54. Trials

Bonnie had fully expected to miss Trev sorely, but she soon discovered she'd underestimated just how difficult the first weeks of their separation would be.

She'd read somewhere that the death of a friend is equivalent to the loss of a limb, and that was initially how Trev's absence hit her: as if an essential part of herself had been lopped away, leaving her diminished, off-balance and lame. Her days lost their comfortable rhythm, and even some of their sense and direction. She'd been "Trev's girl" so long and so steadily, she didn't quite know who she was without him, or how to be alone. In the unfamiliar territory of a Trev-less world, she struggled to find her bearings and her feet.

The worst of it was, she fell repeatedly into old habits. She'd make mental notes of incidents and remarks to relay to him, as if they would be sharing the events of their day, as usual, over drinks or, if they couldn't meet, last thing before bed. She'd scroll through her social media feed, a special eye out for anything he might have posted, forgetting they'd unfollowed each other as part of their pact. While cleaning La Coupe d'amour, her mind would wander to restaurants they might frequent for dinner, or weekend outings she might propose. Once, feeling a call overdue, she picked up her phone to check in with him, only to set it down again like a hot potato. Each time memory kicked in, the pain of their estrangement flared anew, as fresh and keen as if they'd only just parted. She sometimes despaired of holding out a whole ten weeks, but then she strengthened her resolve and pushed on, determined to see the trial through.

She had her consolations, chief among them, her family. Word that she needed support and distraction made the rounds somehow, and she was soon on the receiving end of calls, visits and invitations. Her aunt Annalise begged her to spend the first official weekend of summer "helping her" open up the family vacation house in Virginia Beach, and Hank and Reese, enjoying the novelty of having their cousin all to themselves, roped her into exploring the dunes with them and scavenging for sea glass and shells along the shore. With Sonny away at an academic conference, Adele pleaded "loneliness" to entice Bonnie over for a just-us-girls sleepover, a late night Adele, already sleep-deprived from her crazy hours at the hospital, could ill afford. Her mother pitched in, too, taking Bonnie out shopping on the pretext that she needed advice on selecting the several new outfits she needed for her imminent book-signing tour, and Grammy A phoned somewhat more often than usual, purportedly to catch her up on de Clermont's progress, or lack thereof.

Finding Madeleine's aunt, it turned out, had proved a simple matter: she had died in her late teens, unwed and childless, carried off in one of the flu epidemics that regularly ravaged the countryside. "Was it only Louise you were interested in?" Angela inquired. "There were two other sisters, Célestine and Bérénice."

The dead flicker of hope flamed up again. "Any aunt on her mother's side is worth a look, so, yes, if Richard wouldn't mind…"

"He's already on it. And, listen, I had this thought: what about tackling the problem from the Lebrun side of the equation? You want to establish a link between the Michaud family and Paris, right? How about starting from the other end, and looking for a connection between the Lebruns and Picardy? Maybe one of the parents had ties to the area."

"Grammy!" Bonnie said, all admiration. "That's brilliant!"

Angela smiled roguishly, her eyes dancing. "I thought so, too."

Bonnie's conscience needled her, though. "It'd mean a lot more work for Richard, Gram. I really can't ask…"

"He's only too happy to oblige, believe me, and I have to say, I'm growing more intrigued by the day, myself. You know me, sweetie: I'm a sucker for a good puzzle. Some things never change, I guess. I'll keep you posted. À la prochaine!"

It was a testament to the family's concern about her that even Eddie came out of the woodwork. He turned up at the compound out of the blue, and bundled Bonnie into a disreputable black clunker, alleging he was in dire need of backup for his evening's escapade. This proved to be a stakeout, but as time went by and there was no activity, suspicious or otherwise, in and about the abandoned warehouse they were watching, Bonnie began to suspect it was nothing but an empty exercise contrived to keep her occupied.

Eddie winced when she reported that Val Dunbar had been asking about him. "Major miscalculation," he groaned.

"She got more attached than you bargained for."

"Big time! I thought she'd eventually let it go, but nothing doing. The woman's stalking me, Tootsie Pop."

"Catch-me-if-you-can Eddie Booth? How's that even possible?"

"It's mostly texts and voice mail," he allowed. "But she's been lying in wait for me, too, at places I used to take her."

"Paradise Lost, you mean?"

Eddie stiffened ominously, then turned to her with narrowed eyes. "What'd she tell you?"

Bonnie's audacity failed her. "About the bar?" she said, deciding to proceed with caution. "Not much. Only that it's sort of a dump, and she can't figure out why you insist on patronizing the place."

He weighed her answer carefully, and seemed to find it acceptable. "And that's it?"

"Well, she did complain about the proprietor quite a bit. Dana? Dinah?" Bonnie waited a beat for Eddie to supply the right name, but he left her hanging. "Anyway, Val made her sound like a real shrew."

"Yeah, well." A barely perceptible sigh escaped him. "She's not wrong." He resumed staring out the windshield, his mouth set in a grim line.

After a moment, Bonnie volunteered, "I can't imagine it's easy, a woman running a bar on her own. She probably has to be a tough cookie to make a go of it. I've been thinking for a while of stopping by. You know, support female enterprise…"

"No," he broke in sharply. He locked his eyes on hers, the familiar warning plain. "I mean it, Bonnie. Stay away from Paradise Lost. First off, it's in a really bad section of town, and, even if it wasn't, I wouldn't want you going there. Do you hear what I'm telling you?"

"Butt out of your business?"

"Bingo."

There was solace to be found, as well, at the Jeff. La Coupe d'amour continued to reward their efforts, gaining in beauty by the day. Unobscured by varnish, subtle features came to light, and foreground figures took on new clarity. The baby cupids with their stubby wings and pudgy bodies proved an unending source of delight, each of their little faces so droll and filled with so much personality, it lightened Bonnie's heart to work on them. The two love-drunk putti sprawled blissfully in the fountain's basin were especially darling, and never failed to make her smile.

Given the choice, Bonnie would have spent her entire work day alone with the painting, but, with two weeks in the Conservation Station yet remaining, she was obliged to interact with the public every day, and so, for that hour at least, she had to rise above her melancholy as best she could. Her efforts met with some success; although she could not recapture the brightness and pep of the weeks before, the visitors seemed not to notice anything amiss and showed as much appreciation for her answers as ever. Bear, however, was another matter. The first day, he looked a question at her, but refrained from comment. The next, her spirits showing no sign of improvement, he asked if she was feeling all right. She assured him she was, and he left it at that, but over the following days, she caught him several times frowning at her thoughtfully, evidently concerned. She was afraid more than once he would ask again what was troubling her, but, in the end, he respected her reticence, and Bonnie was grateful. Her sadness was too personal to share.

Or, it was until Gabby Franklin pulled her aside one evening after work, and insisted otherwise. "It's plain as the nose on your face something's bugging you," she said. "No, don't try to deny it. No one's so down in the mouth without good cause. Come on. I'll buy you a drink, and you can tell me all about it. You'll feel better after, I guarantee it."

Oddly enough, she did. Gabby was the best kind of listener: sorry for Bonnie's situation, without pitying Bonnie herself. She limited her remarks to variations of "that stinks," or "what a shame," which was neither more or less than the truth. She didn't make useless offers of help, or give unsolicited advice. When Bonnie had talked herself out, Gabby said only, "No doubt about it, you've got it rough right now, kiddo, but you're strong. You hang in there, and let time do its thing. And meanwhile, if you ever feel the need for a little gin and sympathy, you know where to find me."

Bonnie had one other consolation, as great as the package it came in was small. Convenient as it would have been to "forget" her promise to video-chat with Danny Baer, she didn't have it in her to disappoint a child, and so phoned that Monday night as arranged. She'd screwed herself up to appear positive and enthusiastic, but his happiness to be speaking to her was so warming and so infectious, any pretense was soon unnecessary. He bubbled over with news: he'd lost his first tooth — did she see? —and the tooth fairy had come, and left him five dollars! He was going to graduate from kindergarten, and there was going to be a ceremony, and a party after. Everybody had to wear their best clothes, and he was going to give a speech! Did she want to hear it?

Eventually, she was able to bring the conversation round to the reason for the call. "I like your drawings of the boy and his dinosaur a lot," she told him. "It's clear they're really great pals, and have loads of fun together. I don't understand what's going on in the playground picture, though. Why are the other kids afraid?"

"Because the dinosaur is big and scary. They think he's mean."

The old don't judge a book by its cover, then. "But that's just the way he looks, right?"

Danny shook his head. "He isn't very friendly. He doesn't want the boy to play with the other children. He doesn't like them."

"Oh!" She hadn't expected that twist. "So, the dinosaur's the problem?"

Danny objected to what he perceived as criticism. "He's not bad. He thinks the children don't play very nice. He doesn't want the boy to get hurt."

She could see the title now: Danny and the Overprotective Dinosaur. "I'm guessing the boy wishes he had a few more friends?"

He nodded emphatically. "So he can go over their houses sometimes, and maybe have a sleepover."

"That's not asking so much. But he has to convince the dinosaur he'll be all right, first. How's he going to do that?"

Danny shrugged, stymied.

"Tell you what: let's both give it some thought, and I'll call you this time next Monday, and we can talk about it again. How's that?"

They spoke the next week without making any discernible progress, but something in their discussion must have sparked an idea, because on the subsequent Friday afternoon, Val sent Bonnie a photo of a new drawing. It was the playground scene again, but carried forward in time. One of the children, a girl to judge by her high ponytail, had stepped out from behind the tree and stood, arms akimbo, chin up, facing the swings. The boy, his swing at rest, watched her with a tentative smile, while over his shoulder, the dinosaur glowered more fiercely than ever. Another child would take the dinosaur on, then, for the boy's sake, Bonnie deduced. She liked the possibilities.

Before leaving for the weekend, she stopped by Bear's office, as he'd requested. He was at his desk, drumming the eraser end of a pencil rapidly against some report he was reading. She knocked, and walked in. "Should I sit?" she asked.

"No," he said, rising to his feet, and tossing the pencil down. "It's a quick question. As you know, Danny graduated from kindergarten this past week."

Bonnie smiled, remembering his excitement. "Class valedictorian! Did his speech go all right? He was so proud of it."

"He did fine. So, anyway… I told him, to celebrate, we could do anything he wanted, and he's decided he wants to spend a day at the zoo."

"The National Zoo? What a great thought! He'll love it."

"That's not all." He caught her eye, his expression grave with a hint of apology. "He wants you to come."

"Me?"

He nodded soberly. "I tried to explain that it's too short notice…"

Bonnie, just recovering from her surprise, asked, "Why? When are you planning to go?"

"Tomorrow, or Sunday. Look, don't worry about it. I'm sure you have plans…"

The picture of a plucky girl confronting a fearsome dinosaur flashed across her mind. "Sunday's good for me, actually. Count me in."