Redemption (7 page)

“Do you think we could talk?” I asked.

“I’m working.”

“How about after?”

I could tell she was about to refuse, so I quickly continue. “We could have coffee right there,” I pointed to the coffee shop in front of the boutique.

“Well … ”

“My treat,” I insisted. “It wouldn’t be much trouble for you.”

“I guess I could.”

“What time?”

“I finish at five.”

“I will see you then.”

I realized I’d never introduced myself. Years of disuse had made my manners rusty. “I am Guillaume de Rouen.” I extended my hand in a formal manner.

She didn’t hesitate long before taking it.

“I’m Odd.”

“Odd?” Like it said on her notebook.

“Well it’s Aude, Aude Vanier. Spelled A-U-D-E, but everyone calls me Odd. It suits me.”

“I think it may,” I agreed with a smile. She
was
an odd creature.

I left the store. Since I had some time to waste, I thought back to all the unread books at the bookstore. In the meantime, I could resume my other line of research.

I was drawn to the music store again. The salesman from earlier that morning was no longer there when I returned. Instead, a pretty blond lady was present. She spoke in soft tones with a father and daughter trying out violins. She saw me at the pianos and made eye contact with me, using her body language to let me know that she would be with me as soon as she could.

A rosewood baby grand caught my attention, and I walked toward it. The worn wooden floorboards creaked, reminding me of the old house my last piano was in; the house we had lived in before our apartment building was built in the mid-Twenties. This had been before Marguerite had affected our lives. There has been no piano since then—no music could hold her charms.

I sat down at the instrument without thinking. My eyes closed and as soon as my fingers touched the ivories I was in a different room, an elaborately decorated room that felt like home. Marguerite was next to me, her red hair glowing in the candlelight, her delicate ivory dress was a tone so similar to her skin that it was difficult to understand where the dress ended and she began.

She shifted behind me as I sat on the bench in front of the grand piano. My flesh tingled when she placed her hands on my shoulders. The sensation reminded me that in this form, I was supple and yielding, almost as fragile as she was. I faced her and though I didn’t know what it was, I knew I felt something at the sight of her soft brown eyes reflecting the room’s warm lighting. There was more than candlelight shining in those eyes. There was love. I recognized it in her when I saw it, but I couldn’t find it in myself. It had left with my mortality all those centuries before. What filled me up, warming me as I watched her eyes, was as close as I had been, and I tried to hold on to it. Desperate for it.

“Play something for me?” she asked, her voice a melody.

I stretched my fingers over the ivories and played her something I had never played for anyone before. One of the few things I remembered from my human life, something I had written before my heart turned to stone with the rest of me. A composition filled with emotions that only came back while I played. It was only then I remembered the young and innocent infatuation that had inspired it. Lost in my personal feelings, I played, knowing that I opened myself up to her, shared with her what I had been, in the only way I could. My fingers moved faster and faster. The song came to its dramatic ending and then slowed and I took a deep breath as the last notes trickled down like cold rain.

I opened my eyes and noticed the crowd around me in the music store. I felt a tingle of guilt seep through me. Guilt and sadness. In a way, it had been a betrayal to myself and to Marguerite. I had shared something personal, something I had never shared with anyone, not in over six hundred years, and then only shared with her. I had opened myself up to strangers. My stomach heaved. I felt sick.

The saleslady praised my performance but I held my hand up as a sign to stop. I couldn’t handle hearing about it; only one person had praised this piece of work in the past. It should not have been shared with anyone else. My voice wouldn’t cooperate with me and when I finally spoke, it was strange and scratchy.

“I wish to purchase this piano,” I said to the blond lady, and then without thinking I added, “and the purple guitar over there,” pointing to the one my girl—Odd-girl—had been playing.

The lady did a double take and asked me if I had tried it. And if I wanted to try a few more. I shook my head and she made all the necessary arrangements to have both the piano and the guitar delivered. I descended to the bookstore to continue my research.

9

Aude

I slide on my jacket and tighten my scarf. I eye the coffee shop across the street. I should have refused. Why would I meet a stranger there? The fact that he seems so familiar makes it even more freaky. I let out a deep breath. This is my home turf; where I’ve been hanging out since Lucy started working here. It’s a safe spot. But it’s
my
safe spot, and I’m going to introduce it to a potential psychopath. What is wrong with me?

I pull on my gloves, hesitate at the boutique’s entrance, and then quickly pull them off again. I take my cell phone from my pocket. Lucy still hasn’t answered me if she is working tonight. I hope she isn’t. She’s on boyfriend patrol for me. The last thing I want is for her to see me having a coffee there with a boy.

“Hey, since you’re sticking around, want to close up?” Rochelle calls out from the back of the store.

“I’m just leaving.”

“Going to meet that customer? Is there a store policy against that?”

“I hope not for your sake, since it’s where you met your last four boyfriends.”

“Five.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she calls out when I finally open the door to the cold Montreal winter. I don’t know her well enough to know exactly what that includes, and quite frankly, I don’t care.

I stick my ungloved hands in my pocket and hop over the slushy snow bank to cross the street to Café Bohémien.

Once inside, I scan the dim, cozy interior looking for the guy. My gaze passes over the different section with their unique couch configurations. In the far corner, someone is strumming on a guitar. I can’t see who it is, but chances are it’s someone I know.

I stop when I see Lucy. I’m tempted to duck behind an oversized stuffed chair before she sees me, but that wouldn’t be very mature. So instead, I pretend not to see her, and hope she doesn’t notice me. It works because her attention is suddenly occupied by the two boys ordering. I continue scanning the place but do not see the Guillaume guy. Maybe he decided not to show. A little voice in my head tells me he never existed at all and he’s just another part of my mental breakdown. I ignore it.

Lucy’s customer turn away from away from her and she notices me and waves. At the same time, I notice that one of the boys she’d been serving is him. Guillaume.

He also waves at me. Well, this is awkward. I nod in their direction, trying to think of ways to avoid the imminent introductions. He motions toward a set of empty couches. I take off my coat and hang it up on one of the many funky coatracks that line the room. My steps toward the ordering counter are slow, like I am walking toward my executioner.

“You know them?” Lucy asks me once I’m finally close enough.

“Not really. I met one of them before and agreed to come for coffee.”

“That’s promising.” Lucy gives me a look that shows just how promising she thinks it is. Her smile is so wide, you’d think she was related to the Cheshire cat. The pink streaks in her blond hair and the exaggerated whimsical make-up add to the Wonderland look.

Around her neck, hanging over her black barista apron, is a diagonal-striped pink and white sequined necktie. Her look on anybody else may seem forced, but not on Lucy. She’s genuine punk rock princess material.

“Usual?” she asks me.

“Of course.” I always order the same thing. It’s not that I don’t like change, but why mess with a good thing?

Lucy prepares my chai latte, putting extra care in the formidable glob of whipped cream at the top and sprinkling it with cinnamon. She hands it to me.

“Go,” she urges.

She’s going to be so disappointed when she discovers I’m not interested in either of the good-looking young men whose direction she’s sending me in.

When I approach the sofa, they stand up. I stop, unsure what is happening. Do they plan to change seats? I look behind me, but see nothing unusual.

“Umm … ” I say.

“Aude, I wish to introduce you to my brother, Garnier.”

Garnier bows his head to me. I extend my free hand awkwardly, trying to keep my latte balanced in my other hand. His handshake is delicate, as if he thinks I am fragile.

Guillaume motions to the chair in front of theirs. “Please, have a seat.”

I place my drink on the table and sit. They both sit.

That was weird. I’ve seen this kind of courtesy in fancy restaurant scenes in movies but never in person and never at a coffee shop.

Garnier leans forward and peers at my drink. “Is that cinnamon and cardamom I smell?”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“It reminds me of my travels along the Silk Road.” He smiles, puts his arms behind his head and leans back against the couch.

The Silk Road. I know nothing about it, except it has something to do with China, I think, but I have to admit the idea is exotic and interesting. It is also sickening to think that this teenage boy has traveled so far while I have never even left Canada. The extent of my travels was a trip to Toronto. A sort of scouting mission with Mom when she considered moving there to get away from all those
damn Frenchmen
after she broke up with a French boyfriend. Though I’m fascinated, I’m also repulsed. These boys are definitely upper-middle class, at least, and I know their types. Throw in a few references to how much cash they have, and girls are putty in their hands.

Guillaume laughs. “My brother has done one big thing in his life, and now everything reminds him of it.”

I look from one boy to the other carefully to try to understand them, but come up with nothing. I can’t categorize them. I like that.

“Have you traveled anywhere else?” I ask Garnier.

“We’ve moved around a lot growing up,” Guillaume answers.

“Where?”

“Mostly France, England, and Spain.”

“But you have to understand,” Garnier says, “my trip was more than just travel. It was a pilgrimage of sorts, following the path of Marco Polo. And it’s more than what Guillaume has done with his life.”

“For now, brother, but real life is just about to start.”

Guillaume must be referring to graduating from high school. “Do homeschooled kids graduate?” I ask my thoughts out loud and turn red when I realize how dumb I just sounded.

Just then Lucy taps me on the shoulder, and saves me from this embarrassing conversation.

“Hi, I’m Lucy, Aude’s best friend. I just finished my shift.” She addresses the boys and looks at me nervously. I realize she thinks I don’t want her there. I motion for her to sit down and she drops down on the arm of my chair. “I play guitar in Lucid Pill—same band as Odd.”

Guillaume and Garnier introduce themselves.

“You’re a musician?” Garnier asks me.

“She’s really good, actually. She’s the lead in our band. You should totally check us out sometime,” Lucy answers.

Garnier flashes me an easy smile, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Impressive,” he says.

“Hardly.” I feel compelled to say.

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know … ”

I really
don’t
know and I don’t even know what to say to him. It’s not that I’m attracted to him. He’s good-looking, both boys are, but it’s not what has me so unbalanced. There is just something open about him. Something raw and real that you don’t see in teenage boys. It contrasts sharply with his brother’s quiet mystery.

Between both of them, they’ve managed to make me feel flustered, actually flustered. I don’t know why I feel this way. I’ve had a crush before but this is different. It’s like there is something about these two that I need to know. Some history I have to uncover. It scares me a little and annoys me a lot.

Lucy asks Garnier a question I don’t hear, and his focus shifts to her. I marvel at his eyes. They disturb me when on me, but fascinate me from this angle. Lucy nudges me and I realize I’m staring. Garnier is now talking quietly with Guillaume and I turn my attention to Lucy.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whisper.

She laughs. “It happens to the best of us.”

I shake my head at her. “No, it isn’t what you think.
That
doesn’t happen to me.
Maudit.
”

“Because you’re above high school crushes?” she teases quietly.