“Leticia Chirac?”
“You’ve heard of her? There are some scandalous stories. I haven’t found out anything else. I hardly have time to get home, sleep, and take a shower before I’m back in the kitchen.” He paused. “Have I told you I miss you?”
“You have, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.” I smiled.
“Can you send my apologies to your family?”
“I will. My aunt and uncle will be disappointed, but I know you can’t afford to lose your job.”
“When do you leave?”
“A little less than two weeks. We have plenty of time.” I opted for false bravado to help alleviate his guilt. If circumstances were ideal, we’d spend every minute together, and begin to figure out what would happen after Paris. I wanted this to continue, despite the challenges of a long-distance relationship. The future was murky, but at least I had a future—one I embraced.
“Did you get my drawing?”
“Yes, I didn’t know your heart was made of delicious butter and carbs.”
He laughed. I could picture his gorgeous brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “If I get too busy, I’ll leave you something with Ines. Hey, I . . .” His voice became faint, followed by the sound of shattering glass. The call disconnected.
Great. Now his phone was also broken. As if we needed more obstacles. I braced myself before heading out to give my aunt and uncle the bad news.
* * *
* * *
A family dinner to meet the boyfriend was compulsory. It was an event I always wanted. I yearned for the stress, the aggravation, and the interrogation that I’d seen with my cousins when bringing their significant others. Despite all my recent changes, I was still denied for another day.
My parents notwithstanding, Uncle Michael and Aunt Evelyn would have made the perfect introduction to the Yu family. My uncle was disappointed, my aunt more so. We ordered from my aunt’s favorite Italian restaurant. She pushed her rotini arrabbiata around the plate, and ignored her glass of cabernet sauvignon. My uncle gave me worrying glances throughout the meal as he attempted to engage her in light discussion. After dinner, she retreated to her room, humming her now-familiar melancholy melody.
“I hate seeing her like this,” Uncle Michael said. “The business is her life. If it fails, I don’t see her recovering easily. Have you made any progress in reaching Girard?”
“His bodyguard is a distant relative. I’m hoping he’ll let me speak to his boss.”
He folded an empty takeaway box. “Wouldn’t he be violating some occupational code by allowing you to do so?”
I groaned and slumped into my chair. “You’re right. What do you suggest?”
“If you’re going to use subterfuge, don’t use family connections. At least, not that way.” He withdrew a card from his pocket. “Here’s Jack’s business card. Say you’re his assistant and you’re scouting locations. The restaurant is beautiful, right? Totally plausible.”
I held the card to my chest. “Uncle Michael, what will Jack say?”
“He loves me.” My uncle blushed. “He’ll forgive this. I think. Call to set up an appointment. Use an alias—a name similar to someone you knew from college. It’ll be easier to stick to the details.”
“Are you sure you’re a designer and not a spy from some secret organization?” I teased.
He winked, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Call now. The restaurant should still be open and, providing he’s available, you can get an appointment for tomorrow morning during the off-hours.”
“I should have just asked you to plan this whole thing.”
“I leave tomorrow, and I prefer to go knowing that you and Evelyn are better off than when I arrived.” He lifted my chin up. “She needs our help, but she won’t ask for it: she’s too stubborn. You have that in common. If there was an official test for obstinacy, you both would exceed the recommended level.”
My uncle was correct: Aunt Evelyn wouldn’t dare ask for help. It went against her nature and her infamous streak of independence. Why had it taken me this long to realize that she and I weren’t that different?
“She deserves to have what she came here for,” I declared.
Love. All my aunt wanted was the love she had denied herself due to her commitment to the family.
* * *
* * *
With Uncle Michael’s coaching, I arranged an appointment with Girard for the next morning at eleven. He also had a precise wardrobe: ponytail, dark denim, white blouse, and flats. Annie, Jack’s assistant, dressed in a similar fashion. My uncle’s natural aptitude for subterfuge amused me.
Tomorrow, I would talk to the man who held my aunt’s heart in his grasp.
Forty-Two
Before I donned my disguise, I had my morning errand of fetching a set of biscuits from Ines’s bakery. As I walked out the apartment door, a courier arrived delivering the photograph from Auntie Faye.
I ripped the cardboard envelope open. The picture of a much younger Girard fell into my hands. I turned the five-by-seven-inch photo over and traced my hand across the inscription on the back before sliding it back into the safety of the cardboard jacket.
As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, red threads surrounded me. An elaborate embroidery undulated as the crowd flowed around me.
I took a different route to the bakery—less direct—as there was a place that I needed to return.
Boulevard Saint-Germain and rue du Bac.
Nothing was different. No errant piece of luggage. No stray garment. No physical trace of what happened two days ago. But my body remembered: the trembling of my hands, the scar on my arm, the ache in my hip, the blue cane I now used.
And a new fear of crossing streets.
I tightened my grip on the cane, dampening the tremors in my right hand while I pressed my left hand against my thigh. Avoiding this would make everything worse in the future. My erratic fortune-telling had held me hostage for too long. I couldn’t allow this to do the same.
A small group of people waited with me on the corner, oblivious to my fear. I listened for the voice of the pedestrian lights, which I couldn’t understand, and waited for the chime and the green walk sign.
The crowd surged forward.
People pushed past me as I remained rooted to the sidewalk.
My heart was racing, my breath ragged.
The lights changed. A new group formed.
I can’t do this. It was a mistake to come this way.