She had to leave. And who knew when—and in what condition—she’d be back?
“I heard one of the ballet students in my shop Saturday talking about how Barbie helped her learn first position.” Zoey shook her head with a smile. “I should’ve figured that was you.”
“I enjoy ballet now—it helps with learning grace and floor routines for my aerial performances.” Rosalyn looked up at her silks, could almost see herself inverting as an eleven-year-old. “As a child, though, I wasn’t conventional enough to stick with it.” Or maybe she hadn’t been good at it. She frowned.
“All of these sports are beyond me.” Zoey waved one hand in the air. “I’m flexible but have the grace of a monkey in quicksand. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”
“I’ll talk to Elisa.” Rosalyn went to the makeshift pulley and hoisted the silks back up toward the ceiling, out of the way of the upcoming class. “Maybe after Magnolia Days we could set something up.”
Zoey peered at Rosalyn from under her bangs, blue eyes wide with hope. “Will you still be here after the circus?”
“I’m, um…not entirely sure of my timeline yet.” Rosalyn tied off the pulley rope. “But I’m sure we could fit something in.” Maybe.
“I’m glad I ran into you.” Zoey lifted one hand in a wave as she opened the studio door. “And hey, whenever you need a sweet treat, stop by the shop. On the house.”
Rosalyn smiled her appreciation, waving as Zoey slipped into the morning sunlight. The dark-haired woman painted an appealing picture—girls’ night outs, teaching kids, eating beignets. A “normal” life. One without the flash of cameras and pressure of performing. Without fame and obligations to the wrong kinds of people.
She definitely didn’t want to go back to performing Blaine’s gigs, but more than that—she didn’t know if she wanted to go back to performing at all . Eventually, her loan would be paid back. The divorce would go through. She’d be free to make her own choices again—to perform because she wanted to, not because she had to.
And then what?
What did she want?
Rosalyn glanced up at her silks, bittersweet longing flooding her heart. When had the fabric that used to symbolize freedom—freedom from convention, from propriety and rules and clichés—become her cage?
After a moment, she slipped out of the studio and stood under the awning, poised to lock the door behind her. Unusual that Madame Paulette would be gone this long—the guy must have been more handsome than she’d anticipated. Only Lettie.
Rosalyn looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of Madame’s flowing caftan, no hint of patchouli wafting through the air. Oh well.
She twisted the key in the lock, double-checked the knob, and dropped the ring into her purse. She’d started up the sidewalk toward home when a siren sounded.
A police car veered down Bayou Boulevard, lights flashing.