“Given your history, that’s not at all how I expected you to answer.” He headed toward the cash register with the bird and the photograph.
“It hasn’t made anyone run screaming from me. It’s nice seeing their connection. Speaking of which, you probably won’t approve, but know I’m going forward anyway.”
My uncle seldom used his warning tone, but a rebellious child knew the inflection—whether from family or a stranger. “Vanessa.”
“Aunt Evelyn is in love and I’m certain he feels the same way. It’s someone she was involved with when she was in Paris in her twenties. Recently, they saw each other for the first time in decades at his restaurant. There are unresolved feelings.”
“Did your aunties back home put you up to this?” he asked.
I shook my head. “They didn’t. This is my idea. They are busy meddling in their own way: they hired a private investigator.”
My uncle covered his face with his free hand and uttered a curse in Mandarin. “I expected this from them, but not you.”
“I want her to be happy. I think she will be with him, and vice versa. It’s a gut feeling I have, but it’s the same one that told me Jack and you belong together.”
We reached the counter, and my uncle stopped me from taking out my wallet. He paid for both the bird and the photograph.
“This old boyfriend of hers, what does he look like?” he asked as we entered the next store.
“A French version of Robert Redford. Quite dashing. The aunties were impressed.”
Rococo oil paintings, in their gilded frames, stood out against the deep red walls. Bronze sculptures populated the shelves. My fingers itched to reach out and touch them.
“Evelyn is one of those rare souls who is open to others but also guards the most private parts of herself,” Uncle Michael continued. “She knows the name of every family member, is generous at every occasion, and attends every function. Yet, how many do you think she’s invited into her home? Me—and you.”
I had never realized how alone Aunt Evelyn was.
Red threads were everywhere. Sparkling ruby garlands wove through people like a moving spiderweb. If I could fly overhead, I could see the patterns of constellations representing the bridges of humanity. For someone who never had one of her own, seeing them brought me joy. This was what I’d been missing all my life.
And my aunt didn’t have one.
It was a steep price to pay for her clairvoyance.
It wasn’t fair.
Thirty-Eight
The next morning, I woke up breathless. My heartbeat hovered near the edge of my throat as my skin hummed with an electric energy that popped the sheets and blankets around me. It was as if my body was reminding me that I was alive.
The experience had left me reassessing what kind of life I was resuming. I failed at controlling my predictions, but gained the power to see red threads. Where did that leave me? Did I want to go back to my office at the accounting firm? Spend countless weekends alone while surrounded by family?
I wanted to bring Marc home to meet them, but after that? Despite a rebellious streak, I had ended up working at the family firm like a good, respectable Yu.
Now, I wanted more, from love, from life, from everything. Ma knew this.
I was no longer cursed.
There wasn’t anything now stopping me from what I wanted.
I didn’t know what would come next, but I wasn’t scared.
After dressing in a pair of dark jeans and an off-the-shoulder cashmere sweater and checking my phone (still nothing from Marc), I made my way to the kitchen. Midmorning sunlight streamed through the windows. I must have slept in. Prophecy lessons were canceled. I was a carefree tourist again.
My aunt had left a note on the kitchen table.
Dear Vanessa,
No need to come into the shop during the day. However, if you feel well enough and can manage, I would appreciate you dropping by Ines’s bakery and picking up some treats. The few customers coming in appreciate the tea and biscuit pairing.
Love,
Aunt Evelyn
The boycott and gossip were denting her profits, and with my accident she had lost another day. Her conversation with my uncle last night uncovered a direr picture than what she had presented to me. Failure wasn’t an option. My aunt had too much pride to move back. While I didn’t know yet what I wanted to do with my life, Aunt Evelyn had gambled everything she owned for her heart’s desire.
Reuniting her with Girard would save her business. My schedule was now clear and, with a little over a week left, I could focus on this task. I checked my phone again, but Marc hadn’t responded to my messages. My coconspirator was missing in action, and I was worried that his boss might be responsible.
I needed to recruit another to my cause. I needed Ines’s help. She considered my aunt family. Aunt Evelyn’s support system was small, and Ines’s family was its core. I headed to my favorite bakery with the cats painted on the front windows.
* * *
* * *
There was no sign of Luc when I arrived at the bakery. The glorious aroma of butter, sugar, vanilla bean, and cacao hovered in the air. When I eventually left Paris, I’d miss the luxury of bakeries within walking distance. Ines lounged at the counter. Her short, pixie hair cut exposed a sharpened pencil tucked behind her ear.
“Oh my, Vanessa! Are you all right?” She rushed to greet me from behind the counter.
“I’m fine. I had a minor accident.” I tapped my cane. “This is temporary. I have a sore hip and it’s helping me. This scar, however, is permanent.”
She examined my right elbow. “It looks like it’s healing well though.”
“No delivery from a certain someone today?” I asked.
She sighed and resumed her position behind the counter. “Someone else is doing the delivery now. I’m not sure if it was his or his parents’ idea to change his shift. Knowing Luc, he wouldn’t dare stand up to his parents.”
“Has he always been that way?”
“He’s a good son.” She lifted a glass dome and handed me a thin, round waffle cookie. “Galettes. You will love these.”
I ran a fingertip across the tiny square indentations. The toasted cookie was crisp and delicious, and left tiny crumbs at the corners of my mouth. This reminded me of the crunchy bits of batter left at the sides of the waffle iron, which were always my favorite.
“They will go well with whatever tea your aunt is sampling,” she said, stacking the galettes into a small box before placing them in a paper bag with handles. “How is she? I heard the shop was closed yesterday. My parents talked to the other shopkeepers; they are disappointed in them. We don’t understand how they can spread these lies to their customers and to tourists. It’s cruel.”
“It is.”
She handed me the bag and leaned in closer. “If only their romance hadn’t soured.”
“It’s not hopeless though. I have a plan.”
Ines’s dark brown eyes widened and her poppy-red lips gaped open. “You’re going to set them up?”
“Why not? They loved each other once.”
“They would make a striking couple.” Ines jotted down the order on a slip. I reached for my purse, but she waved me away. She pointed to tins of my aunt’s teas on a nearby shelf. “Don’t worry about payment. We have an arrangement in place.”
I took this as an opening to recruit her to my cause. “Will you help me?”
“This is going to be a difficult mission. Monsieur Renaud is a hard man to get a hold of. He’s very busy and very inaccessible. He keeps a tight counsel and is notorious about his privacy.”
“Does this mean you’re not going to help me?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m going to help. But you must know what we’re up against.” Tearing a sheet from her order pad, she wrote down her phone number before reaching below the counter to reveal a small envelope. “And this is for you.”
“Me?”
Ines winked. “A handsome pastry chef dropped it off early this morning.”
Marc.
He hadn’t forgotten about me.
Thirty-Nine
I tore open the packet outside the bakery.
The letter smelled of chocolate; the instant I unfolded it, a slight breeze carried the scent upward, enveloping me in the sweetest of embraces.
Inside was an ink illustration of a heart-shaped croissant. The intricate strokes rendering the pastry’s layers illuminated his attention to detail. He signed it, “You have my heart, Marc.”
I pressed the paper against my chest.
All was well. Ines had agreed to help. If I could determine Girard’s schedule, it would be easier to “run into” him and plead my case. But how could I convince him that he and my aunt belonged together?
My only evidence was an old photograph, his intense feelings for her frozen for eternity. I sent a short email to Auntie Faye, asking her to overnight the photo to me. It was midnight there, so it would probably arrive here tomorrow or the day after. The time difference wasn’t conducive to coordinated conspiracy.
A familiar face emerged from a nearby bistro: Luc. He walked to his delivery van. I had to find out why he was avoiding Ines. Hobbling toward him, my hip screaming in protest, I called out.
“Luc, please wait. Can I talk to you?”