* * *
“And you’ll be home around six, then?” Madame Duguay calls from the balcony.
Uncle Marty nods from the front seat of the blue Renault. Troy’s in the passenger seat. “Yes.”
“I’ll have supper ready. I bet you’ll both be hungry!”
“That would be lovely,” he calls back. “Thank you, Madame Duguay!”
I scowl at him from the balcony as he honks the horn and backs the car out of the Duguay’s driveway.
Stupid, Uncle Marty. Not bringing us with him. Just what the heck does he think this is anyway...leaving us here to sit and twiddle our thumbs all day long with the Duguay’s...most boring beginning to a vacation. Ever.