Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (30 page)

“SOMETHING REALLY
American,
no?” Sébastien declared as we walked down worn-carpeted stairs to the shop
entrance.

Sébastien appeared awestruck.
Finding something American wasn’t going to be a problem. The shop was
chockablock; clothes, housewares, art, albums, and anything else anyone had
needed between 1940 and a couple days ago, were on display. Excited, Sébastien
made a beeline toward a glowing Coca-Cola clock that ticked away on the wall
and then scoured the entire place.

He finally had his “ah-ha” moment
when he found a full-sized cutout of Elvis Presley, proudly tagged as
promotional art for the 1963 movie
It Happened at the World’s Fair
,
filmed in Seattle.

In no time at all, he had a
sizeable pile on the counter. We stood, sorting out what we thought Chantal might
like best, when the clerk said to him, “Dude, you took all the good stuff.”

The word “dude” brought a huge
smile to Sébastien’s face. He read the clerk’s name and pronounced it the
French way when he said, “Alain, you have made my day.”

“Love your accent, man. Works for
me. Cool.” Turning his attention to me as he folded a skirt, he asked, “For
you?”

“His daughter.” I added, “She
loves Americana!”

Allen grinned as he continued
folding and ringing items up on an old cash register, all while talking about how
he loved travelling.

When everything had been bagged
and paid for, the two of them hefted the clock and cutout up the stairs. I left
them happily chatting while I ran back to get the car. They were laughing
really hard when I returned. I saw Sébastien hand him a business card as I
folded the back seats down to make room for the heavy clock and Elvis artwork.

“Dude!” Sébastien said to Allen
when they finished.

“Monsieur,” Allen said to
Sébastien.

After they shook hands, Allen
stuffed his in his pockets and said, “Take it easy.”

“You, too!” Sébastien called as we
walked away. “I really like Seattle.” Looking up at the bright blue sky, he
suggested we wander around and get some fresh air.

“What was so funny?”

Sébastien blushed. “He was asking
me about topless beaches.”

“All right, then. Let’s visit the
troll.”

“What?”

Smiling at the incredulity in his
voice, I explained the local landmark. “Don’t worry, it’s not a real one—it’s
made out of concrete.”

“Is that a real car?” he asked
when we stood at the base of the three-story sculpture—a troll clutching a car
in its hand. We watched kids climbing on it while tourists had their photo
taken in front of it.

“It is! A Volkswagen. Genius,
isn’t it?”

The troll clutched the small,
round car in its hand as if it were a toy. Sébastien posed, sitting on the
other hand, which looked like it was clawing at the soil, trying to dig itself
out of the ground.

We looped around the neighborhood
and walked along the Burke Gilman trail, alongside the Fremont Cut (slightly
reminiscent of walking along the Quai de Valmy). He surprised me when he asked,
“Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

At the end of a deep sigh, I began,
“It’s complicated. John and his wife, Sarah, were family to me.” I quickly
explained how I’d spent most of my childhood with one or both of them. “I
didn’t have a father, and they couldn’t have kids. I don’t think I knew before
this trip how much he cared for me. I wasn’t mature enough to consider that. I now
understand that I occupied an important role in their lives.

“I’ve come to realize that a lot
of lines were blurred. Yesterday, I think he was hurt that I had rejected his
help and the life he envisioned for me. You know, in all the years since I went
to college, I never stopped in to see him. I didn’t call when Sarah died. It
feels so cavalier now. Maybe he was reacting to that, also.” We walked in quiet
for a bit, and then I added, “Like I said, when I was applying to colleges, I
knew I was far too pragmatic to be a starving-artist. If I had been really
determined, I would have spent far more time on my portfolio and applications.”

He expressed his concerns for
Chantal. “I worry about this for Chantal, which is why I introduced her to
Jean
Giroux.
I wonder if she feels like I am rejecting her
talents. Perhaps John felt you judged him and what he had to offer.”

“Maybe. Possibly. Finding out that
I didn’t ask for his help clearly upset him.” I took a deep breath before diving
into my present-day conundrums. I began, “I understand that I know very little
about Aksel Pedersen, and I know absolutely nothing about his business dealings
with you. And while his son’s actions were absolutely lacking in character, I
have to tell you, Aksel was very kind to me.” I described my getting upset at
our meeting and how gracious Aksel had been when I declined the offer. “Even
after I turned him down initially and then invited myself there, raising his
hopes that I might take the job—a lot of people would have seen me as flighty,
but I think he really understood I was confused. Tempted, but confused.”

“Kathleen, grandiose business
plans are based on personal relationships and egos. I saw him talking to you, I
knew about his new business venture, and I was worried about you getting caught
up in it. He can be very persuasive, extremely charming.”

I took a step closer to him. “I’m
sorry that you went through whatever you did. Thank you for wanting to protect
me. I am grateful to have you on my side. I just wanted to say, though I have
no way of knowing this, something tells me he’s a changed man.”

He brushed my hair back from my
forehead and stared deep into my eyes. “You are an intelligent woman and
incredibly respected for what you do, but under no circumstances would I want
you to trust him without using every means necessary to find out who he really
is.”

Wow
! I blew out a deep breath. “I understand. At least I think
I do.”

My cell phone alarm chirped. “I
told my mom we’d be home soon. She’s planning some kind of dinner with John’s
family.”

“Of course, chérie.”

***

Wedding?
What?

“Put
your best dress on now, or we’re going to be late! Sébastien, put on your
suit.” My mom, whose hair had been stylishly upswept, delicately dashed up the
stairs, holding her hair in place. If this hadn’t been so surreal, I’d have been
laughing. She paused midway. “Okay, not your best dress. No way does the bride
want to be upstaged.”

Tears glistened in my eyes. “Let
me see what you’re wearing.” I trotted up the stairs, leaving Sébastien to deal
with the surprise by himself.

In the judge’s chambers, I stood
at my mother’s side, and John’s brother, James, stood at his. The judge, a
lovely woman, stood in the center and presided over the wedding. I listened to
my mother and John recite their vows, and tried to absorb all that was
happening.

There had been almost no time at
the house or on the drive to the courthouse to ask questions. The short version
was that, when they found out I was coming, they had decided to get married.
They had been organizing flowers, cake, and dinner under my very nose.

I glanced at Sébastien, who sat
next to John’s sister-in-law, Whitney, and saw tenderness in his eyes as he looked
at them. Shivers spread across my skin.
L’amour.

***

“The girls
are going to be surprised.” I took a sip of Champagne, still in shock, and
started to laugh hard. I raised a hand in front of my mouth, hoping I wouldn’t
spray Sébastien with my drink. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself.
“Forget them. I’m in shock.”

He wrapped his arm around me. “Not
me. I’ve come to expect amazing things from the Ehlers women.”

I smiled. “I guess so. Wow.
They’re married.”

“It’s been known to happen,” he
teased.

My mind was utterly blown as I
looked out the window of the restaurant, through the twilight, across Lake
Union to Gas Works Park. Lost. Somehow, I felt blissfully lost in this moment
of this remarkable day. Between the laughter and tears, muffulettas and Muscovy
duck, the balance of an ordinary day blurred into one that was as miraculous as
it was unpredictable.

“All right, it’s a wedding. Time
for a few pictures,” my mom called to us.

Soon, she had commandeered the
maître d, and we all posed in front of a two-story, rough-hewn stone fireplace.
We shuffled around in various combinations while the kindhearted man behind the
camera clicked away.

When he passed the camera back to
my mother, he asked us all to follow him to our table, where we sat next to
cantilevered windows that revealed stars, moonlight, houseboats, and office
lights on the water of Lake Union.

“It’s gorgeous here,” Sébastien
said. “Haven’t you been to this restaurant before?”

“No. But I definitely want to come
back.”

For the rest of the evening, we
ate, took more photos, and made it a glorious commemoration.

***

As I lay
in bed, staring at the moon, still trying to absorb the day, Sébastien moved
against me then settled onto his side, spooning me. When he tried to speak, his
voice croaked. He cleared his throat and started over. “What about moving in
with me and turning your apartment into some kind of studio? You could see how
it goes, and if you like it, we can figure out the next step.”

I lay, speechless. He was
presenting me with an option that I had thought about since he’d asked me to
move in, but, since I didn’t have all the pieces figured out, I hadn’t felt
like I could suggest it. I rolled over to face him. “So, you’re okay with me
having no idea what I will be doing a year from now?”

The left side of his mouth curled
up. “Chérie, if I learned nothing else from losing Gisella, it is that we take
each day as it comes and we take love where we find it. Surely your mother and
John proved that today.”

“I think at some point I knew
that, but then work took over, and it began to feel like I had to keep
juggling, because, if I dropped a ball, everything would come undone, and I
wouldn’t be able to fix it.”

“I know how that feels, too. I’ve
just had more time to work on surviving. And I had Chantal. My recovery was
different from yours.”

I admitted, “There are times I
wish I was Tiziana, Marian, or Charlotte.”

He squinted at me. “Why would you
wish that?”

“Marian’s funny. She’s always
laughing. Charlotte’s easy-going. Her life is sorted out and settled. She’s
really happy. Tiziana is truly in love with life. It’s all a beautiful
experience for her.”

“We are who we are,
chère à mon
coeur
. As are they. Besides, we laugh a lot, and I believe, with time,
we’ll laugh more, especially you, when you feel like you have more of what you
want in life.”

MY JOB BECKONED,
and we were
returning to Paris tomorrow.

John and my mom had just returned from their night at a
fancy hotel in downtown Seattle.

“How was the honeymoon?”

“Everything a honeymoon should be!” my beaming mother
answered.

I snickered at her response and then laughed out loud when
John announced, “I can’t wait for you to leave so that the real honeymoon can
begin.”

Then, she and I got teary-eyed. Instantly regretting his
comment, he and
Sébastien
suggested we wade
through our calendars and figure out when they could come to Paris. While John
called his store and organized vacation schedules with his employees, the rest
of us looked at pictures of the wedding and dinner that we had uploaded onto my
laptop.

Scrolling through, I found many that had turned out quite
well. Then
Sébastien took over, scrolling through until
John announced the dates that worked for everyone.

They would come visit in the middle of August, right when
everyone fled Paris. “Paris will be pretty quiet. People vacation the whole
month in France. You won’t see the hustle and bustle, but the cafés and museums
will be open and
full
of tourists!”

John wore an enormous grin as he shared with us his lifelong
dream of being an artist in Paris.

“I’ll get painting supplies. We can set you up,” I assured
him.

Our dinner plans included one of the few things on
Sébastien
’s to-do list: dinner at The Space Needle. Our
reservation was for 7:00, which seemed a little early for dinner to him. But John
had called in a favor for the last minute reservation, and I explained to
Sébastien, “Beggars can’t be choosers. He basically promised his left kidney to
someone for this.”

Looking contrite, he apologized. “Sorry, chérie. Since there’s
time, I’ll pack, get that out of the way.”

I went in search of my mother, to find out what she was
wearing. I found her in the basement, staring at the pile of boxes I had sorted
through a few days ago. I had whittled it down to three.

“Hi.”

She waved her hand at the stack, while obviously working a
lump out of her throat. “Was it hard?”

It had been excruciating. I had sorted through papers,
photos, and random keepsakes. Memories, good and bad, had flooded me. But,
wanting to reassure her, I said, “Not too bad. I was going to ask if you could
ship them to me.”

She nodded. “I know it probably sounds silly, but, with all
your stuff gone, it feels like you’re finally moving out.”

I hugged her. “No, not silly. Maybe that’s why I left so
much stuff here for so long, I only just got ready to leave.”

Before things could get more emotional, I changed the
subject. “What should I wear to dinner?”

“
A nice dress. One you’d wear to
some dive in Paris would probably be perfect.”

As we rooted through my dresses,
looking for one for tonight, she
oohed
and
aahed
over the labels
and fabric. When she gushed, “Armani,” I smiled. She really did love clothes as
much as I did. Well, maybe. She picked out an electric-blue Armani trench dress
with a wide gold belt for me to wear to dinner.

“What are you wearing?” I asked as
her eyes lingered on the glamorous array of clothes and labels.

She smiled. “I would love to wear
that caramel-colored dress. Do you think it’s big enough?”

I snorted. “Of course. You’re the
same size as me.”

Her eyes lit up. “Yay for me!”

Leaving the two dresses in the
closet, she helped me schlep the rest upstairs. “I’m so glad we have the trip
to Paris planned. It does make your leaving so much easier to take.”

***

I paused
and listened outside the bathroom. Sébastien’s quiet singing was muffled by the
shower. I pushed open the bedroom door and saw his suitcase on the bed, mostly
packed. “Let’s just hang these up for now.” I nudged aside his suit jacket,
which was hanging in the middle of the closet, hung my load up, and took the
rest from her, hanging them up as well.

Sébastien entered the room,
rubbing his chest and wet hair with a towel, and saw what we were doing. He
hadn’t seen the clothes downstairs and had had no idea how much I’d brought.
“Were you planning on staying forever, mon coeur?”

“I had other things on my mind
when I packed.”

After my shower, I found
Sébastien
sitting on the bed, staring at photos he had on his phone, regarding them
pensively. “What’s captured your attention?”

He clicked on one photo and handed
his phone to me. A photo of all six of us, standing cheek to cheek. “Nice
picture,” I said.

“Yes, it is. Family is wonderful,
isn’t it?”

I smiled. “It is.”