JEAN-LUC
Seagulls screech, and the powerful California sun pierces the curtains. Jean-Luc can feel the real world calling to him as he struggles to pull himself up through layers of sleep. Caught in that space between dreaming and waking, he’d like to slip back into the dream. It’s the same dream that’s been haunting him recently, the one that always leaves him feeling hollow inside, as though he’s in the wrong place, living someone else’s life, and he wants to know how it will end. There’s a baby crying and a woman holding out her arms, waiting. Then he realizes it’s his own mother, her dark hair falling over her shoulders, her smile warm. She looks beautiful. She turns to speak to him, and that’s when he wakes. He wishes he could stay in the dream to hear what she’s going to say.
The early-morning sun sends slants of light across the room. He’d prefer to have shutters on the windows; he’s sure the bright sun here isn’t helping his sleep. He always wakes too early, but can never catch up on his tiredness. Still, there’s no point lying there worrying. He may as well get up.
It’s only six, but he puts the coffee on and starts on last night’s dishes. He’s running the tap when he hears a car winding its way up their street.
He leans forward, his forehead touching the glass as he follows the car with his eyes. It’s getting nearer, slowing down. He can see it clearly now. It’s blue and white. Taking a deep breath, he steps back, away from the window, trying to calm his breathing. A police car? At six o’clock in the morning? A shiver starts in the back of his neck, then shoots over his head. He hears the car drawing to a stop and somehow he knows it’s parked behind the oak tree. He stands to the side of the window, peeking, waiting to see who’s in the car.
Two officers emerge from the front. Then he recognizes Bradley’s stocky frame as he unfolds himself from the back seat.
Charlotte and Sam are still sleeping. He would hate them to be woken up like this, so he leaves the kitchen and goes to the hall, unlocking the front door, opening it a fraction. Waiting.
The officers are looking at their watches. One of them shrugs, then they separate to let Bradley take his place in the middle as they walk down the garden path toward him.
His heart thumping in his ears, he opens the door farther, showing them he’s there before they have a chance to ring the bell.
The three men look surprised to be facing him so suddenly.
“Good morning, Mr. Bow-Champ.” Bradley looks at him from under bushy eyebrows.
“Hello.” Jean-Luc holds his breath.
“We’d like you to come into the station for further questioning.”
Jean-Luc reaches out for the door, gripping it for support. The breath he’s been holding comes back, thudding in his ears. “Why?”
Suddenly they’re inside. The shorter officer closes the front door behind them. Jean-Luc steps back. They’re in his house now. How could he have let this happen?
“Mr. Bow-Champ, this isn’t the right place to talk. You need to come to the station.”
Jean-Luc turns away from them, looking at the staircase, thinking of Charlotte and Sam sleeping. He turns around to face the men. “Do you mind waiting outside? I don’t want my family to be disturbed.”
The taller officer opens the front door and they back out. “Ten minutes.”
Turning back to the staircase, Jean-Luc grips the banisters, pulling himself up one stair at a time. What do they know? His heart beats faster as he imagines what they might have discovered.
When he enters the bedroom, he sees that Charlotte is still fast asleep, a soft hiss coming from her mouth. He doesn’t want to wake her. There’s still a chance he can sort it out. He thinks of leaving her a note, but he doesn’t know what he could tell her. Turning away, he pulls on yesterday’s pants, throws on yesterday’s shirt, but doesn’t bother with a tie.
Without a word, he follows the policemen out to their car. He sees the curtains twitch at Marge’s kitchen window. Has she been watching?
Fifteen minutes later, they pull up in front of the police station. They take the stairs, then walk down a long corridor, past empty cells and into a small room containing a gray table and four plastic chairs.
“Sit down.” The short officer removes a cigarette pack from his breast pocket, takes one out and throws the pack over to his partner. They light up. The tall one sits down, flicking ash into an aluminum ashtray. The other flicks his onto the floor.
“Hey, come on, Jack. Think of the cleaning lady.”
“Just keeping her in a job, man.”
Jean-Luc watches them exhaling clouds of smoke. They’re taking their time, as though they’re enjoying it.
“Why am I here?” He’s done his best to comply, to stay calm, but now he needs to know.
Bradley finally sits down, his hands on his knees as he leans forward, facing him. “Were you aware that someone has been searching for you for the last nine years?”
Jean-Luc shakes his head. His throat is tight. No words will come. He can’t even swallow.
“Her name is Sarah Laffitte. She’s Sam’s mother.”