In her heart, she realized with a shock, she distrusted all Frenchmen. It seemed to her that they were egotistical, self-absorbed, cared way much too much about fashion, and were much too casual about sex. They didn’t respect women, at least not in the way she expected. Of course, she admitted, her experience was limited pretty much to Bill and the example set by her father. But why couldn’t Elizabeth settle down with a man like Bill? He was dependable, he drank beer, he liked sports, and he didn’t care what he wore as long as it was clean and comfortable. Like her dad, he never cried, and she liked that about him.

She thought about Chris Kennedy and wished things had worked out differently. He was a nice guy, and he’d certainly seemed stuck on Elizabeth, but that was apparently all over. She wondered if Elizabeth hadn’t encouraged him enough. The days when a girl could play hard to get were long past. Now that men were all so afraid of commitment, she had to help him along. She couldn’t throw herself at him, of course. It had to be subtle, and Elizabeth wasn’t subtle. Maybe that was the problem. Or maybe Elizabeth was right, and he really was focused on his career right now.

It had been so much simpler for her. She and Bill met in college and started going steady. They got engaged during senior year and were married the week after graduation. She’d never had a career, really, just a series of jobs until she got pregnant with Toby. Then they’d moved to Tinker’s Cove, and her focus was on their growing family. She enjoyed her part-time job at the Pennysaver newspaper, but it was hardly what you’d call a career. Phyllis, the receptionist at the paper, always said they were really volunteers, because the pay was so low, and Lucy was lucky if her check covered a week’s worth of groceries and a tank of gas.

Sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake by missing out on a career, but she didn’t think so. She was happy with her life, and she wanted Elizabeth to be happy, too, and she didn’t think having casual sex with every Frenchman who came along was the way to achieve that. Especially now, when you couldn’t tell the good guys from the terrorists and criminals. What did Elizabeth really know about Serge? What if he turned out to be one of those monsters who preyed on women, a French version of Ted Bundy?

Her thoughts kept going round and round, until eventually she heard the birds chirping in the vines that covered the building and Bill woke up.

“Damn birds,” he muttered, burying his head in her neck. “Just like home.”

“I wish,” sighed Lucy. “I wish we were home.”