“To new friends,” she said.
“What brings you back to Mackinac?” he asked. “After years away?”
“What brings you to Mackinac? From France, of all places?” She smiled, teasing him.
“I live here! This is my bed-and-breakfast!” he said, throwing his head back joyfully.
“Yes, but you’re so far from home.”
“This is my home now,” he said, his eyes glistening. “I came to Mackinac in my early thirties. I was on vacation with my girlfriend at that time. Ex-girlfriend now, as you can guess. We went all over America. We started in New York, went to Maine, Florida, Texas, and LA. We ended up in Michigan because she had an old roommate from Detroit. The roommate insisted we come to Mackinac, so we did. When I got off the ferry, I felt something. I knew it would be my home.”
Amelie couldn’t believe the story. It felt fantastical. What did “home” feel like?
“You didn’t leave after that?” she asked.
The Frenchman shook his head. “I told my girlfriend I was staying. We broke up the next day.”
Amelie cackled. This man was slightly crazy, but she liked him all the more for it. He lived on a wing and a prayer like she did.
“It looks like it worked out.” She gestured around the bar.
“I had plenty of difficult years, believe me,” he said. “But things have worked out for me. The island has accepted me as one of its children.”
“That’s a nice story,” Amelie said, her heart sinking. She and Willa were the island’s children, not this man. She didn’t even know his name.
“Pascal!” A man with a saxophone made his way over to their table, answering Amelie’s question. He bent to say something to Pascal, something Amelie couldn’t hear. A moment later, Pascal was on his feet, blushing. “I’m being called to the stage,” he explained. “I hope you’ll stay a little bit longer. I didn’t get a chance to pester you enough.”
Amelie laughed and sipped her wine. It was only when he turned and walked to the table that she realized she didn’t have a place to stay tonight, nor any money to book a room. She grimaced and stared into her glass. Money was so tight that she’d barely made her way here. She wondered if she could offer help to Pascal and the bar tonight. She could wash dishes in exchange for a room, maybe. At least the bed-and-breakfast was empty. There was space.
She hoped Pascal wouldn’t get the wrong idea. But he didn’t seem like a creepy guy at all. Instead, he appeared bouncy and alive in all the ways she wished she was, or all the ways she had been, when her vagabond lifestyle was at its peak.
Pascal was on stage with his saxophonist friend, his hands on the piano, his head thrown back. The saxophonist began to play, and Pascal plunked out a tune beneath him, rolling his shoulders in a kind of dance. There were more people in the bar now, eager to watch the great Pascal—the island’s child. Amelie laughed at how playful he was.
For the entirety of his thirty-minute set, Amelie was captivated, so much so that she didn’t bother to look at her phone. When the crowd stood to applaud, Amelie went throughher pockets, looking for it, because she wanted to take a photograph of Pascal. She tried to capture the genuine feeling of this moment. But it was then she realized her phone was probably in her backpack, which Pascal had locked behind the counter.
Suddenly frantic, she stood, abandoning her glass of wine and the remains of the bottle, and went to the counter. Did anyone else work here? She waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, watching as Pascal made his way back through the bar. He shook everyone’s hand, thanking them for coming out to support the bar. It was clear that everyone loved and respected him. When he reached their table to find her gone, he scratched his head, then turned to see her standing at the counter, waving.
Pascal moseyed over with his hands on his hips. “Was it really so bad? You want to leave now?”
Amelie smiled nervously. “It was really great,” she said. “I just realized, um.”
“You need to get going? Someone’s expecting you?” Pascal offered.
Amelie shook her head, her smile faltering. She suddenly felt terribly exposed and on the brink of failure. “No. Actually, I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight.” She winced and looked at the floor. Was this rock bottom?
Had she assumed she would reunite with Willa upon arrival and stay on her sofa? Or had she thought she’d find the strength to go home?
Pascal’s expression of joy didn’t change in the slightest. Instead, he said, “Well, you’ll stay here, of course! Look at all those keys! We have a thousand of them.”
“But I can’t pay you,” Amelie said, spreading her hands out on the counter.
“Nonsense,” he said, gesturing back toward the bar. “It’s Christmas, and it’s cold, and you’ll have a place to sleep. I don’t want you to worry about that.”
Amelie considered her phone and her desire to look at it. What was she so sure she’d find? Her agent had dumped her. Willa had probably decided never to contact Amelie again. Nobody in the world wanted Amelie’s attention, not now, except, inexplicably, for Pascal.
“Let me work for you at least,” Amelie said. “I don’t want to stay for free.”
Pascal waved his hand. “There’s always so much to do after these nights. We’ll put you to work. Don’t worry about that. Now! Come! Up next is the best bassist on the island. You’re going to fall in love with him!”
