Cady was left in a quandary: How was she going to fix her car? Her phone still wasn’t getting reception. And now that she was here, had actually spent the night under the roof of Château Clement, she hated to leave before getting some answers. How could she get Fabrice to talkto her about the carousel and the possible origins of her rabbit? If he was that touchy about a successful book he had written...
“Monsieur,” she said to his back.
“Tutoie-moi,”he growled. “I’ve told you before. I don’t believe in the arbitrary usage of formality.Je m’appelleFabrice. Fabrice.”
“Thank you. Fabrice, then.” Lucy woofed, looking at her expectantly. “ I was thinking: What if I stayed here for a little while? I could take care of Lucy.”
He fixed her with his hawk eyes. “What are you talking about?”
WhatwasCady talking about? Somewhere between worrying that Fabrice might be a reclusive homicidal maniac with an attack dog, and her morning coffee, Cady had decided she wasn’t ready to leave the château. She felt like she was channeling Olivia: How often did an opportunity like this come along? She wanted to learn Gus-the-rabbit’s origin story and to see for herself whatever remnants there might be of the Clement carousel. She wanted to learn about the woman in the photograph. Given Fabrice’s nature, she knew she couldn’t come right out and ask him; she had to earn his trust.
And for some reason, she liked the grumpy recluse. Which was a little worrisome. She was a terrible judge of character.
“Looks to me like you could use some help with housekeeping and taking care of the dog, at least until your ankle is better,” Cady said. “I could stay for a few days, lend a hand.”
“I told you—I don’t like people.”
“And I toldyou—neither do I. This place is so big we wouldn’t have to see each other unless we wanted to.”
Fabrice narrowed his eyes. “Why would you want to stay here?”
Once again she tried for the Gallic shrug. “Get to know the place. You know how tourists are. We don’t have châteaux where I’m from. Also, I can cook.”
“Americans don’t how to cook.”
“Try me.”
His gaze settled on the dog: Lucy had her thick leather leash in hermouth and was pacing the kitchen, her toenails clicking on the tile floor. She clearly needed to go out,now.
“Bof!All right, I suppose if you walk this damned dog for me and cook a decent dinner, you can stay here for a while. Until I change my mind. You are sure you know how to cook?”
“Just you wait and see.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
2001
OAKLAND
Cady, Age 13
“You’ve got to learn to cook,” Maxine had said the first time she invited Cady to dinner, about a month after she had started working at the shop. “Either that or make a lot of money.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you have money to spare you can afford to take people out to restaurants, or hire a personal chef. Hardworking schmucks like you and me, though, need to learn how to cook.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the best and least expensive way to make someone feel cared for.” Maxine slipped her hand into a heavy denim oven mitt and pulled a pan of homemade macaroni and cheese out of the oven. “Doesn’t that smell like home?”
Cady didn’t know what a home smelled like, but she nodded anyway because the heavenly aroma made her mouth water.
“Here’s the secret, Cady: You don’t have to know how to make a lot of dishes, just one or two ‘go-to’ dishes that you make well. Mac-n-cheese is one of mine.”
Maxine set the hot pan on the table, where Cady had already arranged plates and silverware. Cady stared at the dish for a long moment, remembering a dinner at the group home when Jonquilla got into a fistfight with an older boy because she insisted that she had once eaten homemade mac-n-cheese that hadn’t come from a box. No one, not even Cady, had believed her.
“What is it, Cady?” Maxine asked, sitting across from her.
