“No,” she answered, wondering why he didn’t take one of those.
“I’m George,” he said, sitting across from her and holding out his hand. She shook it automatically.
“Adele.”
“Nice to meet you, Adele. Where are you headed?” He leaned his elbows on the table, smiling earnestly.
Is he flirting? she mused, even as she said, “New Orleans, for now.”
“For now? That sounds intriguing. Do you have any plans in New Orleans-for-now?”
She gave a fleeting look at the letter, wanting to return to it but determined to continue the good job she’d been doing at meeting new people. They told such interesting stories, if she listened long enough. “I thought I might go to a jazz club,” she told him, tracing a line on the page in front of her. Someday I’d like to go to New Orleans, it said, hear live jazz in the city of its birth.
“New Orleans is definitely the place for that,” said the man in front of her. “The best clubs are in the Quarter. I’m in town for the week, I could show you around if you need a guide.”
“Oh, have you been before?” she asked, not knowing what to make of his offer. On the one hand, it would be nice to have a knowledgeable guide, but on the other, she’d found she liked figuring out her path on her own, being able to deviate from it without consulting anyone else. Besides, she had no way of knowing if he was trustworthy, though her instincts weren’t complaining. She’d learned to trust those, as well.
“I grew up there, actually. My mom still lives there; her birthday’s this week, that’s why I’m visiting. What brings you to New Orleans, besides the jazz?”
Adele hesitated, never knowing how to answer questions like that. She got them at almost every stop and still didn’t know whether the vague truth or an even vaguer “to see the sights” was better. It seemed to depend on the person who asked. Realizing that, she thought this man, George, would probably prefer the truth. She couldn’t say why, really, but there it was. So she gave him a little of her tale, leaving out what exactly she did for a living and the weird influence of The Tapestry.
He listened intently, nodding at times and murmuring with what she interpreted as understanding. When she’d finished he glanced at the letter under her hand and surprised her by saying, “I know what it’s like to be lonely. It looks like you have some friends, at least, and good enough to take the time to actually write.”
“Yes,” she answered. “He is a good friend.” How odd, that the man she considered her best friend was no more than a shadowy figure in her mind. They could pass each other in the streets and never know it.
“Ah. I was afraid of that.”
“What?” she asked, startled out of her thoughts. Had she said them out loud? “Afraid of what?”
“That your friend,” he dipped his head toward the letter, “was male. He’s in New Orleans, isn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. Well, I guess he might be, but the chance of that is slim. He doesn’t live there. And he doesn’t know that’s where I’m going next, anyway. If he wanted to meet me, I mean. I mean…” she trailed off, not knowing what she meant. How had George concluded that truth she hardly acknowledged, that she was slowly making her way to her pen pal?
“You haven’t told him you’re coming?”
“Not in so many words…”
“But he is expecting you.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Probably. If he’s getting my postcards. He’s a detective,” she explained when George’s raised eyebrows showed his confusion. “He’s probably figured out by now that I’m traveling in his direction, one city at a time. But whether that means he’s expecting me, I don’t know. I haven’t officially decided to go to him. It’s still just a thought.”
“I see.” His smile was rueful. “I don’t suppose you’d care to have dinner with me, then? I’ll do my best to make an adventure of it, just for you.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked quietly. “We’ve just met. Surely you have better things to do than take me on an adventure.”
His smile grew, twinkling in his eyes. “Better things to do than an adventure with a beautiful woman? I don’t think so.”
“But your mother—”
“Will pester me for every detail, so we’ll have to make sure it’s a full adventure. What do you say, Adele? May I have the privilege of sharing an adventure with you? Who knows,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, “maybe it will be so exciting you’ll forget all about your letter-writing friend and stay with me. I’m liking this plan more and more. Say yes.”
She had to laugh. “Well, if you insist. Yes,” she said, and returned his grin.
~~~~
“So, tell me about this friend of yours,” George prodded suddenly as they strolled through the Quarter. Adele had been feeling pleasantly tired from their night of adventures; fresh Cajun food, live jazz, blues dancing, a stately carriage ride, and midnight beignets, a series of new experiences that she would never forget. Her companion’s conversational foray took her by surprise. But then, practically everything he said and did took her by surprise. An excellent man with whom to adventure.
“What about him?” she finally asked, after her initial surprise had passed.
“His name, for starters. You said he’s a detective – where? How long has he been writing to you? When did you first meet him? Is he a good man? Does he know how to go on adventures? That sort of thing.”
“Well,” she said, astounded at the list of questions. “His name is Devlin.” She paused, struck by the realization that she’d never before said his name out loud.
“Devlin…”
“Devlin Carpenter.” She explained their history, ending with, “I’ve never met him in person. Why do you want to know all this?”
“I have to know what I’m up against,” he joked. At least, she thought he was joking. “Keep going, you haven’t answered all my questions yet. Is he a good man? Rescues kittens, helps little old ladies across the street, goes to his parents for lunch every Sunday…” he prompted.
“Yes, all of that,” she laughed. “Only it was a puppy, not a kitten. He volunteers at an animal shelter and it was love at first sight. The stories he has about training Galahad are the best. One time he came home to find his couch pillows eviscerated all over the floor and the puppy sleeping happily in the middle of it. Dev said his brother laughed until he fell on the floor because he thought Galahad had better taste in pillows than he did. He has a lot of adventures,” she concluded, snapshots of other stories flashing through her head. Some were more dangerous than others.
“But you get all your information from him. That’s got to be a biased presentation. Doesn’t he have any warts? Dirty secrets? Little habits that get on people’s nerves? He’s not perfect. No one’s perfect.”
“Of course not.”
“That’s a relief. What’s his biggest fault?”
Adele shook her head at George, still trying to figure out why he was so interested. “He says it’s laziness, but I don’t believe him. His life sounds too busy for him to have time for laziness.”
“If it’s not that, then what? Pride, greed, procrastination? Nose-picking?”
“Ew.” She wrinkled her nose and thought about it. “I’d say he cares too much. It hits him very hard when people get hurt, especially people involved in his cases. But that’s also his biggest strength, I think.” She shrugged. “It goes both ways.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” George sighed, looking up at the night sky. “I guess I’ll just have to hope he has warts. Terrible, revolting warts.”
She laughed again, her heart light in her chest. “Thank you, George,” she said, squeezing his hand.
He squeezed back. “You’re welcome. What for?”
“For this evening. For making me laugh. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. It’s a wonderful feeling.”
“In that case, you really are welcome. I hope,” he slid a glance at her, “if things don’t work out wit
h your detective friend, you’ll keep me in mind. I’ll be here, pining away after the adventures we could have shared. Well, I’ll probably be back in Houston, but that’s not important. I can pine in Houston as well as New Orleans.” Clutching his hands to his chest, he grimaced theatrically and drooped along. His version of “pining away,” she guessed.
Laughing at his antics, she promised not to forget him, and enjoyed the rest of their walk before bidding him goodnight.
Chapter Four
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried
The Lady of Shalott.
The rain fell in steady percussion on the other side of the glass, drenching the sidewalks and passersby as Adele sat comfortably dry in the corner of a local coffeehouse. Birmingham had not proved very adventure-filled so far, but the closer she got to Atlanta, the less adventurous she felt. Doubts crept in to replace the buoyant courage she’d been feeling, uncertainty chaining her to a city at which she hadn’t originally intended to stop. What was she doing? Ambushing a man whom, despite all the letters and ideas to the contrary, she didn’t know? And why? To satisfy her curiosity?
No, that flippant answer wouldn’t do. But she was reluctant to delve any deeper into her motivations, for reasons she couldn’t explain, even to herself.
Shuffling the stack of letters she’d brought with her, Adele wished suddenly that she at least knew what he looked like. Not that it would make any difference. It would just be nice to know, in case the soaking wet man rushing into the coffeehouse was him. Or the next one. Or the one after—nope, that was a woman. Silly, she shook her head at herself, and left it at that.
As the rain picked up, the coffeehouse grew more crowded and progressively noisier. Many of the newcomers stood by the door, clearly waiting for the rain to let up so they could be on their way. Some of them sat, taking up chairs meant for customers when it was clear they had no intention of buying anything. And they weren’t budging, despite the fact that there were customers looking for seats.
Adele glared at one man who was deliberately not noticing an elderly woman’s predicament. He ignored her and she stood, waving to the blue-haired old woman. She didn’t dare leave her tiny table, not if she wanted to keep it.
As the slightly stooped shoulders drew closer, Adele removed her purse – a colorful purchase with the winnings from her side trip to Vegas – from the chair across the table and gestured the woman into it.
“Thank you, dear,” a remarkably strong, melodically Southern voice said. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she commented watching with undisguised interest as Adele put away her letters.
“Not at all. I needed to get out of my own head, so inviting you over was a purely selfish move.”
“Is that right? Trouble with your young man?” The old lady took a sip of her gently steaming tea, faded brown eyes locked with laser precision on Adele’s surprised face.
“No, not with him. More about him. And he’s not really mine…my name is Adele,” she finished hastily, thoroughly thrown off by her answer.
“Vera,” returned the other woman. “He’s not married, is he?”
“No...”
“Oh, good. You had me worried. If he’s not married, then what’s the problem? Gay?”
Adele sputtered, snatching up a napkin to wipe off the bit of smoothie that decorated her chin. “No! He definitely likes women,” she said, remembering some of his dating adventures. Those letters had not made the trip with her.
“Oh, dear. He sleeps around.”
“No, no, no, that’s not it at all! He’s just—I’m just—we’ve never—how did we get on this topic?!?”
“You brought it up, dear,” the old bird said archly. “So if he’s not married or gay and doesn’t sleep around, what is it? Too old?” All Adele could do was shake her head, whether in answer to the question or incredulity at their conversation, she didn’t know. And she’d thought Birmingham was short on adventures. “Too young? No? Well, I don’t see a problem, then. Unless he’s abusive,” Vera decided. “Then you should cut and run, dear, take my word for it.”
“He’s not—”
“No, I didn’t think so. In my experience, abusive men aren’t the types to write letters. But there’s always a first.”
If she’d known what she was getting into, Adele thought weakly, she might have taken a page from the rude man’s book and ignored Vera, too.
“Is it because it’s a long-distance relationship? Really, dear, if a man takes the time to write as many letters as he’s written to you, I don’t think that’s much of an issue.”
“No?” Adele interrupted before the pertinacious woman could go on. “Even though we’ve never met each other? Besides,” she continued without waiting for an answer, “he’s not mine. We’re just friends. Pen pals. That’s all.”
“There, there, dear.” Vera reached across the table to pat her hand. “Don’t look so gloomy. You’re young and in love, it’s not the end of the world.”
Adele gaped.
Gloomy? In love? Was Vera talking about her?
Looking around, actually turning around in her seat to make sure there was no one behind her – nope, she was in a corner, there was only wall behind her – Adele concluded that Vera was, indeed, talking about her.
“Who said anything about being in love?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes at Vera as the older woman daintily sipped her tea. She wasn’t buying the innocent act.
“You didn’t have to say anything, dear, it’s right there on your face.”
“It is not!” she protested, but it came out more horrified than certain.
“I’m afraid so,” Vera commiserated, patting Adele’s hand. “I looked the same way when I thought my Henry was going to ask another woman to marry him. And after he’d escorted me to the fair, too!”
“What happened?” asked Adele, sidetracked by Vera’s indignation.
“Oh, I moped around a bit before I decided to do something about it. Men can be remarkably dense, you know,” Vera confided in a stage whisper. “Sometimes you have to help them onto the right track.”
“But how?” she wondered, only partly in reference to Vera’s Henry.
“I jumped him,” Vera announced proudly. “After church the next Sunday I managed to get him alone in the choir room.” A slight shrug and a poorly hidden smirk. “Then I grabbed him by the ears and kissed the dickens out of him. He proposed the next day. We’ve been married fifty-five years.”
“Congratulations,” Adele offered in spite of her disappointment. It was ridiculous, feeling that way. Nonetheless, she did feel disappointed after Vera’s story. She’d been hoping for something a little more…sage. That’s it, she’d wanted sage advice. “Kiss the dickens out of him” didn’t seem all that sagacious to her—
Wait a minute, she was treating all this like Vera knew what she was talking about, which she obviously didn’t. Adele wasn’t in love with anyone.
Was she?
“Of course,” Vera was saying, “things were simpler back then. Nowadays it’s all about the grand gesture. I doubt a simple kiss would get his attention, even if you’re an expert, and no offense, dear, but I doubt you are.”
“Uh…”
“That’s what I thought. Where does he live? Your young man, I mean.”
“Atlanta…”
“Oh, dear, that’s not far at all. Going to him wouldn’t be such a big deal, then. I’m surprised you’ve never met, living only a few hours away.”
“I live in Washington,” Adele heard herself say. What are you doing? she asked herself frantically. An echo from the back of her mind seemed to respond, Hunting the white stag, but the thought was gone as soon as it had formed.
“DC? That’s better, but still not very far—”
“No, Washington state,” she interrupted before clamping her lips together. She shouldn’t be encouraging Vera.
“Well! That’s more like it!” Vera sat back in her
chair, sipping her no longer steaming tea with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. “Well done, dear, that should get his attention.”
“Thank you,” she replied automatically, then shook her head forcefully. “Never mind. That’s not why I came. I mean, I want to finally meet him, that was part of it, but that’s not why…”
Vera sent her a chastising look from under her eyebrows.
“I’m on vacation!” Adele continued desperately. “I wanted to meet people, do new things, have adventures. That’s it!”
“You know what they say,” Vera began, but Adele cut her off.
“I know, I know: ‘The lady doth protest too much.’”
“That, too,” agreed Vera. “But I was thinking more along the lines of ‘To love will be an awfully big adventure.’”
“Oh,” Adele said in a small voice. Then she frowned, thinking, and said, “I thought it was ‘To die will be an awfully big adventure.’”
“Either way,” Vera waved away the correction and settled a benevolent eye on Adele. “You’re doomed.”
Chapter Five
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly.
Stepping out onto Peachtree Street, Adele took a deep breath and gripped the handle of her suitcase more firmly. Her heart was beating way too fast, her thoughts tumbling at a mile a minute.
She was in Atlanta.
It was that particular thought, or rather, its implications, that kept her heart rate spiked. She’d stayed another day in Birmingham, wandering around the Botanical Gardens as she considered Vera’s assumptions. In the end, after hours of difficult soul-searching, she’d let herself recognize the truth.
She loved Devlin Carpenter.
She loved his upright character, his tough shell and gooey insides, his loving relationship with his family, everything she’d learned about him through his stories, and the fact that he seemed to enjoy reading her far less interesting letters. Heck, she even loved his handwriting. He was strong, compassionate, occasionally goofy, smart, and anything but lazy, no matter what he said. And he was loyal, to his family, to his fellow cops, and to the women he dated, no matter how briefly. She could imagine how faithfully he’d love the woman he married, but imagining that made her wonder where she shouldn’t. After a year of writing back and forth she had a complete picture of him…except for his face.
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