New Orleans, Louisiana
The Past, Eleven Years Ago
Jean moved aside on the sidewalk to make way for the tourist group. She felt someone brush against her as they passed, jostling her purse from her shoulder. She was brought up short by a teenage boy who stepped directly into her path. Her canvas grocery bag was knocked askew and an orange tumbled from the sack. Jean was momentarily struck dumb by the sight of the teenage Remy standing before her. She clutched her produce to her chest defensively, while glancing around to see who had nudged her handbag.
"Oops, sorry!" Remy called with a grin that said he wasn't sorry at all. He scooped up the orange and then trotted after the throng of tourists.
Jean was rooted on the spot. She was warned this might happen, but she was unprepared for the encounter anyway. She smoothed her darkened hair, checked her large sunglasses to make sure they were in place. She felt her handbag shift. To her continuing surprise, the young Remy reappeared and caught the purse before it could hit the ground. Jean turned to Remy, a look of irritation on her face. She knew what he was up to.
"Pardonnez-moi," the boy said, offering up her bag. "Stupid tourists. You nearly dropped this."
The woman's lips parted as she stared down at Remy for a few moments, at a loss for words. He smiled shyly at her and righted the purse strap on her shoulder with one hand while taking her left hand in his opposite.
He nodded at her groceries. "D'you need any help, madame?"
"No, I –," she began with a little shake of her head. She was marveling at his familiar features, his charming smile, complete with braces on his teeth. "I'm –."
"Enh, bien, madame," the boy said with a little bow as he released her hand. "Have a lovely day."
He turned before she could respond and he continued down the sidewalk. Jean watched him saunter along as if he'd done nothing wrong. He was irritatingly adorable. But then Jean felt the space on her finger where her ring used to be.
Annoyed and thinking to reprimand him she called: "Hey, wait –!"
For the briefest moment, Jean snagged the young thief by the back of his jacket with her powers. He stumbled slightly, then she thought better of it and released him. She couldn't risk him recognizing her in the future. In the next instant, Remy was fleeing.
"Remy-," she said, then caught herself. She shook her head with a wry grin. "What am I going to do with you?"
Jean continued her walk home. She turned off the more crowded streets. New Orleans could go from vibrant and lively on one street, to dark and dangerous on the next. Fun-loving and playful, then mysterious and forbidding. The street she walked down now was just as mercurial as the rest. Seedy bars and cash-advance stores, laundromats and gun shops, gentrified high-end restaurants and tourist traps, boutiques selling clothes for dogs and specialized markets with global produce. Jean passed a familiar bodega. The owner, Ms. Muñoz, was setting bright yellow and red cans of coffee in her shop window. They gave one another a wave before Jean entered The Witness' Stand. The bell chimed over the door as she pushed it inward. She was met by the warm scents of printed paper and tobacco. Clocks kept at different times ticked merrily.
Jean stepped behind the counter and into the back room. She found The Witness sitting at a workbench, tinkering with a pocket watch. "How many times are you going to fix that thing?" she asked him and dropped a kiss on his temple.
"I've lost track," The Witness said, and glanced up at her. "Anything...interesting...happen on your way back?"
Jean placed an orange on his workbench. "Aren't you funny?" she said drolly. "As if you don't already know."
"You'll miss me when you go," he said, putting down the watch to pick up the orange. His customary smirk was replaced with something wistful.
"Of course I will," she told him, a tremor in her voice. "We all will. But it's not forever."
"The three of you make a racket up there anyhow," The Witness grouched. "I'll finally get some peace and quiet."
Jean smiled and let her hand trail on his shoulder as she passed him. She went to the door leading to the upstairs apartment. "See you at dinner?" she asked.
"Depends," The Witness hedged, "who's doin' the cooking? Not you?"
Jean made an exasperated sound. "My cooking isn't that bad!" she said and opened the door. "But no. I had grocery duty, Remy is cooking."
"I'll bring a bottle of red," The Witness said, popping a segment of orange into his mouth.
Jean started up the stairs. She paused at the top step to juggle her groceries to her hip to open the door. The door opened before she could reach for the brass knob. "Thank you," she told the boy on the landing. He reached out his hand to take the groceries from Jean's arms.
"Did you bring me an orange?" he asked, looking into the bag.
"I did," Jean began, then stopped, remembering the young Remy snatching her second orange from the street. "Ugh! No! It was stolen!"
The boy's pale red eyes looked up at her with reproach. "I'm sorry, Jackie," she told him. "I have some bananas though." she followed him into the kitchen. Jackie set the bag down on the kitchen table. Remy was at the counter chopping vegetables at a furious speed. He turned without stopping to greet Jean with a smile. The window was open, blowing the scent of herbs into the kitchen.
A radio was softly playing nearby:"You, who are on the road...Must have a code that you can live by...And so, become yourself...because the past is just a goodbye."
"I don't like bananas," Jackie complained, rummaging through the canvas bag. He removed a box from a local pastry shop and grinned.
Jean didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. "That's for after dinner," she said sternly.
"Poppa's comin'," Remy said, scraping his diced vegetables into a pot. "Said he'd bring a bottle of wine."
"I'm glad he can make it. But it'll be a tight squeeze," Jean said, looking around their small kitchen.
"Always seems to be room for one more," Remy said. He gestured for Jackie to hand him the block of butter he'd pulled from the canvas bag. "B'sides, special occasions call for celebration. Easter dinner. Jackie's first day of school tomorrow... and my first day of freedom! No more responsibilities!"
Jean cast a glance at Jackie who was glowering at Remy's back. "He's only teasing," Jean told the boy.
"I know," Jackie said with all the irritation a twelve-year-old could muster, which was a considerable amount. "I just don't want to go!"
"I'm bored of this argument," Remy told him. "You sound like a broken record."
"We have been over this," Jean said. "Jackie, it's time. You're doing so well now. You're stronger. No more hospital stays. And Remy and I can teach you only so much."
"The Witness can teach me everything I need to know!" Jackie objected.
"You need to be around people your own age," Jean said patiently. "Make some friends."
"You can't just keep hanging around with yourself all day!" Remy said, gesturing with a wooden spoon. "It's weird!"
"Speaking of which," Jean said. "Guess who I ran into on my way home?"
Remy turned from the pot to give Jean his full attention. A flicker of concern made a small crease between his eyebrows. Jean walked forward and put her thumb on the crease to smooth it. It hadn't been there when they first started this adventure. "I ran into your younger self, or rather he ran into me. And the little thief stole my ring!" She held up her hand to show him her denuded finger.
"Well, it's my ring," Remy replied.
"That you gave me," Jean retorted.
"It was a loan," Remy smiled at her, teasing.
"Is this gluten free?" Jackie asked, sniffing a cookie he'd found.
"Jackie, I said 'after dinner'!" Jean exclaimed.
"Gluten free, sugar free, egg free, flavor free...," Remy muttered. "I cannot wait to be off dis allergen-free diet! Longest. Lent. Ever!"
"Oh, hush," Jean said. "I saw you shoving jelly beans into your face on the sly just this morning. You have no idea how hard it is to find an allergen-free Easter cake. In this decade. Where is my 'thank you'?"
"Thank you, mom," Jackie dutifully said around a mouthful of cookie.
"You all packed then, Jackie?" Remy asked. "Got your medicine and books and what all?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jackie sighed with defeat.
Remy had returned to his cooking. "Don't look so blue, p'tit. It'll be great. It's like Hogwarts! Just switch out 'magic' for 'mutant powers,' 'Quidditch' for 'Danger Room.' It's basically de same thing."
"So what does that make the Headmaster? Not Dumbledore?" Jackie asked.
"Mad-Eye Moody!" Remy suggested and snorted with mirth. "You got one guess for who Voldemort is."
"Stop!" Jean said.
"There is no good and evil...There is only power, and those too weak to seek it," Remy intoned in Sinister's voice.
"Shh," Jean hissed, "Do not speak his name!"
Remy laughed outright. "But here's de best part, Jackie: no parents! You're free t'make all de bad choices you want!"
"Just don't eat shellfish," Jean warned. "You know what happens when you eat shellfish."
"Mo-om!" Jackie protested.
"Oh Lord, I miss shellfish," Remy breathed. He stared into the pot despondently.
"Where are you guys going then?" Jackie asked. "Or when?"
Jean and Remy exchanged a meaningful look. "Oh, just here and there." Jean said airily.
"What are you stealing dis time?" Jackie asked. "The apartment is already full of your junk!"
"It's not junk, for one! And it's not stealing, for two," Remy said. "It's rescuing. I mean, we couldn't let everything in the Alexandria library just burn up!"
"Or let Hitler's people destroy all those German Expressionism paintings," Jean added.
"Or every Greek amphorae sink to de bottom of th'Aegean Sea," added Remy.
Jackie shook his head. "Just don't put any more stuff in my room. That Edvard Munch print you rescued is freaking me out."
"All de more reason for our little birdie to fly the nest," Remy said and poured vegetable stock into the pot. Steam rose in a cloud, filling the kitchen with the smells of cooking. "Extra gallery space!"
"If you need us, Jackie. You know how to find us," Jean sat beside Jackie at the kitchen table. "I'm so proud of you, you know."
"Stop," Jackie said, his pale face turning red.
"There's not a smarter, braver, or sweeter boy," Jean said, warming to her theme and taking Jackie by the hand.
"Mom, I'm twelve! And also one hundred and four. I'm not a boy!"
Jean laughed. "You'll always be my baby."
"Who needs a drink?" The Witness asked, suddenly appearing at the kitchen door with a bottle of red wine.
Remy raised his hand. "Me! Me!"
Next to arrive was Jean-Luc LeBeau. Jean greeted him with a kiss. He handed her the bottle of white wine he'd brought. Jean invited him to sit. Another chair had appeared at the table. "I'll have a glass," Jean-Luc told The Witness. "Nothing like alcohol to help make sense of sittin' down t'eat with de adult version of my son, two ititerations of a grandchild, and their lovely death-defying mother."
"Weird," Remy said. "Weirder."
Jean-Luc delivered a comment to Remy about him performing "women's work." Remy replied with a description of Jean's cooking ability, and Jean launched into a verbal tirade against both men.
Rolling his eyes, The Witness passed Jackie a pocket watch, sliding it across the table. Jackie passed The Witness a half-eaten cookie. The two looked at one another and shrugged.
~ oOo ~
Next: Taking the plunge, part two
