The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel Tower (34 page)

My phone buzzed, startling my reverie.

“Maman?” I answered quietly, respectful of the dead and where they rested.

Sobs met me, and then a high-pitched keening. “Maman, what is it?”

“Your papa, he…he’s…” She gulped back tears. “The hospital called. He’s had a heart attack! You must come quickly.”

I could feel blood drain from my face. “Is he…OK?” Guilt rushed at me. I’d been so caught up in myself, I hadn’t spared a thought for my papa in weeks.

“They say he’s critical.”

My chest tightened. Critical. My big, strong papa?

“Don’t worry, Maman. I’m coming now. We’ll go to him immediately.”

Twenty minutes later a taxi dropped me at my apartment. I took the stairs two at a time, and practically fell through the front door, into Maman’s waiting arms.

“Where’s Lilou?” I asked.

Maman wrung her hands together. “She’s gone by train. I wanted to find you first, she left, so at least one of us was on the way. Please, we must hurry.” Maman pulled on a coat, and hitched her handbag over her shoulder. “Don’t be mad, but I phoned Tristan, and explained. He’s organized a private plane for us. We’ll get there faster.”

I blanched. She’d called him and told him? I didn’t want any of them involved in our private lives. They couldn’t be trusted not to use anything for their own gain.

“Maman!”

She steeled herself. “Anouk, be reasonable. It will take us most of the day to get there by train; this will take an hour and a bit. Come,” she commanded. “There’s a car waiting downstairs to take us to the airfield.”

I wanted to rant and rave, but how could I? It was a godsend, really.

“Please let’s just get to Papa,” she said. “Nothing else matters.”

Ben and Jerry whose real names were Detective Dean and Detective Morris were waiting in the car. They took us to an airfield just outside of Paris, and helped us board a small plane. Maman was effusive in her thanks, but I stayed silent. I was grateful we’d be reunited with Papa, but wanted to put the rest of the mess behind me.

Maman and I clutched hands as the plane taxied down the runway, and closed our eyes, each lost in thought, and unable to voice our worry. What kind of daughter was I? Papa had said he wasn’t feeling well, and I’d put it down to a cry for attention. If only I’d listened. Remorse plagued me, as the plane took off.

The small village hospital was running on skeleton staff when we arrived, racing in and desperately searching for assistance. A nurse approached us. “Anouk?”

“Oui,” I said, wondering how she knew my name. She must have read the confusion on my face and said, “A Monsieur Riley called and told us to expect you.”

“Riley…? Oh, Tristan.” Of course Tristan Black wasn’t his real name. I pushed the thought away. “Where is Papa? How is he doing?” Maman gripped my hand tight, and nodded to the nurse, still unable to speak.

“He’s stabilized,” she said. “The specialist has just been back and given him some more medication. It’s best not to excite him, keep your voices low, and let him sleep. He’s improved in the last few hours, but the next twenty-four hours are critical.”

We nodded somberly and followed her into a small room, where my papa’s supine body lay. Asleep, with wires protruding from under the blanket, he seemed diminished, smaller than the robust man I knew. His face was gray, a shade darker than the silver stubble of his beard.

I swallowed back tears, not wanting to break down in front of Maman, knowing that we needed to be strong.

We stood by his bedside, with the ticking of machines and rattle of Papa’s labored breathing. The only thing that was the same were his hands: big, solid peasant hands, scarred from hard work, which lay splayed in front of him. I took one, and Maman took the other. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and my own eyes welled. We didn’t speak, only listened to the beeps, and moans of the machines that kept Papa alive.

My mind fell to Lilou, and hoped she’d get here soon. I could only imagine how she felt, bumping and jostling on the train, the journey interminable in an emergency.

I sat gently on the edge of the bed and waited.

***

Dawn peeped through the curtains, hues of soft amber, and the promise of blue skies as the night slipped away once more. The nurse had kept up an hourly examination, checking his vital signs, administering medication while our silent vigil continued.

Every now and then Papa would groan, startling us, but then he’d quieten. Was he still in pain? It hurt to think of him lost inside a dream, his heart struggling to beat.

Quick footsteps echoed down the hall, and a doctor who looked too young to be qualified entered the room. “Bonjour,” he said. We mumbled hello, and I moved to make room for him.

The air grew thick as we waited for news.

The doctor checked Papa’s file, narrowing his eyes as he read. My heart beat staccato as I tried to decipher what his expression meant. “Will he be OK?” I asked, my voice coming out like a squeak.

With the file flicked closed, the doctor smiled. “He’s over the worst of it, stable for now. There’ll be more testing done over the next few days, and we’ll keep him on the medication that makes him drowsy so his heart can recover. But overall, I think he’s doing as well as can be expected in such circumstances.”

I let out an audible sigh of relief, and Maman sobbed into her hands. The doctor smiled, and I took that as a very good sign. “We need a cardiologist, to run extensive tests. When he’s able to travel we will organize his transfer. They’ll chat with you about the long-term care plan. I would say though, he needs to make a number of lifestyle changes in order to prevent this happening again.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Simple foods, less butter, less cream. He has to exercise, lose some weight, so his heart can cope better.”

Maman’s eyes widened. “Perhaps you should tell him that when he wakes up?” Her face broke into a smile. “He loves his food.”

The doctor laughed. “I can tell. He can still eat well; it just needs to be modified. Smaller portions of the low-calorie kind. He’ll have follow-up appointments with me, so he can’t cheat.”

It was like a weight had been lifted. The doctor was speaking of the future, a future with Papa in it. I sent up a silent thank you to the universe.

“How long do you think he’ll need to recuperate?” Maman asked.

The doctor shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see, but he will need to take things easy. Does he have someone to care for him? The nurse said you both flew in from Paris…”

“I’ll be here,” Maman said. “I was only visiting my daughter. Once he’s better, we will be moving to Paris to be closer to family,” she said, fervently.

“You’re going to move?” I asked. This was the first I’d heard of it.

“We both are,” she said. “Papa doesn’t know it yet, but it’s where I want to be. This proves it. We can spend our twilight years wandering down the Champs-Élysées, or go boating on the Bois de Boulogne. He won’t even notice he’s taking exercise. A small apartment in the Latin Quarter will do us both good. My chef friends can come and visit.” She gave a small shrug like it was no big deal. I fought the urge to hug her. I was so proud of the person she’d become.

The doctor scribbled some notes in the file. “If that’s what you plan to do, it sounds possible. I’ll see him for the next few weeks, and then sign you over to another doctor in Paris for any follow-up visits. A more relaxed lifestyle is crucial, and if you can find that elsewhere, do it.”

“Merci,” Maman said. “Once he’s strong enough, our new life will commence.”

“He should wake soon. He’ll be groggy, so no excitement. I’ll be back later to check on him.”

The doctor did some further checks and then smiled once more before leaving the room.

Maman and I exchanged looks of gratitude. “I thought…” My words petered off. I couldn’t say any more in fear I’d jinx us and something bad would happen.

“I thought so too,” she said. “But he’s strong. And from now on, I’m in charge and he will listen. He’s not leaving me this way, all alone with him having the last word. Non, non, non.”

I gave her a wide smile as the door burst open and in walked Lilou and Henry. Why was he here? Lilou’s face was lined with lack of sleep and her eyes bright with tears.

“Go sit beside him,” I said. “The doctor has just been and Papa is through the worst.”

She broke into a bout of noisy sobs. Through her gulps and shrieks she said, “He’s not going to die?”

The journey must have been fraught. Her hands shook, and she couldn’t stop crying.

“Come here,” Maman said, and Lilou moved to her, allowing Maman embrace her like she did when we were children, with her head on her breast. Maman patted her back and let Lilou expel the grief she’d been holding tight. “He’s not going anywhere. But it’s going to take time for him to recover and we have to be mindful of that.”

“Oh my God, he’s going to be OK!” She moved to Papa, and draped herself on the bed, and hugged his sleeping frame tight.

Henry stood off to the side of the room, stiff and straight like a toy soldier.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the room in general.

Maman waved him away. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “He’s going to be OK. I can feel it in my heart.”

He braved a glance at me and was met with a murderous glare.

“Henry wanted to come,” Lilou said, sitting up next to Papa, taking one of his hands in her own.

“Nice,” I said frostily, aware of Henry’s scrutiny.

She turned to me. “He’s a good guy, Anouk. And so is Tristan.”

“Says who?”

She frowned. “Anouk, really? Aren’t you happy they caught Joshua?”

I shrugged. “I’m going to get some coffee.”

Stumbling from the room, I made my way to the tiny cafeteria, searching for a strong cup of coffee. My thoughts were zigzagging from relief about Papa, to fury over Tristan’s double life. Deep down, I knew he’d only being doing his job, but did his investigation have to include kissing me? It was like I had a neon sign on my head flashing,
Take advantage of me.
I didn’t want to consider any of that, while Papa lay in the hospital bed.

Instead of giving in to the anguish, I thought of all the things we’d need to do in order to get Papa safely to Paris when he was better. They’d have to sell their house, their car, Papa’s business. Find a nice apartment in a relatively humble quarter. I’d concentrate on my family, and forget Tristan ever existed. There was a lot to consider about such a move and especially now with Papa’s long-term health.

Taking some watery vending machine coffee back to the room, I was almost pushed over when a group of doctors ran past with cries of
Excusez-moi!

I leaned against the wall, to let them pass. Nurses followed quickly behind. When they turned into Papa’s room, my heart seized. Without a thought I dropped the cup and raced in after them. Maman and Lilou were clutching each other, their eyes wide with fright.

Doctors were leaning over my papa, working furiously with the paddles.

“What happened?” I asked though I knew the answer. No one spoke as we watched them try and revive Papa, his ox-strong body being pulled upward by the force of the shock they were giving him to start his heart.

Henry was just inside the door on the phone. He spoke brusquely to someone in a low voice. “You said to call. He was, but he’s just had another heart attack…” He paused and listened to whoever was on the other end. “Yes, they need a specialist here urgently, or else. If he stabilizes get him to Paris… Yes. OK. When? I’ll tell them.” He clicked off the phone.

It was like being caught in a nightmare. The doctors were speaking quickly to one another, doing compressions on his chest. Was he dying? My eyes welled with grief and an utter feeling of helplessness.

Henry came up behind me. “That was Tristan. He’s found a cardiologist – one of the best he said. He’s flying him in as we speak.”

I nodded mutely. Could Papa wait that long? What could the cardiologist do that these doctors couldn’t? I joined Maman and Lilou. We leaned against the window and clutched hands. All we could do was wait and hope the cardiologist would have some magic cure.
Please hurry!

A thousand
if only
scenarios raced through my mind. If only I’d listened to him. If only I’d made him visit Paris earlier.
If only
must’ve been the saddest two words in the world.

Almost two hours later, we were delirious with worry as Papa barely clung on to life when Tristan strode in with an elderly somber man. The man introduced himself as Doctor Carmichael, and went straight to Papa. The other team of doctors came in and spoke in hushed tones while Doctor Carmichael nodded.

“We’re going to move your papa to surgery,” Doctor Carmichael said. “I’ll do my best.”

There was no time to question him. We offered up thanks and watched as they quickly moved machines, and sorted out wires, so the bed could be wheeled out.

Maman leaned over and whispered in Papa’s ear. She kissed him gently on the forehead, while Lilou and I waited to do the same.

“Je t’aime, Papa.” His skin was warm to the touch, and smelled of the lavender soap he used. I stood out of the way, and held my hands over my mouth as if it could stop the anguish from pouring out. What if I never got to kiss his warm cheek again? Hold those big, sturdy Papa hands? I pushed the thought away, and instead thought of him waking up, thought of making soup for him while he healed. They’d move to Paris, and we’d all care for him.

They pushed the bed, and the machines from the room. The empty space it left was almost grotesque, as if he was truly gone from us for good.

Tristan motioned for me outside, and while I wanted to ignore him, I couldn’t after what he’d just done. His jaw was clenched as though he was nervous. “Doctor Carmichael is the very best in his field. He’s got his own team with him, and feels confident from the briefing he can save him. I’m going to stay here, in case he needs anything else.”

“Thank you.” Words evaporated as I stared into his eyes, my grief reflected in them.

“I’m so sorry, Anouk. For everything.”

“I know.” It would have been rude to voice my opinions so I kept quiet. And who cared. In light of everything it suddenly seemed so insignificant. All I wanted was my papa to be given one more chance at life.