* * *
When we arrive back at La Mouette Blanche, I notice Uncle Marty’s car still isn’t in the driveway.
Just how long are they planning on staying at the dig site?
I slide off my bike and cart it to the garage. Josh follows close behind.
“Uncle Marty still not back yet?”
“Nope.”
Stupid, Uncle Marty.
“I wonder how long they’re going to stay out there?” Josh muses to no one in particular.
I shrug. “I don’t care.”
I’m starting to wonder whether I should even tell my uncle about the bald man with the scar. He’s never around when I need him.
Would he even care? Would he even believe me?
We lug ourselves slowly up the steps and into the house where we find Madame Duguay in the kitchen, humming a tune to herself while dicing onions on a heavy wooden cutting board.
“Did you find the store?” she sings. “Did you get the potatoes?”
“Yeah...we got the potatoes,” I mutter. I flip the bag onto the counter, more irritably than I’d intended.
“Sarah? Is there something the matter?”
Are my moods that obvious?
“No...”
She gives me that stern look grandmothers give their grandchildren.
“Yes...” I concede.
“What’s the matter?” She sets down the knife and wipes her hands on her apron. “Are you not feeling well?” The way she’s looking at me now - with sympathy in her eyes - I can’t take it.
“No...I’m fine,” I say, pulling away quickly.
She scoffs. “You’re certainly not acting like you’re fine!”
“She saw the man from the plane at the store,” Josh blurts as he heads into the living room with his Nintendo DS.
“JOSH!”
“What?”
“Arrrrrrh! You can’t just blurt that out!”
He shrugs as he flops down on the couch. “What’s the big deal?”
I stare at him, steam coming out my ears. “The big deal is that it’s my business and you can’t just go blabbing my business!”
“Sarah.”
Madame Duguay’s voice is stern.
I turn and look at her.
“Whatever’s troubling you...I’m sure I can help.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What if it’s not something you can help me with? Arrrrrrrh. I just want everyone to stay out of my business!”
“Sarah,” Madame Duguay calls after me as I head from the kitchen.
I ignore her. (And believe me when I say I feel bad for ignoring Madame Duguay...)
“What happened?” I hear her ask Josh as I disappear into my room and shut the door.
Stupid Josh.
I sit down on the edge of my bed and look outside. Small birds hop along the tops of the hedges and flies buzz against the window pane.
This trip was supposed to be fun. Why couldn’t we have just gone to Paris instead? Like normal people.
I kick off my shoes and flounce back on my bed.
I’m just going to go to Paris by myself. I can take the train there.
“You’re home!” I hear Madame Duguay’s voice through the wall of my bedroom.
I sit up.
Great.
Uncle Marty’s going to have something to say now. I sigh and drag myself from the bed and flop down in the chair at the desk. There’s a neat stack of books arranged along the wall and I take one at random.
The words are all in French and on the cover is a picture of a dwarf rowing a boat.
I replace the book and take another.
Harry Potter.
In French.
I slip the book back into its place just as I hear a knocking at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Sarah?”
Uncle Marty’s voice is unmistakable.
“Yeah?”
Here we go...
“Are you decent?”
What?
“What do you mean?”
“Are you in the middle of changing or anything? Are you decent?”
“Yes,” I reply haughtily. “I’m decent.”
The door creaks open and Uncle Marty appears, first his nose, then his head, and finally the rest of him.
“I was just speaking with Joshua and Madame Duguay - ”
“ - and she told you I saw that man again?”
Uncle Marty nods.
I rest my hands on my hips. “And? Now do you believe me?”
“It’s not that I didn’t believe you, Sarah - ”
“Uncle Marty. You either believe me or you don’t. Which one is it.”
He sighs, his expression grim. “I believe you.”
“You believe me, that there’s a man following us? That this man is bald, has a scar on his face, was on the plane, at the airport, and now here in Porsoder?”
“Yes. I do.”
I want to smile, but find I can’t.
“So what do we do then?”
“We keep you under close supervision. We stick together. We make sure no one goes off on their own.”
“And...if this guy is dangerous?”
Uncle Marty looks at me as though I’m being difficult. “That’s why we’re going to stick together.”
“Sticking together doesn’t keep you safe.”
“It does, Sarah. And I don’t see any instance arising here in Porspoder where you would be alone.”
I shrug and lean back in my chair. “Anything can happen.”
“That’s right, Sarah. Anything can happen. And we’ll do our best to make sure nothing bad happens.”
I’m annoyed with my uncle. One minute he’s not concerned, the next minute, he’s concerned. And now he’s not concerned again.
“Whatever. I can take care of myself.”
“No, Sarah. You cannot take care of yourself. You are fifteen years old and in my car while we’re in France and I will see to it that nothing happens to you or your brother.”
“Okayyyyy, fine. Can we just stop talking about this now? I’m tired of it.”
“We’ll talk about for as long as we need to, Sarah.”
“That’s not what you said back at the airport...”
“Sarah. That was then, this is now. I didn’t believe, at that time, that this man could be following us. And I’m still not entirely convinced, as it seems so bizarre. Then again, there are all types of people in this world, and this guy might just be one of the...challenged ones.”
“Challenged? What do you mean...challenged?”
“Challenged. Different. Odd. You know. Beats to a different drum.”
I stare blankly at him. “Beats to a different drum?”
Uncle Marty sighs, chuckles, and wraps an arm around me. “I forget you’re only fifteen sometimes...come on, let’s go see if Madame Duguay needs help in the kitchen.”