Chapter 41 Jean-Paul
Chapter 41
Jean-Paul
Few things have the power to shock Jean-Paul, but seeing Michael Wall’s name stretched across Henry’s phone knocks the wind right out of him. Sure, there could be another Michael Wall in the world; his isn’t such an uncommon name. But there is no denying the accompanying picture, and Jean-Paul knows that face, has memorized every feature.
Michael Wall.
On Henry Rose-Wall’s phone.
A foreboding chill snakes down his back, and they stare into each other’s eyes as Henry sets the bottle on the table. Cassidy scoops it up and gives herself a generous pour, blathering on about her Peloton and how when she returns to Chicago, she’s going in for a neck consultation with her plastic surgeon.
Renée appears when the phone rings again, and Jean-Paul points to the screen. Her hazel eyes stab at Henry. “Is this how he got to us? You know him?”
Lucy moves in closer to Henry and drops a hand on his.
“Did you tell him about us?” Jean-Paul asks. “About the couple who owns the struggling inn? Did you see a profit? Do you get a cut?”
Henry gives a resounding no, and Lucy shakes her head.
“Henry would never do something like that.”
Jean-Paul doesn’t know what to make of this. Renée crosses her arms.
Michael Wall and all he represents would make a normally even-tempered man furious. He’d dug deep inside Jean-Paul and twisted him into knots, knots that had grown and bulged over time. He’s keenly aware the table has grown bored of Cassidy’s mind-numbing jabber and how everyone’s eyes are fixed on him. Renée grabs the crook of his arm. “Let’s not do this here, mon amour .” But he can’t help himself. His rage for the man is palpable. He can’t hold back.
“What’s going on over there?” someone asks. He doesn’t know who. Maybe Sienna. Maybe Penny.
But he notices how Henry doesn’t flinch, and how Cassidy pops a pill in her mouth, sucking it down with a gulp of wine. She’s the only one moving in the room except for Simone, who’s plating chocolate lava cakes. Renée tells him to walk away, but he can’t. His legs won’t move, and he’s tired of being powerless.
“Did you tell him about us?” he repeats. “Did you ...”
Henry looks him in the eye, torment mixed with something unreadable. “Michael Wall is my father.”
To which Jean-Paul delivers a swift punch to Henry’s face.
The other men are on their feet.
“Jean-Paul!” Renée shouts.
But there’s no ensuing fight to break up. Henry merely brushes his red cheek with his palm, almost as though he deserves it. Lucy reaches for her crutches, but Henry stops her.
The punch should feel good. The release of months, maybe years, of pent-up aggression. Jean-Paul has waited so long for this, waited to feel something other than helpless regret.
Renée tries leading him away from Henry while Adam and Leo sit back down. Jean-Paul catches the stricken look on her face. The punch was a miscalculation, reckless behavior in front of guests. He recognizes that, but Michael Wall made a terrible mistake when he targeted and crossed them. He doesn’t care about Yelp or how one-star reviews might highlight an outburst from the inn’s once-gracious owner.
Jean-Paul scans the table, his chocolate lava cakes deflating, the warm centers turning icy cold. Leo and Penny twirl their spoons around their plates, mixing the vanilla and chocolate like finger paint. Sienna and Adam appear as surprised as anyone at the identity of Henry’s father. Cassidy reaches inside her bag for another pill, and Rosalie, poor Rosalie. He wishes he could shield her from this.
“Why don’t we go somewhere and talk?” Henry says.
But Jean-Paul’s not thinking rationally. That Michael’s flesh and blood inhabits their home, charming them all with his cosmic observations, makes him shake. How could Henry have failed to mention his father?
“Jean-Paul.” He stares him in the eyes. “I had no idea. This comes as much as a shock to me—”
“That your father is a fucking thief?”
Henry ducks his head. “That you invested. I have no idea how he found you.”
The phone rings again, and Jean-Paul’s fast. “Let me talk to him. Let me tell him how he’s ruined people.” But Henry’s faster.
Renée’s voice quavers, her fist comes up in the air. “He’s the reason we have to sell ... he’s ruined us!”
Henry lowers his eyes. “I am so sorry.”
“You’re sorry? That’s all you have to say?”
Lucy stands, balancing herself on her crutches. “You can’t blame Henry for this. He has nothing to do with his father’s crimes. This broke him. And it broke us.”
Jean-Paul tries to assess the situation, but he can’t think straight. Renée’s soft curls frame her heated face. She’s been described as tough on the outside and warm and soft on the inside, but there is nothing warm and soft about her now. Like the mess on their plates, all her rage blends into something unrecognizable.
“I’ll handle this, mon amour ,” he says.
“I can’t. I can’t sit here ...” she says. Her eyes train on Lucy, and he hears the vengeful spite crawling through his wife’s lips. “How can you sit here? How can all of you sit here? Professing to be best friends ... to love each other ... when all you have are lies?”
“I’m not proud, Renée,” Henry replies.
Lucy’s anger intensifies. “You have no idea what this has done to him. It’s not something he enjoys talking about. With anyone. Hate the situation, but not Henry. He adores you and Jean-Paul. He would have never put you in this position.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Lucy,” Renée says.
“I don’t—”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Renée’s sinister tone is hard to miss. Lucy’s face flattens.
“But of course you’re going to defend your husband. It’s the least you can do. Right?”
“Renée,” Jean-Paul says, trying to prevent her from doing something awful.
“What is she talking about?” Henry asks, glancing at his wife, then Sienna and Adam.
The words tumble from Renée’s lips. “You think I don’t know? I know everything that happens under our roof.”
“Renée!”
“No. No. No. Keep going,” Cassidy slurs, shuffling her palms together.
“Enough, Cassidy,” Penny yells.
“Renée,” Jean-Paul says, “you need to stop.”
But she can’t.
“I know what you did last summer.” She points in the direction of Lucy when she says this.
Water shoots from Rosalie’s nose, and she hides her face in a napkin.
“Did she just quote that movie, Rosie?” Cassidy asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Henry nervously answers.
Jean-Paul can’t believe Renée has chosen now to disclose her nagging hunch.
“You want us to feel sorry for you?” Renée asks. “You want us to feel bad for Henry shutting you out? Is that how you live with yourself?”
Lucy’s cheeks flush, her eyes narrow, and she calmly speaks. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Renée. I know you’re upset—”
Renée cackles while Jean-Paul steps out of the way to let a drunken Cassidy pass through on the way up the stairs to the bathroom. “Come on, Lucy, you know exactly what I’m getting at. Isn’t this the reason for the divorce? Henry shut you out, so you found attention somewhere else?”
Lucy’s visibly shaking. “Renée, you’re upset. I don’t think—”
“Sienna.” Renée turns to face her. “Is she really your best friend? She’s kept so many things from you. The divorce. Her father-in-law, the criminal.”
“Renée!” This time, it’s Adam. He looks pissed. “That’s enough!”
What on earth is my wife doing? Jean-Paul wonders.
Sienna looks at her husband and then Lucy. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Tell her, Lucy. Tell her about last summer. Tell her what you did.” Renée points at Adam. “With him.”
The words silence the entire table. You can hear a pin drop. Sienna’s lip trembles as she hops out of her seat and races for the door. Adam’s out of his chair, close behind. Leo Shay rests a palm on Penny’s hand and squeezes. Henry. Poor Henry. He’s in shock. His face pales. His eyes widen in disbelief.
And that’s when they hear a loud thud.