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Out of the corner of my eye, I see Micki eye me anxiously. I give her a reassuring smile, then turn back to Maman. “You told me he has been violent on several occasions. I would like him to have his own place. Is he on any lists for subsidized housing?”
“Not that I know of.” Maman grimaces, presumably at what she thinks of government housing.
“Any job searches?”
She grabs a corner of her apron and twists it. “He says he’s looking.”
“And you believe him?”
“What choice do I have?”
Throw him out.Before frustration gets the better of me and I say something I’ll regret, I tell her, “While you make the drinks, I’ll run the luggage to the room.”
“I have made up the guest room. Michelle will sleep there.” The finality in her voice makes me wince as she addresses Micki. “I hope this will not be a problem for you?”
“No, Madame Martin.” Micki sounds subdued but not angry.
“Come with me. I’ll show you the house.” I reach for her hand, but she doesn’t take it, although she follows me out of the room.
The bedrooms are on the other side of the hall from the living room. Mine faces the front lawn, Maman’s in the middle, and the guest room is in the back, closest to the full bath. Maman made sure we’re separated for the length of the visit. I didn’t foresee this as an issue. But then, I hadn’t expected Maman would have Angélique at the house, either.
The narrow hallway means Micki walks behind me, heels dragging against the wooden floor.
“Never thought Maman would have a problem with us sharing my bedroom.”
She peeks in but doesn’t answer. When I turn to see what’s happening, she’s stands still, one hand rubbing the opposite arm. Her face is blank.
“Micki?” Except for her hand movements, she could be a piece of sculpture. I step toward her. When she drops her arms. I slip my arms around her waist and pull her into me. Like a block of ice, she stands stiff in my embrace.
“I’m so sorry. This trip was supposed to cheer you up.” I pause. Is that a sniffle I hear? I touch her cheek but feel no trace of moisture. “We don’t have to stay here. I’ll get a room at the Corkscrew Inn. Close to here. I can go back and forth when I need to. You can work and avoid Maman completely.” I kiss her temple.
Her face slowly crumples in misery. She is no longer stonelike. I startle when wetness penetrates my shirt. Micki hardly ever cries. She’s upbeat and always has plans B, C, and as far down the alphabet as she needs. Now her tears spill out like Shannon Falls, the third tallest in British Columbia.
“If I can move my uncle into some sort of temporary residential facility and onto a list for a permanent placement, we can spend a few days in Victoria and go home from there.”
“Won’t your mother be hurt?” Her voice hitches.
That Micki cares about Maman’s feelings just shows what a good person she is. Brusquely, I say, “She’ll survive.”
“And Angélique?”
“What about her?” I can’t see how she comes into the equation.
“You didn’t notice the stars in her eyes when she looks at you? She sees you as husband number three. Anyway, I have work to do, so I’ll just hole up in my bedroom most of the time.”
My laugh brings Maman into the hallway. “What are you doing out here?” The pointed look Maman casts at the luggage says it all. She blows out a breath. “Michelle, your room is at the back.”
“Tiny. And no desk.”
At my snarl, Maman’s eyes widen, and I immediately regret my tone.
She stalks out onto the front porch, and I see her reach into her apron for a pack of DuMauriers and the engraved lighter Papa gave her. Reflexively, I move toward the door, but stop myself before I make yet another scene.
Her cheeks damp, Micki pulls up the handle on her case and trudges toward the end of the hallway, disappearing through the doorway of the last room. As I throw my duffel through the open door to my bed, I hear her call down the empty, echoing hall. “I can work on the bed.”
My heart sinks a little. Then I walk back to the living room to wait for Angélique’s return.
ChapterSeventeen
