When she picked it up, the screen said the call was coming through one of her social media accounts, TalkBook, not her phone. At the top of the screen, the Wi-Fi symbol was lit up.
Oh,she was getting Wi-Fi access in the FlyBNB room, not real cellular service.
Her thumb tapped the circle before she noticed the name on the TalkBook account wasFrancis Senft.
Oh no,butshe’d already accepted his call.
“Wherethe fuckare you?” Francis yelled through the phone, and his face resolved into a screaming red blob of anger. “Youusedthe airplane ticket! I was trying to get a refund or claim the travel insurance for those tickets, andyou goddamn used one!”
“It was in my name,” she said, her voice choking up because it always did when she was ashamed.
“I was trying to get the money for them because I goddamnneedthemoney!”
This wasn’t the Francis she’d known and loved for eleven months. Yesterday, he’d turned into this crazy guy demanding money. “I paid for them,” she said. “I could use one if I wanted to.”
“No, you couldn’t, you dumb bitch! Ineededthat money!”
He was so different. Dree didn’t even recognize this guy who wore Francis’s face and was screaming at her. Tears spilled over her eyelids and traced hot wetness down her face.
She didn’t know what new-Dree would do in this situation yet. She just knew that old-Dree would apologize to him and figure out some way to give him more than she should because everyone else was more important than she was.
The instinct to apologize gathered in her throat, so she hung up the phone and turned it off.
Just as the phone powered down, it started to ring that odd chime, and Francis’s name reappeared.
The phone died with a sad squawk.
And someone knocked on her door.
Oh, God.
Had Francis used the other plane ticket and come to Paris to find her? He had made the hotel reservations with her credit card. If he was in Paris, he would know where she was.
She crept to the door, stood on her tiptoes, and peered through the fish-eye lens.
Augustine stood outside in the hallway, holding flowers, two large paper cups, and a pink box. He was just as frickin’ beautiful as she remembered, though he was wearing a white dress shirt and khaki pants.
She cranked the two locks that worked and flipped the door open. “Augustine, you’re not supposed to come back. I’m never supposed to see you again. That was the rule.”
He stared at her and said, “I promised to take you shopping for a new coat. Why are you crying?”
Chapter Four
Confession
Maxence
Maxence was trying to be good.
He strolled along the streets of downtown Paris, dodging pedestrians and smiling at people who made eye contact. Even in the bright morning sunlight, the evergreen bough Christmas decorations tied with red velvet ribbons were festive and cheered Maxence considerably.
As it was Sunday morning, he’d been to confession before Mass to absolve himself of the mortal sins on his soul, and there were many, before he took Holy Communion.
He had arrived atÉglise Saint-Sulpice,a massive cathedral near his hotel, only fifteen minutes before Mass was supposed to start.
Inside the airy cathedral, where the air sparkled with color from the immense and many stained-glass windows soaring five stories into the sky of France, Maxence had found Father Moses Teklehaimanot, a friend of his from previous charity missions. Father Moses had visited Max at his uncle Rainier’s hospital bedside just days before to perform Last Rites for Rainier again. Max had been there for weeks, praying and sitting vigil, but the time had come for him to leave.
That morning, Max admitted to Father Moses that he needed to be reconciled before Mass.
