My Father Bet My Year at the Boucherie, So I Signed It Myself and Named the Terms novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: Three in the Morning

Dolly's POV

Margot looked at her father's hand in her hair, and then she looked at me.

"Just Uncle Andrei," she said.

"And Mademoiselle Dolly."

"Just us, mon coeur," Seb said.

His voice was perfectly gentle.

I watched his face and did not like what I saw there, because there was nothing in it at all.

He had put every feeling in a drawer and shut it.

"Margot," I said, "would you like to draw on the porch with Tante?"

She slid off the chair with her crayon tin.

Her great-aunt had stood in the doorway through all of it with her purse on her arm and her mouth pressed flat.

She took the small hand without a word and led her out.

The screen door clapped.

Seb stood at the table with both palms on the wood, looking at a drawing of Andrei's face.

"He drove her to school for four years," he said.

"Every morning.

"He sat in my kitchen and I fed him."

"Seb," I said.

"He held my daughter on his knee at the funeral."

"Seb, look at me."

He looked up.

His gray eyes were very calm, and that frightened me more than a shout would have.

"I know where he lives," he said.

"I know where Blake sleeps.

"I know which of the old men would help me and which would run to Blake before I had my boots on."

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