〈0033 A Proposal to Think Carefully About〉
The Buick Mei was driving arrived outside the domestic terminal.
Mei eased to a stop in the far-right lane and switched on the hazard lights.
Holding her black backpack against her chest, Cynthia turned toward Mei and bowed her head slightly before opening the passenger door.
“Thank you for driving me.”
“Have a safe trip. Let me know when you arrive.”
The words came so naturally that, for a brief moment, Cynthia felt as though she had become one of Katty and Mei’s children.
Of course, that seemed far too presumptuous, so she immediately pushed the thought away.
“I will. Thank you.”
Just as Cynthia was about to get out, a horn sounded behind them. At first, she thought someone wanted them to move out of the lane. But Mei glanced in the rearview mirror, and her eyes widened.
“It’s your boss, Lydia Coleman.”
Cynthia looked back too. A burgundy Corvette had stopped behind the Buick. Lydia poked her head out of the driver’s window and called to them.
“Mei, pull into the parking lot. I need to talk to you.”
“You have something to tell Cindy?”
“No! I need to talk to you! Loop around and head into the parking lot!”
“Me? …All right. I will.”
Looking puzzled, Mei nevertheless followed Lydia’s instructions and drove toward the parking lot.
Something suddenly occurred to Cynthia. She took her iPhone out of her pants pocket. The screen showed a missed call from Lydia and a string of messages from the band members.
She had been so busy talking with Mei on the way that she had not even noticed her phone vibrating.
Coleman, Lydia> Cindy, looks like you can’t answer. I’ll try Kat.
St.Claire, Louise> I’m spending Sunday with my husband and son. I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you off this time. See you next week.
Fisher, Katty> Cindy, you’re at the airport by now, right? Hang on a minute. Liddy says she’s coming to see you off.
Coleman, Lydia> Cindy, I spoke to Kat. You’re in Mei’s car, right? I’ll come to the airport.
Cynthia felt rather overwhelmed that Lydia had come all the way to the airport just to see her off.
She quickly sent replies to Louise and Katty.
Me> We just met up with Ms. Coleman! She and Mei are parking their cars now.
Fisher, Katty> Good! Have a safe trip, Cindy.
St.Claire, Louise> Travel safely, and let us know when you arrive.
The burgundy Chevy Corvette and gray Buick Envision came to a stop side by side in the airport parking lot.
Lydia got out of the Corvette, pulled her jacket closed at the collar, and shivered.
“The forecast said it would turn cold this morning. Aren’t you cold, Mei?”
“Even someone from Boston starts finding this chilly after living in the South long enough.”
Mei turned toward Cynthia.
“You’re not particularly cold, are you, Cindy?”
“No. If anything, I was hot yesterday. This still feels mild for winter.”
Lydia gave a small laugh.
“A Northeasterner through and through.”
Having broken the ice with a discussion of the sudden cold, the three women walked from the parking lot to the terminal.
Walking beside Lydia, Cynthia murmured,
“Ms. Coleman, you really didn’t have to come all this way to see me off…”
“Of course I did. Mothers spend at least one day of the weekend tied up with their children, but I don’t have a husband or children. I should see you off. Besides, I have something to discuss with Mei afterward.”
Walking behind them, Mei tilted her head.
It was difficult to compare a band to an ordinary company, but the leader of the band her spouse belonged to was, broadly speaking, her spouse’s boss.
If that person had stopped her car because there was something important to discuss, it was unlikely to be anything as casual as an invitation to coffee.
The terminal was busy. The rattle of suitcases pulled by tourists leaving New Orleans mingled with parents telling their children not to run and announcements over the speakers.
At a coffee shop inside the terminal, Lydia bought Mei and Cynthia a hot coffee each and ordered one for herself.
They stood beside the shop for a while, drinking. While Cynthia and Mei gradually emptied their cups, Lydia took her time, sipping only now and then.
Lydia turned toward Cynthia.
“I’ll send next week’s schedule on Slack. Classes start tomorrow, right? Monday the twentieth?”
“Tuesday, actually. Monday is Martin Luther King Jr. Day.”
Lydia stopped with her cup halfway to her mouth.
“Oh. I’ve lost track of the date. The person running the band really ought to keep track of public holidays.”
She sighed briefly and looked at Cynthia again.
“Well, then. Study hard from Tuesday, and I’ll see you next Friday afternoon.”
“Yes. Thank you for everything this week.”
“You did well.”
Having finished her coffee, Cynthia threw away the empty paper cup and turned to Mei.
“Thank you for driving me.”
“Have a safe trip. Let me know when you arrive.”
Mei repeated what she had said earlier. Faced with someone who worried about her like a parent watching a child venture too close to the water, Cynthia could only give a bashful smile.
“I will.”
She put on her backpack and walked toward security. When she reached the line, she turned and gave them a small wave. Lydia raised a hand in return, and Mei nodded gently.
Cynthia’s figure grew smaller among the crowd, then disappeared beyond the security checkpoint.
Mei spoke first.
“That must be exhausting for her. Flying here, spending two or three days a week in another city, and attending school on top of it.”
Lydia was still looking in the direction Cynthia had gone.
“Yes. I know. I need to keep my appetite for talent in check, but controlling your own desires is the hardest thing. I keep wondering whether I’m asking too much of her…”
Her answer came slowly.
Mei looked at her. Lydia took a sip of the coffee in her hand. It seemed to have gone cold; her face tightened just a little.
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about that relates to that problem. And something I’d like to discuss with you as Kat’s wife.”
Mei understood that what came next would be more than small talk. She turned away from the security area where Cynthia had disappeared and faced Lydia directly.
“Please, go ahead, Ms. Coleman.”
“If we moved the band’s base to New York, would you and Kat be willing to bring the children and come with us?”
Mei did not answer at once.
Cars passed beyond the glass wall at the front of the airport. The wheels of travelers’ suitcases, the announcements, and the murmur of conversation blended together.
“New York?”
“I thought we would have to consider it eventually if we wanted to expand. There are more opportunities for performances, recording, and meeting people we could work with.”
Lydia briefly glanced toward where Cynthia had gone.
“And it would be less of a strain for Cindy to travel from Boston. Though it would still be another city, of course.”
Mei drew a slow breath, holding her car keys in one hand.
“Have you asked Kat?”
“Not yet. I wanted to ask you first.”
“Why?”
“Because I suspect that if I told Kat there was a chance to play bigger stages, her first answer would be yes.”
Lydia paused before continuing.
“But this isn’t just Kat moving on her own. Your life and the children’s lives would change too. I wanted to hear what that would mean in practical terms first.”
Mei’s expression barely changed.
She studied Lydia for a while, as though trying to decide whether the words were courtesy, calculation, or both.
“I would have to reconsider my job, where the family would live, the children’s daycare. All of it.”
Lydia nodded.
“That’s why I’m asking you first.”
Mei gave a small laugh.
“You don’t start with dreams when you’re trying to persuade someone, do you?”
“I can talk to Kat about dreams. With you, I need to start with reality.”
Lydia’s answer was matter-of-fact. This time, Mei laughed a little longer.
“That’s true.”
She rolled the car keys once in her palm.
“I can’t give you an answer right away. I came to New Orleans, found a job, met Kat, got married, and had a child. Leaving the life I’ve built here would take thought. And resolve.”
Mei paused.
“But I do understand the significance of your proposal. Moving to New York would mean choosing greater opportunities.”
She slipped her keys into her pocket and asked,
“Ms. Coleman. You really want to take Kat with you, don’t you?”
Lydia answered without hesitation.
“I’m determined to. I want to give her more stages to play and more opportunities.”
〈0034 Sleep Above the Clouds, a Mistake on the Ground〉
Friday, January 24, 2025. 5:45 p.m.
The airliner from Boston Logan International Airport touched down on the runway at Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport.
Rubbing limbs stiffened by the three-hour-and-forty-five-minute flight, passengers retrieved their belongings from beneath the seats and the overhead bins.
After everyone had made their way down the narrow aisle and off the plane, a middle-aged flight attendant checking the cabin found a young woman asleep in a window seat near the back, a blanket pulled up to her neck.
“Miss? Miss.”
“…!”
Cynthia’s eyes flew open, and she looked around.
“Oh! Are we here already?”
“You must have been very tired. You fell asleep right after takeoff, so I put a blanket over you.”
Looking embarrassed, Cynthia handed the blanket back.
It was only the first week of classes, without any assignments or exams yet. If I’m already this tired… how am I going to keep up with the band?
She retrieved the nylon shoulder bag she had tucked under the seat and slung it over her shoulder.
The last passenger off the plane, Cynthia looked through the terminal windows.
A faint light still lingered in the sky after sunset. Along the edge of the apron, patches of unmelted snow stood out white beneath the lights.
They said there was a snowstorm… It still hasn’t melted.
On January 21, nearly eight inches of snow had fallen on New Orleans, a city that rarely saw snow at all.
Everyone in the city knew how to prepare for a hurricane. A snowstorm was another matter.
Both snow-removal equipment and experience were in desperately short supply.
An accumulation that might have been merely a heavy snowfall elsewhere had become a disaster here.
The city had been paralyzed for nearly three days. Only on the twenty-third, the day before, had major roads reopened and airport operations begun returning to normal.
As Cynthia stepped outside, she heard a familiar voice.
“Cindy, over here.”
Lydia stood by the pickup area in a long coat.
A short distance away, a black four-wheel-drive Chevrolet Suburban was waiting. Whitaker had stepped out of the driver’s seat and was watching the two women.
Cynthia looked at Lydia.
“Ms. Coleman, you didn’t have to come and pick me up yourself.”
“Shh. I get to decide that.”
Smiling, Lydia lightly touched an index finger to Cynthia’s lips.
Cynthia’s face instantly reddened.
Whitaker opened the rear door.
“Welcome, Miss Lenosky. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“You too, Mr. Whitaker. But you have a different car today.”
“I’ve given the Continental the day off. There is still ice on the shaded roads.”
Once seated in the back of the Suburban, Cynthia asked quietly,
“I thought Mr. Whitaker was Ms. St.Claire’s personal chauffeur.”
“No. He works for a professional chauffeur service. He often drives for Louise’s family, but I can book him when I need him too. Like today.”
“On days like today?”
“There’s still a lot of snow around. My Corvette is taking the day off at home. If I brought it out in this weather, the car would go spinning, and I’d go spinning right along with it.”
The black Suburban traveled steadily along the damp winter road.
The clear sky was rapidly darkening. Streetlights spread their glow across the wet pavement and the snow remaining by the roadside.
Most of the snow that had covered the roads had been cleared or melted, but the air was still cold.
Just last week, it was warm enough that I took my jacket off to walk around. It turned cold the day I left, and then a snowstorm on Tuesday?
Most cars were traveling more slowly than usual.
The snow had almost disappeared from the main roads, though patches of pavement were wet with meltwater, and gray heaps remained along the curbs.
Ice still clung to places that stayed shaded during the day. Snow lay around the bases of palm trees and beneath Mardi Gras decorations.
It was a landscape in which deep winter and the tropics seemed to have mingled.
“What happens to Mardi Gras?”
“The krewes are just doing a little less practicing today because of the cold.”
Lydia smiled.
“This city’s celebrations don’t stop.”
Just then, a pickup truck towing a parade float was making its way slowly along the far-right lane.
Bundled in heavy winter clothes, scarves, and gloves, local krewe members waved and cheered at passing vehicles.
The black Suburban slipped quietly past them.
Watching the float recede, Lydia murmured,
“We’re going straight to the rehearsal studio.”
A moment later, she added,
“Just as they don’t stop parading, we don’t stop practicing. But we’ll only run through a few tunes today. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
Cynthia nodded, her face tired.
But that evening, as the fourth tune approached its end, she missed the downbeat.
“…!”
Her heart lurched. Almost immediately, however, she inserted a short rest at the same point in each phrase that followed.
She carried the mistake forward so naturally that it sounded like a deliberate rhythmic variation.
Lydia, who had been humming with her eyes closed, opened one eye slightly and looked at Cynthia.
Louise immediately checked the younger woman’s face.
Her hands continued moving across the keys without pause, but her gaze stayed on Cynthia.
Having finished her solo, Katty sat on a stool with her trumpet across her knees and quietly watched as well.
Lydia brought the tune to a close with one last hummed phrase.
“Let’s stop here for today. Cindy’s exhausted.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Lydia shook her head.
“You missed the beat because you’re tired, and we all know why you’re tired.”
While Lydia spoke with Cynthia, Katty and Louise briefly met each other’s eyes.
For two people who had played together so long, the look was almost a conversation.
She handled it exactly right.
But the fact that she needed to handle it at all is the problem.
Before anyone else began packing up, Lydia switched off the microphone amplifier.
“The rest can wait until tomorrow.”
“Oh, we’re getting off work earlier than I expected.”
Katty deliberately brightened her voice. She gave Cynthia’s shoulder a light pat and smiled.
“It’s almost eight already. What are we doing about dinner?”
“Kat, go home and eat with Mei and the kids.”
Lydia spoke firmly, then turned to Louise.
“Lou, your husband’s home tonight too, isn’t he? Have dinner together.”
Then she smiled at Cynthia.
“I don’t have a husband or children, so I’ll have dinner with Cindy.”
Cynthia slowly lifted her bowed head.
Lydia looked at her and gave a small smile.
“And tonight, I’m making sure you get some proper sleep.”
〈0035 Home to Warmth and Laughter〉
The St. Claude neighborhood of New Orleans.
Outside the single-story building Satin Crescent rented as a rehearsal studio, they heard a car pull quietly to a stop.
“Joseph is here.”
Louise set her teacup on the table and stood.
Twenty minutes earlier, she had called her husband, City Councilman Joseph St.Claire, and asked him to pick her up.
Joseph had stayed at City Hall into Friday evening, monitoring the aftermath of the extraordinary snowstorm. As soon as his wife called to suggest they go home, he had driven straight over.
Louise opened the studio’s front door and waved outside.
“Joe! Come in and have a cup of tea before we go.”
“No tea for me, thanks. But I should say hello to everyone.”
His voice was a clear, composed baritone. Then came the measured click of dress shoes, and Joseph St.Claire entered the rehearsal studio.
Cynthia rubbed her eyes without thinking. The moment Joseph walked in, she had the impression that the room’s lighting had grown brighter.
He looked like a young Alain Delon. Taller, though, and with a more reserved bearing.
“So this is… the aura of a handsome man?!”
The instant the involuntary exclamation escaped her lips, Cynthia’s face turned peach pink.
Laughter erupted around the studio.
“Cindy! Careful! That’s Louise’s husband!”
Katty shouted the warning. Even Joseph finally let out a small laugh.
“N-no! That was a reflex! It just came out!”
Cynthia waved both hands helplessly as she rushed to explain.
Still wearing a good-natured smile, Joseph inclined his head.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lenosky. I appreciate the compliment, though my wife is standing right beside me.”
“He’s mine. You can’t have him.”
Louise hugged Joseph’s arm tightly and made the announcement with a triumphant look at Cynthia.
Swallowing something close to a scream, Cynthia dove facedown onto the sofa. She clutched a cushion and buried her face in it, unable to lift her head.
Katty doubled over laughing again.
“Congratulations, Cindy! Achievement unlocked: flirting with someone else’s husband the moment you meet him!”
“I wasn’t flirting! My mouth got ahead of me!”
Cynthia protested from behind the cushion.
Lydia slowly shook her head.
“Most people react like that at least once when they first meet Mr. St.Claire. It’s not just you.”
I wondered why someone like Louise, the daughter of a real-estate and oil fortune, had married a lawyer… But this wasn’t a lawyer marrying into a wealthy family. It was a rich girl snapping up a ridiculously handsome man.
Cynthia kept that thought firmly to herself.
She had a feeling that if she said it aloud, Louise would hit her over the head with the teapot.
Outside, it was already dark. The wet road gleamed beneath the streetlights, and the snow piled along the building’s wall was faintly visible.
Joseph’s personal car waited quietly in front of the rehearsal studio.
A navy blue 2015 Ford Taurus.
It was ten years old but well maintained. Small scuffs along the door edges and wheels were the scattered marks of everyday use over the years.
Joseph opened a rear door for his wife.
“Joe, let’s give Kat a ride on the way. We can drop her off in Metairie.”
“Sure. One second. Let me clear the back seat first.”
He bent down and quickly moved a briefcase, an umbrella, a charging cable, and a rain parka kept for bad weather onto the front passenger seat.
Katty seized the opportunity and slipped into the back.
“Ahem. Thank you, thank you. What an honor to ride in a city councilman’s car.”
“Ms. Fisher. Why so formal all of a sudden?”
“No, Joe. Don’t encourage her. She’ll get carried away and start making ridiculous proposals about city policy.”
“Councilman! Frankly, I believe we need a budget for UFO observation! To promote tourism in New Orleans!”
“Kat. Quiet, please.”
Louise tossed her handbag into Katty’s lap, then waved to Lydia and Cynthia.
“Get some rest, Cindy. See you tomorrow. You too, Liddy.”
“Remember me, everyone!”
As Katty shouted the inexplicable farewell from the back seat, Louise quickly clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Thank you all for your hard work at rehearsal. Have a good evening.”
Joseph smiled at Lydia and Cynthia and gave them a slight nod. Then he got behind the wheel and started the engine. The navy Taurus pulled quietly away from the studio and headed toward Metairie.
A few minutes later, Whitaker’s Suburban stopped outside.
As always, he stepped out, strode around the vehicle, and opened the rear door for his passengers.
“Good evening, Ms. Coleman. Miss Lenosky.”
“Thank you for coming back, Mr. Whitaker.”
“…Th-thank you!”
“It is my pleasure to drive you.”
Whitaker smiled calmly and inclined his head.
Lydia settled comfortably into the back seat. Cynthia hurried in after her, clutching her nylon shoulder bag. With both women aboard, the Suburban rumbled onto the winter evening road.
“It’s a shame the streetcar isn’t running, Cindy. If it were, we could take it almost to my house. No transfers, either.”
“Is it out of service… because of the snowstorm?”
Cynthia looked at her as she asked. Lydia answered while watching the dark streets outside.
“The other lines are stopped because of the snow and ice now. But the one we’d take was already out of service before that.”
“Before the storm?”
“A few years ago, a hotel under construction beside the line collapsed. The streetcar couldn’t run for years afterward. It finally came back last May, but not long after that, signal and track repairs shut it down again.”
Lydia turned her gaze out the window.
“So many people love the streetcars… We’ll take a ride sometime when everything is running normally again.”
Then she quickly added, addressing the driver,
“Of course, I also enjoy your chauffeur service, Mr. Whitaker.”
Without turning around, Whitaker met Lydia’s eyes in the rearview mirror and smiled.
“Ms. Coleman, as a New Orleanian, I also appreciate the leisurely pace of a streetcar ride. I hope they are running again very soon.”
As they talked, the car entered the eastern part of the Warehouse District.