Out of Sorts by Aurélie Valognes Page A

her move to an apartment close to us, so we could take care of her. But a few months after her move, she left us. Grief took her away: she could no longer remember her children’s faces, or those of her grandchildren. She would tell me I was so beautiful, but she couldn’t see my features anymore, my smiles . . . It pains me to think back on it. Oh, I don’t know what you’re doing to me, I’m all nostalgic. Usually I’m much more cheerful. I’m ashamed to have invited you over to tell you my sorrows.”
    “It’s nothing. We all have our moments of weakness. You just heard about your sister-in-law, it’s still fresh.”
    “Oh my goodness! We’ve been chitchatting away, and it’s already four o’clock! I have to pick up my great-grandson at school. His parents are on a business trip, so he’s sleeping here tonight. I always tell them they work too much. It wasn’t like that back in our day, was it?”
    “I don’t know about you, but the factory was intense. What was your profession, Mrs. Claudel?”
    “I have a law degree. I’m very proud to say I was the first woman admitted to the bar. Unfortunately, life made it so I could never practice. My husband’s death, the children to raise, you know . . . I’ll bore you another time with my old lady tales. I’m counting on you for our bridge party in two weeks. But we’ll run into each other again before then. I’m so happy you made the first move . . . Ferdinand. I feel we have a lot in common. It was a shame to live so close and never exchange more than five words, don’t you think? I’ll see you out. Thanks again for the licorice. My great-grandson will have a feast. I’ll tell him it comes from the nice neighbor.”
    As the door shuts behind him, Ferdinand can’t help but smile and repeat Mrs. Claudel’s last words. “Nice neighbor.” It’s the first time those words have been used to describe him! If only Marion could hear that. And if only Mrs. Claudel could be the one reporting to Marion rather than that silly old goose Mrs. Suarez. The best would be for the concierge to disappear from view, permanently, a bit like that horrible story about sudden blindness that had bowled him over.

Chapter Twenty-Two
    Waiting for Godot
    Ferdinand took offense at first, but now he’s uneasy. Juliette hasn’t come yet today, a Thursday. What if something has happened to her? It’s bound to be serious, otherwise she would have let him know.
    But Juliette hasn’t shown up, not for lunch, nor after school. Ferdinand would like her to come, that’s all. So, after Questions for a Champion , he takes a deep breath and goes to ring at her door. A man around forty years old opens it—his face is familiar.
    “Yes, what is it? Can I help you? Hang on . . . who are you?”
    Damn . . . Juliette’s father! Ferdinand had nearly forgotten he’d been cold with him. Juliette has little in common with her unbearable little sister and her father, who thinks himself more courteous than everyone else, greeting his neighbors from day one. If he could have given me a few more days, I might have welcomed him differently, but right then, with the noise from the move, the forced exile to the church, the crying baby, and fatigue on top of it all, it was too much!
    This is what Ferdinand tries to explain to Antoine, who is horrified by the incoherence of the old man’s remarks. When Ferdinand eventually lets slip that he wants to know how Juliette is doing, because she didn’t come over today, and that he’d bought her caramels, Antoine can’t grasp the friendly, innocent nature of the situation.
    “Get away from my home this minute, you dirty pervert. I forbid you to come near my daughter. I was told to be wary of you, but I would never have thought Juliette gullible enough to fall into your grubby paws.”
    Just then, the little girl appears at the end of the hallway, one arm in a sling, the other gesturing. Ferdinand can’t make out if she’s saying “what