“No! Never mind,” Michael protested, “Leave me alone. Laissez-moi seul. Allez-vous en. Go away!” She pushed him back as she reached for a bottle that lay on the ground next to her. Finding it empty, she threw it, without much force, toward the lake. It landed about three feet away.
“Tres bien, ma cherie. That was a good pitch.”
“Go away,” she repeated, knowing he was making fun of her. She tried to get to her feet, but the effort was beyond her. She fell back onto the grass.
“Here. Let me help you,” Jean-Rene offered, holding out a hand.
Michael pushed him away again.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” He was trying not to lose his patience. He picked her up and stood her on her feet. At first he smiled. How long had it been since he really looked at his younger sister. At
