CHARLOTTE
The doorbell cuts through my dream, slicing it apart, visions of my parents evaporating as I remember I’m in America. It’s funny how my dreams take me back now, as if I were a child again. They leave me feeling disorientated, and it takes awhile to readjust to reality. I reach out a hand, patting the place next to me. Jean-Luc’s not there. He must have gotten up early again.
“Mom,” Sam shouts. “It’s the doorbell.”
“Can you go? I’m not dressed yet.” Maybe it’s later than I thought. Turning to look at the clock, I see it’s 7:30. It might be the mailman.
Marge’s voice echoes through the house. “Hi there, Sam. Is your mom in?”
What can she want at this time of the morning? I pull the sheets off, put on my dressing gown, and go downstairs.
“Hi, Marge.” I greet her from the last stair.
She looks flushed, as if she’s been running. She’s wearing her bright orange sundress, and it clashes with her red cheeks. I can see her waiting for Sam to go back upstairs.
“Charlie.” She sounds concerned. “Is everything all right? We saw the police car.”
“The police car, this morning.”
I grip the banister. I feel like I’m falling from a great height. I pull my dressing gown belt tight, forcing myself to stay upright.
“Charlie, is everything okay?” She takes a step toward me.
“I just got up too quickly. I’m fine.” I hold my hand up. Don’t come any closer. My legs feel like they’re turning to dust. I collapse onto the stair.
Marge’s face looms large. She sits down next to me, but the stair is narrow, and I feel her flesh through my dressing gown. Her sweet perfume hits the back of my nostrils. It makes me feel sick.
“What’s going on, Charlie?”
I can’t form any words. There’s a dam in my head, about to burst. “I… I don’t know what the car was doing there, Marge. I don’t know. I should get dressed.”
But Marge doesn’t move. “You know you can talk to me. We’re friends.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “I’ll call you later.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Charlie, you’ve been distant these last few weeks. I can see something’s troubling you.”
I shake my head, trying to make my voice lighter. “Everything’s okay.”
“Come on. I can see it’s not. You know a problem shared is a problem halved.”
I just need her to go. I need to think. Standing up, I move toward the front door and open it.
She looks at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Well, you know where I am if you need me.” She gives me one last meaningful look before leaving.
Through the smoked glass I watch her distorted shape walking away. Then I turn back to the stairs, leaning on the banister. The police have taken him away. They know.
The phone explodes in my ears. Oh, God, please make it be Jean-Luc, telling me he’s on his way home, that there was some mistake. I pick it up. “Hello.”
“Charlotte.”
“Jean-Luc. Where are you?”
I can hear him trying to form words, mumbling.
“Jean-Luc?”
“Sam’s parents are alive.”
“What? What are you saying?” I clasp the phone to my ear, unable to make sense of what I’ve heard.
“Charlotte, they both survived.”
“What? But… but how? It can’t be true.” I drop the receiver. My hands are shaking, my whole body overtaken by a fierce trembling. I hear his voice on the other end of the phone, but I can’t pick it up.