Page 24

“You’re up early,” Andrée says from the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep. Wanted to practice.”

“Come and have breakfast first. The piano will still be here after we’ve eaten.”

At the dining table, Tina has laid out what little they have. The ever-present crust of bread, a scraping of the jam she had stored away for special occasions. She waited outside the bakery for over two hours to buy the bread, which the authorities have deemed can only be sold when it is two days old, to make it less likely that people will eat it quickly. Tina does her best to hide the exhaustion she is feeling. Louis reads his newspaper, his daily dose of propaganda, but Andrée catches him watching Josie over the top of the pages.

“So, Josie,” Louis says, folding the paper, “your Tata Andrée tells us you’re having a piano lesson after breakfast today. Lucky girl.”

Josie scrapes a tiny amount of jam carefully on her bread, spreading it to each of the four corners. “She’s leaving today,” she mumbles. A tear falls onto the stale baguette.

“It’s just for one night. She’ll be back tomorrow,” Tina says brightly. “And we’ll have a lovely evening. I thought we might play cards. Do you know any card games?”

“Léon and I used to play.”

“Perfect. Then you can teach Grand-Père and me. Andrée was always terrible at cards. We’ll have more fun without her.”

This earns Tina a small smile. Andrée feels the tightness in her chest loosen slightly.

After breakfast, Josie returns to the piano. Andrée sits in the chair beside it, watching her work through the exercises. The child’s concentration is fierce, her jaw set, her whole body focused on getting it right. When she stumbles, she doesn’t lose heart. She backs up, finds where she lost the thread, begins again.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Andrée tells her when she looks up. “Really, Josie. You’ve improved so much in just these few days.”

“Days,” Josie repeats. “Has it only been days? It feels like . . .” She trails off, staring at her hands on the keys.

“Like what?”

“Like longer.” She looks up at Andrée. “Is that bad? That I don’t think about them every single minute anymore?”

Andrée kneels beside the piano bench, takes Josie’s hands in hers. “Listen to me. You think about them every time you sit at this piano. Every time you play a note. This is how you remember them, Josie. This is how you keep them close. Not by being sad every minute but by living. By learning. By doing the things they would want you to do.”

Josie’s eyes shine, but she blinks back the tears. “Maman would want me to keep playing.”

“Yes. And Léon would want you to keep going to school and having fun with your friends.”

“And they’d want me to be safe here. With you.”

“That’s exactly what they’d want.”

Josie turns back to the keyboard. This time she plays with less tension in her hands, her shoulders relax, her breathing steadies. When she finishes “Arabesque,” still imperfect, still with stumbles, but complete, Andrée applauds.

“Beautiful. Truly beautiful, Josie.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re leaving.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. Now come here.”

Josie slides off the bench and Andrée holds her tight, breathing in the scent of her dark, glossy hair, feeling the beat of her heart.

Josie’s arms tighten around her waist.

They stand like that for a long moment, the morning light slanting through the windows, the piano silent behind them, the world outside continuing its dangerous tune.

Then Andrée pulls back, smooths Josie’s hair. “Be good for Grand-Mère and Grand-Père. I’ll see you tomorrow. Promise.”

“Promise,” Josie echoes.

Louis holds out his hand to Josie. “Come on, Josie. I’ll take you to school today.”