Higher Ground

by Nan Lowe

  His eyes close, and his shoulders relax for the first time since he stepped out of the car. “I need sleep,” he says. “I need a bed, a few hours of rest, and you.”

  “Let’s go. Zoey’s going to attack you when we get home, but then we can lock ourselves in my room for a while.”

  Zoey isn’t the only one who attacks. My mother meets us at the door to fuss over Wade. “You must’ve been driving all night,” she says. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not now, but thank you,” he says. Miss Verity pushes herself to the entryway of the dining room, stops, and gives him a blinding smile. He walks across the room and leans down to hug her.

  “Hello, sweet boy,” she says, reaching out to pat his cheek.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “I’ve seen better days, but I’ve also seen worse.”

  My father walks over to shake Wade’s hand. “We’re glad you’re here,” he says. “We’re having dinner in The Quarter tonight. I hope you’ll feel like joining us.”

  “That sounds good,” Wade says.

  Zoey cries out in happiness when she steps into the foyer. She flies across the room, and he catches her and tosses her into the air above him. Ronnie makes a choking noise behind me, but Wade catches her little girl and gives her a quick hug. I have to look away to keep from crying.

  Since they’re on their way out, she doesn’t cling. Zoey hasn’t seen Santa, yet, so they’re heading to the mall to drop off her list and have pictures made. The boys play along by making lists of their own and giving them to her to deliver. She shows us the folded papers, shoves them into her tiny purse, and says goodbye.

  My parents ask Ronnie questions, so it’s easy to slip away unnoticed.

  The exhaustion is clear on Wade’s face, so I skip the tour and take him straight to the stairs. He gawks at the tree as we make our way up. Every door is shut, but I still point at each one as we proceed. “Ronnie’s… My parents’ office… Bathroom… Mine.” We come to a stop in front of my room, and as I open the door, I tilt my head toward the one next to it. “Van’s.”

  Wade’s hand closes over mine when I reach for the light switch. “Don’t,” he says. “Leave it off.”

  We kick off our shoes and lie down on top of the bedding. I roll onto my side to face him. “I love you,” I say. “I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

  “Come here.” He stretches his arm flat on the bed and uses his other hand to help me scoot closer to him until our chests are touching. He folds me into a hug, kisses my head, and closes his eyes. “I love you, too,” he says. Sleep takes him before it takes me, but his hold on me doesn’t loosen. My cheek is tucked against his chest, and the steady thump of his heart eventually lulls me into slumber.

  We’re still tangled together hours later when a series of dull thumps wakes us. Van’s on the other side of the door when I open it. “Dinner’s in an hour, if y’all want to go.” He looks over my shoulder. “Hey, Wade.”

  A warm body presses against my back, and Wade’s answer tickles my ear. “Congrats.” His arm pulls me closer while he reaches out with his other hand to shake my brother’s.

  “Thanks.” Van looks between us, trying to figure out where we stand, but he eventually gives up and leaves us for the stairs.

  The minute we’re alone, Wade steps away from me. “I need a shower,” he says. “I should probably get my bag.”

  “Yeah,” I say, fumbling with hurt feelings and confusion. “Of course.”

  I follow him downstairs and stop to watch him walk out the front door without a glance back. We’ve been so in sync with each other for so long…

  I’m lost.

  Wade’s always been an open book, easy to read, with his heart on his sleeve. This hot and cold isn’t him. I don’t know what I’ll do if jading him is added to my list of transgressions.

  There’s no smile on his face when he comes back, but there’s a large piece of luggage in his hand—large enough to indicate he’s staying. “What about work?” I ask. “How was the interview? Do you have to go back?”

  He shakes his head. “Not until January. I owe Nick. I’ll probably have to work on Valentine’s Day, so don’t be mad. And the interview went really well, but I won’t know anything for a while. The position hasn’t officially closed, yet.”

  I close my eyes and exhale, letting the tension leave my body. He’s thinking of February and making plans for us. That’s not what someone who’s leaving does.

  “I won’t be mad,” I say. “I’m glad you’re here. This is better than some greeting card holiday, anyway.” He follows me up the stairs and to the bathroom. I start the water for him since the hardware in the shower is ancient and fickle. “Give it a few minutes to warm up.”

  He takes his suitcase to my room, opens it, and stares at the contents. “Casual?” he asks. “Or something nice?”

  “Go with the black pants. Dad’s college roommate bought a restaurant on Dauphine a few years ago. I’m willing to bet there’s an empty room waiting for us in the back.” He takes his clothes with him to the bathroom to steam the wrinkles out.

  I leave him at the door and make my way down to my family. Noise is coming from the kitchen, a quiet din that increases in volume as I get closer. The room’s crowded, so I stay in the doorway and watch. Miss Verity’s dolled up in a black dress that ends at her ankles, and she’s wearing large silver bracelets on both wrists. She’s deep in conversation with Corey’s parents.

  My brother and his husband stand a few feet away, with Corey’s hand resting casually at Van’s waist. Will’s recounting a war story—the marriage kind that involves debates about ultrasounds and a gender-surprise cake to tell us all what sort of baby is currently residing in my sister’s uterus. Ronnie’s in the corner of the room showing Dad pictures on her phone. The boys are doting on Zoey.

  I feel seventeen again, alone and looking in, until my mother steps in front of me. “Are you better?” she asks, raising her hand to touch the ends of my hair. “You still look so tired.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She links her arm with mine to lead me away and down the hall to her room. At her insistence, I take a seat at the antique vanity my grandfather gave her as a wedding gift. I stare at my lap while she brushes the tangles from my hair. “The black dress you brought would be lovely for tonight.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Your makeup’s smudged at the eyes. We can fix it, if you want.”

  I look up, and she’s right. She sits on the edge of her bed and watches as I use her things to get to ready. “Is Wade here to stay?” she asks.

  “I think so. We haven’t had much time to talk.”

  She disappears into her closet and returns with my dresses. “I picked these up this morning. Let me know if there’s anything Wade needs.”

  “I will.”

  I change in her room so she can help with my zipper. It’s also a good excuse to rummage through her earrings and borrow onyx teardrops with silver fishhook backs.

  I carry my clothes upstairs and find the bathroom door open and the room empty. Wade’s waiting for me in my old room, buttoning the sleeves of a gunmetal-gray dress shirt. He looks up and smiles. It’s small and tired, but it feels like a victory.

  “You look good,” I say. “This is my favorite shirt.” I step forward to straighten his collar.

  “I know.” He smiles, and I lean in close enough to smell his body wash and can almost feel the heat from his shower. “Should I wear a tie?” he asks.

  “No one else is.”

  “Jacket?”

  “You can bring one. It might get chilly later.”

  He reaches for my hand and leads the way down the stairs and to the kitchen. There’s no break in the conversations flying around us on every side, but Corey stops talking to hug Wade in greeting. It takes a few minutes for Dad to notice everyone’s present and ready to go.

  We need four vehicles to carry all of us, and my guess about the restaurant
was right. I watch from the back seat of my father’s wheelchair-accessible minivan as he leads the caravan down St. Charles to The Quarter. He stops in front of a familiar cottage-style restaurant, and his old buddy, Murray, is waiting on the sidewalk to help with Miss Verity.

  Miss Verity convinces Wade to try andouille and alligator. He laughs with the others and lets his fingers brush over my wrist every time our arms bump, but he doesn’t wrap his arm around my shoulder the way he normally does during after-dinner conversations.

  Corey’s parents decide to retire to their hotel for the night. My parents and Miss Verity are ready to head home, too, but my brother has different plans for us.

  “Let’s hit Bourbon,” he says. “Just for a little while. Wade’s never been here before, and it’s only a few blocks away.”

  Corey seconds the idea, and it doesn’t take much to convince Wade.

  “Why am I always knocked up when you guys party?” Ronnie asks at the exit.

  “You can come,” I say. “Order virgin drinks or have Sprite. Send the kids home with Mom and Dad.”

  “It’s almost Zoey’s bedtime, anyway,” Will says.

  My parents agree and convince Zoey not to cry by offering her hot cocoa. It takes a few minutes to get them all situated and ready to go. We wave until they’re out of sight, and with Van and Corey in the lead, we set out for Bourbon.

  Christmas music plays from every direction. “Silent Night” pours from a piano bar, and jazz bands cover everything from “Let it Snow” to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Every building is covered in lights, and a drunk Santa holding a hurricane bellows “Merry Christmas” as we step onto Bourbon Street.

  The girls outside the strip clubs are dressed in varying shades of reds and greens, and most of them are wearing Santa hats. They shiver but move their bodies in time to the pulsing music pouring out from beneath the closed doors behind them. A few of them wave to the guys and extend invitations for them to come in for a show.

  Bouncers from every bar try to seduce us with offers of two-for-one specials and holiday discounts. More than once, we’re accosted by holy rollers carrying Repent or Hell signs and handing out salvation in folded pink flyers. Wade and I refuse their literature, choosing instead to return the silent hostility they aim at my brother and Corey.

  “Some things never change,” Van says.

  He’s right about that. The smell of piss and beer is identical to my childhood, when this was my stomping ground and a fake ID was my passport. There are still people dressed in cosplay for no reason and frat boys puking their guts up on side streets. The police department still patrols on horseback, and even though I’m clean and dead sober, the chirp of a cop’s radio makes me jump and turn on my heel.

  Once the shops thin and the bars quiet, we turn around to walk back into the crowd. At Musical Legends Park, I stop them and point to the entrance of Café Beignet. “Dessert?”

  Everyone agrees, and we find a table near the gate. We share music, good company, and four orders of beignets. My siblings like to talk about themselves and don’t ask a lot of questions, so the conversation never stalls.

  Ronnie and Will leave first. She’s tired, her feet hurt, and she wants to make sure the boys aren’t giving Mom and Dad any trouble. We leave the park with them, but my brother’s not even close to being done. He and Corey shy away from the bright lights of Pat O’Brien’s and set out for Conti Street instead. Quiet cocktail bars are more their style and less crowded on nights like this.

  Wade and I humor them by letting them buy a round of Lagavulin. I wait until the waiter walks away to let Van have it. “Scotch?” I laugh. “Oh, my God. You’ve turned into Dad.”

  “Blasphemy!” he teases, knowing I’m right. “You like Scotch, too. And I’ve had it with Wade before. I was aiming to please.”

  “I do like it,” I say. “Thank you.”

  He looks at me first, then Wade. “I’m glad y’all are here. It wouldn’t be the same without you. This is all last-minute, and I’m sorry for that.”

  “I’m glad we’re here, too.” I grip Wade’s hand on the table. “It’s much better for Miss Verity this way, and I haven’t had beignets in almost three years. It’s good to be home.”

  The drinks arrive, and Van raises his glass to clink it against mine. “It really is.”

  We stay until my cheeks are warm and Wade’s fingers are curled in my hair. He finishes his third, turns the glass upside down, and says, “I’m done, fellas. You’re much younger than me, and I’m already going to have a hangover tomorrow.”

  They’re in the mood for dancing, but Wade and I aren’t. There’s a conversation hanging over our heads that I’d like to have before the reception, and we may not have much time alone tomorrow.

  “I think we’ll walk for a while,” I say. “We’ll catch a streetcar or a cab.”

  “Are you sure?” Corey asks. “We can go home now. It’s no big deal.”

  “Have fun.” I step forward to hug him. “We’ll see you later.”

  We part ways, and I instinctively turn toward Jackson Square and the river. Wade holds my hand but doesn’t speak. Occasionally, he stops and pulls me under his arm while he looks in the windows of shops. St. Louis Cathedral is lit, and there are two groups of tourists paused out front.

  I tell Wade the stories they’re hearing but add details I’ve read in books throughout the years.

  Ghost stories are my specialty.

  People look at me like I’m crazy when I stretch my fingers to run them across the wrought-iron fence as we walk. I’ve done it dozens of times before, and the same eerie stillness settles in my chest tonight when I stare across the street at the famous shop where I lost my heart to Oliver. “That’s Café Du Monde,” I say.

  We stop at Decatur Street to breathe in the aroma of Chicory and watch the hustle and bustle. When the light turns, we cross and walk past the French Market until we can see water. Riverboats and barges are visible in the moonlight. “I saw Troya yesterday. We met for coffee and talked for a few minutes.”

  “About Oliver?”

  “And other things. She told me how he died.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “I knew it was an overdose. He was in a car accident about a year before and had to be airlifted to the hospital. I saw people praying for him and raising money on social media. I heard he was getting better, so it was a shock when Van posted that he’d died. Troya told me how, and it’s worse than I imagined. His son was there when it happened.”

  “That’s awful,” Wade says.

  “I should’ve told you a long time ago—before we started or when we started. Before now. It was a conversation I didn’t know how to have. I didn’t want to lose you.”

  “This is because I love you.” He lifts my hand and holds my ring between his pointer finger and thumb. “I’m hurt, yes. I’m angry. I wish you’d trusted me sooner. None of that means I don’t love you.” He uses his other hand to pull me close until his lips are against my hair. “Love isn’t conditional, Violet.”

  I pull my hand away and wrap both arms around him. “I’m trying to believe that,” I say.

  “Believe it.” He uses his fingers to tilt my chin and bring my face closer to his. I watch his lips until the moment they’re about to touch mine and then let my eyes slip closed. His kiss is soft, honey-sweetened with liquor and sugar, and his fingers land at my hips to pull me closer.

  “I love the sound of the ocean, because I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you around 3:00 in the morning on the beach in Florida,” I say. “It was a Tuesday, and we both slept until noon. You were the first thing I thought of when I woke up the next morning, and you’ve been that first thought every morning since.”

  He slips his arms around my waist. “I almost kissed you that night.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I chickened out.”

  “I guess it worked out best this way, even if it took us a little longer. Maybe it made us stro
nger.”

  “I think it did,” he says.

  We walk back to the bright lights and hail a cab a few streets over from Bourbon. He slides in beside me and holds me close during the ride back to my parents’ house, pointing at various Christmas decorations along the way. The house isn’t dark or silent like I expected it to be. Ronnie, Will, Miss Verity, and Dad are in the family room watching a Bing Crosby movie. We peek in to say hello and get suckered into staying up with them until it ends in the early hours of the morning.

  Sleeping late is a mistake. My mother barges into our room close to 11:00. “Violet, you have an appointment with the stylist in less than an hour. Shower. Now.”

  “Mom, Wade sleeps in his underwear.” I sit up in bed. “Get out.”

  She turns and leaves, still barking instructions on her way out the door. “If you’re not in the shower in ten minutes, I’ll be back.”

  There’s no point in arguing with her. She’s a special events drill sergeant from Hell. “Shoot me,” I say to Wade while searching for clothes in my bag. “She’s going to be a nightmare today.”

  “You sure you want to get married here?” he says, joking to offset my crabbiness.

  “No.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Let’s see how today goes, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Do they have plans for me, too?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure, but if you go downstairs, I guarantee Miss Verity will feed you. She’ll know what’s going on.”

  He kisses me outside the bathroom door on his way down, and it’s the last peaceful moment of our day. We see each other briefly in the kitchen before I’m whisked away by my sister and grandmother. Miss Verity smuggles a couple of muffins in her bag and gives them to me during the ride. Since our spa treatments include mini-massages, too—thanks to Dad—it’s a blessing.

  We return to Dufossat well after lunchtime, and the whole house has been transformed. The tables are set, and the catering staff’s already hard at work.

  At 4:00, Mom sticks her middle finger and thumb between her lips and whistles. “Time to get dressed.”

  The game of Chase Zoey grinds to a halt, and the children stand, stunned into silence. The chitchat also stops, and we all hit the stairs.