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Chapter 14 - "Farewell"

"Please, Tipsy," she pleaded.

The fluffy white dog wagged her tail, but still retreated step by step when approached. When the little girl tried to coax her into the travel crate, or even pick her up to cuddle her, then fit her into it, Tipsy squirmed out of her arms and fled to Luisa. After the fourth time, an exasperated Luisa picked up the small dog herself and gently tried to place her into the crate, but the dog began to whimper and cry and squirmed so hard that Luisa could barely hold her.

"I do not understand," Luisa said in frustration. "Monsieur Pepin specifically purchased a crate that could be used aboard airplanes: that one. The dog has always come with us, and been in this same crate many times since she was a puppy."

Finally Tipsy had enough and yapped, nipping at Luisa. The nanny gasped and dropped her, and the animal immediately retreated to the sofa.

"You wicked dog!" Luisa scolded, and Tipsy laid her ears back, eyes wide, and tucked her tail between her legs.

"She's not wicked," Bobby said softly, regretfully. "She's bonded to you since Mig- Since Olivia's been away at school."

The child who now wanted to be known as Olivia—Alex and Bobby had gently told her there was no need for a name change, but she was so tearfully adamant about it that they decided not to stress her further—looked as if she was about to cry again, but instead put on a stolid face. "I suppose she thinks I'm a stranger now."

"It wasn't your fault," Alex coaxed. "She's just a little confused and frightened. Here, let me try to put her into the crate. Maybe she'll be good for me. I'm always able to handle Bandit–"

"No, no," Olivia said suddenly. "Please don't, Madame... I mean- I think it's better–" Straightening up, she walked up to Luisa. "I don't want Tipsy to go anywhere she does not want to. I...was able to choose and she was not. Maman always said that having a choice was the most important. Wouldn't you like to keep her for me, Luisa? You trained her so she won't be any trouble, and she will make Francesca and the baby laugh."

"But she is your dog, Miss Mignon," Luisa protested helplessly.

Olivia shook her head. "Not any longer, Luisa. She loves you. She was Papa Marcel's gift to me, and now she can be my gift to you. You can have her to remember me by."

Bobby looked almost as distressed as the child and squatted down to face her. "Mi- Olivia...we knew you would have to leave what you loved, but we didn't count on you having to leave so much–"

She looked at him in surprise. "Are you crying, Monsieur Goren? Adults don't cry."

"They da–" Alex corrected herself. "They do when they're unhappy, and we don't want you to have to leave Tipsy behind."

Olivia swallowed and set her face in such a way that it was as if a small Nicole Wallace stood there instead. "No, she's already left me...this is just saying good-bye." She looked around the sitting room as if she were seeing it for the first time, adding dismissively. "Just like this place was never home. I won't miss it. It's only where I stayed when I visited here. Home was in the flat with Maman."

She's cutting every single tie. Alex looked at Bobby's sober face and knew he saw it, too. And what about Nicole's flat? Had Madame's minions already stripped it? She wagered they had.

There was a quick rap on the door and Laurent bustled in. "The limousine is here to take you to the airport. Your luggage is already in the vehicle. We should move along—get the dog into her crate."

Olivia looked at her half-brother gravely, then tilted her chin up and said calmly, "Tipsy has decided to stay here. When Luisa leaves for her sister's home, she will take Tipsy as well, so that Madame Pepin won't be bothered with either of us."

Watching Laurent now, as much as they had been angered before, both Alex and Bobby could see that he really was fond of his half-sister. He squatted to her level as Bobby had a few minutes earlier. "Come here, little sister," and she ran into his arms and he gave her a hug. "Sweet little Mignonette...these are good people. I checked them out for you. Be good for them, be happy for you. Write to me, eh, on the computer? Send some photos to your silly old brother? You and the 'big dog' that you spoke of?"

"I promise, Laurent." She backed up from him, and then scolded tearfully, "You should do as Papa Marcel said and marry! Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?"

Laurent laughed, but it was couched with wistfulness. "Perhaps you're right, petite soeur. Come, I'll walk you downstairs."

Olivia gave Luisa one last hug, promised, "I will write to you!" and, perhaps because she was no longer trying to pick her up, Tipsy allowed Olivia to caress her soft fur one last time. "You be a good dog for Luisa, Tipsy! You are to make Francesca laugh, to forget her sickness, remember." She bit her lip, then added, "Good girl." Alex also saw Luisa slip Bobby a much-folded piece of paper covered in small print, which he tucked into his shirt pocket.

Then they headed downstairs. At the foot of the stairs one of the pink-shirted servants intercepted Laurent, saying there was a call from his office at Duplantix. He gave an exasperated sigh, gave Olivia a final hug, and hurried off, leaving the group to be shepherded toward the limousine, which was overflowing with luggage, as Olivia was accompanied by four hefty suitcases. This time their driver was Etienne, who had brought Marcel Pepin and "Madeleine Haynes" and their daughter to their door a year earlier; they had a quick, cordial reunion.

Madame Pepin was waiting on the front steps to see them off, her bearing that of a queen. Alex watched Bobby regard her with a calculating expression as she looked down at Olivia with as friendly a face as she could manage and said stiffly, "I have not been a very good host to you, child, or to Monsieur et Madame Goren. But please know I wish you a happy future, and this is a gift for you. Hold out your hands like a cup."

And she poured into the pair of small hands a heavy, substantial old-fashioned silver pocket watch with a long chain and a worn leather strap, engraved on the front with a scrolled device and the initials "M. T. P." "This fob watch was your Papa Marcel's, and his father's before him, and his father's before that. His grandfather carried it into the Great War. I remember Marcel used to let you play with it when you were a baby."

Olivia clasped the watch to her, then looked up. "Farewell, Madame."

"Je vous souhaite un bon voyage," Madame Pepin said gravely.

"Merci." And Olivia curtsied before she climbed into the vehicle.

"Close the door for a moment, please, Etienne," Bobby said unexpectedly, and the chauffeur, bemused, complied. Now Alex and Bobby both shifted their attention to their host, and he began in an affable voice, "We couldn't leave, Madame, without thanking you for your hospitality—for the comfortable bed and outstanding bath in a beautiful room, for the delicious meals, for transportation on our sightseeing trips, and the opportunity to see your impressive art collection." He paused for a beat, then added stiffly, "However, I'm not thankful for being forced to participate in your very twisted game of chess."

"Pardon?" Madame Pepin asked, meeting his eyes.

"Alex and I had a very self-indulgent conversation the day of the funeral. We spoke of ourselves as 'knights' protecting Mignon. But it turns out we were also being played, disposable pieces in your little chess game. You as the queen, Duplantix being the king I suspect. I suppose you could classify Maison Duplantier as your castle."

Alex interjected, "You even had a bishop at the Requiem Mass. Nice touch."

Bobby extended the fingers of his left hand, curling each back while clocking off items, beginning with his thumb. "And all the pawns, starting with the obvious one, the innocent child. Not to mention Luisa, Nicole, our State Department...the surprise sacrificial pawn, Marcel–" Here all five of his fingers were touching; when he popped his hand open again; it revealed a square of paper that hadn't been there a moment earlier, with the name "Laurent" written on it. "Why, even your favorite child, Madame."

"Doesn't it seem to you, Bobby," asked Alex in feigned astonishment, "that Laurent, unlike Yves and Stéphanie, looks very little like Marcel Pepin?" She arched her eyebrows at Madame Pepin. "I remember the photos of the children on your desk, and something Bobby told me many years ago about small children almost always looking like their father. Not a scientific fact, of course, but...sometimes– For instance, I think that in his baby photo Laurent looks a lot more like...Maître Achard." She paused, a cat smile on her face. "Did Marcel know, I wonder? But my Dad would have been right...what you had on him really was a doozy."

"The car accident tossed everything in your lap." Bobby spread the palms of his hands. "Checkmate."

"I believe," Madame Pepin said coldly, "I'd like you to leave my property at once."

"Gladly," Alex retorted. "But remember, Madame, you didn't win the game-."

Bobby finished, "–because the most important piece from that chessboard...um...is in the limo with us. Good-bye."

Without another word they let Etienne reopen the door for them and were gone.

. . . . .

Olivia didn't speak in the town car, leaning against Alex as they traveled through the early-morning streets back to Aéroport Charles de Gaulle. The thin skin under her eyes had a bruised look, and they knew both she and Luisa had been crying when they had arrived at her room to find Tipsy reluctant to enter the dog carrier. This time neither of them cared about the scenery, and Bobby spent the ride staring at his knees, his hands fidgeting. Olivia walked beside them as if sleepwalking through the airport and all the shortcuts designated for the trio. On this return trip, there were no jokes about "being the king"; indeed Bobby now resented being singled out for special treatment and was nearly as quiet as Olivia.

While they waited at the airport, part of the time under the observance of an apologetic Etienne, Bobby trudged to the restroom and noticed the gift shop next to it as he returned. When he returned to his seat he had a white paper bag in hand, but said nothing about it until they had boarded the plane. Olivia looked lost in the big business-class seat and she pleaded, "Can't I sit with one of you?"

"Not until we're in the air," Alex said apologetically. "The pilot will let us know on the intercom when we can move around."

Since coach passengers were still being seated, Bobby swiftly unbuckled his seat belt and squatted before her seat, presenting the paper bag to Olivia. "When I was a boy," he related, "I had a stuffed dog...um...named Wolfie that I hugged w-when I felt alone...when my mother was...ill. I saw this and thought of Wolfie. And there's another gift for you, too."

Olivia expectantly opened the bag to discover a stuffed fox in a reclining position, a winsome smile sewn on its furry face. Around its neck dangled a bracelet with a little charm engraved "Olivia." "To celebrate your name change."

She gravely removed the bracelet from the fox's neck and put it on her left wrist. "Thank you, Monsieur Goren."

He said just as soberly in response, "Now that we're your guardians, maybe you'd like to call us something else?"

Alex commented quietly from her own seat, "You can't ever have another Maman or Papa Marcel, but we could be 'father and mother,' or 'mommy and daddy.' Or, if it's more comfortable, you could just use our first names."

Bobby patted Olivia's hand tentatively and returned to his seat, Olivia following him with her eyes. "May I call you 'Mama' and 'Papa'?"

"If that's what suits you, we'd like it very much," Alex smiled, reaching out to take Olivia's icy hand in her own warm one.

Once they were in the air Olivia seemed to forget her request to change seats and sat quietly, cuddling the little fox, grief still evident on her woebegone face. An hour later, when the flight attendant brought soup for them, she sipped at it briefly, then went back into a brown study. Alex unbuckled her seat belt, as did Bobby. "Would you like to come sit with me now?" Alex asked, and, shrugging her shoulders, Olivia, carrying the fox, joined her in the seat, pillowing her head on Alex's shoulder. But after a few minutes she wiggled and sat back up, sighing.

"I wish I could make this easier for you," Alex said with regret.

Olivia looked at her, then at him, then she smiled a little. "I know what's wrong. Mama, you need to sit with Papa."

"Do I?" Alex said, amused. Bobby shifted over in his seat as he had during their inbound flight, and Alex moved next to him. Then Olivia sat in their laps where their legs made contact and curled up on her left side, head on Alex's chest and feet tucked up in Bobby's lap. She murmured, "Now we're all together," and, pillowed on Alex's arm, she was asleep in seconds.

Alex whispered mischievously, "Best to let her think she's getting her own way right now."

Bobby arched his eyebrows. "You mean she isn't?" and Alex laughed soundlessly, stroking Olivia's hair. Then she gave him a sideways look and tapped on his shirt pocket before withdrawing the folded paper Luisa had given him. This was a sheet of lined notebook paper on which he'd made columns headed in his untidy backhand: "Likes," "Dislikes," "Fears," "Comforts" and Luisa had dutifully listed items from "haricots verts" [green beans] in the dislike column to "reading to her" in the comforts. Under "fears" Luisa had simply written "being alone," and Alex whispered "Me, too" and returned the paper to his pocket.

His eyes said everything as he leaned over to kiss her.

When the flight attendant returned fifteen minutes later, all three were asleep, Alex's arm protectively around her new daughter.

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