Chapter 3
Amelie turned from where she’d been working the dirt and dust out of the corner behind the display cabinet. A frown pulled her eyebrows toward the bridge of her nose. “Boyfriend?”
“You said you lost a very dear friend. I assumed he was someone close to you.” Maurice swiped his clean rag over the glass display, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Her frown softened as she thought about Armand. “Oh, he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was my mentor—the chef I worked under as a student, and later as his sous chef. We became very close.”
“You must have loved him a lot.”
“I did. He was more than my teacher. More than my boss. He was like a father to me.” She stood still for a moment, her dust mop frozen in the corner.
“Armand was a talented chef and an amazing mentor. I would not be half the chef I am today if not for his tutelage. He treated me more like a daughter than any other student.” As if she suddenly remembered where she was, she pushed the dust mop around the floor again.
Maurice passed her on his way to rinse the shop rag in the sink. “Didn’t Armand have a family of his own?”
Amelie smiled softly. “Yes and no.”
“What do you mean?” He paused before turning on the water.
“He was married. I didn’t know that for the first year I knew Armand, because his wife lived in California.” Her mentor had rarely spoken about his personal life.
“How did you find out he was married?”
“Armand took a couple of days off, saying he had to take care of some business. He came back to the Chez Beno?t a few days later with a younger version of himself. Armand introduced him as Luis, his son.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile.
“I didn’t know he had a son, much less that he was married, until that moment.
Only he wasn’t married anymore, because his wife had died and sent his son to live with him in France. ”
“How old was the son?” Maurice asked as he rinsed the rag in the sink full of soapy water.
“He was seventeen at that time.” Her brows drew together. “I felt so bad for both of them. It was a tough time for Armand and for Luis. I became Armand’s sounding board when he couldn’t relate to his son.” Her mentor had opened up about so much he’d kept bottled inside for so long.
“How so?” Maurice wrung out the rag and returned to the counter, near where Amelie worked.
“It’s a long story,” she said. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“It’s passing the time,” Maurice said. “And I like listening to your voice.”
Her cheeks flooded with heat before she turned away to attack another portion of the flour-covered floor.
“Luis had lost his mother, had been taken to another continent, to a country he hadn’t grown up in and had to live with a father he didn’t know.
Fortunately, his mother had made sure he spoke French since he had dual citizenship in the US and in France, or it could’ve been worse. ”
“Had Armand and his wife divorced?” Maurice asked.
“Apparently not,” Amelie said. “He told me that he and Julia met at a nightclub in Paris when they were both young. He was a young sous chef in Paris. She was there on a student visa, studying art.”
Maurice grunted. “Great place to study art with museums like the Louvre, Orsay and the Monet exhibits.”
Amelie nodded. “Julia loved art. Armand loved food. Together, they shared their love of Paris. In the process, they fell in love. They’d only known each other for a couple of months when they married.
They could barely afford an apartment on what he was making as a sous chef.
But they had love.” Amelie had finished with the dust mop out front and stood it in a corner.
“Are you finished with wiping down the counters and display cases?”
He nodded. “You should inspect. I’m sure your standards are much higher than mine.” He rinsed the shop rag in the soapy water and handed it to her. “You’ll need this.”
She took the cloth and walked through the shop front from the entry door to the display cabinets, armed and ready to pounce on even the slightest smudge or errant flake of flour that Maurice had missed.
After a few minutes, she stood back, shaking her head. “Well done, my friend. Well done.” She grinned. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”
Maurice’s lips spread in a grin. “All the latrines I cleaned with a toothbrush in basic combat training paid off.”
“Eww.” Amelie grimaced. “Not a good analogy.” She drew in a breath and nodded toward the kitchen. “Do you need a break, or are you ready to tackle the kitchen? And no. I’m not issuing you a toothbrush for this effort. The health department inspectors would not be amused.”
“I’m ready.”
“Then while you start in there, I’ll mop this room and then join you.”
Maurice helped her fill the mop bucket with a lemon-scented floor cleaner and water. While she mopped, he started on the refrigerators.
Amelie joined him a half an hour later, satisfied that the front of the shop was ready for freshly baked goods and customers.
“Okay,” Maurice said, “you can’t leave me hanging. I want to hear more about your friend Armand.”
Amelie found a clean rag, refilled the sink with warm soapy water, dunked her rag and squeezed out the excess.
“Where was I?” she asked as she worked on the shelves that had held the ingredients.
“Armand and his wife were broke, living on love.”
She nodded. “He said they were fine until she got pregnant. He’d just signed on as chef for a struggling restaurant that had just been sold to an investor with big ideas.
Armand was working a lot of overtime and was away from Julia for much of her pregnancy.
The night she went into labor, he barely made it home in time to take her to the hospital to deliver baby Luis. ”
“Did she have any difficulties in the delivery?”
Amelie shook her head. “No, but Julia had a hard time recovering. She didn’t want to get out of bed. Armand took off so much time helping her that he nearly lost his job. She was homesick for her family and the support system she’d left behind.”
“Postpartum depression?” Maurice suggested.
Amelie nodded. “Sounds like it.”
“When she finally was able to take care of herself and Luis, Armand threw everything he had into his work, trying to build a name for himself and for the restaurant to justify the owner’s investment and make more money to support his family.”
Amelie tossed her rag in the sink full of soapy water, grabbed the mop and squeezed out the excess water.
As she mopped the corner of the kitchen they’d finished, she continued her story.
“He came home one night with the news that a highly regarded food critic had visited the restaurant and had complimented the chef on the food presented. His review would be good in the newspaper the following day. He was so excited about sharing the information with his wife. But when he opened the door, Julia, Luis and all their things were gone, except the empty crib, the highchair and a stroller.”
“She went back to California?” Maurice stopped cleaning the stove and straightened.
Amelie’s heart pinched hard in her chest. Armand had been so stoic when he’d shared that part of his story with her.
He’d completely blamed himself for not seeing her misery.
“She left a note that said she was going home to California, because she couldn’t raise Luis without help.
He could divorce her if he wanted, but she still loved him and wanted him to follow his dream of becoming the best chef in Paris. ”
“Wow.” Maurice shook his head. “He didn’t go after her?”
“No.” Amelie sighed. “He had a job in Paris, not in California. Julia and Luis lived with her parents. Armand sent money so that she didn’t have to work.”
“But he didn’t follow her.” Maurice shook his head.
“He didn’t think he could make it in California. He didn’t want to burden her parents by moving in with them while he tried to get his green card and find a job. He’d barely started making a name for himself with the restaurant in Paris. Who would hire him in California?”
“So, she stayed with her folks.” Maurice frowned. “Why didn’t the parents take Luis when Julia died?”
“They died the year before she did in a massive pileup on the interstate. Julia inherited the house and was digging through their assets when she discovered she had cancer. She didn’t tell Armand she was sick until she was in hospice and realized that, as Luis’s only living relative, Armand would have to take his son and see him through the rest of his education. ”
“That had to be hard on Luis as well as Armand.”
“Armand was heartbroken. Even after all the years apart, he still loved Julia. He stayed with her and held her hand as she took her last breath.”
“And Luis?”
“Grieving. Angry at being whisked off to Paris by his absentee father. I think he blamed Armand for Julia’s death, even though he had nothing to do with her cancer.
Armand brought him to Paris and enrolled him in an international school that would set him on a path to college at any school of his choice.
Between the money Julia’s parents left her and the funds Armand set aside for his son’s higher education, the boy was set for a strong future. ”
“I take it Luis didn’t settle in very well.” Maurice continued wiping the stovetop.
Amelie scrunched her nose. “No. His grades were abysmal. He argued with Armand whenever they were together. Luis limped through his last year in high school and told Armand he had no intention of going to college. Armand tried to get him interested in becoming a chef. He even brought Luis on as a student in his kitchen after he graduated.”
“He wasn’t interested, was he?”
Amelie shook her head. “Not at all. I tried to help where I could by running interference when they butted heads. I tried to be a friend to Luis since he’d left all his friends behind in California.”
“Did it help?”