Restoring Hope Read Free Page B

take him on your own time.”
    “You’re just darn stubborn, that’s what you are,” Kat whined but Nic just ignored her as he always did when she got like this.
    “I gotta go, Kat. Thanks for picking Nicky up, I’ll see you at six.”
    “But—” Nic didn’t hear her final words, he’d already moved on to what was next.
    “Right, that’s settled. Did you get your bag for soccer? How about your books for school?”
    “Packed and ready,” Nicky mumbled around a mouthful of toast.
    “Then let’s hit the road.”
    Both Nicholas Beuve’s, one tall, dark and broken, one growing tall, dark and full of life, headed out the door of the condo Nic owned. Nic looked at his son, all arms and legs, and could see the man he would become. He hoped with time the sad expression he saw on his son’s face whenever he looked towards his sister’s room, would vanish. But, until that time, when he was with him, Nic would make damn sure his world was filled with love and attention. He would not make the same mistake he made with his ‘tite ange. He would be there for his son and teach him to be a man, but most of all, to talk to him about anything that was bothering him before he turned to drugs to ease the pain. He realized the hypocrisy of his thoughts and scoffed at himself. How was he gonna teach his son how to handle pain and disappointment when he knew with certainty, on his nights without Nicky, he’d be found with a drink in his hand? He was doing exactly what he’d tell his son not to do—drown your sorrows and hide your pain from the ones you love.

    Peering out the window of her run down, one room, rat infested, pay by the week apartment, Hope checked and double-checked to make sure no one was sitting in a car watching her building. Rose had scheduled her to work the kitchen, and she wanted to leave in plenty of time so she could walk slowly and see if anyone followed her. Whenever she left whatever place she was staying, she always brought her most important items with her in case she caught sight of a tail. She needed to be able to run at a moment’s notice, so she kept a bag packed with a change of clothes inside. Any cash she’d scraped together before she left was now gone, but when she’d had it, she kept it close as well and other than a few books she had for reading, she kept the bag light for a quick getaway.
    All was clear, no cars outside with passengers watching, no shadowy figures hiding in doorways waiting for her, so she grabbed her bag and the blue cook’s coat she wore at The Bayou and headed for the door.
    Her apartment was in the French Quarter and within walking distance of The Bayou. The building was old, set in between two homes boasting beautiful architecture with French, Creole and American design. The houses were painted in stunning colors that reminded her of the spices she used cooking at The Bayou. Old homes with cast iron balconies and walled in gardens that were an architectural gift from the Spanish, a tour guide had said when she first came to the city, and she wondered who lived in them. Were they happy families or single people just starting their lives?
    She’d taken time to wander the city since arriving in New Orleans, feeling secure when she’d first arrived that she hadn’t been followed. She’d decided Bourbon Street was her favorite. There were bars, fortunetellers, gift shops and glamorous hotels all on the same street. The whole area gave her a sense of wonder and excitement, and the thousands of tourists who came daily helped her feel anonymous. A person could get lost here, never to be found, she’d thought. It was a perfect place for someone like her who needed to hide.
    She walked past a bakery that had just received a shipment of flour and was pumping the light powder down a large hose into the basement of the bakery. The air around the shop was littered with a billowing cloud of white. She walked through it, not caring if it got in her hair, her blonde locks