Epilogue

Tonight’s to-do list is brief, and nearly finished. Rocky, my English bulldog, is struggling to recover from a quick walk around the block in the sweltering New Orleans heat, and has taken up residence under the cool breeze of my air conditioning unit. (Check.) I’m showered and ready to head down to the bar, wearing a delightful cream linen summer dress that I would have previously thought of as far too kitsch to be seen dead in. (Check.) A buzz from my phone tells me that Lauren is waiting for me, right on schedule. (Check, check, check.)

It’s a good feeling, having everything just fall into place.

I reach down to give Rocky a quick pat before I leave, and he looks up at me imploringly: Please, no. Please, don’t take me out there again. I was worried about how he’d cope with the move from Chicago down to New Orleans, but other than the oppressive heat, he seems to be doing OK. ‘It’s alright, buddy,’ I say, checking his water and kibble levels. ‘You’re done for the day. You can just chill here, alright?’

He barks an affirmative, and waddles his chubby little dog-butt over to the fan I’ve left on for him. That’s him settled for the evening, at least.

The air outside hits me like a solid block of warmth, like opening an oven door, but it isn’t long before an evening breeze blows past me, straight off the waterfront, taking the edge off the oppressive heat. For the first couple of weeks, I thought I was dying whenever the temperature got above sixty-five or so, but by now I’m used to it. I can’t say the same for the city’s party attitude, though. I’ve been living here for six months now, and it still amazes me that the whole city really does never sleep. I worried at first that the tourists would annoy me, but I can’t imagine a New Orleans that doesn’t bristle with the sound of raucous laughter on every street corner, where the night air isn’t saturated with jazz music and lights, where the smell of the honeysuckle vines doesn’t linger.

There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

I don’t have time to linger tonight, though; there are people waiting for me. As I make the way down the stairs to the club, Eddie breaks off from serving a couple of out-of-towners and gives me a little wave. Gotta remember to go over and say hi later, I think. When he’s a little less busy. He’ll never forgive me if I don’t.

That’s the thing about the Coeur de Vie: when you’re in, once you’re one of them, it feels like home. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn’t made the snap judgement to walk down that stairwell six months earlier. It’s like a whole different world now – my own personal uncanny valley, where everything is familiar but just ever so slightly wrong. Where everything was just a little bit less satisfying than it should have been. Where the plan was king, and the trains ran on time, but there wasn’t a smile to be found.

‘Eleanor Elizabeth Mossberg, you get over here right now and give me a hug!’

The shout comes from a booth in the corner pretty much the instant I set foot through the door, but seemingly before I can turn around Lauren has made her way across the floor of the bar and has wrapped her arms around me in a bear-hug that’s months overdue.

‘Easy, easy,’ I say. ‘Shouldn’t you be taking it a little easier? Doctor’s orders?’

‘Oh, farts to taking it easy,’ she replies. ‘And I am the doctor. You just don’t want me to say I told you so.’

‘Well…’

‘Which I did. I told you so. I told you so.’

I throw up my hands. What’s the use in fighting it? It’s going to come out eventually. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You were right. Completely and one hundred percent.’

‘Say it.’

‘You told me so.’

‘Say it.’

‘Fine. The psychic was right.’

‘Twins, El,’ she says, rubbing her abdomen protectively. ‘Twins.’

I don’t tell her about my little conversation with Chuck the psychic, the day after her wedding. I wonder if perhaps it’s better that she doesn’t know, that maybe finding out he was a fraud would make the babies growing inside her just a little bit less special, somehow. Then again, I don’t think anything could do that. She looks more alive than I’ve ever seen her. The spark of excitement about her impending motherhood radiates out from her, all but lighting up the bar around her.

Drew comes up behind her, a beer in one hand and a fruity cocktail confection in the other. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, beaming at me as he gestures to their table. ‘It’s virgin.’ Once the drinks are down, he pulls me in for a hug. Married life has been good for him, it seems. It looks like he’s finally grown into himself, and managed to shed some of that nervous, awkward energy. ‘We’ve missed you up in the windy city,’ he says. ‘Lauren keeps trying to talk me into moving down here again.’

I cast my eyes to the side and give her a conspiratorial grin. It would definitely be nice to have my best friend close by, especially with what’s coming. ‘Well, you know,’ I say, ‘I hear it is supposed to be a lovely place to raise a family…’

Drew lets out a mock groan. ‘I might as well start packing then, eh?’

It’s still too early for Lauren’s bump to be showing – three months, according to her doctor; just time enough that it’s safe to start telling people – but she’s already buzzing with excitement. This baby is everything she’s ever wanted, everything she never thought was possible. When the doctors gave her the thinnest possible hope of ever getting pregnant, she just about gave up, but…

Well, miracles happen. Maybe certain places get more than their fair share. Maybe New Orleans and the Coeur de Vie are just lucky in that respect. Who’s to say?

I haven’t seen Lauren in person since the wedding, but it takes us no time at all to catch up; we talk on the phone at least a couple of times a week, and text almost constantly, but there’s still nothing like being able to pull her into a close hug when I need one.

‘What’s that for?’ she asks as I stand up and wrap my arms around her.

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I’m just… glad you’re here, that’s all.’

‘Sap.’

‘You love it.’

She nods. ‘Yeah, I do. Now go and get yourself a drink before you shrivel up like a raisin. How does anyone actually do anything in this heat?’

‘Air conditioning, iced tea and stubbornness,’ I say. ‘At least that’s the best I’ve been able to come up with. Works pretty well.’

‘I can tell. You’re looking great. As much as it sucks not having you around, New Orleans really suits you.’

She’s right. New Orleans does suit me. Maybe it’s the place. Maybe it’s the people. (It’s definitely the people.) But something about the past six months has made me feel like a whole new woman.

‘Sazerac?’ Eddie says, smiling as I approach the bar. It’s his little joke, and – to him at least – it never gets old. I haven’t had much of a stomach for Sazeracs since my first night here. I can’t imagine why, but as far as I’m concerned, the tourists can keep them; they’re no good to me.

‘Vodka-cranberry, please,’ I say, gesturing over to the table where Drew and Lauren are sitting. ‘And whatever they were drinking.’

‘Coming right up.’

While I’m waiting, I check my phone for what feels like the first time in a long time. It’s easier to tune out the noise of the office here; the New Orleans branch of my law firm seem to have a much less strenuous always-on policy, and once I got used to it, I found I was grateful for the change.

‘You know, I really need to have a word with security here,’ a voice growls into my ear – low, soft, smooth. ‘They just will not stop letting pretty girls into my club.’

Jack’s hands wrap around my waist, and I grin. I spin around and give him a kiss that belies the fact that it’s been no more than about four hours since I saw him last. ‘Is that so?’ I say. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘You?’ He smiles. ‘Never.’ He casts an eye over to Drew and Lauren, sitting over in the corner booth. ‘Should I be worried? I remember the last time you two got together down here. We’re lucky New Orleans is still in one piece.’

‘Oh, hush, you. Can’t a girl have a good time?’

‘I don’t think there’s a force in this universe that could stop you.’

I grin. ‘I seem to recall you thinking I was boring, once upon a time.’

‘Me? Not a chance.’

‘Mm-hmm. You said I worked too hard. You said I spent too long staring at my phone, when I could have been having fun.’

‘Ah, see, that’s different. I said you worked too hard. I didn’t say you were boring. That’s not the same thing at all.’ Is there a tiny bit of him that’s flustered, a small mote worry that’s convinced he’s managed to offend me lurking behind that smooth grin? I hope not.

‘You know, that’s a lot of talking when we could be kissing.’

He grins. ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he says, and leans in to press his lips against mine. I feel a shiver of excitement, as I do every time. No one kisses like Jack. No one ever has. I suspect no one ever will again.

And I’m entirely OK with that.

When we turn back, Eddie is placing our drinks onto a tray: a vodka-cranberry for me, a beer for Drew, and a fancy-looking fruit concoction that’s as heavy on umbrellas as I’m sure it is light on booze for Lauren.

Plus a Sazerac.

‘Yours?’ I ask Jack.

He shakes his head. ‘Not while I’m working. Not this early, anyway.’

‘Eddie, I think you’ve made a mistake.’ Or this is your idea of being funny, anyway. Although if it is, I’m not complaining. More jokes should come in drinkable form.

‘Nope. Courtesy of your friend over there,’ Eddie says, pointing. He can only spare us a second before he goes off to deal with another crowd of tourists, but I follow the line of his finger down to the other end of the bar.

It takes me a second for the man’s features to register. He’s an older guy: tall and portly, stretching out a Black Flag t-shirt that looks old enough that it might be an original. A pair of sunglasses is pushed high on his bald head, and I can see that even in the relative cool of the bar, the heat isn’t being particularly kind to him. As he catches my eye, Chuck the Psychic raises his glass towards the pair of us.

‘Who’s the bald dude?’ Jack asks. ‘Friend of yours?’

‘He’s… yeah,’ I say. ‘Yeah, he’s a friend. Well, sort of.’

‘Sort of?’

‘He gave me some good advice, once. Twice, in fact. He might even be the reason we’re together.’

Jack fires off a quick, jokey salute by way of a greeting. ‘You want to go say hi?’ he asks.

‘I… no,’ I say. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘You know how it goes around here,’ he says. ‘Any friend of yours is a friend of the Coeur de Vie.’

‘How could I forget? But still… maybe just let this one go.’

‘Anyone ever tell you you’re a strange one, Miss Mossberg?’ he asks.

‘All the time, Mr. Robichaux. And you wouldn’t have me any other way.’

‘Damn straight.’

He leans in and gives me another quick kiss. ‘I gotta go, OK? I’m supposed to start… five minutes ago.’ He gestures to the piano, lonesome on stage without him.

‘Sure. Sure.’

‘I love you, Ella.’

Six months in, hearing those words never gets old – the sweetest music I’ve ever heard him make. ‘I love you too, Jack.’

I gather up the drinks and head back over to Lauren’s table as he makes his way to the piano and takes his seat. I watch him for a moment, lost in preparation, as he places his fingers softly on the keys. I recognise that touch all too well. A few quick notes ring out over the conversations in the bar, and the audience hushes and begins to pay attention to him. That’s Jack, through and through: always a showman, always willing to let the music speak for him. That’s all that matters. As long as everyone’s having a good time, so is he.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he says with a wink towards the crowd. ‘My name is Jackson Robichaux, and I’d like to offer you all a most sincere New Orleans welcome to the Coeur de Vie.’

A round of applause ripples through the crowd. This is it, I think. This is what happiness feels like. My best friend, her soon-to-be babies, and the man I love, all in the same room. Everything I ever wanted. What more could I need?

Lauren grips my hand gently as Jack launches into the first song of the night: a favoured rendition of Paper Moon. I must have heard his whole set a hundred times by now, but I don’t care. I never get tired of it – not a line, not a phrase, not a melody.

‘Cause it wouldn’t be make-believe,

If you believed in me.

I smile as my eyes drift softly closed, taking it all in – breathing in every last note.

I follow the music, and it leads me home.