Just after dawn the next morning, Juliet awoke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. She made a lunge for it on the floor beside the sofa and saw that the caller ID announced her brother Jamie was trying to get in touch. Worried about waking Finn, she leapt out of bed, grabbed her coat from the spoke on the ship’s wheel, and clumsily stepped halfway into her shoes as she croaked “Hello?”
Once outside on the deck, the skies were a pale crystal and the temperature bordered on frigid, but Juliet could see it was going to be a fine day.
“Jamie, do you know what time it is here?” she demanded with a laugh.
“Eight a.m.,” he said confidently.
“Check again. It’s barely seven. In the winter, Paris is eight hours behind California.”
“Oops. Sorry, but I wanted to find out how Avery is doing. I’ve been watching CNN and it all looks so—”
Juliet interrupted. “She’s out of the hospital, as of yesterday, which was a big surprise. I was able to take her to the funeral of the guy who saved her life by throwing his body over hers when the shooting started.”
“What a horrible thing that must have been.” A pause. “Was he her boyfriend?”
Jamie’s last question had a definite edge to it.
“No. Just a friend and fellow artist. She’d taken him to dinner that night to thank him for helping her navigate art school. And anyway, what’s it to you, bro?” She was more than convinced that Jamie continued to harbor a soft spot for Avery.
“I’m just glad to hear she’s doing better, is all. And how about you? What’s it like in Paris, now?”
“It’s absolutely freezing here,” she noted cheerfully. “But the city’s getting back to a strange kind of normal and the Parisians are amazing. Even after everything that’s happened over here, they’ll be damned if the terrorists will shut down their lives. People are back eating in cafés. They’re going to work and riding the metro, but you see piles of flowers everywhere at various memorials, and it’s... well... still kind of scary. At least for me. They caught all but one of the terrorists. He supposedly fled to Syria, but—”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” intervened Jamie. “Where are you, anyhow? Are you someplace relatively safe?”
Juliet turned to look into the salon through the pilothouse window. Finn was up, clad in a pair of running shorts he apparently slept in—at least when he had company. He also sported a faded Air Force T-shirt that completed his morning ensemble. He was standing at the desk, facing the two burners, making coffee. She saw a long, ridged scar that ran from the rim of his shorts down his left leg to below his knee.
“Don’t worry about me,” she replied, keeping her voice light. “Believe it or not, I’m under the full protection of a former Major of the United States Air Force. His landlady’s grandson was the young man who got killed having dinner with Avery.”
“What do you mean ‘under the protection of’? What part of Paris are you in?”
“I’m on a river barge, of all things. Across from the Eiffel Tower. It’s pretty fabulous, actually.” She eyed the deck section of the boat near the stern. “If the weather were decent, I could set up an easel on board and paint the most incredible river scene.”
“Wow... sounds great. But how did you end up there?”
“It’s a long story that I’ll tell you when I see you. And, yeah, if it weren’t for what’s happened, I’d be in seventh heaven.”
Just then, Truffles, the black cat, rubbed her furry side against Juliet’s leg. It felt warm and comforting.
“So it sounds like you’ve got things pretty well under control,” Jamie said. “You’ll be back, soon, though... right? Brad has been—”
“Honestly?” she cut in, a tight knot expanding in her chest as she remembered Brad’s nasty text from the night before, “I don’t want to hear about Brad right now. Avery is mourning the loss of her friend and is struggling, big time, with survivor’s guilt. She has a long way to go until her shoulder and right arm are completely healed. She has physical therapy every other day and lives in an attic, a million steps to the top. She shouldn’t be alone, and she won’t let me contact her family. I’m needed here... at least for a while longer,” she finished, unable to disguise her exasperation.
Brad should just sit on it! she thought angrily. It made her blood boil that people like him had absolutely no idea what was facing all the surviving victims and their circle of family and friends—nor did he apparently give a damn.
“Hey!” Jamie in response to her tirade. “I’m on your side, remember? He told me about the text he sent threatening to fire you if you didn’t come back soon.”
“Yeah... he’s such a sweetheart.” Her bitter tone surprised even her.
“What about this,” Jamie proposed. “When you fix a date for coming home, I’ll fly over there and keep an eye on Avery. We’ll have locked down the new video and the entire editing department goes on hiatus for the Christmas holidays, plus I’m owed a ton of vacation days to boot. That way, you can return home by the end of the month and keep Brad from firing you, which he threatens to do every day to warn the rest of us that he won’t brook any disloyalty.”
“C’mon, Jamie... come clean. Do you have some special reason you’re so concerned about Avery?”
There was a long pause on the other end of her cell phone, and for a moment, she thought they might have become disconnected.
“I really like her, Jules,” Jamie said at length, “and I think Brad... well, I’m sure his ... uh... behavior is one of the reasons she bailed. I feel really bad about that. If she hadn’t quit, she wouldn’t have been in Paris and gotten shot.”
“Brad’s way of running GatherGames makes me want to quit, too, but her getting shot was one of life’s random events, so we really can’t blame Brad for every rotten thing that happens. But listen,” Juliet said, hearing the urgency in her own voice, “that’s a very generous offer you’ve made to come over to keep Avery company while she recuperates. In fact, I think it’s the best option available to us, actually. Why don’t we have a changing of the guard, then? It’s going to be a while until Avery can decently fend for herself and seriously get back to her painting. In the meantime, our friend Finn can keep an eye on her until you can get to Paris.”
“Ah... so it’s ‘Finn,’ is it? How old is this Air Force major you’re staying with on a barge in the middle of the Seine?”
“My age,” she replied shortly. “Former helicopter rescue pilot.”
Juliet omitted adding Finn had also flown drones—and was still a married man.
“An Air Force pilot, no less,” Jamie teased.
“He was. He’s out now and currently unemployed.”
“What should I tell Jed?”
“Don’t tell him anything!” she snapped. “My staying here has been solely due to the fact that Avery’s apartment was freezing until she moved back into it and could make the crazy French heating system work, and—”
“Okay, okay!” Jamie said, laughing. “Don’t be so defensive! I’m sure you are totally behaving yourself.”
“I am!” she retorted, and gave her brother a brief rundown of Finn’s kindnesses to everyone involved in the tragedy of Avery and J-P. “He has some serious complications in his life, just like I do, so, trust me, there’s absolutely been no hanky-panky between us.”
“Sounds like a stand-up guy.”
“He is.”
Just then from inside the pilothouse, Finn held up a steaming mug of what Juliet assumed was coffee, pantomiming if she wanted him to bring it out to her.
“I’ve gotta go,” she told Jamie. “I’ll propose the idea to Avery of your coming over here and let you know her reaction as soon as I figure out when I have to leave. Bye for now, and thanks for checking up on me.”
“Dad’s been worried too, you know. I’ll tell him you are safe and apparently in good hands, courtesy of the United States Air Force.”
Just as when they were high school kids and he teased her about various boyfriends, Jamie couldn’t resist ribbing her about her Paris host. Then, as he always did when they were away from each other, he said, “Bye, now, and love you.”
“Love you too, bro.”
* * *
Now that Avery was installed back in her own living space, Juliet was encouraged that her friend appeared to be slowly recovering the use of her wounded arm. When she arrived at Avery’s that morning she was greeted by the sight of her sitting on a stool in front of her easel. The hand of her good arm held a brush and she was dabbing paint on a canvas she had apparently been working on before the attacks.
“Hey, there...” Avery said with a vague wave of her brush.
“Hey, there, yourself!” Juliet replied, giving her friend a thumbs-up.
“There’s food in the ’fridge that the Parkers from downstairs brought up. Help yourself.”
Sensing Avery was deep into her project, Juliet said, “I’ve already had my breakfast. I only just dropped by to say hi and see if you needed anything else. Finn wants to take me to see Giverny or the botanical gardens here in Paris. That okay with you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Avery responded absently. “See you guys later for supper? I think I’m ready to go out ’cause I’ve got a serious case of cabin fever. My treat. I owe you both, big time.”
Surprised Avery wanted to eat in a restaurant after the events at Le Petit Cambodge, Juliet said she’d make a reservation and dashed back out the door.
That morning Finn had, in fact, offered to take Juliet to see some sights she’d had on her Bucket List. Once back downstairs, however, she crossed the street over to La Caléche and made a phone call while she nursed a coffee at a table just inside the door. Next, she punched in Finn’s number, reporting the startling news that Avery had started painting again.
“That’s great! Can I take you both to dinner to celebrate?”
“That’s so funny. Avery just said she had cabin fever and thought she was ready to eat in a restaurant again.”
Then she told Finn that she had determined she could no longer put off going back to San Francisco and before she’d called him, she’d made a reservation to fly home.
There was a slight pause before he replied, “Well, you have to do what you have to do, I suppose.” Then, “Look, I’ll call Bistro Belhara. Is eight, tonight, okay?”
“Better make it for seven. Avery starts to poop out by quarter to nine. And she insists tonight’s her treat. To thank us both for... well... everything, I guess.”
“Got it. Are you still up to driving to Giverny or going to see the botanical gardens today?”
“I’d love to—but now that I think of it, how about we do that tomorrow or the next day? Since I’m flying home in a week, I’ve got some stuff on my To Do list I should accomplish before I leave. It probably makes more sense to run a few errands today and then I can meet you later at Avery’s and go on to dinner.”
“Works for me. I’ll pick you both up at six-thirty. We can do one of the gardens tomorrow if you like.”
Unlike Jed, whenever she ever needed to adjust a plan with him, Finn always seemed reasonable and accommodating.
“All that sounds perfect,” she added gratefully. “You are a totally good egg, you know that?”
“My eggs can be a bit scrambled at times, but I’ll take that as a compliment.” He laughed. “See you tonight.”
Juliet clicked off her phone, paid her bill, and then walked the few blocks to L’École des Beaux Arts. Once past the security check, she took courage in hand and sought out the administrative offices. There, she secured enrollment papers for classes the following year that specialized in landscape painting. Leaving the office, she walked into the vast courtyard dotted with students hurrying to and from classes. With the papers tucked in her tote bag, she gazed at the building where Avery was an art student and Juliet’s great-great grandmother had come to study architecture so many decades before. She had no idea when—if ever—she’d make the break and come back to Paris, but a slight shiver skittered down her spine at the notion that she might one day figure out a way to carry on the family’s artistic tradition and study advanced landscape painting within these walls.
“Yes!” she exclaimed aloud, delighted by the thought. A young woman nearby turned around and stared at her curiously. Juliet offered a cheery wave. As she turned to leave the school, a sudden flood of doubt assailed her. She had been doing computer-generated graphics for so long... did she still know how to hold a paintbrush?
* * *
The Bistrot Belhara at 23 Rue Duvivier in the 8th Arrondissement turned out to be almost as small as Avery’s flat, but famous for its classic French food “offering a Basque sensibility,” according to an online description Juliet had checked. To begin their meal, Avery and Juliet ordered a paté encroute and swooned over its flaky, golden pastry filled with minced duck infused with a rich, red wine sauce. Finn ordered sweetbreads, crispy on the outside, moist inside, and plumped with tiny potatoes. The three of them then shared a cassoulet and thought it almost as good as the one Finn and Claudine had made. The trio concluded with rice pudding, “unlike anything I’ve ever eaten in the States,” Juliet moaned, licking the back of her spoon.
For an hour, the three could almost forget the tragedy that had befallen Paris, yet Juliet sensed as they drank their espresso that Avery was becoming increasingly ill at ease. The room had filled up with diners, and Avery glanced from side to side in the small space, as if she felt the threat that something frightening could erupt at any moment.
“Shall we get the check?” Juliet asked with a bright smile.
Avery nodded and then plunged her hand into her handbag.
“But let’s ask the waiter to take a picture of the three of us,” she said. “I want to remember this night after Juliet has gone back to San Fran.”
A passing waiter obliged, and Finn obediently put an arm around each of his fellow diners, adding in an off-hand way, “Now, no putting this on Facebook, remember.”
“Don’t worry,” Avery said, her expression darkening. “You think I want anyone to see me with my arm in a sling? But shall I send you guys a copy?” Before they could answer, she typed Juliet’s email address and asked for Finn’s, sending the picture to them both with a tap of her finger.
Though Finn had made light of the moment, Juliet knew he was as serious as Avery was about not wanting the image to go beyond the three of them.
The man is hiding out from the world, Juliet considered silently, and most specifically from his father and his almost-ex-wife back in Nevada. But why?
When Avery excused herself to go to the ladies room, Finn reminded Juliet of his offer to drive her to see the painter Monet’s gardens at Giverny before she left.
“I imagine the gardens are dormant, given the time of year, but you said how much you wanted to see it... and you should definitely see Les Jardin des Plantes.”
“They’re the botanical gardens here in Paris?”
Finn nodded as Avery returned. Juliet asked her if she’d like to join the two of them on an outing the following day. Avery shook her head. She glanced apprehensively around the crowded restaurant and out the window facing the street.
“This was nice, tonight,” she began, “but honestly? I don’t think I’m quite ready to hang out among huge crowds. And besides, the next few days are jammed with all those doctors’ appointments and my damned physical therapy.” She turned to Juliet. “But you should definitely let Finn take you...”
“I’m here to keep you company and be of some help,” Juliet protested. “If you’d rather not go, I’ll just bag it and go with you to all the stuff you have to do.”
Avery shook her head vehemently. “I’m to have to learn to manage on my own very soon, so let’s both put our time to good use. You’ve sat in enough hospital rooms and stuffy doctors’ offices to last a lifetime. Please! Go with Finn! I can hire Uber drivers to take me to see the doctors these last few days you’re here. I want you to see more of Paris, if only to persuade you to come back soon! We’ll have dinners together, so don’t feel guilty.”
In the end, Juliet decided to forgo traveling an hour outside Paris to Giverny, given that the next day dawned cold and wet.
“Then instead,” Finn proposed that morning, “we could head for the botanical gardens here in Paris. There are a lot of glass greenhouses there, so they’ll be plenty to see indoors, out of the damp and cold.”
* * *
Due to the continuing inclement weather, Finn and Juliet decided that the greater part of valor was to leave the MG where it was parked near the barge and ride the metro from the nearby Passy station across the city. Juliet continued to find the sight of armed guards jarring as they emerged from the Place Monge station. Finn assured her it was just a short walk to Les Jardin des Plantes and the natural history museum next to it.
Striding briskly down Rue Censier toward one of the main entrances to the acres of growing plants and large greenhouses, Juliet pointed to a two-level spire clad in distinctive Moorish designs. “Wow... that’s really tall. What is it?”
Finn hesitated before answering. “That’s the Mosquée de Paris, the center of the city’s Muslim community.”
Juliet despised that her intake of breath was audible. She allowed her gaze to drift to the top of the ornate building where there was a small parapet.
“So there are Muslim calls to prayer, right here in the heart of Paris?”
“Yes. And there’s also the Arab Institute, over there.” He pointed off to his left. “It was founded thirty-five years ago by twenty Arab countries with the intention of fostering cultural links between the Arab world and the West. I’ve heard that there are ten centuries of incredible Islamic works of art in there.”
“But you haven’t been to see it yourself?”
It was Finn’s turn to inhale deeply. “No. Not yet. But I hope one day I’ll... be able to.”
For some reasons she couldn’t explain even to herself, she sought Finn’s hand.
“Me, too. Someday. I have to fight the instinct to judge all Muslims by what happened here.”
Finn turned to face her. “One of these days, we’re going to have to accept our differences and stop trying to persuade the other side which religious sect and lifestyle is ‘best’.”
“And we’ll have to get over our fear of each other when it’s not warranted.”
“Someday,” Finn agreed soberly, and squeezed her hand before he released it.
The pair spent as much time as they could endure strolling through the cold, soggy gardens with little but bare branches in view, and then coping with the steamy temperatures of the numerous hothouses that stood throughout the acres of botanical gardens. After an hour, Juliet pointed to an exit sign in one of the largest of the glass structures.
Finn laughed. “Had enough horticulture for one day?”
She nodded, although when they emerged into the gardens once again, the sun was just breaking through the clouds overhead.
Juliet said with a laugh, “If you paint landscapes, you’ve got to learn to draw trees and flowers and so forth, but it would be much better to study such things in the spring.”
Finn glanced at the plants nearby that were dripping with moisture. “Well, then... I hope that means you’re planning a return trip?”
Juliet gave a little shrug. “Fingers crossed...”
“Since it looks like those clouds are moving east, how about we head for the Luxembourg Gardens where we can grab some food in the café and hope the weather improves even more?”
Juliet was embarrassed to admit how much more comfortable she felt once they had left the “Arab Quarter” and entered the Luxembourg Palace grounds that were surrounded by ancient gateways and criss-crossed with carefully laid out gravel pathways, precisely-trimmed trees and hedges, and sumptuous statuary.
“Do you suppose we’ll all get to the point where we can understand and appreciate and respect our differences?” she asked.
“You mean between the Arab world and the West? God, I hope so... but I will never respect killing innocent people as a way of saying ‘We’re right.’”
“That goes for both sides, agreed?”
Finn pulled his eyes from the distant trees and regarded her for a moment. “Amen to that,” he said. Then, he pointed the way down a hedge-lined gravel path towards an enormous fountain looming on their left.
By this time, the sun had fully emerged from behind large, puffy white clouds. Raindrops glistened on a long, double row of trees, prompting Juliet to try to imagine how magnificent the gardens must look when the thousands of plants and flower beds were in full bloom.
“You’re right. I have to come back here in spring,” she murmured as she absorbed the beauty of the peaceful haven in the heart of the city. “Do you mind?” she asked Finn, pulling her sketchpad from her tote bag to make a quick drawing of the de Medici Fountain where their wanderings had led.
“Of course not,” he said. He pointed to a pair of metal chairs next to a stone rectangle that encased a pool of water. At its end stood an imposing columned fountain with gigantic classical metal sculptures, tinged green with time and moisture.
“You have the de Medici Fountain all to yourself today,” he said. “It’s got to be a good fifteen degrees warmer than yesterday, so I’m happy just to sit here and relax.”
Juliet was surprised by how Finn’s presence didn’t unnerve her as she began to draw, even when he snapped a picture on his mobile phone of her hunched over her sketchpad. The statues, water features, and foliage began to blossom beneath her pencil, almost as if by their own accord. A wave of exhilaration came over her as each stark winter branch she created spread out on either side of the magnificent waterworks, the bareness beautiful in its own way, despite the leafless trees and empty urns. Yes, she thought, I can still draw freehand—but can I paint? That was still to be seen.
“We never got that coffee,” Finn noted when Juliet snapped shut her sketching pad and filed it and her drawing implements into her tote bag. “How about ending our explorations at Place St. Sulpice, with a quick look into the church that took a century to build? There’s another nice café there on the corner.”
When Juliet caught her first glimpse of the double row of columns flanking the front of the magnificent St. Sulpice, she understood immediately why this was one of Finn’s favorite churches in all of Paris. The winter chill increased a few degrees when they entered its shadowy depths, but her spirits were warmed by the votive candles nestled in red glass containers that glowed like garnets in every niche along the walls.
A sudden, loud chord rumbled deep from the bowels of an organ whose pipes took up an entire wall of the mammoth structure. The booming, reverberating sound rang out, followed by a skittering of expert fingers practicing for an upcoming service.
Without exchanging a word, Finn and Juliet moved toward a chapel on their right filled with a large rust and white-colored striated block of marble topped by life-sized, mournful angels weeping over a Madonna figure holding a dying man in her arms.
Finn nodded toward a clutch of long tapers. Handing one to Juliet and keeping a second for himself, they lit the wicks from the same flame on the offertory stand and placed the slender candles, side-by-side, into metal holders. Finn took her hand while they both gazed, mesmerized by the pair of golden lights dancing before their eyes.
“For Jean-Pierre and those who died November thirteenth,” Finn murmured. “May they rest in peace.”
“For Jean-Pierre, his family, dear Avery, and all of France,” echoed Juliet. “May they—and the rest of us—find solace in the coming days.”
For several minutes they stood silently holding hands before the flickering flames. Finn dropped a few coins into the donation box and stepped back, pointing to the walls on both sides of the chapel.
“Painted by Delacroix, pretty close to when he died,” he whispered.
Both gigantic paintings were full of winged angels and mere mortals doing battle with all manner of slain foes.
“They’re beautiful, but a little too violent for my mood right now. Can we get that cup of coffee?”
Finn led her from the church to a small café on the corner of the square where they ordered two café crèmes and a pastry to share while young men selling the cartoon publication Charlie Hebdo wove in and out of the small tables where they sat. Juliet felt her heart lurch slightly when Finn dug into his pocket for change and pointedly bought a copy of the very magazine that prompted the year’s first terrorist attack against those involved in its publication. She glanced around nervously, but no one appeared to respond to his rather overt act of defiance.
“I think you are becoming an expat very much like your Aunt Claudine,” she said under her breath.
“Good. At least I hope so. Can’t let the bastards get you down.”
With only half her coffee yet to drink, Juliet began to worry that she’d left Avery alone too long.
Finn quickly reminded her, “As she, herself, said to you at the restaurant the other night, she’ll have to wrestle with her devils after you’re gone, and so each of you giving the other some space while you’re still here might be a good idea.” He paused, and then added, “And besides, we’re having a pretty good time together, wouldn’t you say?”
Startled, she lowered her eyes to her coffee and nodded. “Yes, I’d say we are.” She looked up to meet his gaze, “But I keep wondering. What particular devils are you currently wrestling with these days, Finn? I see your light on in the wee hours most nights.”
Finn placed the magazine on the small table and gave a short laugh. “What are you doing awake, may I ask?”
“Well, I still think I get more sleep that you do. But when I do wake up, you’re always awake, too. I hope it’s not because I’m staying on the barge.”
Now it was Finn’s turn to stare into his coffee cup. “Even when you’re not there, it’s a toss-up for me whether it’s better to sleep or to stay awake.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I told you about how this PTSD thing can bring on nightmares, and God knows, I’d rather not expose you to the uproar.”
“Oh, Finn... please tell me you’re not staying awake while I’m there to avoid having a bad dream?”
“Well... it’s been on my mind,” he admitted. “The other problem is that when I do fall asleep, sometimes I wake with a start at the slightest sound and—as you witnessed—I’ve been known to dive for cover, which isn’t very convenient, since my bed down below is built-in and nailed into the floor. I can make an awful ruckus, hitting the deck.”
Juliet realized he was trying to make light of his problems regarding sleep. She found herself strangely overcome by a fierce desire to offer something... anything... by way of comfort. However, before she could think what that might be, he cracked a rueful smile. “You’ll be pleased to hear, though, that I actually think I’m making some progress. The good Doctor A has taught me deep breathing techniques and ways to switch away from certain reoccurring thoughts. Sometimes, I listen to classical music in my headphones all night, and I’ve even got a white noise machine I use. All kinds of high-tech stuff like that.” He picked up his coffee cup and took a long draught. “I’m even part of a PTSD sleep study, no less,” he added with mocking pride.
“That’s great, Finn. I mean it,” she said earnestly.
“Well, there’s a vet who got his MD degree after he left the service and is now a professor at Harvard. He’s been involved in some new studies.”
“Like what?”
“Ones that show that—in addition to the psychological damage that results from witnessing harrowing events in combat—”
“You mean like being shot down in a rescue helicopter and seeing other soldiers die?” she asked pointedly.
“Yeah, traumatic stuff like that. This Harvard guy and his team are developing more sensitive magnetic resonance imaging—you know—MRI brain-scan machines that show there is more subtle, ‘unseen’ damage that is done by the physical, concussive sound blasts that explosions and crashes can cause.”
“Wow... you mean that just hearing and being near an explosion, even if a soldier isn’t hit by flying objects, can cause damage to the brain?”
“And not just to soldiers and airmen. Anyone who either gets his or her head hit, or is exposed to thunderous sounds may experience what the Harvard guy calls ‘brain disconnects.’ The latest theories are that the brain’s neuron receptors become jolted and out of alignment, so to speak, and so the brain signals—the synapses—are no longer able to link properly between the receptors. And if that happens, the synapses can’t make the rapid connections they do in normal brains. It could cause malfunctions of anything from memory, to motor skills, to areas of the brain that process the emotions.”
“That’s totally incredible!” exclaimed Juliet. “So there may be hard-to-detect but real damage to the mechanics of the brain that doctors couldn’t measure before, and not just the flight-or-flight emotional reactions to reliving traumatic events?”
Finn’s relieved expression told her he was grateful that she appeared to grasp the nuances of the new research.
“Exactly. Both emotional and organic issues may be at work for some poor bastards... or in other people, just one type or the other. It’s all about having the correct diagnosis and better brain scans.”
“This is amazing! So PTSD can have both physical as well as emotional causes—and sometimes both? Do doctors and the Veterans Administration agree about the findings?”
“A few do, but for most—not yet. It’s just starting to filter through the medical system,” he said with a shrug. “Until recently, if the docs didn’t see blood or something gross on a scan, the injury didn’t exist and they wouldn’t commit to treating it. All this new evidence indicates that maybe three to four hundred thousand troops that served in the Middle East may be having problems that haven’t been correctly or completely diagnosed, but are caused by concussive events on the battlefield that are resulting in these ‘brain disconnects.’”
“Well, I sure hope this new stuff takes some of the onus off the poor vet,” she declared. “Nobody thinks a guy is cowardly if he has diabetes or high blood pressure.”
“But real men don’t get spooked by back-firing cars, remember? Trust me... it’s highly embarrassing.”
“Most people have never experienced the kinds of events that military folks like you have who’ve fought this fifteen-year war, so it’s moot.”
“You want to tell that to my father?” Finn said with a bitter laugh. “It’s an easy bet that most of the generals are the last to want to know because the implications are huge—and would cost a lot of taxpayers’ money to try to fix.”
Juliet leaned into the small table, rattling their cups. “Look, Finn, you’ve shown a lot of courage, just admitting you have a problem, and even more guts, seeking help by way of going to the American Hospital. And, just so you know, if a nightmare makes you scream at night while I’m on board the barge—so be it. It is what it is.” Then she grinned at him. “You don’t scare me.”
“You’ve been lucky so far.”
“I kinda know what you’re talking about when it comes to nightmares, though.” She began to relate that her brother Jamie had admitted that merely editing video war games had begun to make it difficult for him to have a full night’s sleep without the disruption of horrifying dreams.
“But is that really possible?” she wondered aloud. “Could just seeing violent images be causing his sleep problems?”
“Does he edit the sound, also?”
“Yep. And lots of it. And the sound effects are purposefully loud and scary.”
“Well, who knows for sure, but it could be that the loud sounds assaulting his ears through his headphones, as well as the images, are affecting him. I’d love to talk to that brother of yours sometime. And so would my shrink, I bet.”
“You may soon have a chance. He wants to spell me helping out with Avery and come to Paris during the holidays to look after her for a while.” Juliet raised an eyebrow and continued, “It’s pretty clear to me he likes her. More than likes her, in fact. He’s called or texted me every day to find out how she is.”
Finn grinned. “Well, that’s nice to hear, and it will be good to know she’ll have company over the holidays. They can be rough spent alone.”
Juliet experienced a sense of unexpected relief to see that Finn didn’t appear the slightest bit upset to learn that Jamie might be attracted to Avery. Not that she, Juliet, had any claim on the man, she reminded herself sternly. After all, she would soon be headed back to San Francisco with no idea when she might ever return to Paris.
What a depressing thought that was...
Juliet sat up straighter and silently vowed she would find a way to return to study art. And if Finn Deschanel was still on his barge as a newly-single man when she did find her way back, all the better...
She was startled by Finn’s interrupting her train of thought.
“Juliet? Did you hear what I said? Be sure to tell your brother he’s more than welcome to bunk with me when he gets here... that is, unless he and Avery will be—”
She laughed, mentally shaking herself out of her daydream. “I don’t even know if Avery has any idea my brother has serious designs on her. But I’ll be glad to tell Jamie that—at least when he first arrives in Paris—I can highly recommend L’Étoile de Paris as a great place to land!”
“Be sure to warn him about the nightmares, though.”
Juliet met his glance and they were silent for a long moment. “I will let him know,” she said finally, her heart aching for the generous-spirited Finn. “And believe me, he’ll completely understand.”