Chapter 26 #3
Luc had set up a makeshift stage—sheets of wood laid on a bed of Maison Fortin crates—and Pierre, his guitar plugged into a portable amp, tested the sound by playing love songs, which he not so subtly aimed at her Uncle Noah.
At three minutes to eight, everyone convened in the middle of the square. Yakiv, dressed in his usual shorts and rubber boots but with a button-up shirt and bowtie, skipped around the outside of the circle, humming to himself.
“Speech!” said Noah.
“Oh shush,” said her mum, but Sabine knew that the moment called for something, so she nodded at her mum to encourage her. Marlow drew a breath.
“This summer, even with its ups and downs, has been the best. Sabine and I want to say thank you—thank you for making us feel so welcome. And even though we leave tomorrow, and this party sort of signals us going home—”
Yakiv stopped skipping and gave Marlow and Sabine a look of pure betrayal. “What?” he said, flapping his arms in despair, “you’re going home?” Lali reached out and picked him up in her arms. “But it’s not fair!” he said, burying his face in her shoulder.
“I think it’s better if we treat it not like a going-away party but like a celebration,” said Marlow.
“Because we all know this is the most marvelous hilltop village in the Grand Est,” added Sabine.
Everyone agreed by cheering and clapping—even Bill and Iris.
“Now let’s raise some money for it!” said Marlow.
They each went off to their designated spots: Madame Belleville stationed herself at the top of the Mirabelle stairs to take tickets, and Sabine’s grandparents helped themselves to a glass of wine.
Fedir let himself into the little empty church bordering the square and rang the bell eight times. The fundraiser had officially begun.
Guillaume arrived with a group of wealthy looking people in formal jackets, bowties, long dresses, and heels. Winery owners. Suddenly Bill and Iris had people to talk to, and Sabine didn’t feel so overdressed.
Noah gave Yakiv a tray of appetizers to circulate. Yakiv offered Bill an appetizer. He took one; Yakiv took one for himself. Then Iris took one; Yakiv took another. Then Sabine took one, and Yakiv, the opportunistic waiter, took a third.
“These won’t last at that rate,” said Iris, but she was making a genuine joke this time, not a judgment, because no one could defend themselves against the charms of Yakiv.
Aubin had helped set up earlier in the day but had disappeared to get changed. And then Sabine saw him appear up the Mirabelle steps in formal pants, a pressed white shirt, jacket, and tie. He looked so handsome. He approached Sabine and gave her a kiss on each cheek.
“You look amazing,” he said. “I don’t think I am the measure to you.”
Sabine swished the dress with her fingers. “It’s really too much, but when I tried to say no to Madame Belleville, she told me that people have to do what she wants because she’s eighty-six and they’re not.” They laughed.
“I have a surprise,” he said, “that will help show that you are dressed perfectly.”
“Can’t you tell me what it is? I don’t like surprises.”
“You’re going to like this one, so wait. Not everything has to be under your control.”
“I saw a saying once,” said Sabine. “To be happy, resign as manager of the universe.”
“I support this idea.”
“In fact, most of this summer has been out of my control,” said Sabine, “and apparently, I’ve done just fine. In so many ways.” She put her fingers through his and squeezed his hand.
“I hope this makes you happy, too,” he said, pointing to the Mirabelle stairs.
She turned to see a group of teens in a party mood pour onto the square in tight dresses, heels, dress pants, jackets, and ties. One carried a box. Another carried speakers. A third carried a mirror ball.
“These are my friends,” said Aubin. “I told them you missed your prom in Canada, so we bring the prom to you. A disco ball is part of prom. I did research.”
He introduced them all, and then they headed for the food and drink. One passed Aubin the box. He opened it to reveal matching corsages. He lifted up a delicate blue flower on a light blue ribbon and tied it around her wrist.
“It matches my dress! It’s almost as if—wait—”
“Madame Belleville told me the color of your dress, so I chose the bleuet. In English, it is the cornflower. A special flower in France.”
Sabine glanced over to Madame Belleville, who smiled in approval. Sabine pinned the second cornflower on his lapel and tried not to cry. She was wearing mascara, which she’d done about four times in her life, and didn’t want it to run.
She threw her arms around Aubin. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I’m glad. But you are crushing my corsage.”
She pulled back slightly and kissed him. “Better?”
“Not sure. Could you do it again?” So she did. His lips were soft and warm, and—
“Allez, allez, pas en public!”
Sabine and Aubin turned to see Yves at the top of the Mirabelle stairs. Sabine blanched. She snapped her head around to see if her mother had seen him, too. Yes, there she was, standing in the middle of the square, arms limp, staring at him in disbelief.