“Is that Grandmommy Lacie?” Remi asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell her I said hi and I am hungry.”
“Sure, baby.” Rosalie swallowed against the constricted feel in her throat, voice now tight. Remi had no idea any tension existed between them, and Rosalie preferred to keep it that way. She didn’t need to know her mommy and grandmommy struggled to remain amicable, much less loving. She quickly typed another reply, but at the last second, deleted the words. Instead she left Ma on read. The obvious slight gave her petty satisfaction and the grip on her airway loosened.
For the rest of the drive, reentering the highway lined by dense trees, she turned up the Elmo sing-along music to distract Remi, and she focused on clearing her head. She didn’t want to think about Ma anymore, or about Clyde and their disastrous marriage. She just wanted to finish the long three-day drive and make it to St. Aster.
It came as no surprise that in seven years little about St. Aster had changed. The town still operated off of a few stoplights, its downtown area two streets of antique buildings built over a century ago. Rosalie drove by the elementary school she once spent hours at, rocking on the swings and skipping through games of hopscotch. The screeching bell that rang whenever school let out was a sound fresh in her ears even after so many years. Remi pointed out a dog walking down the sidewalk with its owner. Rosalie glanced and recognized Mr. Porter, the town plumber who had lived his entire life in St. Aster.
Just like everyone else. And now she was like them too. Another relic in the nowhere town, doomed to stay there for decades. Even when she tried to escape, St. Aster reeled her back in. The curse was inevitable, hardly worth a fight. Her best bet was to find a job anywhere doing anything, save up every red cent she earned, and focus on giving Remi stability. At least they were far away from the awful memories Bmore brought them; on their old block, every corner they turned presented fresh pain from the bad times they endured. In St. Aster, Remi wouldn’t be reminded of 1:00 a.m. screaming matches.
Her phone pinged with another batch of text notifications. More texts from Ma asking for their whereabouts and making passive aggressive remarks about their stay. Rosalie ignored them as she’d been doing since their last gas station stop. The pings had begun to stir more nerves out of her already roiling stomach. Earlier, she had looked at the dozens of miles left until they reached their destination and blew a steadying breath that she wouldn’t need to see Ma just yet.
Those miles wound down to nothing. Her house was a couple blocks away. Their tense reunion a couple of minutes from happening. The failure would be realer than ever. She could no longer put off the reality, or savor the time left before its acknowledgment. The next chapter was here. No more excuses. No more delays. Just failure.
Rosalie rattled a breath and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The traffic light up ahead required she hook a left onto Lawson Street. Another block down before she reached Ma’s. Rather than make the left, Rosalie braked at the first open street parking. The snap decision bought her more time. She turned off the engine and sat there staring out the window at Main Street.
“I don’t see Grandmommy’s house,” Remi mumbled.
“It’s nearby, baby.”
“Why did we stop?”
“Are you still hungry?”
Remi nodded, small fingers picking at her favorite stuffed animal’s fur. During the last leg of their road trip, she had resorted to nibbling on crackers, but the snack wasn’t filling enough. Rosalie unclicked her seat belt and got out of the car.
“We’re going to eat a quick bite at this restaurant.”
“But, Mommy, you said—”
“I know what I said, Remi baby. It turns out this is a special exception. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Rosalie lifted Remi from the car seat and set her safely on the sidewalk. She hadn’t checked what restaurant they were about to walk into. The Lawson Street sign had loomed near and panic struck her as she slammed on the brakes. She happened to pull over in front of Ady’s Creole Café.
In its heyday, Ady’s was a St. Aster gem. The bright green building stood out among the drab red brick on Main Street. The restaurant sign had as much personality; hanging off the eave by chain, a cartoon crawfish wore a chef’s hat and a smile. Day in and day out, the small and squat restaurant drew dozens in town. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see a line forming down the block.
None of that was the case anymore. Rosalie surveyed the chipped paint on the building’s worn-down wooden slats and then tipped her head upward to stare at the faded cartoon crawfish. Even the chain had rusted. The windows, once a crystal clear view of customers crowded at tables, were foggy and smudged. The fragrant scents of garlic and pepper were no more, replaced by a less appetizing fishy smell. What had happened to Ady’s in the last seven years?
“Mommy, what’s that smell?” Remi pinched her nose and shuddered in disgust. “It smells like fishies.”
“I’m guessing it’s the restaurant, baby.”
“I don’t want to eat there. It’s gross.”
Rosalie spotted the crooked Help Wanted sign in the window. What started as an impromptu stop outside Ady’s began to transform into a visit that was potentially productive. She was killing two birds with one stone. Not only was she buying herself more time before reaching Ma’s house, she was job hunting. The lunch was worth a shot.
Her hand tightened on Remi’s. “I’m sure the food’s delicious. I’ve eaten here before when I was a girl.”
That was the truth. She had eaten at Ady’s a time or two during childhood. Ma hated the establishment, but even she couldn’t help when it was chosen as the venue for different celebrations. From birthday parties to formal dinners, it was the restaurant most in town chose. Even if it now looked run-down, the food still had to be amazing.
Walking into Ady’s, Rosalie discovered how wrong she was. The door swung shut behind her and Remi, chasing away any natural light. The once bright and familial tone was gone. The restaurant was dark, sparsely lit by melted candles on mantels. The tables were empty from front to back. She glanced at the unmanned hostess podium and noticed a sheet of dust atop the stacked menus.
But it was what hung above the podium that stunned her most. Rosalie gasped at the portrait memorial of Adeline Fontaine. Her kind smile looked down on the room, crow’s-feet bracketing her pale green eyes. Beneath her picture it read: In Loving Memory, 1966–2017.
“Can I help you?”
The normally helpful question was asked in the curtest tone possible. Rosalie tore her eyes off the portrait in time to watch the lone waitress on shift walk up. Her straight-from-the-box fire-engine red hair swung in sync with her steps.
“Hi, table for two,” answered Rosalie. “Do you have a booster seat for my daughter?”
“I can prolly grab a box or something. Take your pick where you wanna sit. It’s open seating.”
That was no understatement. Rosalie surveyed the dining area again. The two dozen empty tables were a pitiful sight. At Remi’s request, she chose one by the window. The waitress disappeared into the back and emerged with what looked like a plastic carton for Remi to sit on.
“Best I can do,” she said, setting up the carton on Remi’s side of the booth. It wasn’t a traditional booster seat by any means, but it gave Remi the height she needed to sit comfortably at the table. “I’m Zoe, by the way. Never seen y’all before, so I’m guessing you need a sec to look at the menu.”