“That’s a joke. I’m joking. Surely they’ll have something in Avignon. Is there an art school there?”
“There’s a university, and the Académie des Arts d’Avignon.”
“Perfect. Where there are students, there are supplies.”
“Or you could ask the florist, in Saint-Véran,” Johnny suggested. “Her daughter does painting restorations for big museums; she trained at the Louvre.”
“And she lives here in the village?”
He nodded. “She split from her husband and has a young daughter, so they moved back in with her mom.”
“And her mom’s the florist? What’s her name?”
“La Toinon—she’s a Clement too, but her married name is Goselin. So, how do you know how to do this kind of thing?”
“I learned it when I was about your age, actually. Help me bring these carousel figures over near the light of the windows. Very gently.” He did as he was told, and they started moving the menagerie. In total there were two rabbits, three dogs, a cat, and a pig. “I was a bad kid, like you. If you think Saint-Véran is bad, you should try being a delinquent on the streets of Oakland.”
He stared at her.
“Anyway, one day—actually, many days—I stole something from a shop owned by a woman named Maxine. She sold antiques, and a lot of plain old junk. For some reason she decided to put me to work instead of turning me over to the police.”
She paused, hoping he was taking in the significance of her words. It was hard to tell. Johnny had the flat affect of a lot of troubled teens, the result of covering up emotions for so many years for fear of being vulnerable. Unfortunately, it was hard to distinguish this kind of self-defense from a basic lack of understanding or lack of intelligence.
“So, anyway,” Cady continued, while handing Johnny a broom and dustpan, “Maxine taught me how to clean and repair antiques, and I worked for her for a long time. She also taught me how to read.”
Johnny said something in French that Cady assumed meant something along the lines of “No way!”
“It’s true. I had been moved around a lot in school, and I’d managed to slip by without ever learning to read. I was your age. Can youimagine? All I knew before meeting Maxine was how to stay alive, and how to fight.”
“You fight?”
“Not anymore. Learned to use my words instead. But if Maxine hadn’t helped me, I imagine I’d be in jail right now.”
He looked around the soot-filled mess of the building. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, compared to this.”
She laughed. “Oh yes, it would. This carousel has real potential, Johnny. It’s a part of French history, and your family’s history. Trust me. You’ll see. So, which university are you planning to attend? Are you thinking Avignon, or farther afield?”
“What?”
“You’re, what, fifteen? Doesn’t that mean university is coming up in a few years?”
The expression on his face suggested she had said something insane.
“Isn’t university free in France? Or at least subsidized? That’s a pretty sweet deal.”
“Well, yeah, if you get in. But I’m not, like, a good student.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged.
“Maxine always told me that it wasn’t a crime to need help, only to fail to ask for help when you need it.”
“You make her sound like some kind of saint.”
She smiled as she thought of a “Saint Maxine,” realizing that for the first time since Maxine died, she didn’t have to fight the image of her dear friend and mentor falling, lying on the floor, the last breath leaving her body. The sensation of Maxine disappearing, abandoning Cady, right in front of her.
Instead, the first image that came to mind was one of Maxine sitting behind her cash register, flipping through a magazine; then Cady thought of Maxine wearing her big apron as she stood behind the worktable, tilting her head back to look through the bottom lenses ofher bifocals as she studied a project. She thought of the moment Maxine had asked Cady to come live with her.
