Summer Of My Secret Angel (31 page)

“You came to my room?”

“I wanted to make sure everything was all
right with you, because I did not see you at the party for long.
You slept so sound, though, I could not bring myself to wake you.”
Her concerned face reflected in the shining window. “There is a
snack for you in the kitchen,
chérie
. We will be alone at
home today, so I will not cook until the evening.”

I put the sandals next to her other shoes
under the coat rack. The kitchen was empty, but a sandwich sat on a
plate next to a glass of orange juice. Taking a bite, I shouted
with a mouthful, “Where is everyone?”

“Albert is in the vineyards, and Julian took
your mother to the doctor,” my aunt’s call came from the front
room.

Why would Charlene have to see a doctor? Was
she getting worse? The expected spitefulness held off. Instead,
unease stabbed my chest, accentuated by Julian’s words last night.
Surely she wasn’t dying yet.

Was she?

With a swig of orange juice, I washed down
the oppressive feeling in my chest. “Did she take a turn for the
worse?” I shouted, cleaning my plate in the sink. Turning around,
the sight of Marie leaning in the doorway made me jump. My hand
flattened to my chest. “In God’s name, you shouldn’t sneak up on
people like that!”

She studied me with a curious expression. “I
do not think it is the cancer that troubles her. She was coughing a
lot this morning, so she might have caught a cold last night.” She
inclined her head. “But I will let her know that you worried about
her. It will make her very happy, I believe.”

I grimaced. “I’d rather you didn’t.” It
wasn’t really a worry anyway, I was just curious. Yes. Curious.
Nothing else.

After a moment of staring at each other,
Marie took me by the hand and dragged me into the hallway, where
she traded her house slippers for a pair of trainers. “Come on,
chérie
. It is time to show you something.”

Reluctantly, I followed as she led me
outside and down the narrow road. Occasionally, a car passed us,
but otherwise the street was deserted.

“Where are we going?”

“You will see. It is not far.” Her stern
tone indicated it would be no use to ask again until we got
there.

And we got there fast. After a five-minute
walk we arrived at the local cemetery. Marie and I squeezed between
the metal gates that stood ajar, then she led the way through a
labyrinth of gravestones in a multitude of shapes.

A chill ran down my spine when I read some
of the names craved into the marble blocks.
Isabelle
Turmoire
had died last year after a life of only seven years.
The blonde girl smiled at me from a picture placed next to the
dates.

At the far end of the row, Marie pulled me
to a stop in front of a wide double grave. I turned to read the
words on the smooth surface of the creamy white marble stone.

Catharine & Joè Montiniere.

And next to a cross stood their date of
death.
June 16
^th
2007
. I
remembered Marie saying they had died in a car crash. The stone
held no picture of my grandparents, but fresh red roses were neatly
arranged in an urn matching the tombstone.

“Did you bring the flowers here earlier?” I
whispered, somehow struggling with a dry throat.

“No. Since the day your mother returned to
France, she has never let a day pass without visiting this place.”
Marie’s arm sneaked around my shoulders, and she rubbed my upper
arm. “Remember I told you she wasn’t here when your grandparents
died? She never made up with them, but she wishes she had. Every
day.”

In spite of the sun shining on our backs, a
shiver turned my blood cold.

Aunt Marie twisted me toward her and cupped
my face. “My little darling. Soon, this will be the only place
where you can talk to your mother. Don’t make the same mistake like
her. You will be the one living with the pain in the end.” There
was no anger or accusation. Only a deep sorrow.

Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I could
already imagine Charlene’s name carved into the stone under the
names of her parents. And a little girl, no more than five years
old, kneeling by the grave to replace wilted flowers with a fresh
bouquet.

My throat constricted. For the first time in
years, the part of me yearning for the love of not just any mother,
but this particular caring mom I once knew, opened and sucked me
into a deep hole of aching. A hole that I’d worked hard to fill up
with sarcasm and rage. The pain Marie had released inside me
threatened to eat me up.

I jerked out of her hold. “You shouldn’t
have brought me here!”

“Oh no,
chérie.
Now I see I should
have brought you much sooner.”

1. BURNED
   

RAYS OF A late afternoon sun reflected in
the spotless glass that I’d just finished wiping. The labor had the
effect of keeping me from musing over recent events, such as
Julian’s declaration of love and the visit to the cemetery. And
also of those events soon to come.

My mother’s death.

When we’d returned from the cemetery, I
asked Marie which of the windows in the house she hadn’t gotten to
yet. Armed with cleanser and bucket, I set on a polishing frenzy.
The window above the kitchen sink was the last on my tour from top
to bottom.

The biting smell of cleaning solution hung
in the room, pinching my nose, while the clinking of pots drifted
from behind. At first, I thought Lou-Lou had knocked cooking
utensils down to the floor with her tail. But the lazy dog still
lay sprawled under the table. She watched me work with her sleepy
eyes.

Marie was the one to break my serenity as
she crawled into the credenza to retrieve a wide pan and a large
pot. After returning the cleaning stuff to the mop closet, I helped
peel a hive of potatoes and dropped them into the pot of boiling
water. Meanwhile Marie breaded several fish filets for frying.

“You have become very quiet this afternoon,”
my aunt said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is everything
okay?”

I gave a quick nod, but didn’t let her in on
my thoughts. While I’d succeeded in keeping my mother out of my
mind for most of the afternoon, I wasn’t so lucky with Julian. Last
night’s argument kept haunting me.

He and my mother were gone for too long. No
doctor would have such a long wait. It occurred to me that Julian
was taking her somewhere else. Maybe to talk. Was he telling her
what I’d noticed about him? About the list I wrote?

Irritated that he would put trust into my
mother but not me, I washed my hands, slumped into a chair, and
stared at Marie’s back. “Can I ask you something about Julian?”

Salt shaker in hand, my aunt turned toward
me with a grin. “Sure. I heard he kissed you last night.”

My temperature rose, especially in my face.
“Well, yeah.” I wiped my sweating hands on my pants. “How long have
you known him?”

“Not too long. He came here with your
mother.”

I propped my chin on my elbows on the table.
“In that time, have you noticed anything unusual about him? Like
not-quite-human-ish kind of unusual?”

“Certainly not.” Her lips pursed as she came
to sit with me. “Why would you ask such a question?”

Because he can resurrect the dead.

I shrugged one shoulder. “He just did a few
things that made me wonder. Never mind.”

“What is concerning you? I can see you
struggle with something.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Don’t you think
it strange that he’s so close to my mother? It makes me wonder what
kind of relationship the two of them have.”

“He is her caretaker. As far as I know
Julian, he definitely takes his job seriously.” Her ever-kind tone
proved to me that she wasn’t in on Julian’s secret, either. She had
stomped on my hopes to find out more about him.

I had to find another source of information.
“Is there a computer connected to the Internet that I could
use?”

“Sure. In Albert’s office. Feel free to use
it whenever you like.”

“Okay, thanks.” The chair almost knocked
backward as I jumped up and rushed to my uncle’s study. It was hard
to say how much longer Julian and Charlene would be out, and I
wanted to get this done before they returned.

Halfway over the threshold, I skittered to a
halt and spun around. “Marie?” I shouted across the hallway.

Her head appeared in the kitchen door across
the hall.

“What’s Julian’s last name?”

Now she emerged fully, crossed her arms over
her stomach, and pursed her lips. “How strange. He has been living
here for so many weeks, and it never occurred to me to ask for his
full name.”

Weird
.

Scratching her head, she disappeared into
the kitchen again.

The smell of aged books whooshed into my
face as I entered the office. The narrow room was rimmed with
shelves on one side and a small desk at the far end. The window at
my back when I sat in the big leather office chair overlooked the
garden and reflected on the wide screen of the computer.

Unlike the single, tremendously slow
computer we’d had in the orphanage, Albert’s only took seconds to
boot up. I connected to the web and typed
The Supporters
Associates
into the search engine.

Biting my nails helped kill the tension as I
scrolled to the bottom of the page with suitable matches. But apart
from an advertisement for some social network and some books with
either the word
supporters
or
associates
in the
title, Google didn’t come up with anything related.

While trying to think of another way to
search for Julian’s employer, I rocked back in the chair, my gaze
traveling through the room. Alongside a few pictures of my aunt and
uncle with Lou-Lou, two dueling guns hung on the wall. They looked
ancient. Pushing up on the armrests, I rose from the chair and
stepped closer to let my fingers glide carefully along one of the
cold metal shafts.

“Be careful, that one is still loaded.”

Spooked at my uncle’s deep rumble, I jerked
my hand away.

“The one who carried it never got a chance
to shoot it. He did not survive
le duel
.” Albert chuckled.
“Your aunt told me you wanted to use the Internet. Can I help you
with anything?”

“No, thanks.” With a twinge of shock, I
rushed back behind the desk to close the window on the screen
before he could catch a glimpse of my research. “I just
found”—
Nothing
— “what I needed.”

The stubbly skin of his face lay in friendly
wrinkles. “I do not mind you using my computer, so you do not have
to be shy. Come in whenever you need to look up something.”

Nodding, I scurried out of the room and back
to the kitchen to see if Marie needed a hand.

A tea towel around the handle, she held the
big pot’s lid and poked inside the boiling water with a fork. “Can
I have you drain these potatoes in a couple of minutes? The
colander is in the sink.”

A rattle of keys at the front door announced
that Julian and my mother were home. A tickle of excitement stirred
my stomach. Julian’s lips twitched, and our gazes met as he spotted
me leaning against the counter. My heart sped up. Even with the
frustrating conversation of last night still ringing in my head, I
couldn’t help but smile back.

I’d missed him all day.

“Wonderful timing,” Marie chimed out. “The
fish will be ready in a moment.”

Charlene glanced at me from the threshold
then grimaced at her sister. “Don’t be mad, Marie, but I’m not
hungry. I’ll just take one of these”—she pressed a small red pill
out of the packing and grabbed a glass of water—“and then get some
rest.”

“Oh dear, you do look worse than this
morning,” Marie replied. “What did the doctor say?”

My mother took a long draught from her
glass, so Julian answered instead. “Just a cold. But she’s got a
light fever. Since the cancer has already weakened her immune
system, he ordered plenty of fluids and strict bed rest for the
next couple of weeks.”

“Shit, that’s a long time to be bedridden.”
The words were out before I could snap my mouth shut.

Everybody turned to me. Biting the inside of
my cheek, I hurried to drain the potatoes just to give myself
something to do as their surprised gazes made me extremely
uncomfortable.

A dishcloth wrapped around each handle of
the pot prevented the hot metal from touching my skin.
Unfortunately, the bunches of cloth made it hard to get a good
grip. When I lifted the heavy pot from the heat, the left handle
slipped out of my hold. In a mad reflex, I pulled the right side
higher and the boiling water poured over my left hand.

Everyone froze.

And then all hell broke loose. I screamed my
head off. The pot dropped and clattered on the floor tiles sending
hot water splashing all around. Frightened by my screaming, my
mother and aunt cried in unison. Albert appeared in the door,
terrified at what was causing the noise.

Hands touched me. Patted me. I was shoved,
pushed, yanked, and dragged. The dog barked, fleeing from the room,
knocking Marie over. Someone kicked the pot to the corner.

And then Julian was with me.

Grabbing my shoulders, he shook me once,
forcing me to stare into his intense blue eyes. This alone stopped
my screams, even with the excruciating pain searing up my arm. Next
he closed his fingers gently around my burned hand.

And the pain eased.

My jaw dropped. But he didn’t give me a
single second to gather myself. Ushering me to the sink, he turned
on the tap and held my hand underneath the stream to cool my burn.
But it wasn’t necessary. The pain had fully vanished, and with the
way his fingers were wrapped around mine, the water didn’t even
touch my skin.