She pulled the chair out. The legs dragged on the hardwood floor from the effort, an uncomfortable sound that echoed through the apartment. “It has to be eaten.”
I took the food from the fridge and grabbed the plates and cutlery. “You will get through this. Not because you’ve foreseen it, but because you are one of the strongest women I know.”
She met my eyes, searching for a sign that I had said my words in jest and, when she found none, reached for my hand across the table. I squeezed her hand in mine. Aunt Evelyn drew in a deep breath as if to collect herself.
“You will survive this,” I repeated with a smile. “Uncle Michael mentioned you are as stubborn as I am.”
“More so. I had more years of practice.” Aunt Evelyn straightened her shoulders. “Today, I’ll open up the shop. It’s another day that I can fight. Come to work with me. You can pretend to be a customer.”
I laughed. “If you want me there, I’ll be there.”
“I’d really appreciate the company.”
* * *
* * *
In her shop Aunt Evelyn seemed more like herself.
She wasn’t as hopeful or as cheerful as I’d seen her, but her smiles were more frequent. For the first time in days, my worries about her welfare subsided. There was a quiet strength underneath the immaculate facade. This beautiful woman, whom I was proud to call my aunt, survived the most devastating of heartbreaks.
She would be fine.
I would be fine.
The bell above the door tinkled.
Ines entered carrying two small boxes in her arms with her bakery’s logo. The gold bangles on her wrist jingled, matching her dangling gold earrings. The smile on her ruby lips rivaled the sunshine outside. “Good morning, ladies.”
Aunt Evelyn and Ines exchanged three sets of cheek air kisses.
“How are you and Luc?” I asked.
“We are quite happy.” She blushed. “Our parents met for dinner and it went better than expected. It didn’t occur to Luc’s parents until now that having their in-laws as bakers could be beneficial to their grocer business. They’ve been so fixated on organic farming that they failed to see other possibilities. There will be a formal meeting of families in two weeks at his grandparents’ chateau in Toulouse. We’re both optimistic, and terrified.”
Aunt Evelyn’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m happy for you, Ines. I know how long you waited.”
“You’re looking better.” Ines unloaded the boxes on the counter and examined my aunt’s face. “Maman was worried about you.”
“Fatima is sweet.” My aunt reached for my hand and drew me to her side. “I had a chat with my niece this morning. She adjusted my perspective.”
“You are going to fight then?” Ines asked.
“Yes. I’ll find a way to get around this ridiculous boycott.”
I let go of my aunt’s hand to investigate the wonderful aromas coming from the boxes Ines delivered. One contained a variant of the lacy egg roll cookies I was used to back home. Unlike the round cylindrical shape of the egg rolls, these were rolled flat, a deeper golden color, and as small as my pinkie finger. Half of the stack was chocolate dipped and the rest were plain.
“Those are crêpes dentelles,” Ines explained to me. “They’re very crispy and one of your aunt’s favorites. Aren’t they?”
My aunt didn’t answer.
Her gaze was fixated on one of the windows, where a lone blue morpho butterfly clung to the glass.
Forty-Seven
I waved my hand in front of her face. “Auntie?”
Aunt Evelyn didn’t budge. Her dark eyes never wavered from their point of focus.
Ines followed our gaze. “Is that a butterfly? Oh, how beautiful.”
We all fell silent. A figure appeared outside the window, accompanied by a cluster of dancing blue morphos. Girard. He wore a tailored dark navy suit. The serious expression on his handsome face contrasted with his whimsical, fluttering entourage.
Ines stood on one side of my aunt while I took my place on the other. We flanked her for protection and support.
“What do you think he wants?” Ines asked in a low whisper.
I frowned. “I have no idea, but if he wants a fight, I’m not leaving my aunt’s side.”
Girard stood near the door. He seemed to be rifling through a small stack of papers in his hands. After a few seconds of reading, he tucked the pile under his arm and opened the door.
Aunt Evelyn didn’t move. Her posture remained stiff, and her unwavering dark eyes were fixed forward, toward the exit. Her hand shook in mine, tiny tremors that I steadied with a firm squeeze.
Girard stepped inside. The butterflies hovered by the windows, dancing to an invisible melody in a cascading holding pattern, a curtain of undulating blue petals.
“Monsieur Renaud, may I ask what your business is here? I can’t imagine you’ve dropped by to purchase tea.” My aunt’s tone was brusque and professional.
“May I speak with you in private, Evelyn?” he asked in English.
Ines and I refused to move. I didn’t need to look over to confer. We were waiting for my aunt’s word.
“What you can say to me, you can say to them.” My aunt stood firm. “This isn’t negotiable.”
“Please, Evelyn.” His deep voice broke into a whisper. “But, if you insist. Why did you come to Paris? I need to hear this from you.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She let go of our hands and stepped forward. “I came here so we could be together.”
Ines and I moved behind the counter. It was too late to give them privacy without being obvious: the interior of the shop was small, and Girard blocked the only exit.
She and Girard moved closer until there were only a few steps separating them. A soft mist gathered at their feet, spreading outward, coalescing into fluffy clouds that reached us behind the counter. It was unexpectedly warm, and its color thickened into the opaqueness of whipped marshmallows.
“Years ago, you told me how important your family was to you, that we couldn’t be together. You chose your family.” His blue eyes focused on her. Girard and my aunt might as well have been the only ones in the room. “What changed?”
“I chose myself. I didn’t have the courage until now.”
“I waited for you.” Girard lowered his head. “I knew you were moving here. I watched the renovations from afar. When you showed up at the restaurant, I was angry. Seeing you brought back too many painful memories. You’re as beautiful as our first day together, but what I saw that night was a woman whose confidence intimidated me. I thought you returned to show me you had moved on.”
Aunt Evelyn remained silent. She clasped her hands together, I suspect, to keep them from trembling.
“I questioned what we had. I told myself that you never loved me, that my memories were nothing but beautiful lies. Everything I had done with the restaurant was to fulfill a promise and show you the man I became. I was angry and acted inappropriately.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“The boycott and the rumors to target your suppliers weren’t my idea, but I claim responsibility. I did nothing to stop or discourage it. Leticia and Claude orchestrated the campaign. I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He paused to fidget with the papers in his hands. “I called all of my contacts to clear this up. I also made arrangements with journalists to have a few pieces written about the tea shop in the papers. It’s only a start. I need to do more.”
“If you only came here to apologize . . .”
“I did, but also because of these.” He handed her one of the yellowed envelopes from his stack.
Aunt Evelyn examined the envelope and gasped, holding a free hand up to cover her mouth. “How did you get these?”
“I received them yesterday. They were addressed to my old family home, but we haven’t lived there for decades. The current residents forwarded them to the restaurant.” He pressed the rest of the stack against his chest. “You loved me. You wanted to be with me as much as I did.”
“But I never sent them. I tucked them away in a box in the attic and forgot about them.”
The envelope in her hand looked familiar: the handwriting, the address, the paper. I had found them in the mailbox when I arrived, and had mailed them. At the time, I assumed someone must be waiting for them, and someone was—Girard.
“Lost things find their way to where they need to be, Evelyn. I know the whispers of your heart echo mine.” He walked over to her, dropping the letters onto the floor, where the thick fog covered them.
Girard took her trembling hands in his, steadying them with a firm squeeze before he reached up to cup her cheek. His hand hovered an inch away, as if to ask for her permission. She reached up and pressed his hand against her skin, tilting her head to lean into the caress.
The intimate gesture made me blush, and a quick glance toward Ines suggested she felt the same.
“I love you, Evelyn. I never stopped. You have always had every piece of me.” He kissed her fingertips. “I don’t know if you still feel the same way. After what I’ve done, I can’t expect you to.”
She touched his lips. “Are you asking if I still love you?”