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When I open the door and see a younger-looking man with hair in a ponytail behind the bar, I almost cry out in disappointment. Where is the Giant? What if he’s not here? What if she’s not here?
“Excusez moi, je cherche Céline ou un barman qui vient du Sénégal.”
He says nothing. Doesn’t even respond. He just continues washing glasses in soapy water.
Did I speak? Was it in French? I try again: I add a s’il vous plaît this time. He gives me a quick look, pulls out his phone, texts something, and then goes back to dishes.
Con, I mutter in French, another of Nathaniel’s teachings. I shove open the door, adrenaline pushing through me. I’m so angry at that jerk behind the counter who wouldn’t even answer me, at myself, for coming all this way for nothing.
“You came back!”
And I look up. And it’s him.
“I knew you would come back.” The Giant takes my hand and kisses me on each cheek, just like the last time. “For the suitcase, non?”
I’m speechless. So I just nod. Then I throw my arms around him. Because I’m so happy to see him again. I tell him so.
“As am I. And so happy I save your suitcase. Céline insist to take it away, but I say no, she will come back to Paris and want her things.”
I find my voice. “Wait, how’d you know I was here? I mean, today?”
“Marco just text me an American girl was looking for me. I knew it had to be you. Come.”
I follow him back inside the club, where this Marco is now mopping the floor and refusing to look at me. I have a hard time looking at him after calling him an ass**le in French.
“Je suis très désolée,” I apologize as I shuffle past him.
“He’s Latvian. His French is new, so he’s timid to speak,” Yves says. “He is the cleaner. Come downstairs, that is where your suitcase is.” I glance at Marco and think of Dee, and Shakespeare, and remind myself that things are rarely what they appear. I hope he didn’t understand my French curses, either. I apologize again. The Giant beckons downstairs to the storeroom. In a corner, behind a stack of boxes, is my suitcase.
Everything is as I left it. The Ziploc with the list. The souvenirs. My travel diary with the bag of blank postcards inside. I half expect it all be covered in a layer of dust. I finger the diary. The souvenirs from last year’s trip. They’re not the memories that matter, the ones that lasted.
“It is very nice suitcase,” the Giant says.
“You want it?” I ask. I don’t want to lug it around with me. I can ship the souvenirs home. The suitcase is just extra baggage.
“Oh, no, no, no. It is for you.”
“I can’t take it. I’ll take the important things, but I can’t carry all this with me.”
He looks at me seriously. “But I save it for you.”
“The saving is the best part, but I really don’t need it anymore.”
He smiles, the whites of his teeth gleaming. “I am going to Roché Estair in the spring, to celebrate my brother’s graduation.”
I fish out the important things—my diary, my favorite T-shirt, earrings I’ve missed—and put them in my bag. I put all the souvenirs, the unwritten postcards in a cardboard box to ship home. “You take this to Roché Estair for the graduation,” I tell him. “It would make me happy.”
He nods solemnly. “You did not come back for your suitcase.”
I shake my head. “Have you seen him?” I ask.
He looks at me for a long moment. He nods again. “One time. The day after I meet you.”
“Do you know where I might find him?”
He strokes the goatee on his chin and looks at me with a sympathy I could really do without. After a long moment, he says, “Maybe you should better speak with Céline.”
And the way he says it, it implies all the things I already know. That Willem and Céline have a history. That I might’ve been right to doubt him all along. But if the Giant knows any of that, he’s not saying. “She is off today, but sometimes she comes to the shows at night. Androgynie is playing, and she is very good friends with them. I will see if she is coming and let you know. Then you can find out what you need. You can call me later, and I will let you know if she will be here.”
