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“About Idola?” asked Annie, her voice rising in timber.
“Non. Not really.” He sat on the side of Honoré’s bed.
Annie joined him. “What is it? Is it bad? Did something happen yesterday? You seemed so distracted.”
Jean-Guy brought Idola closer to him. Smelling her hair. Feeling her tiny fingers grasping his collar.
“Last night, in the bistro,” he said, not looking at her. “Your father and I talked.”
“Yes . . . ?”
This was it. He’d tell her about disobeying orders and abandoning his post. He’d tell her how he felt, sometimes, about their daughter. About their decision.
He’d tell Annie everything.
And that’s when he told her.
About Haniya Daoud.
“News?” Jean-Guy asked when he arrived in the kitchen with Idola.
He’d put her into a pretty little onesie, a Christmas gift from Stephen. It was covered in cavorting pink mice, each holding what looked like a wedge of cheese, or lemon meringue pie.
“Non. Nothing,” said Armand, kissing Idola’s head. “She smells nice. New powder?”
“It’s the bacon, Dad,” said Annie, and turned to Roslyn. “Men.”
“I know. For years Daniel thought our children smelled of croissants.”
“They don’t?” asked Daniel, and looked cross-eyed at Zora, who laughed.
“I’ve spoken to Isabelle,” said Jean-Guy, pouring himself a coffee. “We’re set to interrogate Tardif later this morning. His lawyer will be there, of course.”
“Of course.”
Idola sat on Armand’s knee as he listened to Zora, Florence, and Honoré describe the day ahead.
Just then there was a flurry of dings, pings as texts arrived for Annie, Roslyn, and Reine-Marie. All with the same message from Clara, inviting them over for breakfast with Haniya Daoud. It seemed slightly more than an invitation, Reine-Marie noticed. More like a plea.
Roslyn composed an excited reply.
Yes, plenty. So exited. Can I binge the girds? Mercury.
Not her best composition, but Clara understood and immediately sent back a text saying, best not to bring the grills.
“I wonder why not,” said Roslyn.
“Too scary,” said Jean-Guy, catching Armand’s eye.
“You’re right,” said Annie. “We don’t want to overwhelm Haniya. She must be a little fragile.”
Reine-Marie, who’d declined the invitation with regret, saying she had work to do, walked over to her husband.
“I saw that look. What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he whispered.
The breakfast dishes were cleared away so that Annie and Roslyn could go and have their second breakfast with the honored visitor.
