Nothing Stays Dead in the South

The high-pitched tones of my alarm pierced the dense morning air. Pulling my eyes open it only takes a moment for me to register the sight of half-unpacked boxes and dusty furniture spread across the expansive bedroom to remember where I am. New Orleans.  As a small-town girl, I couldn’t imagine a bigger culture shock. From the moment I got off the plane yesterday, it was clear we weren’t in Kansas anymore. Or Montana, as it was. As luck would have it, my Uncle Raymond kicked the bucket. Don’t feel too bad for Uncle Ray. He was a real piece of work. He and I didn’t have a very great history and I have the therapy bills to prove it. Since my mom passed a couple of years back and Ray didn’t have any kids of his own - that leaves me as his next of kin. Imagine my surprise when the lawyer showed up on the doorstep of my rundown apartment that was due two months back rent, to tell me I had just inherited a bank account worth seven figures and all his worldly possessions. Including this breathtaking mansion just a stone's throw from the French Quater.  With nothing left for me in Whitefish except a job tending bar at the local dive and an ex-boyfriend that couldn’t take a hint, it seemed like this was just the change I needed. Moving across the country as a lone twenty-three-year-old girl into the town that dreaded sundown isn’t exactly the decision most people would make, but the universe was telling me it was time for a change of pace. I couldn’t imagine a bigger change of pace than this one.  I had traveled a bit when I was younger. My mom had the traveling bug for a while there. She always cursed the fact that my dad had made her put down roots in such a small town, knocked her up, and then went for milk one day and never came back. We used to lay in bed talking at night about all the different places she wanted to visit, and where we could move. What it would be like there and what our lives would look like. Having always been contained to one rundown rental or the other, we loved playing a good game of “anywhere but here” before drifting off at night. I was too young to really understand the reality of the situation. She knew she was never getting out of that town alive. And she didn’t.   This old plantation-style home in the heart of New Orleans was one of the few places we visited when I was younger. Probably because we didn’t have to pay to stay here. Mom’s relationship was always strained with Uncle Ray. I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that he was a millionaire and we were living in a shoebox. He was nice enough to have me out here for a summer once, but the only thing I really remember about the city was the humidity. I was too young to appreciate its more inherent charms, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have memories of this house. Not all of them good.  Stepping out of bed I rifle through the box of clothes I had opened last night to pull out my pajamas. Since I got in so late there wasn’t any food here, and I needed to head out for a bite. The top of my list included coffee and breakfast. Other than that, I needed to look around to see if I could find some sort of job. While I have some money and investments that Ray left to me, I don’t know the first thing about managing that money. The attorney is setting me up with someone for that, but aside from that, I’m just plain not interested in spending time stuck in a mansion with no one but my thoughts to keep me company. I’m a people person. Most people, anyway. And I just so happen to have a residence in a city with several hundred thousand of them for the first time in my life.  Throwing on a pair of cut off 501’s and a white camisole, I grabbed my hat and head for the worn oak door, but when I went to pull it open I was shocked to find a handsome man in a suit with his finger suspended mid-air about an inch from pressing the doorbell.  When his eyes met mine, a lazy grin spread across his face.  “Hi, are you Jolene Huxley?” Despite the fact that this man was twelve flavors of delicious, I can’t convince my mouth to make words. The surprise of finding my porch occupied has rendered me momentarily speechless. Luckily, I finally remember myself. I produce a wide smile and chuff softly.  “I am, yes. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone this morning. You are…?” “My apologies. The firm just sent me over with some paperwork for you to sign, moving the rest of the accounts into your name. I thought if you got it out of the way early you could get on with your day.” He’s cordial and sweet with a beautiful English lilt to his voice. He’s obviously not from around here, and neither is his suit. Imported. Rich.  “Uh, yeah, that would be great.” I walk out to the large wrap-around porch closing the door behind me harder than I mean to and locking it before turning back to my new friend. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” “Cole,” he says with a gentle nod before gesturing to one of the two bistro tables that are set up on the porch. He pulls the wrought iron chair out for me, eliciting a loud scrape as it pulls across the old wood decking. I sit, motioning for him to do the same. “Any great plans for the day?” “I’m not sure just yet. I didn’t have any food here so I was going to try to find somewhere to get a cup of coffee and a bite to eat or something before venturing out into the city. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve been here.” “Yes, I remember.” My brows scrunch together in confusion. “You remember, what?” Cole gives a gentle shake of his head before grinning warmly. “Your uncle said that you spent some time here when you were younger.” My brows jump in surprise. “I didn’t think he would ever really talk about me. Our relationship was…challenged.” Opening the manilla folder and laying it in front of me, he produces a black fountain pen and hands it to me. “Well, he could have liquidated everything and donated it to charity. The fact that he chose not to do that indicates that he must have cared somewhat.” I give a stiff nod as I sign my name on a few of the papers. “Maybe.” I look up to find Cole considering me carefully with an expression on his face that I can’t quite place. It unsettles me but it’s only there for a moment before his earlier sunny disposition returns. “I’m actually heading into town myself and haven’t had my coffee yet, either. I can have my driver drop us at La Boulangerie. Their croissants are an absolute must for your first official Louisianna meal.” Closing the folder and handing his pen back to him I feel my cheeks lift playfully. “Technically I think my first meal counts as the three bags of peanuts I ate waiting for my luggage at baggage claim.” “Nonsense,” Cole says, “I’ll save you money on an Uber. Come on, then.” We stand and I follow him, sliding into the passenger seat of a sleek black sedan. When he starts the car the air is filled with a melody of classical piano before he grasps the volume nob, turning it down. The music suits him.  We ease through the freshly paved circular drive, down the long private driveway, and pass the wrought iron fence onto the road.  “So how long have you lived in New Orleans? That accent doesn’t seem very southern.”  He casts a playful glance in my direction. “No, I imagine not. I’ve lived here about half my life but I grew up in Essex. Most of my family was there, but most of them have migrated to the states by now. Still a few cousins there. What about you? Were you always a small-town girl?” I catch the volley and reward it with a nod. “Born and raised. I guess you could say that moving out here on a whim was a bit out of character for me, but it felt like time for a change.” “You’ll never find a better place to reinvent yourself. I speak from experience.” We parked down the road a ways from the bakery, walking the rest of the distance. Each time my converse hit the pavement it seemed that I noticed something altogether different. One corner had a man playing guitar with a golden retriever at his side and the black guitar case splayed carefully in front of him. People of all shapes and colors pass him by. Some would wait to enjoy the pieces he was playing while others simply stopped long enough to toss their pocket change into the case. One lady even stopped to feed the dog.  Cole was kind enough to order and pay for my croissant and coffee, walking me back outside to sit at the seating on the sidewalk while we enjoyed our breakfast in silence that was far too comfortable for two people that have known one another for all of an hour. And yet it was. There was something about Cole that spoke to something inside me. Or maybe it was just something in New Orleans. I couldn’t know for sure, but all that I knew was that I was exactly where I should be.  I had told Cole that I was looking for a job while I picked at the remnants of my croissant on the table when he offered me a thoughtful frown. “I have a friend that owns a fun little shop in the treme. You might enjoy it. She does a little fortune-telling for the townies. Sells some fun trinkets that the tourists seem to enjoy. Tarot cards, things like that. If you would like I can give her a call. I know she was looking for someone to fill a vacancy.” I chewed the last piece of the croissant, relishing its buttery flakes as they melted against my taste buds and I considered Cole’s offer. “Yeah, sure. That would be awesome. I don’t need the money, obviously, but I just like to get out. Meet people. I’m not the kind of girl that can stay cooped up in a dusty mansion all day.” His lazy smile widens at my admission. “No, you’re not. I’ll give her a call for you, but I must be heading back to the office. It was a pleasure meeting you Jolene. Did you need a ride back?” My manners dictate that I absolutely shouldn’t put him out any more than I already have so I rush to wave off the offer. “Oh, no. I’m going to wander around a bit. Check out the area. I’ll catch an Uber back.” “Be careful wandering around the quarter. There are all types of people here, and not all of them are nice. Luckily, this time of the day is usually a safe bet. I’ll be in touch.”  I sat in my chair while I drained the remainder of my coffee and I watched him stroll unhurriedly down the road. I’m left to consider what it is about Cole that keeps making my breath catch in my throat, even as he walks away.