Chapter 32Hector’s tall frame, still slender, although noticeably aged, moved with worn elegance as he made his way along the Marseille Provence Airport concourse. “Oy!” He lodged a finger in each corner of his mouth, delivering a shrill whistle—a consummate little act, perfectly out of place—while waving a loud wave with his other hand, in which he held an unlit Gauloise, sans filtre.
Heads turned to both the source and the target of the clamor as Hector, basking in the attention, closed the distance between them.
Instantly, Ruth remembered every nuance and strain of their relationship.
“Bienvenue to you on bridge of réconciliation!” Hector threw his arms open wide. He wanted emotion. He wanted contact.
Ruth did not. “Hello, Hector,” she said, cinching the baby up on her hip.
Hector
