Page 107 of Lovely Darkness

“Yes. It was him,” she continues. “The both of you. He grew up there in that old mansion too, didn’t he?”

I nod. “Since he was nine.”

“Well, you two were about twelve, maybe? I was eight. My cousin was a bus boy at a bistro that went out of business so long ago, I don’t even recall the name. Some drunk tourists were giving him shit in the alley. I had come by with his dinner, since he hated the restaurant food. They were pushing him around. Maybe they were gonna beat him up. But then two little white boys appeared out of nowhere and they did all this… I don’t know. Karate shit, or whatever. And those tourists ran away from that alley with black eyes and broken noses.”

I’m already grinning like a fool by the time she says ‘karate shit’. Then I’m laughing out loud.

“You remember, don’t you?”

I nod. “You were a very little girl. And you put up two fingers like a cross and called us blue-eyed demons. But then…” I pause to make sure I get the memory right. “You pulled two crabapples out of your dress pocket and said—”

“‘Even demons gotta eat.’”

We laugh again. And it’s during this laugh that the entirety of my life hits me hard.

It’s not exactly about who I am or what I’ve done.

It’s about what I gave up to be me.

It’s about what I’ve missed.

“Did you eat them?”

I chuckle. “The crabapples?”

She giggles too. “I hope you didn’t eat them. They were nasty.”

Then we are both laughing hard.

“My gra-mere used to make pies out of them. Worst things ever. She used to make me go around the neighborhood and steal them off people’s trees.” She pauses, her eyes sparkling again as her face goes soft with another memory. “But I would give anything to have one of her nasty crabapple pies right now.”

I don’t say anything because sadness has entered the room. Regret too.

“She died about six months ago. Ripe old age of ninety-seven. And she was still sewing. She left her shop to me when she died. I’m a seamstress too. We mostly make hats, but purses as well.” Perrine nods her head to the beaded clutch on the couch next to her. “Well. Used to make hats and purses. Not anymore. I sold the shop.”

“Oh.” Her sadness makes sense now.

“I thought… there had to be more to life than just sewing and the French Quarter. I’ve never been anywhere. I wanted to go places. See things. But then I realized…” She pauses and shakes her head. “I had no one to do that with. We owned the building where the shop was. I have two million dollars in my bank account, Mr. Boucher. And I have no one to spend it on.”

“Hm. I can relate. Money’s not really the answer, is it?”

“It’s nice to have. I’m not going to deny that. But no. It only solves trivial things. The important stuff? That’s all stuff money can’t buy.”

I am lost in the memory of Indie in her cage for a moment.

That’s what I was doing that night. Trying to buy happiness.

What a fool I was.

“How about you?” Perrine asks. “You got any regrets?”

I laugh out loud. “How much time do you have?”

“All night, I think.”

“Perrine,” I say.

“Adam,” she says back.