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“Uncle François,” I bellow to capture his attention. “Is this any way to greet your nephew?”
He squints through bleary eyes with no recognition. “My nephew is JL Martin. Who the fuck are you?”
I poke him in the chest, and he takes a swing at me, overbalancing and landing on his ass. “Look at me. I am JL Martin. Your nephew.”
Eyes blurred by drink and drugs, he stares up, then shakes his head. “He’s a skinny little boy, so high.” He holds his hand three feet off the floor, and I guffaw.
“It’s been too long, Uncle François. I’m a grown man now.”
Suspicious, he studies my face. “Maybe…” His reluctance makes this more difficult. He may think I’m a cop or a narc.
“Why are you breaking up Maman’s house”
“Need a drink,” he mumbles, managing to stand.
“You’ve had more than enough.”
He swings again. I grab his arm and twist it behind him. Then I push him out of the room and toward the attic stairs. “Up we go. You need sleep, not another drink.” I push him into his room, pull the key out of the lock, and relock the door from the outside. He yells and pounds, but I go downstairs and put the key on the kitchen table.
Eventually, he exhausts himself, and I fall back to sleep.
Clouds cover most of the sky, but the room is bright enough I can tell that it is late, even before I check my watch. One in the afternoon—not possible. I never sleep that long. And I’m still in my clothes. Must have toed off my boots and fallen right into bed. Then I remember the confrontation with my uncle. He’s a danger to himself and everyone around him.
Maman sings along with Edith Piaf as I wander into the kitchen for coffee. I’m surprised to see Angélique sitting at the table, playing with a ring, slipping it on and off her finger. My mug, emblazoned with Le Meilleur Fils du Monde, sits on the table, steam gently rising from the surface. I give Maman a kiss.
“Merci, Maman. Tu m’as sauvé la vie.”
Then I realize Micki isn’t in the kitchen. I pick up my cup and start toward the living room.
“Where are you going?”
“Looking for Micki.”
“She’s not here.” Maman’s tone is offhand.
I peer out the kitchen window to check the backyard. “Taking a walk or something? Or is she in the guest room?”
She shrugs. “Gone.”
Gone? Like shopping or something? Was she desperate and got Yannick to take her sightseeing? Guilt washes over me. I should have come back immediately last night. Too bad Angélique seemed distraught. My heart starts to pound. Did Maman set this up?
“She took off with your friend, Yannick. She had her luggage with her.” Angélique gloats.
I take my mobile out of my pocket and sit down. When I turn it on, harp sounds announce text messages.
One is from Micki. Another from Yannick. A third from Max. As I start to open the app, a fourth one appears from Case. Has the sky fallen in while I’ve slept? I pick up the mug. Coffee might clear my fuzzy brain. I concentrate on the text from Micki. It makes no sense.
MICKI: On my way back to Chicago. Have a nice life.
YANNICK: Micki asked me to take her to the airport. Said she had an emergency.
MAX: What the bloody hell? Cress is beside herself.
CASE: Just collected Ms. Press from the airport. Will be in touch.
The sky has fallen, and my life has officially gone to shit. I key in Micki’s new number. It rings and rings, no answer, so I text.
ME: Why did you leave?
