Until I Die - By Amy Plum Page 0,59
It’s on rue des Martyrs near all the other live-music venues. Just south of Montmartre,” she responded. “Ambrose wants the phone back.”
“I just want to make it clear that I didn’t commit us to anything,” Ambrose boomed in his baritone voice. My phone beeped as another call came through. It was from Georgia’s number. I put Ambrose on hold.
“I wasn’t through talking.” I heard her giggle as Ambrose grabbed her phone away. “Just make sure you’re there. Nine p.m. Divans du Monde,” she yelled as both her and Ambrose’s numbers disappeared off my screen.
“You think Ambrose is safe in the hands of your force-of-nature sister?” asked Vincent from across the room. I was lying on his couch with a Modern European Society textbook propped on my chest. It was a part of my deal with Papy and Mamie: I could spend most of the weekend at Vincent’s house as long as I got my homework done.
Since I had no clue what I would do after high school, I had forbidden Vincent to bring up the topic. But I assumed it would include some sort of higher education. And now that I had a good reason to stay in Paris, I needed to keep my grades up to have my choice of universities. Even so, a year and a half seemed a lifetime away, and with Vincent nearby, it was hard to stay focused.
“Georgia’s just manipulated us into going to hear her boyfriend’s band tonight,” I said, settling back into my history book.
“Great idea,” Vincent responded, looking back down at his laptop. “Arthur and Violette need to learn to loosen up.”
I didn’t mention that Georgia had left Violette out of the invitation—purposely, I was sure. Maybe a night out with Georgia would clear things up between the two—if they could both remain civil throughout the evening. I thought of their opposing personalities and squirmed.
“Besides, I haven’t met Georgia’s new man yet,” Vincent continued. “I should have already checked him out by now for numa connections.”
I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. “Besides his tragic hipness, he seems pretty harmless,” I said, turning a page in my book. I gave him a playful grin and said, “Come here for a second.”
“Oh no you don’t,” he responded, his lips curving mischievously. “I have to finish this email to Charlotte, and you have to finish your European history.”
“But dating you is like having my own walking, talking history book. I don’t need to study. I didn’t even research my last two papers. I just sat back and listened to you talk.”
“Yeah, well, your teacher might find it a bit suspicious if you dragged me along to feed you answers on the exam.”
“Hey—that’s a really great idea!” I said, meaning it. “What if you’re volant during finals?”
Vincent shook his head in despair and turned back to his screen.
“No, really, come here just for a minute,” I said innocently. “I have a really important question about the Second World War.”
“Okay,” he sighed. He pressed send and closed the laptop, then came over to sit next to me. It had been only a few days since his last dormancy, and already the dark circles were starting to form under his eyes. His fatigue lent an air of fragility to his normally bursting-with-vitality demeanor. It made me want to protect him from whatever was hurting him. As if reading my mind, he eyed me carefully. “So … what’s the question?”
Tearing my eyes from his face, I glanced back at the page for inspiration. “So I’m reading about the Resistance fighters who would ride their bikes from Paris out to you guys—the Maquis—in the countryside to pass you orders from the central command.”
Vincent nodded. “It was dangerous. Messengers were sometimes caught. So they chose people who wouldn’t be suspected by the German soldiers. Women and children were often given the job.” He hesitated. “So what’s your question?”
“It’s kind of specific,” I said, playing for time as I searched for something to ask. His proximity was what I wanted, but it sure didn’t help me focus.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed, and a doubtful smile formed on his lips.
“Um, did you Maquis guys ever get lonely while you were hiding out in the forests and planning ambushes on the Germans?” I reached out my hand and began playing with the back of his hair as I slowly pulled his face toward mine.
“What does this have to do with your homework?” he asked skeptically.
“Nothing,” I replied. “I was just wondering what would