by Susan Finlay
Josh shook his head and picked up his cup from the black wrought-iron and glass coffee table, bringing his attention back to the seating area. He shuddered to think what Vanessa would say about the seen-better-days red-yellow-green-orange plaid sofa that reminded him of a clown costume. No doubt she wouldn’t sit on it, at least not without fumigating it.
Paulette’s chair was an army green corduroy recliner that reminded him of his grandpa’s favorite chair in his hunting cabin at the lake. Not modern, but not as ugly as the sofa.
Nearby was a small dining table with four pine chairs. The wall behind the table and chairs, he assumed, separated the kitchen from this main room.
“Sorry the house is a mess,” Paulette said again. She was apparently watching him. She waved her hand. “I would have tidied up, especially put away all these clothes if I could, but je suis épulsé!”
“Huh?”
She shook her head and sighed. “I am exhausted. That’s what it means. You told me your French was passable.”
Heat rose up his neck. “Sorry. I guess that was a bit of a stretch.”
“Pas de problème. No problem. I guess I didn’t warn you I was dying, did I?” She shrugged. “I wish you could have seen me years ago, before I became a doddering old woman.” She coughed.
He didn’t know what to say to that. “Your home is really interesting. I’ve never been inside a cave home before. But where is your bathroom?”
“You’re funny. We call them les toilettes, you know. Anyway, it’s near the back of the cuisine—the kitchen, next to the utility room. There’s two bedrooms upstairs, which I must admit is a challenge if you have to rush to the ‘bathroom’ during the night.” The way she said bathroom sounded more like bad room.
Josh smiled. “I can imagine the difficulty, especially with those stairs. And I’ll try to remember les toilettes.”
She coughed again, an extended spell. “Forgive me. Sometimes the coughing is troublesome, sometimes not. As I was saying, the bedrooms are barely big enough for a bed and a dresser. Hope you don’t mind. I suppose I should have warned you that this is not a well-appointed hotel.”
“No, I guess not. But I think it’s utterly charming, all the same.” He smiled at her.
Paulette smiled feebly, then closed her eyes.
Josh waited for her to open her eyes and resume their conversation. After several minutes he decided she had fallen asleep.
He got up, walked over to the bookcase, and turned his head, scanning the spines of books—assorted art books, books about dancing and movies and acting, photography books, and books about travel, foreign countries, and geography, antique books of all sorts, and two shelves of modern novels, including science fiction, fantasy, and romance books.
“Did you see anything you like there on my shelves?”
He swung back around and stumbled slightly in the process. “Sorry, I wasn’t snooping. Your book collection is interesting. What did you do for a living, Madame Lapierre?”
“Oh, don’t call me that. Paulette. That’s what you can call me. Do you know, when I was a little girl, everyone called me Paulie? I hated that.”
He nodded, without speaking. What was he supposed to say? He focused on the fireplace. Wood burning. Ah, that’s probably what the pile of wood was for. When he turned and looked at her again, she was clutching her chest.
“Are you all right?”
“Oui,” she said in a weary voice. “J’ai mal à la poitrine. Oh, that means I have chest pains. I’m not used to having people around the house. All the excitement makes me tired.”
“You did ask me to come. If you’d rather I leave—”
“Non, non! I didn’t mean that.” She was sitting up straighter now and no longer clutching her chest.
Josh finished his tea. Gonna take some time getting used to this woman. Was she really that sick, or was she faking? His other grandma, his mom’s mother, used to fake illnesses sometimes to get attention. He’d have to verify that she was really dying before he decided for sure if he was staying.
Too many liars and cheats in his life already.
ISABELLE BERNOT CARRIED bags of groceries upstairs to her home above her bakery shop on Rue Lupone and set them on the kitchen counter. Since her brother’s death two months earlier, she’d barely kept any food in the house. Why should she? It was only her and the cat now. She kept Apollo well-fed, but she could barely get herself to eat, at least anything nutritious. She sometimes idly snacked on her chocolates and pastries while working at the bakery, but that hardly qualified as real food. If she wasn’t careful, she knew, she would develop diabetes like her grandfather had many years ago. Normally, that possibility wouldn’t concern her overmuch, but today, shortly before closing shop, she’d fainted. She’d come to, with her last customer of the day terrified, leaning over her and asking if he should call an ambulance. “No, no, I’m all right,” she’d said. He’d insisted she let him at least take her out for a meal, citing how gaunt and sallow she had begun looking lately, which she’d reluctantly agreed to. After lunch, she’d thanked him again and then after parting had rushed straight to the market so she wouldn’t have to go through that embarrassment again.
She deposited meat, cheese, fresh fruit and vegetables in the refrigerator and then placed a loaf of bread, some crackers, and a few cans of soup in the cupboard.
Apollo slinked in through the pet opening in the back door that led to a small balcony and a set of stairs, rubbed up against her legs, and meowed.
“There’s my baby,” she said, reaching down and stroking the cat, eliciting loud satisfied purrs. “Are you looking for your dinner?”
Apollo gave a loud answer consisting of a string of meow syllables that to Isabelle meant ‘yes, I’m starving’.
“All right, hold on mister.” Isabelle smiled, straightening up and walking back to the cupboard, taking out a can of cat food and scooping the food into Apollo’s dish.
She sat on a chair at the kitchen table, chin resting on her propped up arm, and watched him eat. If it weren’t for Apollo needing her, she sometimes thought she wouldn’t have a reason to live. No family, practically no friends unless you counted her regular customers. No one who would really miss her if she was gone. Ever since Henri died, everyone had been telling her she should be happy to have her life back now that she no longer had to take care of her quadriplegic brother. They actually acted as though she should celebrate. Didn’t they realize she would be sad to never see him again? Didn’t they understand how difficult it is to be suddenly alone and without an anchor, without family?
She sighed and hung her head. Her days consisted of working at the bakery, where she made chocolates, baked cakes and pastries, waited on customers, did the banking and accounting. Then home. Reading, watching television, going for walks, alone. She was always alone now. But that’s the way she liked it. I do like it, right? God, what am I supposed to do with my life? She covered her face with both hands.
Did I do everything I could for Henri? Oh, God. It should have been me instead.
Once again her mind showed her the picture of Henri lying in his bed, his face white and the heart monitor no longer registering a heartbeat. It had been a day like today. She’d stopped for groceries after work and had come home later than usual. Maybe if she hadn’t stopped—
Apollo jumped onto her lap, placed his front paws on her chest, and brushed his head against the side of her face. “At least I have you, my sweet Apollo. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you, my baby.” She closed her eyes and stroked the cat’s fur, her dark mood brightening a bit.
She would keep her cat safe. And maybe even get him a friend. Yes, another cat. Maybe a dog, too.
CHAPTER THREE
JOSH MUDDLED HIS way back into town, managing not getting lost, and bought two take-away meals from a restaurant with money Paulette had given him. Upon returning to the troglo, he and Paulette ate their dinners sitting where they’d both sat when he’d first ar
rived and watched some game show on an old television. After eating, Paulette rapidly nodded off. Her head tilted to the side and her mouth dropped open. Josh took her dishes, which looked about to fall off Paulette’s lap, set them in the kitchen sink, and returned to finish the show. Her own soft snoring woke her up and she jumped and asked what she’d missed on the program. This happened several times over the course of a couple hours. Each time, Josh would catch her up on the happenings as best he could and then she would slowly nod off again. Watching television, even in French, was relaxing and kept his mind off his own problems. It wasn’t until later, after he helped Paulette upstairs and tucked her into her bed, then carried his bags into his own bedroom that the day’s events caved-in on him again.
He shook himself. Stop thinking!
He sat down on the edge of the bed, yanked off his sneakers, and gazed around the tiny room. Up here, the walls were rougher, more cave-like. The ceiling was lower, too. The twin-size bed, set length-wise along one wall, was covered with a white chenille bedspread that dragged slightly on the hardwood floor. Across from the bed stood an old dark green dresser with round red knobs in the center of each of six drawers. Next to that was a small wardrobe blocked from opening by stacks of papers. No window. The only light source was a green lamp, sitting on one side of the dresser, giving the whole room a greenish aura.
Next to the lamp on one side was a clock and on the side a framed black and white photograph of a girl around nine or ten—Paulette?—along with, he assumed, her parents.
He looked down at the narrow bed and ran his hand lightly over the bedspread as he tried to picture the little girl with long pale braids sitting there. When he looked back up, the shadows around another frame at the opposite end of the dresser, alongside a neat row of hardcover books, caught his attention.
He stood, reached over, and snatched the silver frame. Sitting back down, he stared into a pretty woman’s face. The woman, now looking considerably more like Paulette, was around seventeen or eighteen. Her long wavy hair had darkened since the other photo was taken. It was hard to tell the color since, again, it was a black and white photo. Her lips were pressed together in what looked to be an attempt at a smile that didn’t quite make it. Her dark eyes were haunting, carried sadness.
Josh returned the frame to its resting place, but his love of books made him automatically scan the spines of the books on the dresser. The titles made him smile because they were all classics—he recognized them even in French—that he’d read when he was a little kid: Grimm’s Fairytales, Gulliver’s Travels, The Wizard of Oz, The Secret Garden, Treasure Island, and The Chronicles of Narnia.
He sat back down on the bed, sighing. Though he figured he should get up and unpack his bags, he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. Perhaps he’d have been better off not coming here. His own problems were more than enough. Did he really want to take on someone else’s problems right now?
A soft scuffling sound made him jerk his head in time to see a mouse scurry across the floor and into a crack in the wall. Shit! Creepy things crawling over me while I sleep. Nuh uh. That suddenly brought wild images of mice tying him up like the pint-sized Lilliputians had done to the human Gulliver in Gulliver’s Travels. He glanced down at his shoes and his bare feet, then yanked his legs up onto the bed. “I’m not going to make it that easy for you,” he whispered.
Then he glanced at the door. Still closed. Damn, he would have been even more embarrassed than when he’d stumbled off the curb earlier if Paulette had witnessed him getting upset over a mouse.
He undressed and slid between the bedcovers, then remembered the lamp. Getting up, he took two large steps, reached the dresser, and switched off the lamp. Pitch blackness. Crap! He’d forgotten this was a cave. Two large steps forward and he reached out and grasped the bed. Okay. That worked. But I need a night light in here. How am I going to know when it is morning? Can’t see the clock. Moving to re-enter the bed, feeling along with his hands, he stubbed his toe on the leg of the bed. Stifling an expletive and rubbing his toe, he flopped into bed. Damn, that hurts.
Lying there on his back, his hands behind his head, he tried to focus on sleep. He closed his eyes. The first thing he saw in his mind was Vanessa. Tall, sleek dark-red hair down to her waist, green eyes seducing him . . . . Click, click, click. Crap! Mouse scurrying across the floor. Papers crunching. The sounds drowning out the soft ticking of the dresser-top clock. Nope. Gonna have to sleep with the light on. At least tonight. Better buy a nightlight to plug in tomorrow. And a digital clock with lighted read-out.
Repeating the steps to the dresser, he groped around, turned on the light, and then got carefully back in bed. This time, when he closed his eyes, trying to sleep, he saw himself and Vanessa arguing, their parents all trying to insert themselves into the fray.
He rolled over. Darn it. Gotta think about something else. His eyes focused on the photo of teenaged Paulette. No other pictures of her family. Did she have kids, grandkids? If so, why weren’t they here to take care of her? Did she have a falling out with them the way Dad and Grandma Jane did? Josh never did find out what their fight was about. If it hadn’t been for his mom sneaking him into his grandma’s room at the retirement home a few times, he wouldn’t have gotten to know Grandma Jane at all. His father. That S.O.B.
He rolled over again. Rats! Think about something else. His attention turned to the village. On his second trip into the town, when he’d gone to get dinners, he’d seen the beautiful cat, Apollo, again. The cat had come to him briefly for petting and had then sauntered off. Sure wish I had that cat here now. Norwegian Forest cats are great mice catchers.
DECIDING IT WAS finally morning, sleep only sporadically rescuing him from the mouse and his painful memories, Josh started down the stairs, then stopped abruptly when the wooden tread he stepped on squeaked loudly. He didn’t want to awaken Paulette if she was trying to sleep in. After a moment, not hearing any sounds from her room, he continued. Halfway down, he paused and closed his eyes. Ah, the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Okay, so either there was a coffeemaker with an automatic timer or Paulette was already up. He opened his eyes and let the aroma pull him the rest of the way down, straight to the source.
He walked into the galley kitchen and took in more detail than he had the day before—its small size, rustic cabinets and old appliances—well, crappy was the honest description his mother would use if she saw it, but he was trying not to be too critical. He momentarily tried to picture Vanessa living here. He couldn’t. It was no more up to her standards than it was his mother’s, and Vanessa didn’t even cook. Even so, she had insisted on the most modern gourmet kitchen in their apartment.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Paulette said. She was standing next to the countertop where an electric coffeemaker still sputtered away, and she was sipping a cup of coffee. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t.” He smiled and yawned, then stood waiting. After a couple of minutes he asked, “Would you mind if I had a cup of coffee?”
“Goodness,” Paulette said, her face reddening, “where have my manners gone? I guess it’s been too long since I’ve had a houseguest, I’ve forgotten how to behave.” She reached up to a cupboard, pulled out a yellow mug, filled it with coffee, handed it to him, then refilled her own mug.
“Thanks,” he said, his lips twitching unsuccessfully to hide his smile.
“We can go into the dining area. It’ll be more comfortable.”
Josh followed her, then sat down in one of the pine chairs at the table.
“How did you sleep?”
He shrugged his shoulders and sipped the coffee.
“That bad?”
“Well, I don’t easily adjust to strange beds but the real problem was the mice.” He stopped short of admitting he’d been afraid of them.
She laughed.
“It’s not funny. I got up and switched on the lamp. It helped but only temporarily. When they started rifling the room again, I pulled t
he bedspread over my head. That didn’t help. Later, I crammed my pillow around my head and over my ears. I finally slept, but by then it was well after midnight.”
After her raucous laughter finally abated, Paulette said, “So now you know my secret. The other reason I like to sleep on the sofa down here.”
Josh gasped, then pointed his finger at her, chuckling. “You’re a sneaky old woman.”
Paulette held up her hands, and said, “Guilty.” She took a swig of coffee, then set her mug down on the table, her hands wrapped loosely around the blue mug. “What shall we do first, today?” she asked, eyeing him.
“How about we talk. Tell me something about yourself? Do you have any family?”
“Non. I married once. I had many love affairs after my husband passed away. Never had children. Didn’t want them.” She lowered her eyes and sipped from her cup. “I’d rather hear about you. Where do you live?”
“America. Uh, Santa Barbara, California.”
She lifted her eyes and stared at him, envy obvious on her face. “I’ve always wanted to travel to California. Thought I would do it someday, too. Traveled all over Europe, the U.K., Asia, and South America. Never got to North America. Are you a surfer boy? You look like one with all that curly blond hair and muscles.”
He tried to hide his smile. Why did people always associate blond hair and California with surfing? “Nope. Never surfed a day in my life. Sailing is more my taste. And running.”
“Ah, well, you would have appealed to me when I was young, anyway. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Not in college, then?”
“Nope. Finished that already.”
“Don’t you have a job that you need to get back to?”
He shrugged, not sure if he still had a job and not sure if he wanted it if he did. Vanessa’s father had hired him to work at ‘his’ bank. Josh’s parents had been proud, giving him the old ‘attaboy’ slap on the back and congratulating him for landing a beautiful girlfriend and a promising career at the same time. Yeah, right, like he should be proud that his girl’s daddy was giving him a hand up!
