Mosaic (3 page)

It was time. “I think I should see him by myself first,” she answered her daughter’s unfinished question.

Gabi was instantly at attention. “Are you talking about Julian?”

“Jules thinks she ran into him on the beach today.” Anna ran a finger around the edge of her mug thoughtfully. “Can you believe? What are the chances?”

Chewing her lip, Gabi’s eyes narrowed and flickered from mother to daughter. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“What? No!” Anna tried to laugh, but even she could hear how unconvincing it was. “It’s just Julian.”

“Shit, yeah it is, and I can see you’re already freaking out. Don’t even try pulling an act with me.”

“Gabi.” Worried eyes went to Jules. “I’ll be fine talking to him alone.”

“Oh, good lord, Mum. Like I don’t know this is hard for you?” Jules almost laughed. “And from what I saw today, well, a lot was explained.”

Taking a huge breath, Anna pulled out her wallet and several bills. “I’m going now. No point prolonging the inevitable.”

Standing, Gabi tossed an arm around her god-daughter’s shoulders. “Your mother has always been very impulsive.” Then she turned to her friend. “We’ll just head back to the house.”

“Yes.” Jules said, and neither of the women missed the glint in her eyes.

“What are you up to, small fry?” Gabi asked.

“Nothing!” Her fake innocence fooled no one.

“Try again.”

“I just stumbled across something curious last night.”

“Juliet,” Anna said as they walked down the steps away from the tin-roofed restaurant. “Take it from me, try to curb that naturally inquisitive nose you inherited. It will only get you into trouble.”

The girl laughed and shook her dark curls. “Whatever, Mum. It seemed to get you exactly where you wanted to go.”

“Not every time.”

As they parted company, the woman turned her gaze southward, toward the high rises she knew so well. Those imposing structures had played an enormous part in many lives over the past forty years. Now she was headed there again. Penthouse suites.

The first time she visited them, she was only seventeen. Twenty years later, she was just as intimidated. Only the man she’d face today was not Bill Kyser, he was a boy she never dreamed would grow up to be exactly like his dad.

Gabi was right. Seeing him again would be difficult, but it had to be done. Twenty years had at least made her stronger than she’d ever been as a teenager in Fairview, and facing Julian was an event that had been coming for some time.

The time, it seemed was now.

Anna’s Private Blog

Jules

Hi, there, I’m Jules, and I am an artist as you well know if you’re reading this. Not only am I an artist, I’m the best at what I do, and you’d better damn well thank your lucky stars you’ll get a copy of my memoirs eventually.

But back up, that’s not why we’re here. What we’re about to read is something
far
more interesting, and I’m a lucky duck Mum put me in her room, or I’d never have found it.

See this?

I know, of course you can’t see it. Dammit. This should be a VLog. Too bad for all of us, technology isn’t quite ready for my brilliance. I’ll describe it to you.

I’m holding a little black thumb drive, and on it is a purple sticker that reads “Anna’s Private Blog.” Can you believe that?

Right now I’m just going on the record to say Mum was definitely a feather-headed innocent when she was my age. How could
anyone
be so naïve as to label her private blog
as a private blog
? Doesn’t she realize that’s like slapping a neon sign on it and begging everyone in the universe to read it?

Regardless, I love the heck out of that woman, so don’t you dare criticize her, or I’ll kick you in the tush. I’m the only one allowed to do that.

Anyway, she left this in her desk drawer along with a photograph (in a frame, even) of her and some massively hot blond fellow. He’s actually
really
good looking, I’m not going to lie to you. I have no idea who this guy is, but Mum’s gazing at him like he’s the bloody future King of England. I mean, Wills had better look out if Kate ever meets this bloke the way Mum has her eyes on him.

Back to the now. As my internal clock is all screwed up, and I’m eight hours ahead in my mind, last night I flipped on that old laptop over there and plugged in this little guy. Guess what happened? The whole damn story lit up, that’s what. It’s all here.

I’d only gotten through the first pages when I finally fell asleep. It starts with the summer before she left for college, and when I stopped she was on her first days at Loyola.

It kind of all skips around a lot because it’s basically a diary, and she only wrote in it when she bloody well pleased.

But do you get what I’m holding now? It’s the story of her and my dad! At least some of it—I hope she kept writing through whatever happened.

Today, with this whole day empty, I plan to do some heavy reading and find out. Who’s with me?

We might not be headed to New Orleans physically, but that’s exactly where this story begins. Here we go.

Switch on…

Anna’s Private Blog: College Life Begins

Heavy, damp air filled with the dark scents of bodies in motion, the luscious aroma of garlic and celery. Musical strains drift past, either live or canned, I can’t tell. The heart of the city beats strong and full, and the atmosphere wraps around me like a second skin…

Who am I trying to kid? I’m not a poet. I’m a journalist. Still I love the idea of keeping a record of this time in my life, and yes, I got the idea from Julian’s mom, so don’t even bother pointing out the obvious.

The thing is, with Julian in Savannah and me in New Orleans, I’ve got time to document these years. We’re starting college, we’re launching our careers, we’re completely miserable separated—it’s all a huge part of our lives. So I’m going to keep a record for us to look back on and laugh… or count our blessings. Just don’t expect poetry. This will be straight news.

New Orleans is like no place I’ve ever been in my life.

I haven’t been to that many places, but I think I can safely say this city has an atmosphere unlike anywhere else. It all has a rhythm I can’t explain, like it’s beating just outside the walls. Even the voices of the locals roll along like the river…, which is actually higher than our apartment on Oak Street. It freaks me out a little when the barges go by, stories above us just on the other side of the levee. I try not to think about what that means or allow it to give me horrifying visions of Katrina aftermath.

Since I waited so long to confirm, we lost our apartment on St. Charles Avenue, but it actually worked out for the good. Rachel and I got a great deal on a shotgun duplex just around the corner. It’s actually a little closer to Tulane—as if the two universities are that far apart. (They’re not.) And we’re super close to the Camellia Grill and Cooter Browns.

Our next-door neighbor is an ancient lady we rarely see. She doesn’t even answer her door if we knock, and I can’t decide if it’s because she can’t hear us or if she’s afraid we’re burglars or transients.

Loyola is fantastic. I knew college life would be different from high school, but I had no idea it would be so much fun! I tested out of almost all of the introductory classes, so I’m starting out as a second-semester sophomore, and having nothing but classes in my major is like finding myself in Wonderland. No more scary science or sleep-inducing geometry for me. It’s all reading novels and writing and theorizing about major issues in Classical and Modern Literature and learning to be a newswoman—all the time. I. Love. It!

I opted not to go for a straight journalism major. I’m doing a double in English and mass communications. That way I have more options once I’m out. Rachel’s taking straight pre-law, and she’s lobbying hard for me to join her at the law school at State. I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes. For now we’re learning the ropes, and the only thing that could possibly make it better would be having Julian here.

HUGE sigh. God, I miss him so much.

When we said goodbye last week, my stomach cramped so bad. We’d been working on stockpiling for the shortage all summer long, but with the day right there, staring us in the face, everything in me was in full-on panic mode at the thought of being separated by so much distance. No matter how often he’d said the time would fly, I was certain it would feel like forever.

Now I have to confess… he was partially right. Getting set up made the days go by really fast, and now that classes have started, I’m too busy to sit around and miss him. It helps that we text each other constantly—more than when we lived in the same town.

It’s just little things. He’ll send me a note.
Stretched a new canvass. It’s for a figures project, but the only figure I want to cover it with is yours.

A tingly little smile touches my lips, and I glance up at the large watercolor he gave me just before prom. It’s a painting of me in New Orleans, surrounded by music and purples, greens, and golds, reaching out to him across and above in Savannah, surrounded by the ocean. His hand is stretched back to mine, and our dragonflies hold us together in the center. The sight of it causes a knot in my throat.

Your painting is hanging above my bed
, I reply.

Hope it makes you feel less lonely.

I don’t think I’ll ever feel less lonely until we’re together again.

I lie back, holding the phone close to my chest as if that somehow pulls him closer to me.

Don’t look at it as number of days we’re apart. Look at it as days of adventure we’ll have until we’re back together.

You’re the only person I want to have adventures with.

If we’re going on an adventure, we’re bound to run into a shortage.

That makes me giggle.
Don’t even say the word. It’s too cruel.

Love you, Sunshine. I’ll make the trip down next weekend.

Thinking of him driving all the way from SCAD to Loyola makes me frown.
Let’s meet back at home. It’s a much shorter distance if we both drive to Fairview.

I can’t spend the night if we do that.

It never stopped you before.
I smile at the memory of looking out my bedroom window and seeing his face.

I’m getting too old for climbing trees every night.

Then I laugh.
You’re the same age you were all summer when you did it.

Shortages drive a guy to extreme measures.

With a sigh, I relent.
Okay. Come here. I’ll see if Rachel will shack up with Brad so we can have the place to ourselves.

Clothing optional.

Laughing again, I end our chat.
Love you, too.

* * *

In the meantime, I go to class, and it is fantastic. The buildings are all ancient and amazing. They have huge windows, cool art-deco style chandeliers, and wood everything. It all smells like the biggest library you’ve ever been in, which is perfect for me. I’m like Belle in that cartoon
Beauty and the Beast
, spinning around in heaven at the sight of it all.

My literature professor is cool for a fifty-something year-old. He looks just like I expected all my professors to look with messy gray hair, five o’clock shadow, and wool blazer. It’s way too hot for wool, but it’s just the classic, English-professor look.

We’re starting out reading Kafka’s
The Metamorphosis
. I read it once before in high school and hated it. But somehow reading it in college makes me feel like I have to dig deeper. Look past the ickiness and find the meaning.

Gregor awoke one morning from a night of fitful dreams to find he’d been transformed into a monstrous vermin…

Shudders. I remember my high school teacher said he’d been transformed into a dung beetle, which is just nasty. Wikipedia said it was a giant cockroach. I also read it was somehow anti-Semitic, but I don’t know enough about that to comment.

I hate the image and the story is almost inexplicable, but I’m trying to be a college woman. I’m far too sophisticated to be disgusted by the main character of the story being a giant cockroach.

Who am I kidding? I hate this book! Bring on the Jane Austen!

Anna’s Private Blog: First Change of Plans

Have I ever mentioned how much I love Julian?

I love his dark, shiny hair that reflects the light like a mirror. I love his smile, his perfect white teeth that are like a line of pearly perfection. (I don’t care if I’m repeating myself. I already said I wasn’t a poet!)

I love how he always smells like fresh soap and ocean breezes. I love how strong his hands are and how his callouses are just a little scratchy when he smooths them over my skin. I love the way he knows exactly where to touch me…