Chapter 26 #2
Madame Belleville got winded, so Sabine and Marlow each took an arm and sat her down on the bench.
Luc had replaced its rotten planks of wood.
She patted the bench beside her so that they would join her.
She looked around with great pleasure at the return of her village square and said in very broken, heavily accented English: “For the persons who are parted, I am sad. And I am old. But I am contente for this new Mirabelle life. You two, I thank.”
“Ce n’était pas nous,” said Marlow, trying to deny she and Sabine had anything to do with it. But Madame Belleville gave her a stern look.
“You are a special one. We are lucky for you.”
Sabine saw her mum tear up and look away to hide her misty eyes.
“Keep Madame Belleville company,” said Marlow, heading down the Mirabelle stairs.
Madame Belleville had become a sort of grandmother to Sabine, and truth be told, she liked her more than her own grandmother. Madame Belleville was grumpy, but she had softened over the summer, and beneath that gruff exterior, she cared.
It was the last Saturday of August. The fundraiser was tonight, the appeal for Maison Perdue first thing tomorrow, and Sabine and her mum were supposed to be back on a flight later that evening.
This morning, Sabine and Aubin had gone to the Nenier parking lot to call Willa for last-minute fundraiser advice.
Sabine had downloaded her email at the same time and had found urgent emails from all of the universities that had accepted her, saying that if they did not hear from her by this Tuesday, they’d be forced to give up her spot.
Her brain was packed with facts, figures, and formulae that had gotten her a hundred percent across the board in high school—but what to do about this, she had no clue.
As if sensing Sabine’s distress, Madame Belleville reached across the bench for her hand.
“Et la robe?” she asked.
Sabine looked at her. “La robe?”
“Oui, la robe you will have tonight.”
Sabine had not given one thought to a dress.
“Viens,” said Madame Belleville, getting up. But when they turned, they found Bill and Iris coming up the stairs with Noah and Pierre. Did her grandparents even know about this event? Crap.
Sabine turned to Madame Belleville. “Je viens tout de suite.” She would be right there.
“So your mother’s having a party,” said Bill, surveying the activity in the square. “Noah let it slip on our drive today.”
“I didn’t ‘let it slip,’ ” said Noah. “You make it sound like a state secret.”
“Well, we didn’t get an invite, so it feels like a secret to me,” said Iris.
“I will see if Lali needs help,” said Pierre, making himself scarce.
“She was going to invite you,” said Sabine, “things just got busy. And it’s a fundraiser for everyone in Mirabelle, actually, so it’s not just Mum’s party. We’d love for you to come.”
“I for one think it’s got a whiff of desperation about it,” said Bill. “Your mother got herself into this mess and now she’s pulling others down with her. And what can you possibly auction off that will raise the money you need? Tonight will be a miserable failure.”
“I don’t think it’ll be a failure,” said Sabine. “Uncle Noah’s going to cook—”
“A killer menu if I do say so myself,” he said.
“People from all around are coming,” said Sabine.
“I don’t know if we’ll raise enough, but we can try.
At the very least, it’ll be fun. I’m proud of her for making it happen.
” Her grandparents were always so quick to think of her mum as a loser.
Screw it, she thought. I’m not playing these games anymore.
“And if you don’t want to come, I’m sure Madame Belleville would be happy to have you just hang out at her place for the night. ”
She didn’t want this to be a failure like her grandfather predicted. What more could she do? She needed to think of something.
Marlow headed to the Nenier h?tel de ville, breath shallow.
She’d thrown industry parties at Renegade—not single-handedly, of course.
There was a legendary woman at the festival whose entire job description was parties: they called her Party Patti.
She ran events for thousands, shutting down entire city blocks, coordinating food, entertainment, permits, security, you name it.
Marlow often got free tickets to these events for her parents, who loved to hobnob with the stars, and for Noah, who was considered in many circles a bit of a star himself.
So why did her chest hurt? Now would not be a convenient time to have a heart attack.
There was Rémy’s car in the lot. Marlow’s lungs squeezed tighter. Relax. She’s not the monster you’ve made her out to be. She’s just a self-aggrandizing, paper-pushing official determined to make your life hell.
Marlow stepped into the h?tel de ville and found Rémy sorting through mail.
“Bonjour,” said Rémy, frosty. Par for the course.
“Bonjour,” said Marlow. “I wondered if I could have the keys to the businesses in Mirabelle square. Just for today. We’re doing a … community clean-up.”
“Is this for your little party?”
Busted. Marlow steeled herself for some BS thing Rémy would invent about the need for permits. Or an arcane bylaw they were breaking that would take down the whole fundraiser.
“Yes, it would be nice to have the lights on,” said Marlow. “Make it seem lived in.”
“Did you not think the local fonctionnaire should be invited to such an event?”
Oh. My. God. Rémy was offended she hadn’t been invited. Not offended. Hurt. “Yes! I’m so sorry—I meant to invite you, I just—yes.”
“Et en plus, should that fonctionnaire not be asked to make a speech?”
“Oh Rémy, that would be excellent.”
“Then certainly.” Rémy walked to the key drawer. “Let’s see … the post office, bicycle rentals, the fruit and vegetable store, church, restaurant.”
“And the mairie,” said Marlow.
“Ah, non, that is my office!”
“OK,” said Marlow, “if you want the only dark place in the square to be the mairie …”
Rémy paused, then passed over the keys. “If they are not returned tomorrow—”
“There will be a fine.”
“Exactement. In fact, you can give them to me tomorrow at your appeal.”
The shoes Madame Belleville had found for Sabine—blue slingbacks, literally from the fifties—were not made for comfort, but they looked so good and matched the light blue off-the-shoulder vintage dress that Madame Belleville had pulled from a garment bag.
It had a tight bustier that she zipped up for Sabine under her arm, and a crinoline underskirt.
Madame Belleville had also lent her a rhinestone necklace and earrings and tamed her normally unruly hair into an updo.
Turned out, Madame Belleville had been the winner of the region’s beauty pageant four times in her youth and had a closet of to-die-for dresses.
It made her so happy to see Sabine in her outfit that she got dressed up herself in another fabulous number.
Sabine felt like a princess but worried it was over the top, especially when Bill and Iris appeared in mildly dressy clothes, he in a sports jacket, and she in a sweater set, and eyeballed Sabine’s outfit.
Before they could make a comment, Madame Belleville said, “She is belle, non?” and Sabine’s grandparents said nothing. Sabine took several selfies to send to Willa later.
They all went down to the square together—Sabine in her beautiful outfit, feeling like royalty with an entourage.
She marveled at the buildings around the square’s edges, lit up and looking lived in.
Fedir’s tiny lights made it magical. The restaurant’s patio doors were open wide, its tables covered with tablecloths.
Her Uncle Noah and Madame Klein were setting up food and wine.
Corinne was arranging desserts. All the activity made the restaurant look as if it were up and running, especially with Noah in a pristine white apron, pointing and giving people orders.
Lali and Sabine’s mum, in outfits from Lali’s closet, finished setting up the silent auction tables.
So many things had poured in from the community.
The more valuable items were set aside for the live auction: crates of wine; a week’s worth of renovations by Luc; four Ukrainian dinners from Lali; a long string of pearls from Madame Belleville; a papier maché sculpture made by Yakiv, which he insisted was the most precious item at the party.