They all went down to the square together—Sabine in her beautiful outfit, feeling like royalty with an entourage. She marveled at the buildings around the square’s edges, lit up and looking lived in. Fedir’s tiny lights made it magical. The restaurant’s patio doors were open wide, its tables covered with tablecloths. Her Uncle Noah and Madame Klein were setting up food and wine. Corinne was arranging desserts. All the activity made the restaurant look as if it were up and running, especially with Noah in a pristine white apron, pointing and giving people orders.
Lali and Sabine’s mum, in outfits from Lali’s closet, finished setting up the silent auction tables. So many things had poured in from the community. The more valuable items were set aside for the live auction: crates of wine; a week’s worth of renovations by Luc; four Ukrainian dinners from Lali; a long string of pearls from Madame Belleville; apapier machésculpture made by Yakiv, which he insisted was the most precious item at the party.
Luc had set up a makeshift stage—sheets of wood laid on a bed of Maison Fortin crates—and Pierre, his guitar plugged into a portable amp, tested the sound by playing love songs, which he not so subtly aimed at her Uncle Noah.
At three minutes to eight, everyone convened in the middle of the square. Yakiv, dressed in his usual shorts and rubber bootsbut with a button-up shirt and bowtie, skipped around the outside of the circle, humming to himself.
“Speech!” said Noah.
“Oh shush,” said her mum, but Sabine knew that the moment called for something, so she nodded at her mum to encourage her. Marlow drew a breath.
“This summer, even with its ups and downs, has been the best. Sabine and I want to say thank you—thank you for making us feel so welcome. And even though we leave tomorrow, and this party sort of signals us going home—”
Yakiv stopped skipping and gave Marlow and Sabine a look of pure betrayal. “What?” he said, flapping his arms in despair, “you’re going home?” Lali reached out and picked him up in her arms. “But it’s not fair!” he said, burying his face in her shoulder.
“I think it’s better if we treat it not like a going-away party but like a celebration,” said Marlow.
“Because we all know this is the most marvelous hilltop village in the Grand Est,” added Sabine.
Everyone agreed by cheering and clapping—even Bill and Iris.
“Now let’s raise some money for it!” said Marlow. They each went off to their designated spots: Madame Belleville stationed herself at the top of the Mirabelle stairs to take tickets, and Sabine’s grandparents helped themselves to a glass of wine. Fedir let himself into the little empty church bordering the square and rang the bell eight times. The fundraiser had officially begun.
Guillaume arrived with a group of wealthy looking people in formal jackets, bowties, long dresses, and heels. Winery owners. Suddenly Bill and Iris had people to talk to, and Sabine didn’t feel so overdressed.
Noah gave Yakiv a tray of appetizers to circulate. Yakiv offered Bill an appetizer. He took one; Yakiv took one for himself. ThenIris took one; Yakiv took another. Then Sabine took one, and Yakiv, the opportunistic waiter, took a third.
“These won’t last at that rate,” said Iris, but she was making a genuine joke this time, not a judgment, because no one could defend themselves against the charms of Yakiv.
Aubin had helped set up earlier in the day but had disappeared to get changed. And then Sabine saw him appear up the Mirabelle steps in formal pants, a pressed white shirt, jacket, and tie. He looked so handsome. He approached Sabine and gave her a kiss on each cheek.
“You look amazing,” he said. “I don’t think I am the measure to you.”
Sabine swished the dress with her fingers. “It’s really too much, but when I tried to say no to Madame Belleville, she told me that people have to do what she wants because she’s eighty-six and they’re not.” They laughed.
“I have a surprise,” he said, “that will help show that you are dressed perfectly.”
“Can’t you tell me what it is? I don’t like surprises.”
“You’re going to like this one, so wait. Not everything has to be under your control.”
“I saw a saying once,” said Sabine. “To be happy, resign as manager of the universe.”
“I support this idea.”
“In fact, most of this summer has been out of my control,” said Sabine, “and apparently, I’ve done just fine. In so many ways.” She put her fingers through his and squeezed his hand.
“I hope this makes you happy, too,” he said, pointing to the Mirabelle stairs.
She turned to see a group of teens in a party mood pour onto the square in tight dresses, heels, dress pants, jackets, and ties. One carried a box. Another carried speakers. A third carried a mirror ball.
“These are my friends,” said Aubin. “I told them you missed your prom in Canada, so we bring the prom to you. A disco ball is part of prom. I did research.”
He introduced them all, and then they headed for the food and drink. One passed Aubin the box. He opened it to reveal matching corsages. He lifted up a delicate blue flower on a light blue ribbon and tied it around her wrist.
“It matches my dress! It’s almost as if—wait—”
“Madame Belleville told me the color of your dress, so I chose thebleuet. In English, it is the cornflower. A special flower in France.”
