Lucie’s posture was stiff, her face tense, even as she smiled at something the other woman said.
Then she glanced his way, and everything softened—her shoulders, her smile. His heart.
He gave her a nod as if any other father picking up a child, but his gaze lingered longer than was wise.
“Hi, Daddy!” Josie ran to him.
He swung her up to his hip. “Hello, bubble gum. Did you have fun?”
“Uh-huh.” She played with his necktie. “Monsieur Meow per-tended to be a lion so he could live in the zoo, and he met a real lion, and he learned to roar, and we learned too. Want to hear?”
“Why don’t you show me outside so you don’t scare anyone?”
The mother said goodbye to Lucie, gathered her children, and left. But a trio of young men sat in the nonfiction sectiontalking with Bernadette. Not private enough. Never private enough.
He turned to Lucie. “Hello there.”
“Hello.” Her eyelashes fluttered as if she were trying not to cry.
Paul stepped as close as he dared. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She spun away and picked up blocks.
She was definitely not all right, but he couldn’t take her in his arms or talk with her plainly. His desire to help banged against the walls of his chest.
He was trapped in small talk. Code phrases. He cleared his throat. “Do you have the book I ordered—The Count of Monte Cristo?”
Kneeling by the box of blocks, Lucie shook her head.
Paul mashed his lips together. More bad news. How much longer until those airmen could leave? Did the resistance know his storeroom was full and not to send any more guests?
Lucie gazed at a wooden giraffe in her hand. “Would you like me to call when it comes in?”
“Yes, I would. Do you have my phone number?”
“Let me check your subscriber card.”
Paul shifted Josie higher on his hip and followed Lucie to the cash register, savoring how her skirt swirled around her pretty legs.
At the desk Lucie opened a wooden box and pulled out a card. “No phone number.”
Paul set Josie on the floor. “Why don’t you help Miss Girard and make sure all the blocks are put away?”
“Okay!” She ran to the children’s area.
Paul pulled out his pen and wrote down his home and work phone numbers. “Call any time,” he said in a low voice. “Day or night.”
She nodded, her head still lowered.
They couldn’t even talk freely on the phone. The lines could be tapped, and Paul gritted his teeth.
Lucie rubbed her thumbs over the card. “Would Josie like a ballet lesson?”
“A ballet lesson?”
“I have a barre in my storeroom upstairs.” Her voice barely reached his ears. “My roommates and I practice there. I could give her a lesson. Maybe tomorrow after church?”
Paul stared at her bowed head, the light brown hair curling about her cheeks. “Just Josie?”
