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He looked at Didier.
Didier shrugged in his French way. “I like art.”
“It doesn’t look like the pictures,” Jamie said, picking up his bag. “In the pictures it looked modern. Sleek and open. And it’s close to the University of Chicago, so I figured there would be a lot of girls Erik’s age around.”
His friend looked up and down the empty street. “I don’t see them.”
Frowning, he walked over to where he’d been instructed there’d be a lockbox. He put in the code he’d been sent and took out the set of keys. He turned to catch Didier handing money to the taxi driver.
The man brightened, staring at the bills in his hand. “Gee, thanks! You guys call me if you need to meet good girls. I have one for each of you. Take it easy!”
“How much did you tip him?” Jamie asked as he picked up his leather duffel.
“Apparently enough to buy one of his daughters.” The Frenchman shrugged. “Allons-y.”
Bags in hand, they went up the walkway and let themselves into the atrium. They found the door to the townhouse he’d rented and he let them in. Didier set his things down and began to wander.
“Fortunately, there are three bedrooms,” Jamie said, closing the door. “If I knew you were coming, I’d have found something bigger.”
“Non, this is good.” Didier opened a door to one side of the foyer and flipped on the light switch. He jogged down the stairs.
Jamie dropped his bag and followed him. The narrow staircase opened to what looked like a man cave, with a big-screen TV and leather couches wide enough for a large man to sleep on. To one side, there was a door that led to a full bathroom with a large shower in the corner.
Didier stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, surveying it. Then he nodded. “I will sleep here.”
Jamie frowned. “Are you sure? There are enough bedrooms upstairs.”
“I like this. There is space, and I can do my workouts here.”
He shrugged. “If you’re sure.”
“Let’s go find your room,” Didier said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
They went back to the main level and did a quick tour of the kitchen, which he’d had fully stocked. There was a bedroom on the ground floor at the back of the townhouse with a modest-sized bed and fluffy pillows. Based on the Manchester United bag on the bench at the foot of the bed, Erik had taken this one. Otherwise, it was immaculate—no discarded clothing, no wrinkled duvet, no personal items on the dresser. The only other sign that it was inhabited was the towering stack of books on the bedside table.
“He will get a cramp trying to sleep in that bed,” Didier said. Then he wandered to the nightstand and picked up the book on top. “Trés intéressant.”
The Anatomy of Hope: How People Prevail in the Face of Illness.Somehow it didn’t surprise Jamie that Erik would read that.
Leaving the kid’s room, Jamie grabbed his bag and led the way upstairs, where there were two larger rooms. The room at the end of the hall was more of a suite, large and spacious in earthy colors. It had a connecting bathroom with a freestanding tub with the sun streaming in through large opaque glass blocks.
“Take this room,” Didier said from the doorway. “The other room is smaller.”
“You sure you don’t want it?”
“I like the room downstairs.” His friend edged out of the room. “I’ll take my bag down. You do your photos.”
Didier knew him so well, though he guessed that wasn’t a surprise given they’d played together for Barcelona. Three years traveling together created a certain intimacy. Didier had watched Jamie go through his settling-in ritual too many times to count.
Lifting his bag onto the bed, Jamie unzipped it and took out the first framed picture—the one he’d taken of his parents on their thirtieth anniversary—and set it on the dresser.
He’d been traveling for games since he was sixteen. Fourteen years of being on the road most of the year taught you to take a piece of home with you wherever you went. It helped with a positive mental attitude, which was key for a championship outlook. Getting despondent and homesick didn’t breed success.
He kept connected by taking his favorite photos of the people he loved that he’d taken over the years. He had one of his grandmother Jacs laughing, her head tossed back, regal as ever. He had one of his mum surrounded by all her sisters on a rainy afternoon during a family reunion. And, of course, he always brought one of Coco, his cousin and best friend. He’d taken it when she’d come to visit him when he’d first moved to Turin.
He was about to set it next to the others on the dresser when he heard a knock. He turned around and looked at the open door.
Didier stood there, two coffees in his hands. The scent of spices wafted up, like the holidays in a cup. “Un café?”
