Michael was asleep, slumped in the battered upholstered chair he had insisted on buying the first week they were in Burgundy. His legs were crossed, a paperback book lay open, facedown, on his knee, and his booted feet rested on the end of her chaise.
Fideaux lay blissed out next to his master, chin on paws, more relaxed than he’d been since Michael left.
Trying to move quietly, Katherine began chopping onions and garlic for the evening meal. Tonight it would be the boudin blanc sausages she had defrosted earlier braised with the Romanesco she hadn’t been able to resist at the Saturday market even though it cost way too much, potatoes, a handful of dried herbs, and a little white wine. She was tempted to throw in something even greener, like cabbage, but Michael would complain loudly. Beans were as far as he’d go in the direction of green vegetables. He had explained to her the first time he took her to dinner in Aspen, where he and Eric were performing in cafés for tips, that there weren’t a lot of green things other than grass in Montana, where he’d grown up, and he was suspicious of them. “I don’t eat green ice cream neither,” he had said in his stagiest cowboy voice whenever she had tried to persuade him in the decades since.
The kitchen clock said quarter of five, and she resolutely ignored the impulse to pour a glass of wine for herself now that she had opened the bottle. Five o’clock was the holy hour and not a moment before. She had won the argument with herself last week that a small glass of wine during the day during Michael’s absence was an entirely different matter. Her nerves, after all, had been shot after they found the body. And it was partly Michael’s fault for staying away so long. But that was the exception to her ironclad rule, or at least one. Rule number two, if someone offered her a glass of champagne at lunch, it would be rude to decline.
She left the vegetables to simmer gently in the wine and went to check on her sleeping man, who was coming back to life, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Dang, I was tired. Haven’t had to do this kind of thing for a few weeks. It’s a lot harder than singing, I can tell you.”
“What’re you reading? Did it put you to sleep?”
“Naw, a thriller I picked up at the airport, all about cybercrime, good stuff.”
“I don’t read thrillers, or at least I haven’t so far. I’ll have to read Pippa’s, I know. I hope it isn’t awful. I don’t lie well.” She reached past him for her costume book.
“You may not be much of a liar but you sure know how to dance around a thing. I’m still half-pissed at you for not telling me what happened at the museum. You’ve let it go, right?” He was looking right at her.
“Of course.” The simmering pot called for attention, the sausage needed to go in. If you put them in too early, they burst, but if you waited too long, their wonderful fatty flavor wouldn’t meld into the onions. And, it was five o’clock, and not a moment too soon. She spun away and retreated. How would she explain why Pippa and she had to go to the memorial service tomorrow?
With a glass of wine in hand, she wandered slowly back into the living room to find Michael shrugging into his warm jacket. “The dogs missed me. I know you don’t let them off leash, but they’ve got me trained well enough that I know exactly where they want to take me for a run.” Gracey looked up adoringly as Michael settled his Stetson. “C’mon, mutts,” he said sternly and they rushed to the door. “See?” he said and grinned at Katherine. “Back in fifteen minutes. Whatever you’re cooking smells fantastic, by the way.”
With a bit of time to think it through, and the smallest topping off of the glass, Katherine was in good spirits when Michael and the dogs burst through the door, bringing with them cold air and the smell of dead leaves. His favorite sausages pleased him, and after checking his emails, he suggested playing the rough cuts from the new album that he had sent himself as MP3 files.
There were a half dozen. Michael explained the last layers hadn’t been added to the others and that J.B. had promised to forward them in a day or two. When the last note of the last song ended, there was silence.
“What do you think?” he asked, and she could hear nerves in his voice.
She got up and came over to his chair. She eased onto his lap, something she hadn’t done in years because it was for young people, and put her arms around his neck. “What do I think? I think it’s magic, pure magic. Oh, Michael, I am so proud of you.”
“I guess you’d have to say that.”
“I’m saying it and I mean every word. Betty Lou’s voice is a perfect complement to yours.”
“Or mine is a complement to hers. She’s the big name.” But he was smiling.
“Together, you sound great. And the band—who are those people? They’re fantastic.”
“Memphis is loaded with talent. Actually, a couple of the guys are with other bands but they do side stuff like this. Since Betty Lou hasn’t done rock before, we needed to make damn sure the band had, you know?”
Once he got started, Michael wanted to tell her everything about the experience. Listening to his descriptions of the way they built up the tracks, the sophisticated equipment that evened out the sound, the fun of making music with a dozen people, she realized how hard he must have struggled to maintain his professional motivation sitting on the patio or in the little living room working on his own week after week for years. Her eyes teared up, and she went to the kitchen so he wouldn’t see.
“Dessert?” she said while refilling her glass.
“Only if you have that fancy French gingerbread.”
“Pain d’épices? Of course. With Christmas coming, all the boulangeries and patisseries have it. It’s a Burgundy tradition. Coming up.”
She waited until he’d had a bite, then said, “By the way, I’ll be going to the memorial service, well, really not a service since there’s no priest, but a gathering anyway, for Mme Sabine. It’s tomorrow at four in Avallon.” She had kept her tone casual and decided to mention Pippa only if he asked.
“Is Pippa going too? Is this something I should worry about?”
Maybe she had been too quick to wish him home so soon. “She may. I expect a lot of their customers and other store owners will be there. My dentist was in the same church group, so I’m sure she’ll be there. She was well liked, you know.”
“No, I didn’t, but it doesn’t surprise me. I have a general sense that she was pleasant and professional. Should I go?”
Katherine knew he hated events like this. “I don’t think it’s necessary. I’ll be there for both of us. I have a little bit of Christmas shopping to do and then straight home, I promise.”
“Dang, I almost forgot,” he said, getting up and going to the small work table crammed in a corner of the living room that served as his desk and repository for mounds of paper that Katherine had long ago learned not to touch. He rummaged around, dug into a backpack that lay under the desk, and said, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands. Consider this an early Christmas present.”
She did as she was told, pretty sure she knew what was coming.
“Now,” he said. She opened her eyes. Yes, an Elvis bobblehead doll, as kitschy as it could be, with an exaggerated pouty doll’s mouth and a black painted pompadour rising to an improbable height. Elvis sneered at her as he shook his head. “Like it?”
“How could I not?” she said. Under the doll was a business envelope. “And what’s this?”
Michael’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Open it, sweetheart, before I grab it back.”
A check made out to her husband, several thousand dollars, from a company she’d never heard of. “What? Who?”
“Small advance, the most I’ll get as a newcomer, from the company that will distribute the songs to the streaming services. Royalties to follow, fingers crossed. I’ll sign it and you can deposit it tomorrow. That way, the credit card bill I have a hunch I’ll see at the end of the month will be covered, at least.”
Inwardly, Katherine sighed with relief. But this also meant she could get Michael the warm sweater she had seen last time she was in town. And maybe some decent wine, and the ceramic angel in the brocante window unless someone had already snatched it up. All she said was “Christmas is coming and this is perfect timing.” She kissed him and he squeezed her arm before going over to pull one of the guitars from the lineup along the wall.
“Gotta get in some practice. By the way, Emile’s dropping by later. He wants to show me his new guitar and I couldn’t say no.”
“Softie. We’ll invite him to stay for dinner as long as he’s here. This cold weather keeps me in and I’m feeling out of touch. Tomorrow morning, I’ll drop by Mme Pomfort’s house and Yves’s bookshop. I might walk over to see Adele and Sophie, if Sophie’s down from Paris. After lunch, it’s over to Avallon for the memorial and some shopping. And, no, you may not come with me. Santa has to have some secrets.”