Chapter 340: Mother Knows Best

"No one needs to hold him," Geneviève said.

Paper rustled. "Mrs. Vale, last time he broke a nurse’s wrist."

"Last time I wasn’t in the room."

"The second course is worse than the first. Three days of it. Whatever the mind wants, the body fights."

"Then put a chair by the bed and give me his hand." Her voice stayed patient. "He’ll lie still for me. He always has."

A pen scratched across paper.

Aria’s nails dug into her knee.

"And afterward?" Evans asked.

"Afterward he sleeps. When he wakes up, I’m the first thing he sees, and I tell him he had a fever."

"He’s had a great many fevers this autumn."

"Then he’s a delicate man, Doctor. Write that down too."

The pen scratched again.

"There’s the other matter," Evans said. "The surgeon has asked for photographs."

"He’ll have them on Monday." A cup touched a saucer. "The nose. The line of the jaw. Nothing that makes him look ill, and nothing anyone would notice across a dinner table."

"Anyone?"

"His wife keeps his photograph beside her bed. When the surgeon is finished, she could pass him in the street and keep walking."

Evans was quiet.

"And she will," Geneviève said.

"The papers," Evans said. "For the new passport. I’ll need the name in full."

"Raymond Vale."

"Vale."

"It means a valley." She said it lightly, like the answer to a crossword. "Somewhere low and quiet, where nothing ever happens. I think he’ll like it there."

A chair scraped back.

"We’re finished for today. Thank you, Doctor."

Heels crossed a hard floor, unhurried. A door opened and shut.

The tape ran on. Evans breathed, alone, close to the microphone. Then he spoke, low, in French.

"Que Dieu me pardonne."

A click. Then only hiss.

"God forgive me," Damien said.

Aria let the hiss run until the spool ran out and the play button popped up on its own.

She took the earpiece out and set it on the desk.

"He fought them," she said.

Damien waited.

"Every time she wasn’t in the room, he fought. He broke a nurse’s wrist." Her voice cracked and she kept going. "Dad let Lydia walk all over him for years. He never raised his voice to her once. And they needed two nurses and a doctor and months of drugs, and he still fought them."

"He did."

She looked at the little silver player.

"Elias said there’d be gaps," she said. "Dad’s going to wake up after surgery and ask for me. And I’m going to have to decide how much of this he gets to know."

"Not tonight."

"Not tonight." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "He’s proud of that name, Damien. He used to sign my report cards like it was a contract."

Damien took her wrists and lowered her hands. "Then it’s his name now."

She ejected the tape. She wrapped it back in its yellowed tissue, laid it in the tin, and pressed the lid down until it caught.

Then she stood, took Damien’s hand, and pulled him up out of the chair.

"Bed," she said.

He let her lead him there. She climbed in on his side first, and when he got in beside her, she pushed her cold feet between his calves.

He sucked in a breath. "Aria."

"You’re warm. Warm me up."

He rolled toward her and kissed her, slow and deep, one hand spread across the small of her back to hold her against him. She kissed him back until there was nothing in her head but him: his mouth, his weight, the steady beat of his heart against her breast.

When he lifted his head, his voice was rough. "Alarm’s at five."

"Then stop talking."

He laughed, low, against her temple. She fell asleep with her feet still tucked between his legs.

***

The alarm went off in the dark.

Damien was already up and dressed, his phone to his ear.

"Rémy is an hour out," he said, and hung up. "We leave at seven."

Aria dressed by the light of the bathroom door. Sweater, jeans, the coat with the key in its pocket. She put the tin in her bag and zipped it shut.

Her phone had a message waiting.

[Elias: Anesthesia plan revised. He goes in this afternoon, your time. I’ll call when he’s out.]

She read it twice. Then she typed with both thumbs.

[Tell him I’ll be there soon. Tell him Aria said so.]

[Elias: He’s asleep. It’s eight at night here.]

[Then tell him when he wakes up.]

The dots appeared and went away. Appeared again.

[Elias: Fine.]

"He said fine," Aria said.

Damien crossed the room and took the phone out of her hand. He read the thread and gave it back.

"He’ll tell him."

"You don’t know that."

Damien crouched in front of her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with one sneaker on, and he picked up the other, loosened the laces, and fitted it onto her foot. He tied it in a double knot.

"I can tie my own shoes."

He undid the first one and retied it the same way, and looked up at her. "You’ll be running today. I don’t want you tripping."

Her chest tightened. "Are you scared?"

"Yes."

He stood, drew her up off the bed, and zipped her coat to her chin. He held the collar in both hands and kissed her, once, hard enough that she had to hold on to his wrists.

"Stay where I can see you," he said against her mouth.

"Same to you."

At ten to six, a knock came at the door.

Jade stood in the hallway with her bag over her shoulder. Her hair was scraped back and her eyes were red.

"Did you sleep at all?" Aria asked.

"No." Jade glanced past her at Damien, then back. "I need to say something before we get to Marseille. While I still can."

"Come in."

Jade stayed in the doorway. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag.

"You think you know why they sent us," she said. "You don’t know what happens to us when we fail."