says, “Thanks for the nice mattress and soft sheets and everything you do for me.” I’m about to ask her what “everything” is when she adds, “My new health insurance is better and cheaper than my old Blue Shield.”
“Actually, I’m selfishly baiting a trap so you’ll never leave me and Mom.”
“You’re not selfish.” She laughs as if I’m joking, but I’m not.
It’s hard to admit, but I can be selfish sometimes. In my own defense, it’s embedded in my DNA. Like making myself look good even when I don’t have anywhere to go and I’m not leaving the house.
I tell her good night and turn out the hall lights as I move to the blue room. There are two kinds of selfish: the healthy kind and the unhealthy kind. I’ve written rules and blogs and book chapters on the subject. In speeches and podcasts, I explain the differences.
There is a trick to balancing the two, but somewhere my scales got off-balance and I got absorbed with pushing Lulu to bigger and better heights. Fighting to keep my business going during the hell years with Tony didn’t help my single-minded, borderline-unhealthy focus.
I keep an eye on the chandelier and push a button switch on the bedroom wall. No sparks fall from the ceiling, but in the dim light, the half tester looks just as imposing in this room as it did across the hall. So do the few other pieces of Great-grandfather’s furniture placed about the room, but at least I have somewhere to unpack my clothes now.
The wardrobe can easily accommodate a family of three, and the dresser is almost as tall as I am. The old drawers smell of cedar and beeswax and don’t stick as badly as I’d presumed. Before leaving the cold wind and sleet of Seattle, I’d packed wool suits and sweaters, pink Ugg boots and flannel nightshirts, which just goes to show how chaotic my life had gotten. Boots and flannel don’t go with springtime in Louisiana. At least not when you’re used to March in the Pacific Northwest, where moisture comes in the form of chilly rain instead of steamy humidity. Lindsey has the right idea. I need a trip to the mall.
I swing open the veranda doors and take a deep breath of Mississippi Delta air. Even I, a woman who’d rather be at the Windsor Court Hotel, enjoying pralines and dry air-conditioning, admit that I am enchanted by riverboat lights filtered through branches of towering trees swathed with Spanish moss. I pull another cleansing breath into the bottom of my lungs and let it out. There is a stillness up here on the balcony, a quiet that allows my heart to beat without worry and calms my mind. My head is clearer and I can think about moving forward.
My business has survived the tour cancellations, and I managed to work both yesterday and today. Margie called with an offer from the publisher of my last three books. It was a good offer, but I turned it down. It wasn’t an easy decision. The old Lulu would have sealed the deal with a signature and a glass of champagne in Margie’s apartment on New York’s Upper East Side. There is a huge part of me that misses that life, but as rough as the past few days have been, Mom is my priority. Other business opportunities will come my way, but the opportunity to spend time with Mother will not.
An insect buzzes in my ear, ending my enchantment. I shut the doors tight and change for bed. No more flannel—tonight it’s just a sports bra and panties. Just in case, I shake the footboard and wait for the half tester to collapse. It doesn’t move, and I’m satisfied that I won’t be impaled tonight.
“What’re you planning, tee Lou Ann?” Simon hadn’t even cracked a smile after that. He’d just turned on his heels and walked from the room, leaving the question hanging in the air and me to wonder what tee meant. He’d already compared me to a swamp rat, so I’m not holding out hope that it was a compliment.
I’m still mulling it over when I turn off the lights and pull back sheets that I’d brought from Seattle. Moonbeams pour through the veranda door and windows, spilling a golden path across the hardwood floor to my feet, and I grab my phone from the side table. Beneath the covers, I settle in and plump pillows behind my back. The light from