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Then I send another text, this time to Cress.
ME: Flying back to Chicago.
CRESS: ??????
Just then the cabin attendant comes by. “Would you like champagne or a mimosa?”
I take a glass of champagne and orange juice, then read Cress’ newest text as I sip.
CRESS: Tell me what’s going on.
ME: JL’s mother informed me he is engaged to someone else
CRESS: WTF
“Good afternoon. This is Flight 478, Vancouver to Chicago. At this time, please make sure your seat belts are fastened and turn off all electronic devices.”
ME: Got to go
I put my phone in airplane mode and slip it into the pocket next to my seat. Then I close my eyes and try not to think of anything.
Case waits for me when I disembark at O’Hare. Knowing a little about how GSU works, I’m sure Yannick was on the phone to Chicago headquarters as soon as he saw me onto the plane.
“Nice to have you back, Ms. Press. Where’s your luggage?” I can’t tell whether he is being serious or ironic.
“Baggage claim.”
“No problem. Let’s grab your bag and make tracks for the condo.” He pauses. “Everything’s been quiet since you left. Maybe the guy knows you have been away?”
“He knows, all right. I got texts and calls in Paris.”
“Good thing he’s not waiting for you here, although I’m sure I could take care of him.”
A creepy-crawly feeling spreads over me, and I look around, even though my last-minute plans mean Sam can’t possibly know I’m back.
Once we locate the correct carousel, we wait for the luggage to come through. I twist around, looking to see if we’re being followed.
“Relax,” Case says, trying to reassure me. The goosebumps on my arms tell me I’m not.
I start a list in my head. First order of business is to let Rebecca know I’m back.
* * *
JL
I get back late after taking Angélique home. I know I should never have agreed to go into Angélique’s house for coffee and a drink. She asks me to say good night to the boys when they’re ready for bed. They want a story, so I read them one. Angélique sits on the stairs, waiting, and starts crying as we walk down. Even though I feel nothing for her, guilt pounds me for being so dismissive all day. I’m sorry she takes this so hard, and I agree to one drink. She takes out an open bottle of Caribou, left over from Carnaval.
When we’re done, she begs me to stay, and I have one more drink. I manage to keep her from climbing all over me and finally escape into the rain. The drive back is hellish.
Head pounding, I strip off and shower, then take some ibuprofen. Now everything feels fuzzy as I walk up the drive. Maman huddles in her rocker on the porch, swathed in a heavy sweater, a lap blanket keeping out the cold.
“Why are you out here, Maman?”
“Just waiting to make sure you got home all right. Angélique called and said you were drinking, and she was worried.”
“She was sad, and I agreed to a drink or two. Then I left.” My voice rises. “Nothing happened. See you in the morning.”
Exhausted, I fall onto the bed. Not long after, yelling and banging pull me out of sleep. I stomp out of my room to find Uncle François in the living room, yelling and throwing things around. When he tosses a porcelain figurine against the wall, it’s time for confrontation. He’s drunk and high as a kite.
