The Family Hitchcock

by Mark Levin

  In an apartment across a courtyard, a teenage boy was standing at an easel, paintbrush in hand. Maddy pressed her face to the glass and watched him pause for a moment, apply his brush to the canvas, then take a step back to admire his painting, a portrait of a pretty girl with bright red hair. The boy was nice looking, too—tall with a sensitive, serious face. Maddy smiled. It all seemed wonderfully Parisian. Yes, she had fought to stay home, but wouldn’t it be nice to live in a country where teenage boys drew romantic pictures of girls they liked? Wouldn’t Noah Willis look dashing in a beret, standing in front of the Louvre, painting her for posterity?

  Then again, why couldn’t a teenage girl get into the creative spirit? She had always felt her poem, “Ode to a Noah,” needed another verse. Inspired by the boy across the way, Maddy sat at the desk. She knew what her mother would say if she found her rifling through Veronique’s drawers. But wasn’t this her room for the next week? Besides, there were times when inspiration could not be denied. She needed paper and needed it fast.

  Maddy pulled open the first drawer, only to find office supplies, a stapler, paper clips, binder clips, and envelopes. The second drawer down was filled with blank DVDs, a spare set of keys, a package of Post-its (not big enough to write on), and a pair of sunglasses. The final drawer held colored construction paper, underneath which Maddy caught a glimpse of lined white paper. And underneath that . . . ? Maddy lifted out a leather-bound book, elegantly embossed with the phrase Le Journal.

  Maddy blinked. Veronique’s diary! What else could it be? Maddy glanced nervously toward the door. After all, searching for paper was one thing, but prying into another girl’s diary was crossing a line. Would Veronique herself suddenly appear all the way from America to curse her in French? Apparently not. All Maddy heard was the distant hum of traffic from the street below, mingled with the sounds of her mother rustling through the kitchen and Benji playing the final chord of the Pathétique Sonata. With the coast clear, she sat on the bed with the book. Again, she knew she shouldn’t do it. But curiosity got the better of her. What did a girl who dressed and acted like Veronique Vadim think about? Besides, wasn’t it a good opportunity to practice her French?

  Yes, that’s it! Her French! The perfect excuse, in case she was caught. Maddy stood and rifled quickly through her suitcase and found the ragged copy of her French/English dictionary. She then flopped on the bed, opened the book randomly to a page in the middle, and began to read.

  le 17 Janvier

  Stephan piend de nouveau toute la nuit. Je pense qu’il est un génie.

  Even as a C-minus student, Maddy got the gist of the meaning. To her delight, she didn’t even need the dictionary. She glanced back across the courtyard to the adjacent apartment. Stephan—that was the boy’s name. Clearly, Veronique had watched him paint all night. Even more, Veronique thought he was a génie, or genius. Maddy sighed, overcome by the romance of it. Underneath the tattoos and bad attitude, Veronique Vadim was as lovelorn as any normal teenage girl. In fact, maybe even more so. Had she really spent the entire night watching Stephan paint? Maybe that’s why she had been in such a rotten mood—she had wanted to stay in Paris as badly as Maddy had wanted to stay in Chicago.

  Excited, Maddy turned back to the diary. Now that she had taken the plunge, any guilt about invading another girl’s privacy had vanished. She simply had to find out what she could about Veronique. She flipped to the next page—this was a longer entry, one that would take the dictionary to translate. But before Maddy had a chance to get started, a piercing cry echoed down the hall. Maddy sat up with a start. Had Veronique returned after all? Perhaps with a gang of French undercover agents, assigned to toss her into one of the dungeons of Versailles and throw away the key? But with the second scream, Maddy relaxed. She knew those vocal cords. It wasn’t a Vadim or an agent. It was Benji. Hearing her parents’ racing footsteps, Maddy crashed out the door and rushed behind. She looked down the hall just in time to see her mother disappear into another bedroom. Maddy followed.

  A moment later Maddy found herself standing in the room of a three-year-old boy. A Thomas the Tank Engine mobile hung down from the ceiling. Above a small desk was a giant poster of Elmo. The tiny bed was shaped like the Batmobile.

  Her brother was ranting.

  “You expect me to stay in here? No wonder the Vadims didn’t include pictures of Jean-Claude’s bedroom online. The kid hasn’t redecorated since he was two and a half!”

  “Wow,” Maddy said. The reason her brother had screamed was more than clear. “This is very weird.”

  “Weird?” Benji said. He was so upset his glasses had fogged. “All you can say is weird? A toddler’s bed?” He looked at the wall. “Le Elmo?”

  “This is a head-scratcher,” Roger said. “Why does Jean-Claude have the room of a very little boy?”

  Maddy saw a strange connection. “You know what else is strange? What do you think Veronique’s room is like?”

  “Easy,” Rebecca said. “Heavy metal posters on the walls and a corpse in the closet.”

  “That’s what I expected,” Maddy said. “But the room isn’t like that at all. It’s actually nice. I even found her diary.”

  The minute the word was out of her mouth Maddy wished she could grab it out of the air and shove it back in. She knew exactly what her mother would say.

  “What?” Rebecca said. “You were snooping?”

  “Not snooping,” Maddy said. “I found it when I was looking for a piece of paper.”

  “I assume you didn’t read it?”

  “You said you wanted us to cook. Don’t tell me you weren’t planning to use the Vadims’ spices?”

  “That’s different,” Rebecca said. “That’s food, not private thoughts.”

  “It didn’t say much anyway,” Maddy said. “Veronique has a crush on this boy who lives across the way. He’s a painter.”

  “Well, that’s nice for Veronique,” Benji said. “But let’s not get off the subject. Check out this bed. I can live with it being shaped like the Batmobile. But how am I supposed to fit?”

  It was a good question. Besides having Bert and Ernie sheets, it was almost too small for a toddler.

  “It is a tad short,” Roger said.

  “Make that really short,” Rebecca said.

  “Who cares?” Maddy said. “Benji sleeps with you guys anyway.”

  “I guess that’s what I’ll keep on doing.” But then Benji remembered the conversation with his sister on the plane. Maybe he should give his parents some time to themselves? “Or maybe I’ll sleep in the living room.”

  His father seemed pleased.

  “Sounds good, wingman.”

  Rebecca yawned. “Speaking of sleep, a short nap would do me a world of good right about now.”

  Roger’s eyes went wide. “What? A nap? No, we have to stay up until eight-thirty tonight. That’s the only way we’re going to battle the jeg lag monster. That’s the plan.”

  But Rebecca was already wandering sleepily toward the living room, with Maddy yawning at her heels. Rebecca spread out on a long blue sofa adjacent to the piano, and Maddy flopped back in an oversized easy chair.

  “Sorry,” Rebecca said. “New plan.”

  “No, we have to push through until tonight,” Roger said. “Didn’t you read my email?”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Maddy said. “Your emails go right into my spam folder.”

  “I read it,” Benji said, following behind. “The key to a successful travel experience is to stay awake the first day so that we can force ourselves onto European time. Was that it, Dad?”

  “Exactly,” Roger said. “So come on, people. I have a hundred and twenty-five dollars burning a hole in my pocket.”

  “Later, Roger,” Rebecca said.

  “No!” Roger said. He knew he was a pushover, but he’d be doomed if he’d let his family’s sleep schedule get off on the very first day. “Come on, Hitchcocks! Off your lazy butts and move!”

  Chapter Seven

&n
bsp; That afternoon, Roger Hitchcock led his exhausted family on a tour of some of the most famous sights in Paris. First stop was the Centre Pompidou, one of the city’s most impressive art centers. Next was Place des Vosges, a beautiful square planned over four hundred years ago by King Henry IV. All the while, Roger kept up a steady stream of commentary from his guidebook. Though Rebecca and the kids dragged their feet for the first couple of stops, by the time they reached the Arc de Triomphe, they had caught a second wind and begun to enjoy themselves. After a quick baguette and cheese from a sidewalk vendor, the family approached the Eiffel Tower.

  “This tower was named after the architect who designed it, Gustave Eiffel,” Roger said. “It was built in eighteen eighty-nine.” He looked up. “It’s one thousand sixty-three feet high.”

  Soon the family was riding a crowded elevator to the highest level. When the doors opened on the top, they spilled out to the viewing deck. Before them lay one of the most beautiful cities in the world, spread out like a picture postcard. There were the gardens of the Champs de Mars and the fountains of the Trocadero, mixed in with the elegant buildings of downtown Paris.

  “Worth the trip, huh?” Roger said.

  “You said it, Dad,” Benji said.

  Rebecca smiled. “It’s stunning.”

  Maddy wandered down the observation deck, taking pictures with her phone. Benji saw his opening. Ever since they had landed in Paris, he had been waiting for the right moment to grill his sister again. Besides, why not let his parents enjoy the City of Lights alone for a moment?

  “Later, guys,” Benji called. With Maddy looking through the viewfinder of her camera, she was easy prey.

  “Well,” he said, coming up behind her. “I’m going on record with it.”

  Maddy remained focused on her picture. Though she hadn’t wanted to admit it in front of her mother, the view was one of the most incredible things she had ever seen. She needed an image to send to Noah ASAP.

  “With what?”

  “They aren’t getting a divorce.”

  Maddy squinted, snapped a picture of the Arc de Triomphe, then folded her phone. Then she sighed. Now was the time to nip the whole thing in the bud. She turned around to face her brother.

  “Listen, Benji. I don’t want to hurt you, but since you read my texts anyway, you might as well accept the truth. Mom and Dad are totally in their final stages.”

  Benji was undeterred. “Look!” he all but shouted, pointing wildly across the observation deck. “They’re holding hands!”

  It was true. There they stood, thirty or so feet away, hands clasped, taking in the view.

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Maddy said. “The last shards of a long-failed relationship.”

  Benji blinked. How could his sister ignore such obvious proof? “But how can you say that doesn’t mean anything? Divorcing people don’t hold hands. In fact, they probably don’t even touch at all.”

  Maddy looked at her brother. Again, he was giving the champion puppy look—so cute she almost felt like patting him on the head. She hated to disappoint him. On the other hand, it wasn’t her fault that he had read her texts.

  “Listen,” she said as gently as she could. “Here’s how it went down. A few weeks ago, after school, I was downtown with Grace when I saw Mom enter this law firm Morganroth and Inker.”

  Benji blinked. “So?”

  “Benji,” Maddy said. “Morganroth and Inker handle divorces.”

  Benji felt himself tremble. “Divorces?” He had to stay clearheaded. This was no time to panic. “Are you sure that’s all they do? Maybe they also do wills or sue people who steal baseball cards.”

  Yes, her brother was annoying, but why did he have to look at her like that? Breaking this news was even harder than she had imagined, almost like kicking a kitten.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I Googled them to make sure. Divorces. That’s it.”

  Benji’s lip was noticeably trembling. “No internet fraud?”

  “Just divorce,” Maddy said.

  “That’s not good,” Benji said. “That’s not good!”

  “Right,” Maddy said. “Why else would Mom have gone there if not to check out how to dump Dad? And listen.”

  “Yeah?”

  Maddy paused. She hated to do it, but there was something else she simply had to say. “When they do break up, don’t feel we have to do this ‘you and me always being together’ thing. One weekend you can go to Dad’s, the next weekend I can go to Dad’s.”

  Benji felt as though he had taken a punch to the stomach. It was bad enough to hear that his mother had consulted a divorce lawyer. Was he about to lose his parents and his only sibling?

  “What? Are you . . . breaking up with me?”

  Maddy met her brother’s eyes. Tears were certainly on the way. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she needed her space. Wasn’t it better to get it all out now?

  “I’m just saying that I want time apart,” Maddy said. “No offense, OK? You’re still my brother. No big deal.”

  A lone tear formed in the corner of Benji’s right eye and rolled slowly down his cheek. “Why are you being so mean?”

  “I’m not being mean, Benji. Just honest. Hey, don’t cry. Don’t do it. Come on. We’re in Paris. Don’t freak out on me.”

  With that, Maddy looked over her shoulder to see if she could pass Benji off to her mother. Even from a distance she could see that her mom looked noticeably pale. Maddy didn’t think much of it at first—her mom’s middle name was practically “motion sickness”—but then the situation got dicier. Just like that, her mother swooned. Her father made a move to catch her but missed. Then, suddenly, a sturdy man with a cleft in his chin so distinct that Maddy could see it from all the way across the top of the tower swooped in from out of nowhere and grabbed Rebecca before she hit the pavement.

  “Come on!” Maddy said.

  In seconds, she and Benji were at their parents’ side. The man with the chin was now holding Rebecca firmly in his arms.

  “Oh my gosh,” she was saying. “One look over the edge . . . I guess I’ve never been this high before.”

  “No worries,” the man said. He had a deep voice and an American accent. “It happens all the time up here.”

  Benji looked to his dad, suddenly extremely concerned. Maybe Maddy was right, after all. They had been in Paris for less than a day and some handsome guy with a movie-star chin was already horning in on his mom?

  “That’s OK, sir,” Benji said. “My dad has got it from here.”

  Roger looked relieved to have some backup, even from a nine-year-old boy. “Righto. I’ve got it.”

  But when the man passed Rebecca over to Roger, he realized that it had been a long time since their last fireman’s carry. He stumbled backward against the rail.

  “Roger!” Rebecca called.

  Once again, the stranger was there.

  “Allow me.”

  “No,” Roger said. “I’ve got it!”

  This time Roger slipped and dropped his wife to the observation deck floor. The man was ready to pinch-hit, of course. In moments, he had Rebecca settled on a bench with a bottle of water.

  “Thank you so much,” Rebecca said. Though flushed, her interest in the man could not have been more obvious to Benji. Suddenly everything Maddy had told him seemed one hundred percent true.

  “You’re American, too?” Rebecca asked him.

  The man smiled. To go with his stunning chin, he had movie-star teeth—white, straight, and winning. It was a beautiful smile, but almost too beautiful. Benji didn’t know if he had ever trusted someone less.

  “Actually from Des Moines. The name’s Harry Huberman.”

  “Nice to meet you, Huberman,” Roger said. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “No, no. You must let my driver take you back to your hotel.”

  Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Driver? You have a driver?” She looked up at Roger. “Did you hear that? He has a driver.”

  “I
heard,” Roger said.

  “Not my own,” Huberman said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I work for the embassy.”

  “How impressive.” She put out her hand. Benji saw her smile warmly, the way she used to smile at his father. “Rebecca Hitchcock.”

  “I’m the husband,” Roger said. “Roger.”

  Huberman took Rebecca’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He turned to Maddy and Benji. “And these are your charming children?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said. “Maddy and Benji.”

  Benji hadn’t ever remembered feeling so uncomfortable or seeing his father look so miserable.

  “Thanks again for your help,” Roger said. “We have it from here.”

  But Rebecca wasn’t finished. “What do you do for the embassy?”

  The man reached into his suit jacket and took out a card. “Diplomatic corps. We host parties, mostly. But if you ever need anything in Paris—a doctor, a restaurant reservation—just call, OK? I’ve lived here for seventeen years.”

  Benji hated the look in his mother’s eyes. He was suddenly convinced that she liked this guy. It was all he could do not to kick him in the shins. Or push him off the tower.

  “Well, thanks, much.”

  “Please. Allow my driver to take you home.”

  “That’s OK,” Roger said. “We’ve got it. We’ll take a cab.”

  “A taxi?” Rebecca said. “Do you know how much that costs?”

  Roger smiled. “Let the good times roll, dear. We’re on vacation. Come on. Let’s go, Hitchcocks.” He looked at the man again. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Huberman said. “Don’t forget to call if you need anything.”

  Moments later, the family was on the elevator going down. Benji saw Maddy shoot him a knowing glance. Benji stared blankly ahead, too shaken to respond.

  “What a charming man,” Rebecca said.

  No one answered. On ground level, Roger quickly flagged a cab. Benji walked slowly, ten feet behind the rest of his family, head down, the joy of the day suddenly squeezed dry.

  “Come on, sport,” Roger called, obviously trying to remain upbeat. “Our chariot awaits.”