She glanced over at me with wide eyes. “Tom, is that safe?”

“I think so. They have no reason to hurt me. I’ll just speak with them and see if we can come to an agreement.”

“You would do that?”

“Sure. I’ll do it later.”

Up ahead was Fanny’s Friperie.

Simone said, “Voila. We’re here,” and pulled up behind a white Dacia van in front of Fanny’s and honked the horn. “Maybe we’ll get some help.” She put the Mercedes in park and killed the ignition switch.

The young girl with short dark hair came out of Fanny’s. “Bonjour, madame,” she said politely. “Can I help you?”

“Bonjour, Miriam,” said Simone. “Do you know my nephew, Tom?” Now I was her nephew.

Miriam smiled shyly at me. Simone stood still in her sunglasses and purple power suit. It took me a moment to recognize that she was soaking in the rays. I said, “Sun feels good, right, ma’am?”

“I love the sun, Tom.”

Miriam helped carry the bags. We unloaded the Mercedes into the front of the store. One of the bags in the back seat had come open. Simone climbed onto the seat and tried to put everything back in. She held a brightly patterned scarf out the door. “Hermes! Now that’s refugee chic.”

I didn’t comment and neither did Miriam. Simone tied off the bag and handed it out of the car to Miriam, who took it inside. Then, she came out and asked if we would like tea or coffee. Simone took Miriam’s arm and said, “That is exactly what I would like, darling. I haven’t had coffee today. I start with tea and then I need a coffee around eleven in the morning.”

The store was dark and empty and smelled like old clothes and garment cleaning supplies. But laughter and voices could be heard from the back, like contented bubbles in a bathtub. Behind the counter a door opened to a large kitchen extension. Unlike the shop, the kitchen was full of light, almost like a greenhouse. Through the wall of windows, a vegetable garden was visible in the back.

Fanny was doing something complicated with a pitcher of milk. She looked healthy and alert, a big woman with a mass of red hair to suit. In the light I could see streaks of gray. She had it all piled up and pinned with a pencil. I could easily imagine her in the vegetable plot trimming tomato plants and runner beans.

Father Bousquet was seated at the table. “Monsieur Keeler. Still in town I see.”

Fanny said, “He’s getting to know his French family.”

I smiled and nodded. Caught Simone’s eye. Accepted a biscuit from Fanny. “Oui that’s right,” I said in an exaggerated American accent.

Simone quipped, “He’s very happy eating American food. And lots of it.”