Free Unbitten by Valerie du Sange Page B

beginning to dissipate, and the staff of the Château
     beginning their work already. A man in blue coveralls
     heading to the outbuilding where the furnace lived. A pair
     of women carrying rakes making their way to the kitchen
     garden. And in the distance, barely visible in the pre-dawn
     murky light, she saw a couple wandering along, a man and a
     woman, holding hands, nuzzling each other as they walked.
    Usually Jo would turn away from a sight like that, not
     allowing herself to feel anything. But this time, she
     watched the couple, saw them turn down the path to the
     guest cottages, and she felt a yearning to have that kind
     of warmth in her life too.
    She couldn’t really imagine what it would be like,
     but she wanted it. And for the first time ever, admitted it
     to herself without flinching away.
    Her parents hadn’t had it, that was for sure. Jo had
     grown up in a run-down little box of a house just outside
     of Trenton. Her father had drunk up his paycheck most
     weeks, and spent his time at home on the sofa watching TV
     in a total haze. Her mother was so wrapped up in trying to
     keep her husband from drinking, or yelling at him for
     drinking, or threatening to leave him because of his
     drinking, that she wasn’t available to give Jo much
     of anything either. Jo had latched on to teachers at school
     and a few neighbors, who got her through those hard early
     years. And then she had left that house as soon as she was
     old enough to make it on her own, and never looked back.
    She wasn’t sure her parents had noticed she’d
     gone.
    She was sitting on the floor now, with her legs spread out
     as wide as she could get them, leaning to one side and then
     the other, twisting her torso, feeling the muscles pull
     until they would go no farther. She made a time zone
     calculation and realized it would be a good time to call
     Marianne. She grabbed up her cell and slid back under the
     covers for some girl-talk.
    No answer. Jo started to leave a message but remembered
     that Marianne detested voicemail, and so she texted her
     instead:
aMAzing. cant sum it up in a txt. get ur butt
     ovr here. xxoo
    The sun was peeking up over the horizon and the sky was
     turning pink. Jo put on her riding clothes and boots and
     trotted downstairs, looking for coffee. And maybe, if she
     were going to be completely honest, looking for David as
     well.

    Later that day, Tristan, Alain, and Jessica reluctantly
     left
La Petite Espionne
, after five courses
     followed by glasses of digestif, feeling heavier than when
     they went in, heavier but suffused with happiness.
    “I have had snails many times,” Tristan was
     saying. “It is not a dish of my region but I have
     loved them since I was a child, and order them whenever I
     have the chance. No plate of
Helix pomatia
has
     ever come close to the pinnacle of deliciousness as that
     one. The ingredients are so simple. And each one was
     bursting with flavor on my tongue, so fresh it’s as
     though the chef ran outside to pick the parsley after
     getting my order.”
    “I always thought escargots were like chewy pencil
     erasers,” said Jessica.
    “Well, yes,” said Tristan. “But with
     garlic, parsley, and butter sauce. That rather changes the
     effect.”
    Alain smiled somewhat painfully. That last bit of
crème brûlée
had been a step
     over the line, and he would rather not think about food for
     at least a few minutes.
    Paris in October, Tristan realized, was a revelation. The
     tourists were few enough that they were invisible unless
     you went to the Eiffel Tower or other major picture-taking
     sort of attraction. The sky was a brilliant blue. And the
     Parisians seemed full of gaiety, now that they had survived
     another season. It felt neighborly to be there, not like a
     big city, but friendly and relaxed. Tristan had been to
     Paris numerous times in his life, but he had never
     experienced it quite like this. And the conversation at
     lunch–and the