Not in Time

by Shawna Seed

  D was online. She replied quickly via instant message.

  D: How did he look stripped down to his T?

  Gen: Some guy grabs me and that’s your first question?

  D: OMG are you OK?

  Gen: Yes

  D: Praise Jesus! So, how does he look in a T?

  Gen: Like he works out

  D: What did you wear to dinner?

  Gen: jeans, Tech hoodie I swiped from Matteo soph year

  D: u r frickin’ kidding me

  Gen: No

  D: hopeless. pls dress cuter tonite

  Gen: I remind him of a high school girlfriend. Good or bad?

  D: Depends. Did he sleep with her?

  “Genevieve? Could you come here a sec?”

  She hurriedly closed her laptop. “Be right there,” she said, dreading whatever stunt Mona must have pulled.

  Mona was seated on Julien’s worktable, one paw on his arm, head-butting his shoulder.

  “What is she doing?”

  “She wants you to pet her. Sorry. I’ll take her out to the living room.”

  She scooped Mona up and was immediately rewarded with a loud purr.

  “Why don’t you hang out back here?”

  “Sure, let me get my laptop.” She put Mona down firmly on the sofa, hoping the cat would take the hint.

  When Genevieve returned, Mona was back on the worktable, staring intently at Julien.

  “I think she’s decided she likes you,” Genevieve said.

  Julien shook a finger at the tabby. “So you think you can charm me, is that it?”

  Genevieve was halfway through the online reviews of pet boarding facilities when Julien said, “Oh, here’s my guy in Vegas emailing back.”

  He read silently, scrolling up and down the screen.

  “Where does he recommend? I’m looking at places right now,” Genevieve said.

  “He doesn’t recommend boarding a cat unless there’s no other option because it stresses them.” He turned his chair around to face her. “Which I guess you tried to tell me.”

  “Well, kind of.”

  “So it appears you’re both staying.” He checked his watch. “Do you want to go back to your place for your car? If we go now, we can beat the traffic.”

  While Genevieve packed for a more lengthy stay away from home, Julien sat in her courtyard with the front door propped open and made calls.

  Some of the calls were clearly clients. She heard Erica’s name once. He also talked to someone named Claire, although whether she was a client, a friend, a girlfriend or his dentist, Genevieve had no idea.

  He seemed to be laughing a lot, and Genevieve felt a stab of jealousy. Who were these women he always seemed to be talking to? Were they all architects or pediatricians or something equally impressive?

  Listlessly, she began to sort through the clothes she had chosen, suddenly hating all of them. Maybe D was right. Maybe she did dress like an old lady.

  Deciding she needed a pep talk, Genevieve took her phone into the laundry room and closed the door. But of course D didn’t pick up, and she didn’t answer Genevieve’s text, either. It was maddening how D could be counted on to pop up with an inappropriate instant message when Julien was right there, but now that Genevieve wanted to talk about him, D was unavailable.

  Genevieve walked out of the laundry room to find Julien frantically pacing around her bedroom.

  “There you are. I was worried.”

  “I was just getting some stuff out of the laundry,” Genevieve said, hoping he wouldn’t notice she was empty-handed. “What’s up?”

  “I just got off the phone with Henry. I hope your passport is up to date. What happened last night convinced him we’re onto something. He wants us to go to Paris.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Henry wanted them to go to Paris, but Henry did not want to pay last-minute prices.

  The proposed timeframe for the trip sent Genevieve into another paroxysm of angst about hotels and kennels, but Julien assured her they would be fine at his house, the time would fly by.

  He was right. It was fine. She quickly adjusted to his schedule, making sure that she was showered and dressed and had the pullout bed in his office put away by the time he was back from his run or the gym.

  He worked on his regular projects, and Genevieve focused on the research ahead: first the Lazare family wills in France and then the wartime records of the U.S. Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives section housed in the National Archives outside Washington, D.C., where they’d stop on their way home.

  Sometimes they were in different rooms, and sometimes Genevieve sat on the office sofa with her laptop. In the evenings, he cooked dinner or they went out. One night, when Genevieve was feeling particularly cooped up, they went to the movies.

  Twice Julien had plans that took him away in the evening. Both times she made plans of her own with Thomas, meeting him for dinner and getting the latest on Philip, who was still in limbo at work, and their mortgage application, which still hadn’t been approved.

  The first night, Julien was already home watching a basketball game when she returned from dinner.

  The second night, Genevieve was back before him. When she heard Julien come in, she was in bed, talking to Thomas, who insisted he would stay on the phone with her until Julien was home. She was trying very hard not to look at the clock.

  It was almost midnight.

  On the last afternoon before they left for Paris, they returned to Genevieve’s apartment so she could get more clothes.

  It took her longer than she expected to pack, and Julien suggested getting an early dinner and waiting out the worst of the traffic.

  They were sitting at a sushi bar, watching the chef go through his routine, when Genevieve sensed someone hovering behind them.

  “Jay,” a woman said. “I thought that was you.”

  She was almost as tall as Julien, with short blonde hair. She wore a skirt that stopped well short of her knees, boots, a red tank, a leather jacket and no obvious makeup except for red lipstick. She was absolutely gorgeous.

  Julien turned. “Hey, Meg.” He stood, and after a long pause said, “Genevieve McKenna, this is Meg Lev...”

  Meg didn’t let him finish. She gave Genevieve a cool smile that started at her mouth and didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Genevieve? Would you excuse us?”

  Surprise registered on Julien’s face. “Hang on, Meg,” he said.

  “That’s fine,” Genevieve said. She headed to the bathroom. Whatever this was, she didn’t want to be in the middle of it.

  At the 10 minute mark, Genevieve decided Meg must have had enough time to say whatever it was she so urgently needed to say.

  She’d guessed wrong, though. As Genevieve reached the end of the hallway, she could hear Meg and Julien at the bar, just around the corner.

  “I’ll take care of it when I get home,” Julien said. “I’ve said I’m sorry, Meg. I’m not sure what else you want from me.”

  “So you think ‘sorry’ fixes it?”

  Julien sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying. I made a mistake. I admit that – always have. I feel terrible about it. But why is this all on me? You weren’t up front about what you expected.”

  “Oh, perfect,” Meg hissed. “You just put it all on me.”

  “C’mon, Meg.” Julien’s voice softened. “I wish I could undo this. I hate that I hurt your feelings.”

  Meg cut him off. “You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that? Just find my fucking earrings, OK? When I left them, I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be back. You probably have a whole drawer full of jewelry that belongs to women who’ve been told you’re done with them.”

  Genevieve caught sight of Meg’s back as she strode out of the bar.

  Julien wore a hangdog expression. “Hey,” he said as Genevieve took her seat. “Sorry she was rude to you.”

  Genevieve waited to see whether he would continue.

  “We used to work together, and the
n we had a thing,” Julien said, “which didn’t end so well.”

  They were sitting side-by-side now, elbows on the bar, both looking straight ahead.

  Julien sipped his beer. “On-again, off-again. Messy. I don’t know how much you heard, but I’m not as bad as she makes me out to be.”

  “That sounds like a country song,” Genevieve said. “ ‘I’m Not As Bad As She Makes Me Out To Be,’ from the album ‘Please Don’t Listen To My Exes.’ ”

  “OK, that’s funny,” he said, bumping her elbow. “You’re good.”

  “I could go on,” Genevieve said. “My ex-boyfriend gave me tons of material.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Long time ago,” Genevieve said. “I’m lucky – I don’t run into him. I hope you don’t run into her very often. She seems formidable.”

  “She is when she’s mad,” Julien said. He stared at his beer, turned it on its coaster. “We were friends for a really long time. Seemed like we’d make a good couple.”

  He took a drink. “But we didn’t. I keep ending it and then getting pulled back in. Well, you probably got the gist of it.”

  He swiveled to look at Genevieve. “Why am I telling you this?”

  Genevieve shrugged. “I’m a good listener?”

  “You are,” he said. “And I guess I don’t want you to think I’m awful. I really don’t want to get that look I got in Vegas again.”

  “What look you got in Vegas?”

  He laughed. “At the coffee place? When I asked where you were going to gamble that night? You looked at me like, ‘Who is this sleazy dude?’ Like I’d just handed you my room key and told you to meet me upstairs in 10 minutes.”

  Genevieve blushed to the roots of her hair. Fortunately, the chef chose that moment to put their sushi in front of them.

  “Meg didn’t even know about this place until I brought her here,” Julien said. “Seems like I should get custody of my favorite sushi restaurant.”

  Departure day was a flurry of last-minute activity. Genevieve put in a final call to the pet-sitter, who patiently listened to instructions she’d already received in person and by email. Julien made sure all the documents were ready.

  Soon it was time to leave. Genevieve gave Mona one last pet and then they were out the door and into the cab.

  At the gate, Genevieve eagerly dived into the book she’d brought for the trip. She was already hooked on the tale of a rare manuscript in Sarajevo when the boarding announcements began.

  “This is us,” Julien said, shouldering his backpack and picking up Genevieve’s carry-on bag.

  She followed him onto the plane, still reading, barely taking in her surroundings until they stopped and Julien dropped her bag into a seat.

  “What are we doing up here?” Genevieve whispered, expecting a flight attendant to herd them back to coach.

  “These are our seats,” Julien said. “Why are you whispering?”

  “Henry wouldn’t pay for last-minute tickets, but we’re in first class?”

  “This is business class, actually.” Julien put his hand on her elbow. “Step in so people can get past.”

  Genevieve stepped in, but she didn’t sit. “But...”

  “But what?” Julien shot her an exasperated look. “I’m 6-4, and my knee’s been scoped twice. I can’t fly overnight in coach. Most people would be happy to sit here. I’m not understanding the problem.”

  Reluctantly, she took her seat. It was, she had to admit, very comfortable. “I completely understand why you need more room, but I could have flown coach.”

  That earned her another look from Julien. “I’m not going to fly business while you’re in coach. Who would do that? Other than a total asshole, I mean.”

  “Well, since you put it that way.”

  Genevieve busied herself settling in, not wanting Julien to see her face. She and Pete hadn’t traveled much together, because she rarely could afford her share of the trips he liked. But when they did, he regularly flew first class while Genevieve flew coach.

  “If it makes you feel any better, we’re flying coach on the way home,” Julien said. “So enjoy this while it lasts.”

  Genevieve woke with a start. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. Sunlight peeked around the window shade.

  She stretched and looked for Julien. His seat was empty. Craning her head, she spotted him in the aisle near the galley, sipping coffee and chatting with a flight attendant who was standing, Genevieve thought, just a little too close.

  Genevieve unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her carry-on. In the dim bathroom light, she surveyed the damage of the overnight flight.

  There was a crease across her right cheek, probably from the pillow. Her hair was straggly. D would pronounce her a “fright.”

  She’d stayed awake a long time reading. Julien, a seasoned transatlantic traveler, drank two glasses of wine and took an antihistamine with dinner. He fell asleep two hours into the long flight.

  Julien was back in his seat when she returned, reading a computer magazine. Other than a one-day growth of beard – which Genevieve thought looked damned attractive – he seemed no worse for wear.

  A second cup of coffee had appeared. Julien handed her the coffee and powdered creamer when she sat down.

  “Bonjour. I have to warn you, the coffee’s awful,” he said.

  She doctored the coffee and took a sip, then grimaced. He was right.

  “At least it’s hot,” he offered. “You want to discuss a plan for the day?” He seemed to be bursting with energy.

  “Sure,” she said, feigning more enthusiasm than she really felt.

  “We land a little after 11. Once we get to the hotel, we should drop the bags and then get lunch.”

  Genevieve was content to let Julien worry about these details. “That sounds fine.”

  “Now, the trick to avoiding jet lag is not to nap, no matter how sleepy we feel.”

  Genevieve was sure that was for her benefit.

  “There’s no point trying to get started on the wills today. By the time we got there and got in our requests, it would be practically closing time. I think we should go see where the gallery used to be.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Natural light helps reset your body’s clock,” he said.

  She had no idea he was such a jet-lag expert.

  Julien picked up on her mood. “If I’m annoying you, you can just say so. You seem groggy. Did you stay up reading your book?”

  “It’s really good,” Genevieve said. “It starts with this manuscript in Sarajevo and then traces it back through time.”

  “You’re going to be jet-lagged,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  After they landed, Genevieve found herself herded here and there by Julien without much registering.

  Finally, they were out of the airport and into a cab. Genevieve sank back into the warmth as Julien negotiated with the driver.

  She wondered whether she would be able to see any of the famous sights on the drive. Julien had explained to her the route they would follow into the heart of Paris, but she was fuzzy on the details. She was fuzzy in general.

  “Genevieve!”

  “What’s wrong?” Julien was shaking her arm.

  “You were sleeping.”

  “I was not.”

  “You were,” he said. “You can’t nap. You’ll have jet lag the rest of the trip.”

  A flash flood of irritation breached Genevieve’s internal levees. “I’m dying here.”

  “Lack of sleep never killed anyone.”

  “Right, because your body wouldn’t let that happen,” she said. “You’d just FALL ASLEEP. People who are tired fall asleep. And I’m really, really tired.”

  “Well. The whining is a new development.”

  Genevieve sighed. It sounded melodramatic, even to her. “Fine. I’m whining. But your lecturing me about jet lag is really tiresome. So there.”

  The cab driver turned u
p the radio.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, and then Genevieve shifted restlessly in the seat. “I’m totally awake now. That should make you happy.”

  “Ecstatic.”

  More silence.

  “Un tiran,” Julien said.

  “What?”

  “In French. Call me un tiran.” He smiled. “Despot. Tyrant.”

  Genevieve ventured a smile. “Is that an apology?”

  “Yes. I would have offered it sooner but I couldn’t think of the word.”

  “What does that make me?”

  “I knew you’d ask me that.” He leaned toward the driver and rattled off a question in French, ending with the words “wah, wah, wah,” uttered in an exaggerated tone.

  The driver nodded and responded.

  Julien sat back, satisfied. “Pleurnicheuse. Whiner.”

  “I did not sound like that.”

  “No, of course not,” Julien said. “Sometimes one has to exaggerate to communicate across the language barrier.”

  “I thought you spoke perfect French.”

  Julien threw up his hands and said something in French. The driver laughed.

  “What was that?”

  “Roughly translated, ‘I surrender.’ ”

  The cab deposited them in front of a white stone building on a quiet street. Genevieve stood gaping as Julien dealt with the driver. The buildings, even the trees – everything was just as she’d imagined it would be.

  Julien chatted with the young woman at the reception desk as Genevieve explored the lobby.

  “They’ve got two rooms ready now on the third floor, if we’d like to go ahead and get settled,” Julien said, waving Genevieve back over. “Or we could leave the bags and come back later; she may have something on four then.”

  The thought of a hot shower was very seductive. “I vote we check in now,” Genevieve said.

  “The only thing is…” Julien was distracted by the young woman, who was batting her eyelashes and leaning over the desk in a way Genevieve thought was very unprofessional.

  “I swear I won’t nap. I just want a shower.”

  He handed her the keys and smiled at the clerk. “Go look at the rooms, choose which one you want. I’ll be up in a minute with the bags.”