Chapter 6: The Harbor Shop

Mireille met me on the dock at two o'clock on Friday, with her coat buttoned to her chin and her husband's car keys in her hand.

"I can't stay," she said in French. "He thinks I'm at the hairdresser."

"Where do I go?"

"Not the house. Solène and the others have it until tomorrow." She pointed up the cobbled street. "Walk. Eat something. Stay where there are people."

"And if I see him?"

"Then you see him." Her mouth twisted. "He's not hiding. That's the point of Nantucket for him."

She squeezed my arm and left.

I walked up the hill with my suitcase bumping behind me on the stones.

Everything was gray shingle and white trim and boats. It was the kind of town that sells you a sweatshirt with the name of the town on it.

Halfway up the street, I smelled sugar and pecans, and I stopped.

There was a small shop with a blue door and a blue sailboat painted on the window.

Hébert's Pralines & Boudin. Long Weekends.

Under the glass in front stood a stack of white paper bags.

Each bag had a blue sailboat on it.

I stood there with my suitcase and looked at the sailboat for a long time.

I had seen it on a bag in my own kitchen. I had seen it, and I had put it away.

I pushed open the door.

A bell rang. The shop was small and warm, with a counter, a case of pralines, and a hot plate with a pot on it.

A man stood behind the counter with flour to his elbows.

He was tall and sun-browned, with grey at his temples, and he was cutting a sausage into rounds.

"Afternoon," he said. "Be right with you."

Keep reading free with an account. Start My Husband Told His Ex in French I'd Never Find Out from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.