Code Name Butterfly, page 21
“Maybe I have an answer,” he countered with sass.
“Do you think Grant would ever leave France?”
Pierre’s grin was more of a smirk. “So you do like him!”
“I was just curious,” she snapped.
“Uh-huh. I believe you.” Pierre brought the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling. “No.”
Pierre said it so decisively that Elly was startled. “I know why he returned to France, and he has a life here so I can understand why he’s stayed but you don’t think he’d return to the States after all is said and done?”
“Nope.” Pierre popped the p in that single word.
Another thought occurred to her. “Is it because of the lack of racism? Like Jo? Did he want to escape all of that?”
Pierre looked unimpressed by the question. “The day every chocolate baby is born, they come into the world with fingers and toes and the weight of being the lowest in the caste system. You can’t escape racism. It’s here in France. It just manifests a bit differently. You should see how they treat Africans. It is a big fricking deal that we’re Americans. These white people might like the idea of the exotic but I’ve never seen a dark-skinned woman with an accent from the motherland on their stages performing the Charleston. I will belt out the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ if it means they’ll treat me with dignity and respect and we’ll all pretend like we’re on the same page. No, honey, it’s not racism. Especially because he was living in New York where you can disappear into neighborhoods white folks don’t go in and if you’re lucky you won’t run into any that will call you boy.”
“So what is it then?”
“Nothing in this life is free. If you expect me to share my wisdom, you will owe me.” Elly considered that. She couldn’t think of a single thing that she had or could do that he’d want. Still, she eyed him warily. “I wouldn’t ask for anything criminal. Like say, killing anybody.” Elly’s eyes turned icy. Pierre pulled on his cigarette and exhaled smoke. Waiting.
Elly released a huff of air. “Fine. I’ll owe you.”
In the shadow of the car, Pierre’s grin was swift. “Fear.”
“What?”
“Grant is afraid.”
That made Elly pause. “Of what?”
“Of living. Before the war, if he wasn’t working, he was visiting the cemetery. It’s creepy. I went there once. He made me visit my dad’s grave. There were hundreds of men out there. Thousands. Why in the heck do I want to spend my free time sitting amongst the dead? He’s not all right here,” Pierre said, tapping a finger against his head. “And he knows it. And he also knows that the love of a good woman isn’t going to change that. He walked that road before and his marriage was a disaster.”
“Even now, you think?” Elly whispered.
“Even now,” Pierre murmured, the weight of the past twenty-two years in his voice.
“I’m sorry you lost your father in the previous war.” Elly wished there was another way to express one’s sadness over someone else’s grief. But the English language seemed peculiarly failing in this aspect.
“Hmm? Oh, well. I barely knew him,” he said lightly. He cleared his throat. “Grant cannot sleep unless he’s exhausted, which means it isn’t unusual for him to walk the streets of Paris until his feet have blisters. He can stare out the window for hours, lost in his own head. And do not make the mistake of surprising him. Ever. I’ve known him for ages. I’m the closest person to him and he still refuses to share parts of himself—not because he’s afraid of vulnerability. But because the more he knows a person, the more it’ll hurt when they leave. So he gets to know people only up to a certain extent before he withdraws.”
Elly looked out the window, next to her, seeing nothing.
“That war messed him up. You don’t get all the medals he’s got without losing a part of yourself in the getting. He has learned how to make it from day to day and leaving Paris would require him relearning all over again. That’s why I don’t think it’ll ever happen.” Pierre sighed deeply. “We all have our demons but his are just too much.”
“I don’t have demons. You might have demons,” Elly said, pointing at him even though she knew exactly what he meant. She knew what it was to live with certain voices in your head that had to be ignored on a daily basis. But this was Pierre and she was going to take advantage of every opportunity to needle him. “I’m saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost. No demons. But you …?” Elly spread her hands in uncertainty.
“You’re crazy. Do you know that? Absolutely bat—”
“Anyway,” she said, cutting him off. “I do thank you. I did not expect you to be so insightful.”
Pierre rolled his eyes. Hard. “I love Grant. He’s the only family I’ve had all these years. Of course, I’ve tried to figure him out.”
“What do you think would ever make him want to try again?”
Pierre rolled down the window of the car and tapped his cigarette against the side, creating a small flurry of embers. “I told you the love of a good woman ain’t gonna do it.”
“Yes. What will?”
Pierre shrugged dramatically. “I don’t know. He has to be more afraid of not living than living. He’s got to recognize that life is about taking risks and challenging yourself and being willing to get hurt in the process. And that the people who love you don’t need you to have it all together first before they accept you. They just do, flaws and all. Of course you have to be willing to work on those flaws. Everybody gets tired of crazy after a while.”
“Layers,” Elly said, nodding seriously as she eyed him. “You are a man of infinite layers and wisdom.”
“I know. I’m practically King Solomon.” Pierre slapped the wheel of the car. “Well, not trying to push you out of the car or anything but some people have things to do and places to be.”
Elly opened the car door, stepping out onto the sidewalk. “Thank you, Pierre.”
“Always happy to help. Although, if I’m well and truly honest, prettier women than you have tried to crack the nut that is Grant.”
Leaning down, Elly waved a finger. “In case it’s not clear, I don’t like you.”
“Uh-huh. Love you too, sweetheart. Bonsoir! Looking forward to cashing in my favor!”
Elly slammed the car door behind her.
Madame may have agreed to leave Paris for the south of France but that did not mean that she made things easy for Claire and Elly.
“This is my wedding dress. I cannot leave it behind.”
“I’m going to leave her behind,” Claire muttered under her breath. They’d been trying to convince Madame to treat her leaving as though taking a holiday but the older woman wasn’t fooled. She was well aware that there was a chance she might not be able to return to the home she’d lived in her whole life and Elly kept stumbling over her as she cried into old clothes and over items she hadn’t seen in years.
It was all making Elly feel restless. She had been the type of student who never could take all of the allotted time a teacher gave for an exam. Once the first student turned in their test, it was time for Elly to wrap things regardless of whether she was ready or not. She was starting to get that same itch as Madame and Claire packed. She too should be packing. She too should be walking out of the door in three days.
“Let her say goodbye,” Elly told Claire. Elly didn’t know what it was to leave a home that had housed family for generations. But it wasn’t a great leap to place herself in their shoes. How hard it would be to have to flee the home she’d been raised and loved in with Uncle Minor and Aunt Tabitha. Yes, it was all just things but they were things that represented your very life. Such thoughts set Elly to weeping and it wasn’t unusual for her to take a momentary break to collect herself.
Despite all of their packing and maneuvering, the apartment still looked lived in and loved. There was so much that Claire and Madame were leaving behind, all of them knowing that it might be years before the Auger family returned … if they ever did.
And then the day came.
“Grandmère, we will be late,” Claire said from the doorway of the apartment. She stood there with her schoolbag slung across her shoulders. Elly knew it carried her journal, photographs, jewelry—including the lucky necklace—and snacks for the road.
Madame stood at the sink, washing dishes despite knowing that Elly would be staying in the apartment for a bit longer. “All right, all right,” the older woman said as she dried her hands on the nearest dish towel. Madame raised her eyes to the ceiling of her home and stared as though taking mental pictures of the space. “I lost my only brother in the last war. We used to argue about who would inherit this place and then suddenly there was no longer a discussion. When I got married, your grandfather moved in. I refused to live anywhere else. Why pay rent when we own this place right next to the river Seine? Champs-Élysées is just down the street. This place was given to us because of my grandmother. How she must have pleased the duc.”
Neither Elly nor Claire said anything as they stood by the door.
“We managed to pass it down from generation to generation knowing that we would not sell one brick.” Madame’s voice broke. “I raised Bernard here. I used to do my homework over there like Claire. I …”
“It’s just a holiday, Grandmère,” Claire said quietly. “We’re leaving for a little while. But we’ll come back.”
Madame’s smile did not reach her eyes. “I thought I would die here like my parents before me.”
“Holiday,” Claire stressed, her voice calm, even as her eyes filled with emotion. And hers weren’t the only ones. It wasn’t fair that this was happening; that one country’s greed was destroying the lives of so many people who had never done anything to anyone. Elly blinked back tears and discreetly coughed into her hand. She’d cried more in the past week than she felt like she’d cried in all of her life.
Madame sighed. “Holiday,” she repeated. “One day this will be your home, Claire.”
“Mais, oui.”
Elly watched Madame place two fingers to her lips and then touch them to one of the walls as though blessing the home. Then she squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
No one was able to flag down a taxi anymore and so Madame, Claire, and Elly joined the masses of refugees who were also carrying their whole world on their shoulders and trying to get as far away from the war as possible.
Elly and Claire had spent hours in the train station tag-teaming in the long line to get tickets out of Paris. The place was filled with the bodies of desperate people of all ages, and reeked with the scent of uncleanliness and anxiety. Babies wailed while parents looked on with worry. The elderly leaned on anything they could, only one stiff wind from falling over. Everyone clutched their bags and suitcases knowing good and well that if they lost it they would have nothing. And every single person carried with them a little pocket of hope that they’d make it into a car that would take them far away from Paris.
“What is this? There cannot possibly be enough tickets for all of these people,” Madame muttered under her breath. Madame was right. The trains filled first with those who paid and then secondly with those who couldn’t. No train left Paris with empty seats. And just like in the house, the fear and worry was catching. Elly suddenly wished that she too had a ticket so she could leave this city.
“The train leaves in fifteen minutes,” Claire said, alarm in her voice as she looked over the crowd they had to cross to get to their car.
“Quel est le problème?” Elly asked. The French had never had a problem shoving her to the side when she was in the way. And God forbid they say excuse me. If anything, it went against her upbringing to rudely knock people over but desperate times and all of that. Extending a hand toward the sea of people, Elly said, “Darn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead.”
And then, before Elly could dive into the fray, Grant was there.
“Bonjour, Madame Auger. Claire. Give me your suitcases. Come on. Let’s get you on this train.” They barreled through the horde with Elly and Grant saying, pardon, every few seconds as they pushed Madame and Claire along.
Elly had imagined one last hug, one last goodbye, but there was no time for that. Madame handed the conductor their tickets while Grant opened the train door and shoved their bags through. With one hand, he kept it open for the women. “Merci! Merci.” Madame and Claire were both crying as they climbed into the car.
“Au revoir,” Elly yelled as she jumped and waved from the crush of people that was threatening to swallow her. “Au revoir and merci!” Claire and Madame disappeared for a brief second and then Claire was at a window, tugging it open.
“Be careful, Élodie!”
“If it stays bad, Claire, keep running! You have your very precious life to live! Keep running and don’t stop!”
“I won’t,” the girl promised as she waved. “I won’t.”
Elly was bumped from behind and she felt her feet slip. And then her hand was snatched out of the air. Grant. She didn’t argue as he pushed and pulled and dragged her through to an empty side of the train station. Neither of them spoke as they climbed the stairs up to the street and back to fresh air.
Elly rubbed a hand across her face. “I’ll probably never see them again.”
“Very unlikely,” Grant agreed as he moved toward her and reached for her arms. He rubbed her gently, comfortingly while she stood there trying to stop her nose from itching with emotion. When she knew she was no longer in danger of crying she took a step back and Grant released her. Without discussing anything, they started walking, heading in the direction of Madame’s apartment.
“How did you know where we’d be?”
Grant released a huff of air. “It was not a hard thing to figure out, Elodie. Only so many trains are headed to Aix-en-Provence today.”
Neither of them said anything for a long moment leaving plenty of time for the last words that Elly had flung at Grant to rise to the surface. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she watched traffic pass by as embarrassment filled her cheeks.
“Thank you for coming,” she murmured as she looked at her feet. She still sort of wished he’d disappear and leave her alone. How was she going to let him go if he was everywhere she turned?
“You’re welcome.” There was another pause. “I’ve spoken with our superiors. There’s no point in going to the Red Cross anymore unless you want to help. Enjoy what you can of Paris because we’ll be leaving soon.”
“Are we taking the train?”
Grant shook his head. “Two cars. I’ll drive one and Pierre will drive the other. He’ll call you when the time is set but have your things packed. Live out of a bag you can snatch and grab.”
She nodded. She was already down to the bare essentials, having sent a suitcase and her typewriter to Jo’s house so it could be delivered to wherever they would be staying once they left Paris.
Elly listened quietly as Grant waxed on about the ramifications of leaving Paris. He was just going to ignore it, she realized. All of those pesky feelings. Her initial reaction was relief but as he continued to talk she felt herself undergoing a change of sorts. It was in her nature to want to be pursued. To want to be absolutely certain the other person wanted her before she opened herself up. But, he’d made it clear he absolutely wasn’t going to go down that route. Because he was afraid of living if Pierre was to be believed. And Pierre might be full of malarkey half the time but she didn’t think he was lying. How odd. Grant was afraid of living and she was afraid she would never live.
She glanced over at the man next to her who was comfortably rambling on about something. Thoughts began to run through her head. All sorts of thoughts.
CHAPTER 26
The waiting was interminable.
When she heard of Belgium’s surrender to Germany, of the collapse of the French line, of the disaster at Dunkirk, and then felt the vibrations from the bombings of the airports just outside of Paris, she worked hard to drown out the fears that yelled at her in the quiet moments by cleaning. Not that the apartment was dirty. But scrubbing everything down felt like the only action she could take at the moment that would accomplish anything. And yet, no matter how hard she worked, no matter how hard she cleaned, eventually her mind always found itself reaching the same conclusion: she could be in Chicago right now.
And then the call came.
She’d obeyed every word of instruction she’d been given. All of her things were in one bag she could carry. She was wearing a loose gray sweater over her most comfortable dress: a dark cotton number she’d brought with her from the States. Her shoes were walking shoes. Shoes she’d broken in some time ago with her long, meandering journeys through the Jardin du Luxembourg and up and down the Champs-Élysées.
She opened the door expecting Pierre. It was Grant. But not the Grant who wore tailored clothes that made him look as though he’d stepped off the cover of a men’s magazine. This Grant still wore dark clothing, but his pants were loose and wrinkled. There was no scarf in sight. This Grant hadn’t shaved in a few days.
“I’m sorry,” Grant began, his voice low and polite. “Do you think we have all day?”
Elly smiled before she could think about it. She’d missed him these past few days. Missed his lectures. Missed his company. Missed being with someone who just … understood. And seeing him standing right there was confirming some things. What those things were, she was going to have to figure out. “Of course not.”
Leaving Grant still standing in the doorway, she walked over to the couch in the living room and moved it a few inches over as Claire had shown her. She pressed down on the loose piece of wood and the other end popped up. She dropped her key to the apartment into the hole. Then she smoothed out the wood once again. If Grant weren’t hovering some feet away—clearly anxious—she’d probably pronounce a benediction of sorts, a sort of parting farewell like Madame had. But it was time to go.
She replaced the couch, grabbed her bag, the picnic basket, and returned to the door.
