Free The Map of Moments by Christopher Golden Page B

through to the hostess at the end of the bar.
    The woman looked up, and Max recognized Poppy herself. Her auburn hair had been brighter red the last time he'd seen her, and shorter, and there were lines around her eyes that he didn't remember. But charm still radiated off her.
    “Mornin’, darlin’,” she said. “One for breakfast?”
    “Actually, I'm meeting someone.” He smiled at her. The woman stood about five-foot-nothing, but had a formidable air about her.
    She gave him a bemused look. “I know you, don't I?”
    “You have a good memory. I used to come in here sometimes with Gabrielle?”
    Poppy's eyes brightened. “Oh, Gaby! Yeah. Haven't seen her for…” She trailed off when she recognized the expression on Max's face. He guessed she'd seen that same look many times recently. “She's gone, huh? The Bitch get her?”
    Max almost corrected her, but then realized that toPoppy—and other New Orleaneans—“the Bitch” was Katrina.
    “Yeah. We buried her yesterday.”
    “I'm sorry. She shone bright, that one. You remember her, now!
Nobody
we lost ought to be forgotten.”
    “She won't be,” Max said, looking down at his feet, and the brief silence quickly grew uncomfortable.
    “You want to sit, or wait up front?” Poppy asked.
    He glanced at the door, but saw no sign of Corinne. “I'll sit, thanks.”
    Poppy led him into the main dining room, which was as narrow as the front but had room for a row of tables against either side, just eight in all. There were three free, and she led him to one about halfway down and slid two menus onto the table.
    “Get you some coffee to start?”
    “Café au lait, please.”
    “Coming right up, honey. And I'm sorry, again, about Gaby.”
    Max nodded and watched her go. She came back with his coffee within minutes, trailed by a doughy waiter with a goatee, who introduced himself as James. He asked if Max wanted anything else while he waited, then retreated to the kitchen.
    Corinne arrived a few minutes later. He'd sat himself so that he'd be positioned to see the front of the place, and the moment she came through the door he knew he wasn't going to tell her anything about the previous day. What would he say? The map felt crisp and stiff in his back pocket,but even if he showed it to her, what would she see? A tourist map that someone had scribbled on?
    “Hey. Sorry I'm late,” she said.
    “I've only been here a few minutes myself.”
    She slid into a chair and looked at the menu. James drifted from the kitchen as though he had some sixth sense, and she ordered black coffee.
    “Do you know what you want?” she asked.
    He laughed.
    Corinne looked up at him over the top of the menu. “What's funny?”
    “Nothing and everything. I don't have the first clue what I want. I thought I did, once, but …Anyway, that's not what you meant. I'm getting banana pancakes. Poppy does them wonderfully, with cinnamon on top.”
    When James returned, Corinne ordered the spicy shrimp omelette—essentially shrimp, cayenne, Tabasco, and ham folded into the eggs. It had been Gabrielle's favorite. Max wondered whether that was why Corinne had ordered it, or if they simply had the same tastes.
    “So tell me,” she said, when the waiter had vanished again. “Where'd you take off to, yesterday?”
    A wave of anger went through him. “Well, you didn't leave me much choice.”
    Her eyes dropped to her coffee cup, but she didn't pick it up. Hadn't even touched it. “I'm sorry about that. Ray asked for some time with you. He paid to get Gaby buried, so it was the least I could do. Anyway, I didn't think you'd mind.” She looked up. “Why, what did he do?”
    The tone of the question could have been interpreted many different ways, but Max sensed a real curiosity in it, as though Corinne had a lot of questions about Ray herself.
    “How well do you know the guy?”
    If it bothered her that he hadn't answered her question, she didn't show it. “Hardly at all. But Gabrielle knew