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you don’t know who this woman is. You’re okay on your own. You don’t need
     anyone. You’re fine
. That was my mind talking, but my body told it to shut up. And that was the end of
     that.
    The day of our meeting I left my shift early, instead of waiting for Tracina or Will.
     As soon as the dining room died, I yelled goodbye to Dell and headed home to shower.
     From the back of the closet, I pulled out the white sundress I had bought for my thirtieth
     birthday. Scott had stood me up that night, and I hadn’t worn it since. Five years
     in the South had darkened my skin and four years of waitressing had toned my arms,
     so I was shocked to see that it actually looked better on me now. Standing infront of the full-length mirror, I kept a hand over my nervous stomach. Why was I
     nauseous? Because I knew I was letting something into my life, some element of excitement,
     maybe even danger? I tried to recall those steps from the journal,
Surrender, Generosity, Fearlessness, Courage
. I couldn’t remember them all, but pondering them this last week had created such
     an incredible pull, straight from the gut, that making that phone call had been more
     a compulsion than a decision.
    The Magazine Street bus was packed with tourists and cleaning ladies heading to the
     Garden District. I got off at Third, stopping in front of a bar called Tracey’s. I
     contemplated putting back a couple of shots to steel my nerves. Scott and I had done
     the Garden District tour when we first moved here, gawking at the colorful mansions,
     the pink Greek Revivals, the ones with Italianate architecture, the wrought-iron gates
     and the obvious money oozing everywhere. New Orleans was a study in contrasts. Rich
     neighborhoods next to poor ones, the ugly next to the beautiful. It frustrated Scott,
     but I liked that about this city. It was all extremes.
    I headed north. At Camp Street, I got confused. Had I gone too far in the wrong direction?
     I stopped abruptly, causing a small pileup.
    “I’m so sorry,” I said, to an alarmed young woman behind me holding the hands of a
     child and a dirty-faced toddler. I continued up Third, staying closer to the houses
     to let a group of tourists pass me.
    Turn around, Cassie, and go home. You don’t need help
.
    But I do! One meeting. One, maybe two hours with Matilda. What could it possibly hurt?
    Cassie, what if they make you do awful things? Things you don’t want to do?
    That’s ridiculous. That’s not going to happen.
    How do you know?
    Because Matilda was kind to me. She peered into my loneliness and didn’t laugh at
     it. She made me feel like it was a temporary condition, perhaps even curable.
    If you’re so lonely, why don’t you just go to bars like everyone else?
    Because I’m afraid.
    Afraid? And
this
is less scary?
    “Yes, frankly it is!” I mumbled.
    “Cassie? Is that you?” I turned around. It was Matilda on the sidewalk behind me,
     a line of concern across her brow. She was carrying a plastic bag in one hand and
     a clutch of gladiolas in the other. “Are you all right? Did you have trouble finding
     the place?”
    I was absently clutching a wrought-iron gate, using it either to hold me up or to
     hold me in place.
    “Oh my goodness. Hi. Yes. No. I guess I’m a little early. I thought I’d sit for a
     bit.”
    “You’re right on time, actually. Come, let’s go in and I’ll get you something cold
     to drink. It’s a hot one.”
    I had no choice now. I couldn’t turn back. All I had to do was follow this woman through
     the gate, into which she was now punching an elaborate security code. I glanced downThird and watched Five Years slink off without looking back at me.
    I followed Matilda through a lush courtyard with overgrown vines and trees. My mind
     was still holding on to my mother’s legs like a scared toddler. We were heading for
     the red door of a quaint, white coach house to the left of a massive mansion that
     had been barely visible from the