Jamie arrived in San Francisco from Paris a few days after Juliet’s conference with her attorney. Both siblings reluctantly soldiered on at work, informing each other of various office rumors floating down the halls.
On a surprisingly balmy evening in March, the pair sat at an outside table at Poggio, their favorite restaurant across the Golden Gate Bridge in the little maritime town of Sausalito. Tourists meandered along the streets, window-shopping and licking their over-sized ice cream cones, while, in the distance, a deep horn blast announced the departure of a local ferry to San Francisco.
Jamie took a sip of his wine and grimaced.
“What?” Juliet demanded.
“I was just thinking. Once I finally get free from everything—unlike you, who’ll be heading for Paris—I don’t actually know what my next move is.”
“Editing feature films at Pixar?” she asked hopefully.
“That train already left the station, I’m afraid.”
“How about Paris, yourself?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a non-starter.”
“You mean, with Avery?”
Jamie glumly disclosed that Avery had told him she felt she was not “fit for any relationship other than friendship” while she was going through physical and psychological rehab. Remembering that Finn had said something similar, Juliet reached a sympathetic hand across the linen-clad table.
“And then there’s that art teacher guy, Alain,” he reminded her.
Juliet had been startled to see that Avery’s art teacher had joined her on Christmas Eve. Was he just a good friend and mentor, or more than that? Until Juliet knew for sure, she wouldn’t offer an opinion on that subject, but replied, only, “If I were you, I wouldn’t give up just yet about Avery. I imagine she’s simply speaking the truth about where she is emotionally in the wake of the trauma she’s experienced. From my reading about PTSD, it’s going to take her some time to work her way though what’s happened to her.”
Jamie cast a sideways glance. “Finn told me he’s dealt with similar issues because of his time in the Middle East and getting shot down and all.”
Juliet leaned back in her chair. “He told you about that?” she murmured, guessing that Finn did not tell her brother much about his stint as a drone pilot. Finn’s specific duties were most probably still top secret stuff, and she suspected that he had revealed to her the death of the little boy caught in the crossfire only because the two of them felt an emotional closeness in the raw aftermath of the Paris attacks last November.
Jamie nodded. “Yeah, he told me about his helicopter going down in Afghanistan and how the concussive force of the crash rattled his head pretty good.” Her brother smiled at her across the table. “Finn’s a great guy. I think he likes you a lot.”
Juliet could feel a flush moving up her neck into her checks.
“I like him a lot, too, but wouldn’t you say that at the moment, we’re both geographically unsuitable, plus a few other outstanding issues?”
Like the small detail that he’s still married to Kim...
Jamie said, “At the moment, I’d say yes. But down the road?” Her brother cocked an eyebrow. “When you go back to Paris to study at L’École like our great-great granny,” he grinned, “who the heck knows what might happen?”
* * *
Finn’s hands were filled with his latest purchases from an open-air street market when Aunt Claudine opened the door to her apartment and greeted him on the threshold. He had barely put his packages down on her gleaming Carrera marble countertops when she handed him a letter stamped with a U.S. Government address on the envelope.
He ripped it open, his eyes swiftly scanning the first paragraph.
“Holy... shit...” he breathed.
Claudine leaned over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“It’s from someone in our Embassy here in Paris who is also attached to the European Command. He’s asking to schedule an appointment concerning an ‘Allied Joint Task Force for European Security being set up in the wake of the Paris attacks.’ One part of the plan is to use small drones to survey vulnerable infrastructure.”
“So?” Claudine said skeptically. “How does that concern you?” She squinted at the letter a few moments longer and sighed. “Do I see the hand of my dear brother in this latest development?”
“I think that’s a big, fat ‘yes.’”
Claudine offered a Gallic shrug. “Well, strange as this may sound, coming from moi,” she said, studying the next few paragraphs along with her nephew, “never say ‘no’ until you know what they’re offering.” She poured herself a glass of white wine from a bottle sitting on an ornate silver tray in the center of the kitchen island. “You’re looking for a new path,” she said, gesturing with her glass. “Civilian security instead of combat operations might employ your skills in a way you’d be helping, not hurting people. At least find out what they want.”
“I dunno,” Finn murmured, still staring at the letter. “It might appear to be a civilian job, but...”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Even so, he decided to follow his aunt’s often-sage advice and at the very least find out what he was being offered.
* * *
Finn parked the MG near the Place de La Concorde and walked the rest of the way to the U.S. Embassy. Within minutes of sitting down with a clean-cut man in his mid-thirties that Finn would swear had been a former—or current—U.S. Marine, his host pointed to a fairly thick file on his desk.
“We’re considering you for a post to head up the American sector of a joint domestic drone surveillance operation of potential terrorist targets all over Europe. The NATO countries would each be represented, led by experienced former drone operators like yourself who would pilot small craft over everything from nuclear power plants, to dams, to miles of railroad tracks, looking for suspicious activity.”
Finn strove to keep his face expressionless, but his mind was spinning like a roulette wheel in Monte Carlo. Did he want to remain permanently in Europe? As Claudine had suggested, was this a way to use his obvious skills in a non-combat fashion? How would he feel with a joystick in his hands again? He studied the man his instincts told him was a member of the C.I.A., cloaked as a U.S. Embassy attaché. If that were true, what else would be expected of such “surveillance” employees?
Meanwhile, the officer explained that Finn would work with his French counterparts in Paris and Brussels under the auspices of the NATO pact.
“We’d train you to fly the small, commercial drones that would cover critical infrastructure in the designated countries.” When Finn didn’t reply, the embassy official cocked his head to one side and said, “It looks as if you might have more questions.”
“I do. What’s in the fine print? Am I a civilian drone contractor or a full-fledged member of the Agency?”
His interviewer gave a short laugh. “We’d consider you a hybrid.”
“Half civilian... half C.I.A.? Isn’t that like being a little bit pregnant?”
The attaché looked at him steadily across his desk. “To do this job, you’d have to re-enlist in the Air Force, still at your rank of Major. You’d serve as our representative on the joint task force—a convenient way to keep this from appearing to be an overt C.I.A. operation.”
“But that’s what it is, right?”
The man, whose gabardine suit was a tad tight around the shoulders where a leather holster and pistol might be tucked under his armpit, merely smiled. Finn smiled back and said pleasantly, “Lots to consider here.” He rose from his chair, offering to shake the interviewer’s hand. “I’ll give it some serious thought,”
Truth was, if the business was truly a civilian effort, he might be genuinely interested as a way to use the considerable skills he’d acquired over the years to help stay a step ahead of the bad dudes. But this smacked of his father’s typical manipulations. It obviously greatly galled his parent to have a son interrupt the long line of Deschanels in the highest realms of the military. The General must have thought the non-combat use of drones might entice him back into the service. Finn vowed silently that there was no way he would bow to Andrew Deschanel’s bidding merely to restore the high-ranking military man’s belief in family continuity—which was probably what all this was about.
Finn headed for the door without making any commitment beyond promising that he’d be back in touch with his answer. When he returned to the MG, he rolled down its ancient top, glad for the sunny skies, even if the temperature couldn’t exactly be called a spring day. His gaze took in the budding cherry trees along the road as he turned over in his mind the information he’d just learned at the embassy. So the powers-that-be wanted to keep an eye in the sky on governmental and civilian facilities throughout Europe. Finn smiled at his windshield. This intelligence had just given him an idea...
* * *
“I’ll be gone over the Easter holiday,” Juliet announced in a staff meeting that included her two deputy designers, along with Brad and his administrative assistant. “It’ll be less than a week.”
“What!” her brother exclaimed. “Why?”
“Because we’ve sent off the Drones in the Desert packaging designs to the production department. I need a break and so does my team.”
The color images on the prototype boxes were so bloody and horrifying that she couldn’t even stand to have them sit on top of her desk anymore. She looked at her assistants. “Feel free to take the long weekend over Good Friday and Easter. You guys all deserve it.” To her brother she said, “These folks have worked tremendously hard.”
“What if we have to fix or adjust something?” Brad challenged with an angry edge to his voice.
“The project’s locked and loaded. You make any changes now, and it’ll cost you a fortune,” Juliet answered calmly. “And besides, you personally signed off on every single aspect of the next release. Don’t tell me you want to add to the body count on the box at this late date?”
Brad remained silent, glowering at his end of the conference table. He was just being his usual controlling jerk self, she realized, feeling pleased she had called his bluff. Her mind shifted to the lovely invitation from Finn sitting in her email inbox inviting her for Easter Sunday, March 27th. He’d also added a rather intriguing postscript.
Besides hoping you’ll return to L’Étoile de Paris to see this city in the spring, I want your opinion on something I can only speak to you about in person.
She forced herself to concentrate on the business at hand. Brad still had a frown on his face, but he hadn’t actually forbidden her to take a few of the many vacation days owed her after so many years of intense work. Her excitement about her upcoming trip began to bubble in her chest and she could hardly keep a broad smile off her face.
“Well, if that’s all we have to discuss, troops,” Juliet said, closing her laptop, “thanks to everyone for the endless hours you’ve given to this latest project. I’m truly grateful for all your efforts. Brad?”
Her brother didn’t even bother offering her design team a word of appreciation or bid farewell to those in the meeting. Instead, he rose from his outsized leather “CEO throne,” jerked his head in the direction of his assistant, and strode out of the conference room without a backward glance.
* * *
Juliet would have been embarrassed if anyone in her family could see that she was almost completely packed on the Tuesday before her Thursday evening flight from San Francisco to Paris. It was just after midnight when she closed her carry-on suitcase, leaving her large tote bag open for last minute items. She heard her cell phone ping with the familiar alert sign from her BBC News app. Hoping it was nothing more than a candidate declaiming whether Britain should stay or leave the European Union in the debate for the upcoming Brexit referendum, she reached for her phone and clicked on Messages.
Suicide bombings at Brussels Airport
“Oh, dear God, no!” she exclaimed to her empty bedroom and raced to her TV.
CNN was the first with more news about an 8 a.m. attack at the airport in Zaventem, Brussels. Juliet remained sitting cross-legged at the end of her bed, glued to the broadcast for the next hour. She was horrified when word was announced of a third explosion, also in Brussels, set off in a metro station, killing some twenty people.
What must Finn and Avery be feeling to hear this news? Wouldn’t this latest horror in nearby Brussels be an enormous psychological setback for them? It certainly felt that way to her.
The hotel phone in her room rang. It was Jamie.
“Are you watching TV?” he asked. “Hundreds wounded or killed, they say.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to be hearing this in Paris.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Jamie agreed. I don’t think you’re going to have a very enjoyable weekend over there, Sis.”
Juliet glanced at her packed suitcase and her travel tote, ready for her to grab it and walk out the door. Suddenly, she wondered if more attacks were planned for other European airports—DeGaulle, for instance. She shuddered. If she was scared, how did the French feel right now? She couldn’t allow her fear of experiencing the horror of another attack keep her from what every instinct told her to do: go to Paris. If travelers like her cowered at home, the terrorists would win.
“These are scary times, that’s for sure,” she murmured into the phone, “but I’m going. In fact, if I can get an earlier flight out tomorrow, will you take me to the airport?”
“Of course.”
“And don’t tell anyone before I get out of here, okay? I don’t want to argue about it. I’ll just go. We’re all caught up at work, thank heavens. Leaving a day early won’t jeopardize anything here and maybe my presence in Paris can help.”
“Let me know when you want to meet me in the garage.”
“You’re the best,” she declared.
She replaced the receiver as she continued to stare, mesmerized, by the shocking images of explosions going off and blood on the floor inside the check-in area of the Brussels Airport. An endless loop of graphic video showed emergency responders rushing to get some three hundred wounded to hospitals throughout the Belgian city. Minutes melted into hours, but still she couldn’t take her eyes of the screen. Should she call Avery or Finn, or just get on a plane? After contacting the airline to substitute her Thursday flight for one that would leave the next day at noon, she decided not to call Paris only to be bravely told by Avery and Finn that she shouldn't make the trip just now. She was just going to grab the first plane out and go!
With that heavy decision made, she fell back on the bed, exhausted, and slipped into a fretful sleep.
* * *
Juliet’s anxiety and exhaustion weren’t helped by the twelve-hour trip across continental America and the Atlantic Ocean, nor by the increased security she met at De Gaulle Airport when her flight landed. When she finally emerged from the arrivals terminal, with helicopters once again flying overhead, she felt tense and jumpy as she waited in line for twenty minutes before securing a taxi to Rue de Lille. Upon her arrival there, she was dismayed when no one answered the bell at Avery’s flat, nor responded to her text. She was about to leave when the street door opened and Avery’s neighbor, Brian Parker—well turned out in an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit and silk tie—strode across the threshold, obviously on his way to work.
“Why, hello!” he greeted her. “You’ve come back. Brave woman.”
Juliet explained her worry about her friend in the wake of the most recent attacks in Brussels.
Parker shook his head. “This perpetual anxiety everyone here feels has become really unnerving.”
In response to Juliet’s question as to her friend’s whereabouts, he offered, “Maybe Avery’s gone to stay with a friend, although my wife has told her that she has an open invitation to sleep in our spare room, if she’s on edge. Actually,” he added, with a thoughtful look, “I haven’t seen much of her lately. I think my wife mentioned to me a few days ago that Avery’s been spending her time painting in some guy’s studio. She doesn’t answer her phone or text?”
Juliet shook her head and heaved a sigh. “She’s probably got her phone turned off. She does it all the time when she’s working. Is it okay if I leave her a note on her door upstairs? I gave her back my key.”
Parker smiled his agreement and allowed her in while he continued on his way. She sprinted up the six flights, scribbled a note on the back of her airplane boarding pass and wedged it halfway under the door.
Surprise! I’m a day early. I’m heading for Finn’s. Call me!
Back downstairs, she retrieved her wheeled weekender bag from the corner where she’d left it in the building’s foyer. Once outside, she hailed another taxi and directed it to cross the nearest bridge over to the Right Bank. She happily pictured the surprise on Finn’s face when she’d knocked on his door. As she tramped down the cobblestone ramp that led to the quay where the barges were moored, her heart quickened and she felt a goofy smile spread across her lips. In her haste to see Finn, she left her suitcase at the bottom of the gangway and ran up the incline. She reached the deck and looked through the plate glass window over the door to the pilothouse—and stopped dead in her tracks.
On one end of the couch facing the coffee table laden with a plate of croissants, a coffee pot, and a mug, a slender woman perched on the corner of the sofa that Juliet had once claimed as her own. She had caramel-colored hair, a pretty face, and a buxom figure that matched that of the woman clad in a lavender sundress in the family photo sitting on a nearby shelf. This day, Finn’s wife, Kimberly Deschanel, was wearing a velour running suit—or was it pajamas?
For a split second, Juliet thought she would pitch off the boat into the Seine. Her breath came in short gasps and she wondered seriously if she were about to black out. Grabbing for the stout wires strung between the metal guard posts protruding from the boat’s gunnels, she steadied herself, but not before a blind fury filled her chest and she almost let out a scream. She had arrived twenty-four hours ahead of schedule. Finn would never expect that his wife and his incipient girlfriend would run into each other. The tableau of the two of them, chatting over coffee and croissants at this early hour, burnt itself in Juliet’s fevered brain.
Just then, Finn looked up, and his expression, first of recognition, and then of consternation, told her everything she needed to know. She whirled in place and tore down the gangway, its clanging sound alerting everyone onboard to her presence even if Finn hadn’t already spied her through the window. She heard him call her name from the now-opened door to the pilothouse, but she ignored him, grabbing her suitcase and sprinting like an Olympian up the ramp and back onto the street. She swiftly cut across Pompidou Bridge and mounted a cement staircase, mindless of her thumping bag or her aching arms, in her effort to reach an escalator that took her even higher to the platform at the Passy metro station and a train—any train—that would get her away from the scene she’d just witnessed.
That’s what you get for wanting to ‘surprise’ a guy you don’t know very well!
Not know him very well? Make that not know him at all...
Still trying to catch her breath and calm her pulse, Juliet again felt she might faint. She stumbled onto an arriving train whose destination she didn’t even know and, for another ten minutes, she merely sat in her seat, not caring where the car was headed. When her breathing finally returned to near normal, she pulled out her cell phone and punched up her Paris Metro app. The gods were with her. The train she’d jumped on so blindly was one where she could transfer at Montparnasse to the Number 12, a line that would eventually let her off very close to Rue de Lille. There, she would sit at the café across the street and wait for Avery to return home, however long it took.
She shut down her phone as the train pulled to a stop and she entered the busy station. She was barely aware of military-clad police with their war weapons guarding passengers making their way to various platforms. Reaching her final destination, she emerged into brilliant sunshine. She’d almost forgotten the attacks in Brussels—the very reason she’d jumped on an earlier plane and flown all night to offer her sympathy and support for two of the people she most cared about in the world.
Juliet was shocked to realize that her heart actually hurt. She had been kidding herself that she was in control of how she felt about Finn Deschanel. Whatever his problems were... whatever battles he still had to fight... whatever ties he obviously still had with his wife, Juliet knew now, with a dread that rivaled anything she’d ever felt before, that she had fallen in love with him. She’d been denying herself that deep knowledge, not committing her whole heart, she thought, until it seemed certain that he was feeling himself again and “ready” for a life with her. But the truth was, she had committed her heart, and now it felt bruised and broken.
What a pathetic, obtuse creature I am...
What else could she surmise beside the fact that Finn had come to the conclusion since their time together before Christmas that he could work it out with his wife? While Juliet sat at a small table on the sidewalk at La Calèche waiting for Avery to appear, her thoughts swung wildly between sorrow and fury and finally an attempt at acceptance.
If she truly cared for his welfare—she should be happy for him, right? Finn and Kim had had a life together before he’d been shot down... and long before he’d flown drones or met her. It was a good thing, wasn’t it, if a couple could reconcile the issues that had torn them apart and live, again, in peace and love?
She couldn’t kid herself, though... she also felt angry. If life had so abruptly changed for Finn, he should have had the decency to tell her not to come for Easter. It would take time for her to feel anything but a crushing sense of betrayal. All he would have had to do was take ten seconds to send her a text. It would have seemed cruel, but at least she wouldn’t be sitting in a café feeling like an abandoned child!
The big wooden entrance door to Avery’s flat across the street swam before her eyes. She brushed away tears with the back of her hand and drank a huge gulp of her coffee, its heat burning a path down her constricted throat. I will do it, she vowed silently. She would do her very best to release Finn with love and gratitude for the way in which merely knowing him had shown her that she deserved better than a relationship with someone as self-centered as Jed Jarvis. She would one day be truly happy for Finn. She swore she would!