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I hadn’t been back in a while, my move stateside coming soon after the success of my first book. The domestic sales had been strong. The American translation was a minor phenomenon. I needed something to do between writing projects, so I started Boucher Books as a sort of hobby.
“Can’t she go by herself? She is 20 now.”
“More the worry,” Dad had said, practicing his English, “Remember what you were like?”
I knew he was right. Exploring Paris alone was sure to get my younger sister into trouble, and I had to admit, I liked the idea of showing it to her.
“I’ll be on the next flight out.”
It was like watching time elapse right before my eyes. Little Delphine had grown a shocking amount since I saw her last. To be fair she had been 15 at the time.
But now she’d been accepted to college in the big scary city she couldn’t really remember, and my parents wanted me to show her around. Particularly in terms of the places to avoid. Clearly they were under the impression that anything I said could alter her course on the way to adulthood. A road often marked with broken hearts and broken bones, at least in my experience.
Cafe Bonne Biere had been my idea. While she was still French, Delphine Marie Boucher was no longer a Parisian. If, in fact, she had ever been. She was 11 when we’d made the move to wine country, and our parents had been very strict about her movements before that. Leaving it mostly to me to be the enforcer and protector, while they both worked full-time jobs. Going so far as to find schools walking distance from each other.
“Hugo!” Delphine crowed in delight, enveloping me in an attack hug the moment I walked through her door.
The apartment Dad had found for her was cramped, but with a Parisian flair. She could have had a bigger place if she’d gotten a job, but Dad didn’t want her to have any distractions. If she was going to be going to university, that should be the focus. Mom didn’t want her to go at all.
I remember a similar scene when I left for America. The first born, off to seek his fortune in the New World. Our sweet mother bawling her eyes out like I was going to the afterlife instead of New York. It would take a tragedy, but I finally understood her urge to hold on. Even if it wasn’t healthy in the long run.
Delphine might have appeared like a woman. but the decor spoke of youth. Holdovers from adolescence, and before, a primary feature of the decor. She still even ate like a high-schooler. At least from what I could remember. Seeing the state of her fridge, I had the overwhelming urge to march her down to the shop and do a complete overhaul. Then I thought better of it, remembering how royally pissed I would have been if one of our parents had done the same to me. Better to let her make her own mistakes.
Permanence could be quite comforting. The metro system was mostly unchanged since I’d been there last. Though I wasn’t sure what changes I thought there could really be in five years, particularly to a city property. It was something I didn’t think the Americans really got. Probably because of their lack of history on the grand scale. There were trees in Europe that were older than the American Nation.
It was a picture of wonderment, Delphine finally able to see Paris at night. Something
every French citizen should be able to do at least once in their lives. Hell, something everyone should do.
While she seemed a little intimidated by the bustle, Delphine was going to have to get used to it if she lived in the capital. She’d mostly grown up in a world of open spaces. Our closest neighbor about 20 miles away. I hadn’t been asked, but knew she would have to acclimatize sometime. Best to do it when I was there to hold her hand. Literally, as it turned out. Her surprisingly strong grip not relenting until we took our table at the cafe.
We’d barely had time to order. The server was heading back to the kitchen when it happened.
Everybody got down amidst the gunshots and screaming. Snapping like a spring, I tackled Delphine, trying to get her out of the line of fire. Using myself as a human shield.
After what seemed like hours but were probably only minutes, the noise abetted. An eerie sense of calm coming over the scene, I held her, like I had when she was a baby. The mad hope that my warmth might revive her consumed my grief-addled mind.
At first, as the shock and adrenaline still ran, I hadn’t noticed how cold she was getting. Three rounds to the chest. Two right through her heart. The coroner said she would have died instantly. No pain. No time to say goodbye.
