“Don’t let her be your only influence,” he says, reaching across the table to move a strand of hair that’s fallen in my face. “There’s more to New Orleans than just your mom.”

XI.

MY FEET ARE BARELY TOUCHING THE GROUND AS I STEP into our courtyard. Daniel is two years older than me and nothing like the boys back home. He doesn’t play or even watch sports except occasionally. He didn’t mention fishing once. He reads books and rides a bike and wants to be an architect someday.

I’ll see him again during my shift tomorrow at noon. It will keep me away from this too-small apartment and my mother’s too-large personality. The pay is just over minimum wage, but it’s a solid start on the college fund I have to replenish. Or at least the bus-ticket-to-anywhere fund.

I have nearly forgotten all about the street performer with the cloud full of coins and the Devil from the cathedral sipping coffee at the café, when I see Butcher. I nod as I pass the fountain, my new black apron wadded up in my arms.

It hits me that this job is my first milestone without Moony. How many more of these are there to come? In a perfect world, she would be waiting up for me with warm chicory coffee and cinnamon toast. She would be smiling as I told her all about this amazing boy unlike any other boy I’ve met. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t care what Daniel’s race is.

But this is not a perfect world. Moony would not have been happy about this job or Daniel. And somehow, the fact that she isn’t even here to show her disapproval is a slap in the face. The tears are already rolling by the time I reach our door and let myself in.

He’s not a large man, but he still feels big in this small space. His unexpectedness makes him even bigger. I freeze in the doorframe, the black, oil-stained apron clutched tightly to my stomach. The tears hang on my cheeks, drying slowly in place.

“You must be Cat,” he says carefully from across the room.

I nod but don’t take a step inside.

He stands, a hand outstretched, a hopeful smile parting his shaggy, orange-and-gray-tomcat beard. “I’m Gary.” He steps toward me. “Mary’s beau. Your mother went to meet some clients. She should be home any minute.”

Who says beau?

I close the door and move around him in a wide circle, eyeing his outstretched hand as if it were a striking snake. I drop my apron on the pullout. “I know who you are.”