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“Where did you know Edouard from?” Adrien asked with practiced patience.
“The after.” Victor looked at me. “They booed. They didn’t want our wounded to land at Marseille. Can you imagine? We were trying to come home. That’s all we wanted. To come home…”
He took the pill from his son and sank down on the chair to drink the water. Adrien turned to me.
“He means there were protests when the soldiers came back,” he said.
I nodded. “It’s happening in the U.S. too.” I retrieved the hot sandwich for Victor, and handed it to him with a napkin. “Here you are, M. Rousseau.”
The older man peered up at me, then looked to Adrien. “Edouard has it,” he said, calmer now. I guessed the pill Adrien had given him was a mild sedative. “Edouard has Laos. Khmer. Vietnam. All of them. I tried to leave them behind but the shadows remained anyway.” The tapped his forehead. “In here.”
Victor went quiet then, and turned his attentions to his food.
“I should go,” I told Adrien. “I have a story to write.”
He sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
“It was very nice to meet you, M. Rousseau,” I said, but the man was intent on his food.
Adrien walked me to the door, and glanced at his father by the window. “I know, he needs real care but he was dying at the veteran’s hospital. Another reason to sign with a Premier League if they’ll have me. So I can put him somewhere good.”
I took Adrien’s face in my hands and kissed him and hurried out before he could see my tears.
Back in my flat, I sat at my typewriter and Adrien’s story flew out of me. I wrote everything: about football and beyond. The only area where I held back was the specifics of the Rousseau’s finances, though I made it clear Adrien was doing everything in his power to provide for them, even if it meant giving up his studies. It took me all of that Sunday, but by Monday morning it was done.
I stared at what I wrote and called America. My best friend.
“Hello?” Helen said.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Janey!” she said. “I’ve missed you. How is Paris?”
I told her all that happened and about Adrien.
“He sounds wonderful,” Helen said wistfully.
“He is…” I bit my lip and looked at my article. “Helen, you were right.”
“About what?”
“I found a big story inside a little one. The biggest story of my life.”
After I hung up with Helen, I showered, dressed, and hurried down to Antoine’s office with the story and the best photos tucked under my arm.
I stood, biting my lip, as Antoine read the article. When he finished, he looked up at me, his eyes wide.
“This is true? Adrien’s father is alive?”
I nodded.
“I was at the match two days ago,” Antoine said. “I saw the red card…” He narrowed his eyes at me. “One could read this and feel as if Adrien doesn’t want to play football, but you never clarify that at all.”
“It’s not an opinion piece.”
“But didn’t you ask him?”
I wasn’t about to jeopardize Adrien’s chances of being signed. If that’s what was supposed to happen, I wouldn’t interfere. But I hoped putting Adrien’s story out into the universe was going to help make the right things happen for him.
